Chapter Fourteen

THE SYSTEM IS THE SOLUTION

When Dave Hamilton was not on duty, Penelope assumed his position in the easy chair. She was casually dressed in a flowered print blouse and blue jeans. One of her soap operas blared on the television in the office.

"Miguel thinks he needs another lawyer. The guy he's using is dragging his feet. He wants more money up front. He talks like this. 'We can get them alright. We can get the guy in the boat that ran into your canoe with all the camera equipment. We can get the warehouse where you work that is responsible for your back injury. But I need five hundred dollars up front to get the ball rolling.'" she said, mimicking the lawyer. "Five hundred dollars! That's a lot of money. I was counting on these lawsuits to pay for graduate school once I finish my undergraduate degree. I've really got to decide on my major though. I keep changing my mind."

"I'm doing some side jobs for Celeste Stuart. Her husband is a lawyer. He's a good lawyer from what she said. A terrible husband though. Maybe he'll take your cases," Wilbur suggested.

Penelope had a contemplative look on her face.

"I'll mention it to Miguel. We've got to get some cash flow out of this. We've got plans for a taco business and graduate school. We need the money. Then, maybe, we'll get married," she said wistfully.

Then she relayed Dave's orders for the day.

"Dave wants you to drive over to the warehouse in St. Petersburg and pick up some merchandise," she announced.

Wilbur had been there before. The warehouse was owned by Frank Moorehouse who was Dave Hamilton's partner. The only problem was that his fraternal twin sons, Daryl and Gerald, worked for him. After dealing with them on several prior occasions, Wilbur and Penelope had dubbed the two rat-faced boys, Budget and Fussbudget.

xxx

On the way to the warehouse Wilbur enjoyed the drive across Tampa Bay on the Howard Franklin Bridge. The traffic wasn't as congested as usual. The sea water was flat except for dimples here and there. Cormorants were perched on top of many of the aluminum lightpoles.

After crossing the bay, it was a short drive to the warehouse and factory. The warehouse was a dark brown building with several, large working spaces and storage areas. The openings had overhead garage doors which slid down.

As soon as he arrived, Wilbur came under the scrutiny of Gerald, alias Fussbudget. He was thin and had a milky complexion. On his upper lip were rat-like whiskers. He glanced furtively from side to side as he led Wilbur to the stall where Dave Hamilton's merchandise was located. His brother, Daryl, alias Budget, was back at their store which was several miles from the warehouse.

"You don't know how to load a van properly," Gerald whined to Wilbur after a few minutes.

"What?"

"We've got more stuff to put on here, and we've almost run out of room, thanks to you," he said accusingly.

"No big deal. I'll just cram it in there somehow. That's what I usually do."

"Yeah. And what about the merchandise? We're not taking back any damaged merchandise from your store. We just send you the merchandise we can't sell anyway," he said with a laugh. "I took a course in abstract space mechanics and the way you've done this is all wrong. This should have been down here and...".

"Abstract space mechanics? You're kidding, aren't you?"

"No. I don't kid around. I took a course in it. I have a Masters degree."

"Okay, you're the abstract space mechanics expert."

Gerald went back into the warehouse storage area after giving Wilbur explicit directions on how to load the remainder of the van. Jake, the carpenter, came from the factory wood shop. He was in his fifties and retired from the Navy. His shirt was off. His skin was browned by the sun. A slit near his heart showed the location of his pacemaker. There were tattoos on both his arms.

"Those goddam boys are useless," he said after approaching Wilbur. "They don't know their asses from their elbows," he fumed. "Look at him there. I've been after them to straighten up that mess in there for two weeks. They just throw their shit any ol' way. We got a big shipment coming in from California too. Goddam'em. I can work for their Daddy, he's not such a bad guy, but those boys are dangerous. I won't let either one of them in my shop. I run'em outa there. I don't want them in there. Have you seen that little gyrocopter they bought?"

"Yeah," Wilbur replied then chuckled.

Wilbur had seen the pieces of the dismantled gyrocopter on one of his previous visits.

"It's just taking up space. Neither one of 'em knows how to use the damn thing. They bought it for advertising. Who the hell's gonna buy something from a couple idiots riding around the sky in a gyrocopter with a sign on it? Why, hell, the thing wouldn't even fly. And they're supposed to be educated."

Gerald walked rapidly from the warehouse. He had a checklist in his hand. He glanced nervously to the ground, then to the sides.

"Listen to this," Jake whispered to Wilbur. "They can kiss my ass. I don't want them in my shop," he said loudly for Gerald to hear, then walked to his workshop.

