The truck made a slow turn down Capital
Street, as if the driver was looking for something. Just an old green Chevy step-side
pickup, which had the fender wells on the outside of the truck bed. An
unimportant detail unless you’re a car guy, but some details become more important
when a crime is involved. As a retired detective from a major metropolitan
city, I was attuned to picking out details even in my small-adopted town.
It was a quiet Thursday morning, but that
would soon change. Lunch time neared, which brought heavy traffic to the many
fast food restaurants on Capital. The park would be filled with joggers and
people stealing away for a few minutes of sanity from a hectic work life.
People lived more stressful lives these days and welcomed a time to let their
guard down, lunch was one of these opportunities.
I made my rounds to the local downtown businesses
dropping off the free weekly Triton
newspaper. I didn’t earn much, but it occupied a little of my retirement
free time. The extra money came in handy, but it was more about keeping busy. I
always made sure I completed my deliveries before the lunch hour, then I could
sit in the park and people watch. Not an exciting life, but interesting,
because people are interesting.
On this morning, as I walked to my usual
spot in the park I again noticed the green pickup as it drove down Capital Street.
This time the bed was full. A tarp held down the load with bungee straps. Normally the sight of a loaded pickup rarely
drew attention or caused concern, this
being a blue-collar town, but there was something different today.
This time I noticed the driver, of Middle
Eastern decent, with a full beard, as one might expect. There was a passenger
too, a black man, African American or whatever they go by now. Immediately, my
suspicions surfaced, but should they? My police background reinforced by the
nightly news was the cause. The news survives by promoting fear. The truck
slowed and finally stopped in front of a multi story office building, Capital
Insurance, employing about
300 workers.
It couldn’t be ignored, especially this
time of year with all the holiday shoppers out and about. I called the police to report a suspicious
truck.
The
police responded quickly. Many spectators watched from afar. I felt I had done
the smart thing, but it didn’t feel right. The police talked with the driver
for about fifteen minutes, then a tow truck appeared, hooked up the old truck
and dragged it away. By now there were three squad cars. The two suspects got
in one of the police cars and were driven away.
What was going on? Did I divert an impending
disaster? Just then a cop pulled over to the crowd. Questions flew at him
like pellets in an ice storm.
“What’s going on?”
“Who are those
people?”
“Are we in danger?”
The cop held up his hands to quiet the
crowd, then said. “Everything is under control. We were just checking into some
suspicious behavior. I can’t say anything more at this time.”
“Seems like that’s always your response.” Someone
yelled from the crowd.
“Yeah!” others said in agreement.
“Look, if you want to know more come over
to the Brantley’s high school auditorium on Friday night at 6:00 pm. We should
have more information at that time.” The cop stated.
* * *
Friday night came quickly. In the meantime
the town buzzed with rumors about the green truck and the occupants. The
parking lot was full that night when I arrived. Seemed like everyone wanted to
know what impending danger lay ahead.
The crowd sat anxiously awaiting for the police to explain. The Chief of
Police walked out to address the crowd.
“This is a highly unusual situation, which
is easier to understand if I show you this,” as he pulled back a curtain to
display a mountain of toys.
The Chief went on to explain. “The two men
we picked up the other day, both Muslims, have been collecting and repairing
toys to distribute to poor children of this town for the Christmas holiday.
It’s not their religious holiday, but they knew most of the people in this town
were Christian and they wanted to do something for the children.” The Chief
paused. “But there’s a problem . . . their truck broke down and they can’t
complete their Christmas wish. If anyone’s able to help, please see Ahmed or
Abdul after the meeting.”
A
shamed silence struck the crowd and a line immediately formed in front of the
two Muslims to sign up to help. That day I learned some details can lead you in
the wrong direction.
I still deliver the local paper, but when
I’m finished I skip the park and instead go to Ahmed and Abdul’s Coffee and Tea
House in an unfamiliar part of town. The back of their shop has a room filled
with broken toys in need of repair. Toys for the poor kids bring us together and
our worlds grow closer.
