The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Sixty-Five
The Escape
Mort
mumbled to himself, cursing the gypsy, the Frenchman, the Spaniard,
the pirate, anyone that came to mind. They all got a piece of his
mind, even if it was in his head.
He glanced at the screen.
The cursor continued to flash, reminding him that he had yet to write
one single word.
His thoughts were disrupted as the kitchen
door swung open and Sam entered, pushing the cart containing dinner.
Mort watched as the assigned cook removed the lids and
revealed…mashed potatoes…again.
Rainey moaned then
shouted, “Can’t you make anything else besides the damn
potatoes?”
Sam looked to Mort but only made raised his hands in
a defeated gesture.
“I can only make what I have to cook with.
Today it was potatoes.”
“Hey!” Duke cried as he spat a
mouthful of spuds back onto his plate. “These taste different!
They’re …they’re…they’re kind of plain, my man. What gives?”
“Again,” Sam answered. “Have to use what I have. The
secret ingredient wasn’t available. No deliveries today. Don’t
know what’s happened to Hannah…” Sam clamped his hand to his
mouth. He let the secret out.
“Hannah? Hannah?” Officer
Hanson interjected. “Isn’t she the Banana Girl?” The undercover
cop looked down at his pile of potatoes, not sure he wanted to eat
them. But then again, he had eaten them with the fruit. Why should he
be upset that they were plain? He shrugged and shoveled in a
mouthful. Hanson gagged it down. Duke was right, they weren’t the
same.
Crane brought his own plate of cooked tubers to his
nose, giving a sniff before setting it down on the nearest table.
Sands heard the plate hit the table and reached out for it, trying
not to draw attention as he pulled the dish towards him. He didn’t
give a s--t if they had no bananas, he was f--king starving.
“Perhaps, dear Sam,” the constable began as he stepped
away from Sands, fully aware the agent had stolen his potatoes.
“Perhaps I can join you in the kitchen and together we can create a
better dish. What do you say?”
“I’d appreciate that,
Constable Crane. I’ll show you what I have. Please, be my guest,”
Sam bowed, hat in hand, gesturing towards the kitchen. Crane returned
the bow and headed for the door with Sam right behind him. Together
they disappeared behind the swinging kitchen door.
The Room
had grown silent and so all jumped when pounding came on the door.
Blake did a visually sweep of the Room and except for Sam and
Crane all were present and accounted for.
A second round of
knocking broke their concentration as all wondered who it could be.
“Will someone ask who it is? Or invite them in?” Wood
shouted through his megaphone. He gave a start when he saw Frenchy
looking in his direction.
“Oh, hell with it,” the director
said and stomped over to the door, his thick three-inch heels
clunking on the wood floor. He placed his hands on his hips,
accentuated by the flowing pleated plaid skirt.
“Who is it?
And do you wish to come in?”
“Noodlemantra,” came the
answer. “And yes, I would like permission to come in. May I?”
“Certainly, certainly,” Wood assured him then watched as
the doorknob turned with ease.
“Me chance!” Sparrow
thought and sprinted from the bar rushing the door as it slowly
opened. Noodlemantra was attempting to push the book cart through his
hand flat against the door to keep it open.
He felt the
weight of the door lift from his hand as the pirate grabbed the edge,
throwing it wider. Jack shouldered himself against the book deliverer
and in two quick steps was out the door. The room watched with a
mixture of horror and shock as the door slammed behind him.
Noodlemantra looked confused then shook his head as he realized what
had just happened.
“No! No! He wasn’t supposed to do that!
He doesn’t know what could happen! He already has created chaos.
What does he think he is doing?”
A scream came from the
bedroom.
Mort checked his watch. That kid in the bed again, he
thought. That Lantz kid will never learn to keep away from the bed.
But Mort knitted his brow when he saw that it was an hour too early.
Then why was he screaming? The bedroom door flew open and
Glen Lantz came running out pointing back to the bedroom.
“What
the hell’s going on in there? Scared the s--t out of me! That ain’t
right, I tell you!” the kid from Elm Street was shouting as he tried
to flee to the other side of the room.
Brasco and Blake ran
to the bedroom door, guns drawn. Whatever or whoever it was, they did
not want any surprises.
“Jesus!” Brasco cried as the
Italian cop crossed himself. Blake released the hammer on his gun,
safely keeping it pointed to the ceiling, not believing what he was
seeing.
Just like behind Mort’s computer the men tried to
gather closer to the door, each trying to get a glimpse of what was
going on inside the bedroom.
There, crawling out of the
center of the bed was the pirate, hat in hand as he heaved himself
out onto the mattress. He had cleared himself up to his waist when he
became aware he was the center of attention.
“Is anyone
going to bloody help me?” he shouted at them. No one moved. “Didn’t
think so,” he grumbled as he continued to squirm from the bed.
With one last pull he freed himself and laid exhausted on
across the bed. Sparrow glared at the men as he tried to regain his
breath and strength.
“Idiots,” he groused. The crowd
parted as Noodlemantra elbowed his way past the men into the room,
stepping over to the bed.
Without lifting his head Jack
looked up at O.N. and raised his hand towards the man.
“Giving
a mate a hand are ye, friend?”
Instead of a helping hand
O.N. stuffed papers into the opened palm of the pirate.
“No,
Captain. I am here to deliver these back to you. And may I suggest
not pulling a stunt like that again?”
Sparrow watched as
O.N. turned sharply on his heel and marched from the bedroom, the men
stepping aside, clearing a path for him.
“Bloody ‘ell I
won’t,” Jack promised, then realized what he had in his hands.
Noodlemantra had delivered back his letters.