Her Name Is America

Sabah was up to his room and back down again in less than five minutes. He walked through the lobby a final time, but now with his suitcase in his hand. This was the visual cue that said the mystery guest was leaving. This was what made the old man speak up. The old man was one of them, usually sitting in the room's only rocking chair. He was a seventy-year-old black man with white hair. He wore suspenders and his pants were hiked up nearly to his chest. Sabah had noticed that he usually sat alone, smoking his filter-tipped cigars, minding his own business.
“Hey, young man,” he called.
Sabah turned, startled that he'd been spoken to. He'd been here four days. Though he'd offered smiles and greetings in passing everyone, this was the first word anyone had spoken to him.
“Yes sir?” Sabah said, stopping in his tracks
“Com ‘ere a second. I wanna ask you somethin’.”
Sabah stepped closer.
“You see that guy over there?”
The old man was pointing to another lobby regular. Sabah had seen him before. It was the black guy with the unusual blue suit and chrome rimmed sunglasses. He was wearing a lime green suit today.
“Yes, sir, I see him,” Sabah said.
“That guy and I have a bet. You know what a bet is?”
“I know what it is, yes,” Sabah said.
“That guy bet me that you work for the Mexican mafia.” The old man paused and looked Sabah squarely in the eye. Sabah had no idea what he meant or was referring to. He just knew that the old man's face was unflinching, almost paralyzed with seriousness.
Sabah said nothing. The old man continued. “Fact is, he says you're some big dude with them. But I don't think so. No, sir, I said. I told him you're a cop. Now, you tell me, who's right?”
A cop? The old man had to be kidding. And what was a Mexican mafia? He was either joking or drunk or something. Sabah didn't have time to figure it out.
“I'm a hairdresser,” Sabah said.
“A what?”
“A hairdresser.”
Now it was the old man's turn to wonder about Sabah, and in precisely the same way. Was this nutcase pulling his leg? For a moment the old man felt insulted, as if he were the victim of some practical joke or prank. But the earnestness that was Sabah's hallmark finally seeped its way through the old man's hard stare. In an instant, the old man realized that this weird, well-dressed, friendly youngster was telling the truth.
The old man let out a laugh that shook the entire lobby. Everyone in the room had already turned the moment he'd called Sabah over. If their interest had waned at all, the whole room immediately snapped back to attention. The laughter was so abrupt and wild they thought the old man might be choking or having a stroke.