Geezer Paradise

by Robert Gannon

  The Judge said, "Yeah, they broke into the ballgame to run the story. The guys here at the bar were fit to be tied. That was quite a show they put on."

  "Do you think they'll be able to squash the find?" I asked.

  "They can't squash it now," the Judge said. "The cat's already out of the bag. If it turns out to really be an Indian burial ground nobody will be able to put a shovel to it except the Archeologists."

  I asked, "Can you give us any advice on how to find someone to authenticate the find?"

  "There was an older man at the site with the students," the judge said. "He must be a Professor at the college. He'd know how to go about verifying the find."

  "Why didn't I think of that?" I asked.

  "You'll have to excuse Barney," Willey said. "He went to night school and he can't think during the daytime." The Judge thought that was pretty funny.

  "One other thing, Judge," I said. "Will they throw us out of our houses if it really is an historic site?"

  The Judge rubbed his chin and thought for a few seconds. "Well, that's a tough Question. Those houses already exist. They would be displacing a whole park full of people. That would be kind of drastic, even for a burial ground. That question would probably be resolved in court."

  "Thanks, Judge," I said. "We really appreciate your help."

  "Any time fellas. Come back again."

  "We might just take you up on that," I said.

  "Always glad to help."

  We got back into the Wrangler and headed toward the University of Tampa. We had to find that Professor. We got on 60 East and crossed Tampa Bay. Then we headed up to West Kennedy. When you first come upon U of Tampa you see Henry plant's Old Tampa Bay Hotel. The enormous hotel was built a century ago by the railroad magnate. It was the winter playground for the rich and famous at the turn of the last century. It looks like something you would see in Saint Petersburg Square in Russia, all fancy brickwork and soaring towers with golden, onion shaped domes on top. It's now part of the university, called the Henry Plant Museum. A lot of tourists, coming upon it unawares in the heart of Tampa, think they've made a wrong turn and accidentally stumbled upon Disney World.

  We parked at a meter and walked onto the campus. We entered the admissions office and asked to see the Professor who was at the Indian burial site in Citrus Bay. The young girl at the admissions office asked us to take a seat. A few minutes later a distinguished looking older man with white hair came shuffling to meet us. He had just about the same head of hair as Willey had.

  "Hello gentlemen," he said. "I'm Professor Crumbey. I understand you have some Questions about the newly discovered Indian site at citrus bay. I only have a few minutes between my summer classes, but I'll try to answer your questions."

  "Thank you, Professor," I said. "This gentleman and myself live in the mobile home park where the site was discovered. A developer is in the process of buying the park to build high rise condominiums there. We were wondering if the artifacts were genuine, would that stop the developer from building on the site?"

  "Oh, the artifacts are genuine alright," Professor Crumby said. "I can attest to that just by looking at them. We have already sent off a few pieces to be carbon dated. That will tell us whether they came from the ancient Calusa tribe or the more recent Seminoles. It will most likely be the Seminoles, because the Calusa have not been known to migrate farther north. As to whether the developer can build on that site--absolutely not. That ground is now an historic site protected by Florida law."

  Willey and I were smiling at this good news.

  Now came the tough question. "Do you think the state will let us go on living there when it's an historic site?" I asked.

  The Professor looked pensive, "That's a difficult question," he said. "It would be difficult to dislocate so many families, but if would also be difficult, if not impossible, to make it an historic site with all those people living there. But if it's your homes your worried about, I can tell you that when the state takes land by eminent domain they must either pay the residents equal compensation, or provide them with a new location of similar value." Willey and I were practically dancing with joy.

  "What do you think about the National Guard forcing everyone off the land?" I asked.

  The top of Professor Crumbey's head turned pink and his nostrils flared. "That, gentlemen, is the beginning of a sad trend in this country, whereby an all powerful government is slowly taking away our rights as American citizens. There was no need to bring the National Guard into that situation. Something sinister was going on there, and I'm fairly sure it was political in nature. Our politicians are slowly ripping our rights out of the constitution, and moving us into Socialism so they can control us. It's all about power. If we can't turn this situation around I fear for the younger generation."

