The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Fifty-Five
Secret Ingredients, Secret Letters, Secret Doors
Mort
woke with a start from the couch. He sat up, fumbling for his glasses
that had fallen from his face. Funny, he did not remember falling
asleep. He let the thought go as he realized there was no rhyme or
reason in The Room.
And there was the proof.
Sitting
on his desk was a new laptop computer. He rose and shuffled his way
across the room, flopping down in the leather chair, swiveling back
and forth as he looked at the new electronic.
He quickly
leaned forward, pounding a key to bring the screen to life, jumping
back into the chair as if fearing it would explode. The thought made
him look in the direction of the table next to the kitchen. From out
of the swinging doors, Sands felt his way and eased himself into the
nearest chair.
Mort curled his body over the arm of his
chair, giving himself a view of the table’s underside and confirmed
that Sands had no hidden weapon. Mort sprang back up before anyone
could notice what he had done.
“I’m going to write
today,” Mort told himself. “I am just going to totally write
today.”
He pulled the chair closer and began to type the
first thing that came into his head.
“I am stuck in a room
full of Johnny Depp wanna-be idiots.”
No, he thought,
highlighting the line and hitting the delete key.
It was going to
be another long, unproductive day.
Sparrow, in the meantime,
woke to find himself huddled in a corner behind the bar, the unopened
envelopes held protectively in his hands. He had feared that if
others had discovered the letters they would find a way to destroy
them. He had feared even reading them, afraid that he would be too
absorbed in them and someone would sneak up and snatch them away. He
would have to hide them, but where?
The kitchen he thought.
Sam would help him. He always did.
He pulled himself up and
looked about, finding the room filling with familiar faces.
How
did he get to be so paranoid?
He made his way past Sands.
“Not gonna try to get on the computer today, pirate?” Sands
smirked.
Sparrow fingered the handle of his French-made pistol,
then thought better of it. He did not want to waste his bullet on the
arrogant agent. He slipped into the kitchen.
The bright light
of the kitchen was always such a contrast from the dark wood paneling
of the Room. Sparrow squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Across
the way was Sam with his back to the door as he stirred a steaming
pot on the stove, unaware anyone had entered.
As he walked
silently towards Sam, Jack noticed a new painting above the kitchen
sink. Another rainbow arching over a field of Dutch Irises. The
bottom corner simply signed ‘Sam’.
The smell of the
cooking dish filled Jack’s senses as he drew closer. He could
detect spices. the adobo, cumin, cloves, garlic, drifting and his
mouth began to water, wanting to taste test the new dish. Jack knew
it had to be an untried recipe as he noticed the new cookbook propped
open on the counter. He chanced a glance and saw it was the one
delivered yesterday, the Chipotle Restaurant cookbook. The Captain
wondered why Sam did not have a Casa Blanca one. He would have to
remember to ask.
“What do you need, Captain?” Sam
asked without turning around. Sparrow bolted upright from the
cookbook. How did he know? The boy seemed to have eyes in the back of
his head sometimes.
Jack became casual in his approach. “Now
that ye be asking me, a favor if ye please, dear lad. Seems the
Captain be asking many favors of ye, have I not?”
Sam took
a moment from stirring his pot and shrugged. “I don’t mind,
Captain. I know you would help me if I need it, right?”
Jack
raised an eyebrow and gave a tilt of his head before answering.
“Aye,” he said cautiously. “Aye, Sam, I be willing to help ye
if ye so desire.”
“Here,” Sam offered a spoonful from
the pot. “Try it. Tell me what you think.”
The pirate
narrowed his eyes at the offering before widening his mouth. Jack
sucked in air as the heat of the dish burnt as well as the spicy
flavors that burst upon his tongue. But he could not quite tell the
meat…not chicken, not beef, not pork.
“Quite a treat. May
I inquire as to what it is called?”
“Barbaco,” Sam
answered with an approving nod. “New recipe,” he added, pointing
to the cookbook.
“Aye, I see, young lad. But tell me, can’t
quite put me finger on the foundation of your creation. Don’t think
I be ever tasted this meat before. What be it, if I can be so bold?”
Sam looked about. Jack did the same, though not knowing what he
was looking for or for whom.
“Are ye keeping a sharp eye out
for someone?” Jack asked.
Sam huddled near to Jack and the
pirate lowered his head to listen.
“Secret ingredient.”
Sam whispered. Jack rolled his eyes as well as his body.
“Bloody
‘ell. Not bananas. Doesn’t that Hannah have anything else to
send?”
Sam shushed him. “No, Captain. Not bananas.” He
gave another glance to the door. Jack followed his eyes then came
back to Sam.
“It comes from New Jersey.” Sam shared.
Jack scrunched his face. What bloody animal came from New Jersey
that Sam would be putting in the pot besides regular farm animals?
“Muskrat.” Sam admitted. “But don’t tell them. I
don’t think they would try it if they knew.”
Sparrow
nodded. As a pirate he had eaten many things aboard and abroad.
Muskrat would not make a difference on his dinner table. But he knew
someone who would be quite perturbed to find that he was eating a
swampland creature.
Aye, Jack thought to himself. He could
only imagine what reaction Mort Rainey would have at learning the
main ingredient of his meal. Jack smiled to himself.
But that
would have to wait. Right now he had another pressing matter.
He
pulled the envelopes from his shirt.
“Sam, did ye think ye
can find a safe place for me effects? They be quite precious and I
not be wanting to lose them before I get a chance to read them.”
Sam nodded as he took the envelopes.
“Sure, Captain.
I can put them somewhere safe.”
Jack watched as Sam walked
to the banana closet. Oh no, not there, he thought. Anywhere but
among the bananas, lad. But instead of opening the closet, to his
surprise Sam pushed the cabinet from the wall to reveal a door.
It
was the door to the basement and without so much as a pause, he
turned the doorknob, opened the door and headed down the stairs.