The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Forty-Nine
Who Pulled the Trigger?
All
eyes were on Ichabod as he crossed The Room and stopped at the table
nearest the kitchen. Sands held up his weapon, showering the table
with bullets.
“I think, Inspector, you will find all is in
order. I wish to prove myself that I am not always an ass-hole.”
Ichabod raised an eyebrow as he caught one of the bullets
before it rolled to the floor.
The Inspector held the bullet up
between two fingers, point to cap, looking for the name brand,
Nessler. They all waited for him to say the word aloud...Nessler.
“Tomahawk,” Crane said, placing the bullet back to the
table. “I am afraid gentlemen...and lady,” he bowed towards
BonBon, “that Agent Sands has cleared his name. He is not
responsible for the attack on Mr. Rainey’s computer. I thank you
Agent Sands, for your cooperation.”
The Inspector turned to
face the crowded room.
“Who wishes to volunteer next? Come,
come. Make it easy on yourself.”
Brasco was next, handing
over his service revolver and a Saturday night special he kept
strapped to his ankle. Again, none of them matched the Nessler brand.
Crane’s gaze scanned the Room, waiting for another to step
forward.
Captain Sparrow moseyed over to the detective
holding up his French flintlock pistol.
“I’d like to clear me
own name...though it is clear that I was not the one to fire. After
all, I lost every chance I had to getting to talk to me ladies.” He
presented Ichabod with the pistol.
“I do not feel that your
offer is necessary, Captain. After all, your weapon can not
accommodate the type of bullet we are looking for.”
“So
be it,” Sparrow snipped, “Didn’t hurt to offer, ye know? Clear
me fine name and all.” He returned to the bar and asked the younger
Jack for another rum.
One by one the men came forward,
bringing their guns for Crane to inspect. One by one each were
cleared. All but one. George Jung still had not offered his weapon.
Crane waited for the drug king to volunteer and clear all
doubt that he was responsible.
“I must remind you Mr. Jung,
by not allowing an inspection of your weapon or the bullets you will
be considered guilty by circumstance. Since all others have been
cleared and you have failed to show positive proof we all must come
to the conclusion you were the one to fire the fatal shot into Mr.
Rainey’s computer.”
“I didn’t do it,” Jung growled.
“And you got no authority to make me prove it. Why do I have to
prove my ass to anyone?”
Crane puffed out his chest, in an
attempt to give himself a more demanding figure.
“Because
dear man, if you are responsible then I will be required to relieve
you from your weapon. We can not have guns discharging off
willy-nilly. It could prove disastrous to all here. One of us could
get hurt.”
Crane held out his hand, waiting for Jung’s
gun.
Jung pulled his .38 special from his shoulder holster.
“I’m doing it, but let it be known, I think it’s
against my civil rights!” he scowled.
“Your protest is
duly noted, Mr. Jung.” Ichabod informed him as he took the gun.
The Inspector emptied the gun into his hand and inspected the
bullets. A look of confusion crossed his face as he held one up the
light. He began to shake his head as he re-loaded Jung’s gun.
“I
do not understand. These are not Nesslers. None of the bullets here
are Nesslers.”
“So, what you’re saying,” Mort tried
to understand, “ that none of these guns fired the bullet that
killed my pc? That’s not possible. It had to come from somewhere.”
“I agree, Mr. Rainey. But for now it is still a mystery. A
mystery that will take a period of time to solve.”
Disheartened,
Rainey flopped into his chair, grabbing the well-worn slinky and
nervously threw it back and forth, hand to hand. Sparrow ordered a
full bottle of rum and slinked to a corner, his own emotions in
turmoil as he realized that it could be days before he could reach
Jessi or the other girls.
As everyone began to fall back to
their own business at hand, no one noticed a black gloved hand,
reaching beneath a table where he sat, and fondled the gun that was
attached to the underside.
Sands smiled to himself.