The staked Goat

from here. My father was in steel. God”—he laughed— ”God, he would have cracked me good for saying that. That he was ‘in steel,’ like he was ‘in stocks’ or ‘in banking.’ He was a steelworker, pure and simple. Thirty-six years. He’d tell me about the Depression, how people pulled together. I’m glad he never had to see what’s happened now. Or hear the name change. After he died, I found that people didn’t want piano lessons from a portly gay named Stosh Ptarski. I don’t know, maybe it hit a little too close to home, with the ethnic name and all. So I changed it, and people were much more comfortable with a portly gay named Dale Palmer, like I had been imported from somewhere else, like I hadn’t grown up with them here and still turned out...” He seized up for a minute.
    ”Dale...”
    ”Do you know,” he said blinking, ”do you know how I picked the names, ‘Dale’ and ‘Palmer’?”
    ”No.”
    ”Well, when I was younger, and TV arrived, my favorite cartoon characters were Chip ‘n Dale, you know, the Disney chipmunks. And just after Dad died, this baseball pitcher, terrifically handsome guy named Jim Palmer, had a great season and was all over the papers. I was in Baltimore once and even went to see him play. And I can’t stand baseball, to me it’s like watching golf, you know, all tension and no real release. Not like football, where you get to take out... no, no, that’s how I named myself, after a chipmunk and a jock.”
    Dale closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair.
    ”Dale...”
    ”Yes,” he said quietly.
    ”I need to know some things. To help Martha.”
    ”Yes?” he said, opening his eyes.
    ”I can see for myself that this place hasn’t been brought along at all. There are things that have to be done that haven’t been done.”
    Dale’s expression changed from philosophical to sad. ”Nobody likes to meddle in another family’s problems. But pretty clearly things weren’t going too well for Al at his job. I assume they told you that this morning.”
    ”Yes.”
    ”Well, most of us around here, Al and Martha included, bought under a special mortgage program. Even if I weren’t half drunk, it would take a lawyer to explain it to you. But basically, because of some federal/state deal, we got low-interest mortgages to come in and try to revive this area. The catch is that renovations have to be mostly done by a certain deadline, something like two years after you move in. You also have to complete the work by something like a year later. Larry and I finished ours way ahead. Carol was just under the wire. Al and Martha had already been inspected—the state sends somebody to walk through your house—and the inspector failed them. I mean, you see the fixtures and all, he had no choice. With the economy around here, speculators are hovering like vultures over properties like this. Two families on the next block already lost their places. I never asked Al about it, but—” Dale moved his hands in a shrugging gesture that rattled the cubes in the glass he was holding but couldn’t hurt the long-departed vodka.
    ”You mean unless the renovations are done pretty damn quick, Martha loses the place?”
    Dale nodded slowly. ”The renovations are the big thing. The monthly mortgage, property taxes... they could be manageable... look”—Dale leaned forward, put his glass down on the table and wiped his hands on his pants—”I’ve never told Martha, but Al borrowed money from all of us. Me, Carol, and I’m sure others, though from the funeral, perhaps not. Al was in desperate financial shape. I honestly don’t know how he thought he’d pull even.”
    I got that sick-stomach feeling again, the one I’d gotten when I heard the radio announcer in Boston describe Al’s body being found. I was beginning to realize how Al thought he could pull even.
    ”How much?” I said. ”How much for the renovations?”
    Dale inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. ”I would guess twenty thousand.”
    I did a quick room-by-room allocation. ”That doesn’t sound like enough,” I said.
    Dale pinched his nose. ”One Sunday last fall, I’d gotten two free tickets to a Steelers home game. I asked Al, but Martha and Al Junior were both sick, so he had to stay home. I dragged Larry along. He’s not much for football, but he came anyway so I’d have someone to go with. Anyway, about midway through the second half, three guys a few rows behind us started saying...