As soon as Jake left, Gerald came over to Wilbur who was inspecting a piece of wood.

"Hey, this end piece of wood is nicked. The stain is nicked right off it," Wilbur said to Gerald.

"It's not that bad."

"I don't want to deliver it like that."

"Well, I can fix it back at our store. We've got to go there anyway."

xxx

Like it or not, Wilbur chauffeured Gerald back to their waterbed store. It was the flagship of The Dream Mechanic chain and wasn’t far the factory. They brought in the scratched end piece. Gerald went behind the counter and returned with a large, brown briefcase. Inside it was a heating unit and rows of different colored resins packaged into little bars.

Gerald spent several, anxious moments trying to match the right color resin to the piece of wood. There were at least forty different colors. He decided on one color then his brother, Daryl, alias Budget, the company's bookkeeper, picked out another one.

"What, are you blind?" Daryl yelled at Gerald.

"What are you talking about? This is the right color."

"You're crazy."

"No, you're crazy."

"Do what you want to then," Daryl relinquished. "You can't talk to a know- it-all," he said to one of the other salesmen.

Wilbur felt like he was invisible again. He was looking in, but nobody could see him. He wondered if his blue work shirt with "THE DREAM MECHANIC" on it camouflaged him from the brothers.

Gerald couldn't get his resin-melting contraption to heat up which Daryl enjoyed immensely because it proved without a doubt that his brother and rival was unquestionably an idiot. Then they went at it again about the resin. Daryl had his brother on the ropes and wasn't going to give an inch.

"Let's take a vote on which is the right color," he surreptitiously suggested after two salesmen gathered around as the commotion escalated.

"That's the right color there," Wilbur stated as he cast his vote for a color that neither brother wanted.

They unceremoniously ignored Wilbur's vote which made him feel like he wasn't even there.

Gerald continued to fiddle with the heating unit but couldn't figure out why it wasn't getting hot.

"It's supposed to do it a lot quicker than this. I'll get my probes so I can check the plug on this," he muttered.

Daryl saw an opening for another broadside.

"So how much company money did you spend on that furniture repair course?" he asked accusingly.

The other salesmen, who were used to the constant jousting between the brothers, laughed at the direct hit Daryl had scored.

Gerald had a tentative, sheepish look on his face because his brother as bookkeeper already knew the answer to the question.

"Four hundred dollars," he whispered.

Before his brother could move in for the kill in this particular battle, Gerald was saved by the ringing of the HOTLINE.

"It's Penelope," he said. "She just sold a Super Deluxe. Wilbur, you have to go back to the warehouse to get one out of storage," he ordered.

Because Wilbur had no keys nor did they trust him with any, he had to be accompanied by one of the brothers and their all-important, jangling key chain which opened all the doors.

The brothers enjoyed a cease fire for the moment. Daryl was sidetracked by the phone call.

"We just had that phone system put in. It's a business phone system," Daryl said proudly to Wilbur. "Business is booming. See that red button right there? That's the hotline to your store. If we need to have a summit conference with Dave we just press that and we can get your store, the warehouses or both factories."

"I don't know why it took so long but this thing is finally heating up," Gerald announced loudly so that his brother could hear.

"That's good, seeing how much it cost you for the course and the furniture touch-up kit," Daryl said, not losing sight of his original target.

"It was worth it. Besides, it's tax deductible," Gerald declared. "Yi. Yi. Yi. Pardon my French. Yi. I touched it on the wrong spot and burned my finger. Yi."

Daryl shook his head in disbelief.

"I need to get the screws and the L-brackets for those other beds I picked up at the warehouse," Wilbur remembered. "Why do you have things stored in different places so far apart? Wouldn't it be easier if everything was in one place?"

"For you maybe. We want to know what you're picking up at the warehouse. We keep track of how many beds, L-brackets and screws are going out of here. We don't want you stealing anything."

"Oh," Wilbur said, uneasy at the hostility.

"The system is the solution," Gerald declared as they drove to the warehouse to get the Super Deluxe.

xxx

"What'ya forget now?" Jake demanded, accustomed to the boys' standard operating procedure.

"A new order," Gerald answered gingerly.

"Goddam fuck-up. Stay out of my shop," Jake warned him on general principles.

After they loaded the Super Deluxe Wilbur returned to Tampa with all the merchandise miraculously packed in the van. He noticed a small vial full of pills in the passenger seat. It was Gerald's prescription.

"To be taken three times a day for ulcer," the vial read.