  "I couldn't agree with you more," I said. "It's a frightening situation."

  "Yes," Professor Crumby said. "I look at those trusting young faces in my classroom every day and I pray that they will be able to keep their freedom." Willey and I nodded in agreement and looked down at the floor. There was nothing more to say.

  "Thank you for your time, Professor," I said. "We appreciate it."

  The Professor was still incensed about being thrown off the site. "Those people are not going to intimidate me," he said. "I will be back at that site tomorrow morning with my students. We have permission from the park to excavate."

  "Good for you," I said. "Maybe we'll come by and take a look."

  "Glad to have you, and good luck to you." We thanked him and shook his hand. Then we watched as he shuffled back to his own world.

  "I can't believe it," Willey said. "I thought it was mandatory these days for college Professors to have a ponytail and walk around with a copy of the communist manifesto in their hand."

  "He's from the old school," I said. "He's the last of a dying breed."

  We walked back to the Wrangler and headed back to the park. We had decided to stay at McKnight's place overnight. We were quiet on the way back, but we felt much better about our situation. Now we had a fighting chance. We called Mary and told her what was happening. She was as happy as we were about the Professor coming back to the park. We asked her to leave the side door to McKnight's place open again. We were going to stay in the park overnight and watch whatever happened in the morning. Mary thought it would be dangerous for us to stay in the park. But since we were determined to do it, she made us promise to be careful and not take any chances. We promised we'd be careful. Then we called Sofie and she said the same thing that Mary said. We promised her we would be careful, too.

  Since we didn't want to enter the park before dark we drove back across the Courtney Campbell Causeway on 60 West toward Clearwater to kill some time. I found a place to park on a side street and we walked up to the main drag. I looked around for my friend, the homeless lady who likes to slap herself, but she was nowhere in sight. Gulfview Boulevard was packed with people trying to escape the inland heat. There was a decent breeze coming off the Gulf that made the humidity tolerable. We found a restaurant right on the Boulevard where we could sit at a sort of breakfast bar and look out at the people going by on the sidewalk, and across the street by the Gulf of Mexico. We ordered fish sandwiches and a couple of beers. The beer tasted better now that we were celebrating. We ate and watched the parade of people going by. Afterward, we crossed the street and walked down the sidewalk overlooking the beach.

  "You know, Barney," Willey said. "I can't figure why the people put up with politicians like Buckland. They must know by now that he's crooked. You'd think they'd vote him out of office."

  I said, "When I was a reporter up north I figured that one out. The people who campaign for these bums don't do it because they think their candidate is a good guy. They do it because they want something--a state job for themselves, or a do nothing job on the taxpayer's back for their unemployable uncle, Fred--who can't read and picks his nose. It's a flawed system, but so far, it's the only one we
have. But I agree with you about the politicians, most of them are a sad lot."

  We found an empty bench to sit on down by the boat rides. We watched the pirate with the eye patch swoop down on people. By then the sun was setting, a bright blaze of crimson and peach over the horizon. We decided to go back to the park. We stopped at a fast food place along the way. We picked up some burgers and fries, and coffee that we could heat up in the microwave for breakfast the next morning.

  Mary had left McKnight's side door open for us again and we settled in for the night. We closed all the blinds and turned on the TV, but that was all the light we would risk--except for the bathroom, where we covered the small window in the shower with a piece of cardboard. About ten o'clock I passed out on the couch.

  We woke up around 9:am, showered and shaved, and heated up our breakfast. It tasted good, even the coffee. Then we sat around and watched a mindless game show on TV. I was watching the park entrance when the crew from U of Tampa rolled in around noon. Willey and I cut through the back yards to the site where the students were excavating. We were behind the houses and couldn't be seen from the road, so we were relaxed.

  "Good morning, Professor," we said.

  "Good morning to you too, gentlemen." Actually, the Professor was the only gentleman there. "We are taking part in an historic event in Florida's history," he said. He even sounded like a Professor.

