The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Fifteen
Lady Covington's Chair
“We have a problem.”
Mort
looked up from the computer screen on which he had only typed a
thousand x’s.
He found the accountant-turned-gunslinger William
Blake standing next to him, looking like a bear inside the oversized
fuzzy coat.
“Why did they always come to him” Mort
thought. They treated him like he was the almighty problem-solver.
“Why should I care if there’s a problem? Look at
this
place. Look at them.” Mort pointed around the room.
“This whole
f--king place is a problem. What’s one more?”
“Well,”
Blake continued, ignoring Mort’s implication that he just
didn’t
give a rat’s ass about Blake and his problem. “The
numbers don’t
add up.”
Mort shook his head, indicating he didn’t
understand.
“What numbers? What in the hell are you talking
about?”
But before Blake could answer, an altercation on the
other side of the room was coming into play.
“You cannot
take this chair when you go.” Roux said, pulling the
upholstered
chair towards him, away from Cesar. Cesar in turn, dragged it back in
his direction.
“I am taking it. It is for me and the Lady
Covington. You cannot stop me.”
“Lady Covington?
Elizabeth?” Roux’s face filled with shock.
“No, you cannot be
speaking of her. She is my girl and you will not be taking this chair
with you. I will not allow it!” Roux yanked the chair back
towards
him.
“Your girl? Ha! She may be your girl now, Roux, but
when I get out of here, she will be my woman!” The chair
scraped
the floor as Cesar reclaimed it.
Roux pulled harder on the
chair, causing Cesar to stumble a bit before he gained his footing.
“I know what you do with chairs Cesar,” Roux
sneered, “and my
girl is above such debauchery!”
Once again Cesar attempted
to regain ownership of the chair but this time Roux kept a grip on
it. The chair legs dug into the wood floor as it was tugged on
between the two men.
Then came the sound of two guns being
cocked. Both Roux and Cesar froze, remembering the domino effect of
the earlier gun circle. Slowly they both turned to look behind them.
There at his table sat Sands; a loaded weapon in each hand, each
weapon pointed at each man.
Roux and Cesar glanced at one
another and as if on cue, each took one step away from the chair, a
smile on their faces as they thought they had outfoxed the CIA agent.
But to their horror, Sands kept the weapons level with them. As they
each stepped back, Sands followed them.
“How did he do
that?” Roux wondered. They each took another step back.
Again,
Sands, who tilted his head ever so slightly, followed in suit.
“Balance, gentleman. Let us keep the room balanced. Now, if
I hear any more bitching about the f--king chair I will have Senor
Raisin torch the damn thing, capeech? Hey Raisin, you’re
still good
at torching things, right?”
Roux and Cesar looked to the
young man who was checking under the couch.
It took Gilbert a
second to realize Sands was talking to him.
“Uhmm, yeah, I
can take care of the chair for you.” He got up, wiping the
floor
dirt from his hands. Jesus, Grape thought, you set one house on fire
and you never live it down.
The two men looked back to Sands.
“Now get the f--k away . I’m trying to eat
lunch.” He
gestured with the guns for Roux and Cesar to move away from not only
each other, but him. They begrudgingly obliged.
A sigh of
relief filled the room, including Mort who tried to get back to his
computer, but was interrupted by a small cough as Blake reminded him
he was still standing there.
“What the hell is wrong now?”
Mort snapped.
“I repeat, the numbers don’t add up.”
“What numbers?” Mort was getting annoyed by the
gunslinger.
“The head count. The head count of the room.
Two of us are missing.”