Site menu:


The Waiting Room

~ Chapter Twenty

Mashed Potatoes, Anyone?

Example content image

Lunch!” Raoul Duke shouted. “Damn it all to hell, Sam! Where the f--k is lunch? Can’t get a decent day’s work out of that boy!” The gonzo journalist lit another cigarette, despite that his last one still smoldered in the ashtray.

Brasco reached over and took Duke’s old one, putting it to his mustached lips and sucking hard.

“What the hell? When you’d get back?” Duke shot the question at the New York detective.

Brasco shrugged, “Don’t know. Don’t remember much of anything really, except they killed old Sonny.”

“Oh s--t, sorry to hear that,” Duke consoled his friend, taking off his hat in respect, revealing a shiny, bald head. “So sorry. Wait…who the hell was Sonny?”

Brasco sighed. “The guy that got me into The Family. But when the mob found out I was an undercover cop, they put a hit on him. He wasn’t that bad a guy, ya know? A sad little man, but good just the same.”

“A drink then, to your dead friend.” Duke raised a glass. The men gathered at the table raised their glasses in a final salute to Sonny.

Just then the kitchen door flew open and Sam rolled out on the lunch cart.

“Ah, lunch! Finally got your s--t together boy, I see,” Duke yelled. “Let’s see what you rustled up today.”

Sam bowed, flipping his hat down to his hand, then rolled it back up his arm to his head.

With flourish he removed the lid to the large metal container…to reveal…

“Potatoes?” came voices in unison.

“Yes” Sam answered. “Mashed potatoes, anyone?” He twirled around in a circle, holding the server spoon in one hand, an empty bowl in the other.

“But please note, “ he continued as he dipped into one of the two rather large mounds of spuds, “that these are not just any mashed potatoes. No! These are a special recipe by none other than Elaina. Please, won’t you all try at least a taste? She calls them The Two Towers of Spuds.” Sam plopped a helping into a bowl and held it out for anyone to take.

“Ah, what the hell?” Duke said taking the bowl. “I’m hungry enough to eat my own leg right now.” He shoveled a forkful into his mouth. “Hey, these aren’t half bad. Compliments to the chef! Hey, everyone, give Sam’s f--king potatoes a try!” Duke yelled to the Room as he made his way back to his table.

“No, no, not my potatoes,” Sam tried to politely correct the journalist. But he was already out of hearing range. Sam looked sadly down at the cart. “They’re not my potatoes, they’re Elaina’s” But his attention to details was side-tracked as others lined up to get their share of the spuds and soon his cart was empty.


Next Chapter