The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Thirty-Three
Megaphones and a Pirate Angel
Another
day, another annoyance.
This time the annoyance was Wood. He
stepped from the bathroom ready to start fresh. The men ignored him
as he straightened the new blue wool skirt and matching sweater set.
They ignored him when he adjusted the strap to the beautiful patent
leather pumps, though BonBon threw a jealous look his way.
But
what came next was hard to ignore.
“Good Morning, my good
people! How are we doing this fine morning? Are we ready to get back
to work? We’ve been a bit lack-a-lackadaisical here lately.”
The director had a new megaphone and was proudly shouting out
to the Room.
“Non! Non! Non! Aucun pas le mégaphone
encore!” The Frenchman screamed, pulling at his hair.
Wood
remembered the last incident with the Parisian who had demolished his
precious megaphone. He covered the few feet between him and Sands,
hoping that the agent could keep the crazed man at bay.
Just
as he predicted the man came rushing over, still screaming about an
unfortunate accident with a megaphone and a woman named Carrie.
The
Frenchman pounded across the floor, arms waving wildly, carrying on
in his native tongue.
Wood stepped behind Sands, fearing for
his life. Sands tilted his head back to the director, listening to
his heavy breathing, at the same time honing in on the approaching
footsteps of Wood’s soon-to-attacker.
“Pare allí a
mi amigo,” Sand told the Frenchman to stop as he pulled out his
gun.
The man did not speak Spanish, but the gun’s language
was universal. He froze in his tracks.
“Now,” Sands
began, “Sit down my friend and we will get to the bottom of this
megaphone crap. I can’t be having you jumping Wood’s bones every
time he pulls that annoying thing out.”
Sands leaned back, to
make sure Wood could hear him, “No matter how much I want to shove
it down his throat myself.”
Wood hid the megaphone behind
his back out of Sands range. Wood reminded himself that Sands had an
uncanny way of seeing things, despite his blindness.
“Back
to you amigo.” the agent brought his attention back to the man
seated across from him. “Spill the beans…let it out…and then we
drop it, okay? No more attacking the underdogs. Entienda?”
From across the Room, the Earl attempted to translate,
telling him what it was the CIA agent wanted.
The Frenchman
nodded and began his story. However it was in French and shortly into
his tale Sands waved at him to stop.
“This is getting us
f--king nowhere.”
“”Perhaps I can help?” To the
Room’s surprise it was Sparrow. He sauntered over to the table,
drink in hand, and stood next to the seated Frenchman. He placed his
free hand on his shoulder, giving it a pat and proceeded with his own
story.
“Ye see m’friends…I was there me-self that
‘orrible day. Landlocked I be. But she was well worth it I tell ye.
Me angel…that beautiful singing angel…Carrie.”
Sparrow
waved his hand through the air, a dreamy looked glazed his eyes.
“So, don’t just stand there with your thumb up your
hole,” Sands demanded, “Tell the damn story or move on.” The
agent waved his gun.
The pirate narrowed his eyes at Sands,
agitated by his rude remarks. He would tell the story of Carrie, his
singing pirate. But in his own words, in his own time.
“Another
drink, barkeep!” He yelled and turned towards the bar. Yes, Sparrow
thought, let them wait. Let them wait to hear the story. He glanced
up towards the bookcase where he had carved her name next to Megan
and Sammy.
He remembered that day…remembered it clearly.
The day Carrie ended up on the wrong end of a megaphone.