  I was about to ask him a question about Florida law, when the sun strangely got brighter behind us. I turned around and looked right into a TV camera. The lights were blinding.

  Willey turned around at the same time. "Oh shit!" Willey whispered. "We have to get these people to edit the film so we don't appear on the afternoon news." The cameraman moved past us and focused on the dig site. We moved out of the way. I walked up to a young TV girl who was talking on a cell phone. I waited politely until she finished her conversation.

  Then she asked, "May I help you?"

  "Yes," I said. "I hate to say this, but I'm a little behind on my alimony payment," I lied. "And I was just on camera. Could you please edit my friend and myself out of the tape before it goes on the air?"

  Something was wrong, I could sense it.

  She turned and pointed to a large white box truck with the engine running. The truck had a large metal pole on its roof that soared up into the air. There was a metal disk on top of the pole. I could see a young kid in the back of the truck, pushing levers and turning knobs.

  The girl said, "That's the live truck. This is a live broadcast. It's already gone out," she said. "I'm sorry."

  She wasn't as sorry as we were. We thanked her anyway, and did a quick-step back to the fence. We jumped into the Wrangler and tore through the bushes and out to the street. At the end of the street, as we waited for the traffic light, a red Cadillac tore through the intersection. It was Stevens! He didn't see us. We made a right turn and headed back up 19A to Tarpon Springs, and safety.

  Later that evening Willey and I watched the Six O'clock News. Sofie and Oscar were cooking in the kitchen. We sat patiently through the unimportant news, like the economy crashing, stock markets down, nuclear threats, and poisoned food products. Then the heading came on the screen: Excavation Halted at Citrus Bay Indian Site.

  "What?" Willey and I said together. "What's going on down there? Who stopped it?" Then Willey and I came on the screen looking like a couple of deer caught in the headlights.

  As the video rolled on the anchor said: "A group of students from U of Tampa returned to the site of an Indian artifacts discovery at The Blue Orchid Mobile Home Park in Citrus Bay this morning, after being put off the site yesterday by the National Guard. Today, Professor Jonathan Crumbey said he had received permission from the mobile home park manager to conduct an excavation. The digging stopped, however, when the park manager changed her mind, and told the group they had to leave the park and leave all artifacts behind. The park manager gave no explanation as to why she changed her mind. Professor Crumbey and the students complied with the order, but the Professor said he was deeply disappointed."

  "I guess that's the end of that plan," I said. "There's nothing more we can do. It's over." Willey and I went out on the back deck. We watched in silence as the boats ran up and down the river. Then, as the sun was setting, Willey's cell phone started ringing.

  Willey looked at the screen. Oh, oh . . . It's Chester." Willey said, "Yes, Chester, what's wrong? Huh? What! We'll be there after dark, bye"

  "Now what's Chester's problem?" I asked.

  "Chester's next door neighbor, Sarah--who now owns Mildred--just gave Chester a bag full of tomatoes."

  "What's wrong with that?"

  "She had to harvest her garden early because tomorrow morning a new sewer pipe is going to be installed to her house--and guess where the pipe is going to go?"

  "Oh no," I said.

  "Oh yes," Willey said. "It's going right through her garden." Yikes.

  After supper we watched TV until it got dark. Then we told Sofie we had to go see a sick friend. We left Sofie and Oscar watching television, got into the Wrangler and drove south to the park.

  "What are we going to do with Mildred after we dig her up?" I asked.

  Willey said, "I was thinking we could take her over the fence and bury her on the farm side of the fence, where she'd be safe."

  "If we're going to bury her on the farm side we'll need a hatchet. That place is all overgrown with bushes. It will be full of roots."

  "Maybe Chester will have a hatchet. We'll find out when we get there."

  We did the same routine of hiding the Wrangler, climbing over the fence and staying in the shadows.

  Chester was waiting for us. "I never expected anything like this to happen," he said. "What are we going to do now?"

