Chapter Nineteen

THE LAND OF LINCOLN

Wilbur drove the delivery van through the parking lot of the shopping center. The Dream Mechanic waterbed store was located at the far end between a pet store and an electronics store. Palm trees grew in cement islands throughout the asphalt lot. Traffic slowed down as drivers looked for parking spaces. There were bottlenecks at several intersections. Wilbur allowed a few shoppers to pass in front of the van. Pedestrian and vehicle traffic was especially heavy that day. Traffic came to a complete stop in front of the power hungry security guard.

He was a lanky, military dropout who carried a 38 Special in a holster on his hip. He wore a wide-brimmed, bluish gray hat with a dark green band around it. The hat was a cross between a cowboy hat and a ruffled dome worn by a priest in the ecclesiastical hierarchy. The top portion of the hat had a main peak then several valleys with smaller peaks that jutted out at different angles. There were cloth tassels and fine-linked metal chains which crisscrossed the hat in the front, back and the sides.

The guard’s uniform bore the same regalia and decoration as the hat. There were official-looking patches on his shirt shoulders and front shirt pocket. Medallions and bright tokens sparkled in the sunlight. Tassels and fine linked chaining were draped on the shirt and around his belt line leading to various whistles and equipment. A black stripe ran up both sides of his pants.

"Get out of the way, you dufus, you're blocking traffic," Wilbur yelled. "Any moron in this country can dress up like Patton and just take over," he thought to himself.

The security guard jerked his head around on his thin neck. He showed his gapped teeth that looked like a white picket fence.

"Let's go, keep it moving, let's go," he commanded.

xxx

Wilbur was returning from a setup in the light pink housing projects just east of downtown Tampa. Scores of black people, young and old, scrutinized the delivery van with its numerous reflectors and mudflaps as it passed down the street. The shrubbery in the projects was sparse along the roadside. The yards were frescoed with dirt and lean grass.

Wilbur delivered another hard seller to the projects. It was a one of a kind called the Lincoln Log. The outside of the frame looked like Abe Lincoln's log cabin. He had never seen another one at The Dream Mechanic. Dave Hamilton was jubilant when he finally sold it. Gerald, the short, muscular black man who bought it, worked for the city on a cleanup crew.

Wilbur unloaded the van as an audience of curious onlookers appeared from corners of the housing project. Gerald stood outside like a proud father as Wilbur carried the disassembled bed into the bottom floor of his apartment.

xxx

Later, as Wilbur assembled the Lincoln Log, Gerald talked about his job for the city.

"You know, every time it rain, if we don't clean out the shrubbery, the drains, they overflow the roads. That's big trouble," he said.

"There must be plenty of work," Wilbur replied.

"Oh yeah. I make over three hundred a week clear."

"That's more than I make setting up waterbeds," Wilbur answered.

"This all I can afford to live in now though. 'Cause I'm taking care of my niece and nephew," he lamented. "Can't afford nothin' but this. Maybe someday."

xxx

The interior of the two-story, concrete block unit was a sweltering hotbox. Wilbur sweated profusely because there was very little ventilation. The light green linoleum floor had been swabbed recently with a high powered, pine-scented cleanser. The floor was still venting the fumes from the cracks. It smelled sickly to Wilbur and didn't seem to evaporate very quickly because of the poor ventilation.

Hazel, Gerald's wife, brought Wilbur a beer to drink.

"Thank you, mam," Wilbur said gratefully.

He tried to fill the mattress from the bathroom sink, but the metal hose adaptor Wilbur carried wouldn't fit.

"Is there an outside spigot we can use to fill the mattress?"

"Let's look," Gerald suggested.

Outside, they hunted for a water spigot. Bright-colored laundry was hanging from nearby clothes lines. Across the street were rundown, vacant buildings with broken doors and windows. Blocking the western horizon was the silhouette of Tampa's downtown buildings.

Wilbur gathered another entourage of youngsters as he searched for a water spigot. He finally found a spigot without a turn handle. He attached the hose and threw it to the second floor window where Gerald hailed him with outstretched arms. Adult neighbors joined the community watch.

"I need something to turn this faucet on," Wilbur yelled to Gerald.