  I said, "We were thinking we'd take Mildred over the fence and bury her on the farm, way back in the brush. Do you have a hatchet?" Chester just stared at me.

  "To cut the roots," I said. Chester went into his shed and came out with the two shovels and a hatchet. Willey and I each took a shovel, Chester had the hatchet. We went across the back yard to the garden. The lights were out in Sarah's house. Early to bed again. The garden was bare, Sarah had harvested all of her veggies. We started to dig in the garden while Chester held a pen light. This time we weren't careful about where we threw the dirt. We just piled it up in the naked garden. Soon we hit the coffin with a thunk. Willey and I got on our hands and knees and removed the dirt from around the coffin with our hands.

  Then we grabbed the lip where the coffin bottom met the lid, and pulled. The coffin came up easily and we set it down on the grass. Then we went to work filling the hole back up. When we ran out of dirt the hole still wasn't full.

  "Chester," Willey said. "Did you save the leftover dirt from the last time?"

  "It's in the shed," Chester said. "I'll go get it." He went off across the yard. Soon he was back carrying the tarp full of dirt. He poured it from the tarp into the hole. It leveled off nicely. Willey and I picked up the coffin, Chester followed with the shovels, the hatchet, and the empty tarp. We went off behind the houses, staying in the shadows and heading for the fence.

  A car rolled by with its headlights on just as we were crossing an open space between the houses. We were caught in the headlights. We froze until it passed.

  "I hope they didn't see us, "Willey said.

  I said, "Just keep moving."

  When we reached the fence we put the coffin down. Willey went over the fence first. Then Chester and I lifted the coffin and I sat my end on top of the fence. I climbed over to the other side and we eased Mildred over. Then Chester climbed over and we carried Mildred around for a while, looking for a patch of bare ground.

  "This looks like a good place," I said, as we came to a small clearing. We put the coffin down and tried to dig, but the shovels only went a few inches deep. The roots were strong. We jumped on our shovels and they went a few inches deeper into the ground. We went on jumping and digging through
the network of roots until we came to a root that was too thick to be cut with a shovel. Chester got on his hands and knees and used the hatchet.

  It was a hot night and the mosquitoes were out for blood. Soon we were covered with sweat. We kept on jumping, and digging, and chopping for a half-hour. We were only down two feet. The coffin was twelve inches deep. That would leave the coffin covered with only one foot of dirt. I figured if we went on digging for another half-hour, we would have to use the hole to bury one of us.

  "That's enough," Willey said. We looked at Chester, he nodded in agreement. We lowered Mildred into the hole and shoveled the dirt in as fast as we could. We were desperate to get away from the mosquitoes. We filled the hole and threw the extra dirt into the bushes. Finally we were finished. We walked Chester back to the fence and helped him over. We handed him the shovels, and the tarp, and the hatchet. Then we said goodnight and Chester thanked us for helping him. We headed slowly back to the Wrangler. We were so tired we didn't even slap at the mosquitoes. We found the Wrangler and drove through the bushes to the road, with the headlights off. When we hit the road I turned the headlights on, and we drove off towards Sofie's house.

  "Willey," I said. "If you make me dig one more hole you'll be in it."

  "I'll gladly throw myself in," Willey said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  WE WERE EATING breakfast when Willey's phone rang. "Hello," Willey said. "Oh, hi Chester, what's wrong now? What! Oh my God, how is she? How did it happen?" I put my fork down. I couldn't eat another bite.

  "Will she be alright" Willie asked. I knew it was Mary he was talking about. Something had happened to Mary. I knew it was too dangerous for her to go on TV with the Indian Burial Ground hoax.

  "What hospital is she in?" Willey asked. "Holy Family, right. Thanks for letting me know, Chester. Yes . . . yes. Okay, goodbye."

  Willey's face was ashen. I was prepared for the worst.

  "Mary was shot last night," Willey said. "Chester said he heard a lot of gunshots about three in the morning. Then the place was flooded with police and emergency people. They took Mary out in an ambulance at full speed, sirens blaring. I was already headed for the door. Willey was right behind me.