A few minutes later Gerald went next door to borrow the turn handle for the bald spigot. A large woman answered the door. She returned a few moments later with a turn handle that was shiny like a jewel. Hesitantly, she handed Gerald the turn handle.

"Make sure that handle don't get lost now," she said.

"Uh huh, yes mam, Mrs. Collins," Gerald answered.

xxx

When Wilbur finished the setup he returned to the shopping center and ran the gauntlet of straggling shoppers and the dictatorial security guard. Wilbur was not in the Dream Mechanic very long before a man came in, flashing a very official badge. It looked like hours of fine-toothed carving went into the indentations in the metal. He was a stern, square-faced man. He displayed the badge proudly to Dave and Margo Hamilton, Penelope, Wilbur and Duke, the three-legged dog.

"I'm Agent Winthrop from the United States Immigration and Naturalization Service. Our records show that your daughter, Gloria Alanzi, was formerly married to Mr. Abdul Alanzi's cousin, Salim Alanzi. Within a year of your daughter's first marriage, she and Mr. Salim Alanzi filed for divorce after he had secured his citizenship papers and his work permit."

Margo had a smirk on her face as she glanced at Dave who re-ignited his pipe while sprawled in his Lazy Boy.

"Subsequently, Gloria Alanzi married her present husband, Mr. Abdul Alanzi. He was here on a student visa and is now seeking permanent status in this country."

The Hamiltons remained composed as Agent Winthrop continued.

"I think we're looking at a case of fraud here. If fraud is evident, your daughter will be prosecuted. Since your daughter and her husband are no longer residing in this state, they are requesting that Mr. Abdul Alanzi's immigration matters be transferred. You are their references. That's why I'm here today. Can you explain your daughter's behavior?"

Margo sighed.

"Well, Agent Winthrop," she said calmly, "it was love. As simple as that."

"Love? What do you mean, "love"?"

"Well, Gloria thought she loved Salim, but it took her about a year to find out she really didn't love him. She loved his cousin, Abdul, instead. It was love. Love is a mystery. It is unexplainable, Agent Winthrop."

"Love?!"

"Yes, love," Dave emphasized as he exhaled a large cloud of smoke in Agent Winthrop's direction.

"Love? What do you think this is, the nineteen sixties? This is the seventies. What's your name, son?" he huffed, pointing at Wilbur.

Wilbur, for once in his life, wished he was invisible like he felt most of the time.

"Wilbur Dobbs."

"Do you have any information in this case?"

"No sir. I'm just the setup man."

"Your name?"

"Penelope Lopez."

"Do you know anything about this case?"

"No sir."

"Abdul will make a fine citizen, a fine addition to the United States," Margo said.

A frustrated look surfaced on Agent Winthrop's face.

"We're not through with this case," Agent Winthrop threatened before he left the store.

xxx

"There's nothing they can do about it, except slow up the paperwork on Abdul's green card," Margo said confidently. "If they take too long, we'll file a discrimination suit against the government. Even though she did marry Abdul's cousin as a favor to Abdul, they can't prove it. That guy's full of shit. The nerve of him!!" she stated vehemently.

Coincidentally, Margo was sidetracked when Agent Winthrop barged into the store. She and Dave were having a discussion.

"What are you running, the Underground Railroad for the Mideast?" Dave asked.

"No, honey. I just think if Wilbur gets to know Abdul's sister, Fatima, he might want to marry her as a favor to us. Then she can stay in this country too," Margo suggested. "I've got an idea."

Dave tapped the bowl of his pipe against the side of an ashtray on his desk. Then he pulled a long, slender pipe cleaner from the desk drawer before leaning back in his chair.

After Agent Winthrop left, Margo resumed her previous solicitation concerning Fatima. Dave resumed cleaning his pipe from the chair. However, instead of continuing her discussion with Dave, she went right to the object of her plan. He was standing right there.

"Wilbur, Abdul's sister, Fatima, is having a terrible time in high school. If she doesn't keep up her grades, she can lose her student visa. I was wondering if you would like to earn some extra money tutoring her in, uh, uh, let me think, American History."

"The only thing I know about American History is how to set up the Lincoln Log waterbed in the projects, and dressing up in military uniforms makes you important."

Margo shrugged her shoulders when she heard his response.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Honey, that's a no," Dave replied as he finished cleaning his pipe.