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The Waiting Room

~ Chapter Seventy-Four


Secured Weapons, Secured Letter


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Do we do this again or are you going to tell me where me letter and weapons have gotten to?” Sparrow asked, twirling the red, shiny pepper in his hand.

Ichabod stood, the empty milk bottle in his hand, his breathing labored from the heat of the peppers.

“I can whole-heartedly assure you Captain, I do not have the faintest idea as to where your belongings are being held. I admit, I took them, but that was all. I had to enforce the law, obey my superiors. That is all I did.” Crane carefully sat the bottle to the counter, taking one of the dish towels and wiped at his mouth, his eyes still tearing from the pain of the peppers.

Sparrow flipped the bright red pepper behind him, back into the packing box. “Very well. Let’s say I believe ye. That ye not know where the letter and weapons be. But ye must know who has secured them? Ye can give me that name, can’t ye?” Jack took a few swaggered steps towards the constable, waiting for an answer.

“Please, Captain, no closer,” Ichabod held out a warning hand. “I have had enough of your torture and I must insist you cease and desist. I am warning you. Another step and I most certainly have to have you arrested.”

Jack rolled his eyes as he stopped in his tracks. He then looked to his left, then made a half circle to look to his right, then brought his attention back to Crane.

“And where pray tell, dear constable, where will ye be putting me once ye have me in chains? Go ahead,” the pirate held out his hands, insisting Crane arrest him. “Lock me in irons. Then what? Make me sit on Rainey’s couch? Make me wear that bloody bathrobe of his?”

Sparrow brought a hand up, his index finger tapping his lips. “No…no…wait…got a better plan. Send me t’bed without supper. Aye, that be it! Send me to Master Lantz’s bed…get all swallowed up…only to show up at the door again. Now that be a proper punishment, wouldn’t ye be saying?”

“Or will ye be making me go sit next to that space monkey, Armacost? Make me listen to all that gibberish he claims be Emily…tis be worse than a Chinese water torture!”

“Captain, can we not fight about this anymore?” Sam quietly asked. The timid question made the pirate look over at the self-appointed cook.

“I not be fighting, young Samuel,” the pirate said, watching as Sam proceeded to divide the peppers by size. “I just be asking fair questions of the officer. If he has designs to arrest me, then where does he bloody ‘ell plan to do with me? All I want are me effects. Whoever it be, had no right to take them.”

Jack turned back to find himself facing an empty space. Crane had disappeared again.

“Will that man stop moving about!” Sparrow bellowed. “He moves about like a bloody ghost!” Once again the pirate caught the kitchen door’s movement as it settled.

Jack marched to the door, reaching out, ready to slam it open but halted when Sam called out to him.

“Captain?” Sam called quietly. With his hand paused on the door, Jack turned his head to bring Sam into view. Sam continued. “Go gentle on the constable. He’s only doing his job.”

The pirate grunted as he shoved himself inside The Room. He immediately located Crane sitting at the far table. Standing behind the New York officer was Brasco and Lt. Victor, their guns in plain view.

But the threat of their weapons did not deter the pirate. He began the trek across The Room, to question Crane on the location of his letter, his sword, his pistol. He took but a few steps when he stopped dead still. From the corner of his eye something gleamed in the overhead lights. He let his eyes move slowly to his left without moving his head until he brought the item in sight. It lay there on the table nearest the kitchen door.

His sword! Next to it lay the pistol. It was as if they were waiting for his arrival, waiting for him like sacrificial offerings.

Sparrow let his body follow his eyes until he faced the table. He rushed over to reclaim them but as he reached out to lay his hands upon them he found himself staring down the barrel of an ominous weapon.

Sands" weapon.

In his haste to own his weapons again he failed to see the agent, dressed in black, hiding in the shadows.

“A moment of your time, pirate.” Sands said. Despite his blindness, Jack knew the agent’s capabilities. It was if he had developed a sixth sense after the loss of his eyes. Jack straightened slowly.

“These be me weapons. Ye got no claim to them.” Sparrow informed Sands.

“Oh, but see, that’s where you’re wrong, Sparrow…oh, excuse my rudeness…Captain Sparrow. You are quite unpredictable and dangerous, I might add, at certain times. Quite a temper you have. So it was within my duties to disarm a dangerous criminal. Best thing I did too, by the way I hear it, you weren’t exactly mannerly towards Constable Crane. Seems your hot temper gave the constable a hot mouth. Tsk, tsk…not playing nice are we?”

“There’d been no need for the assault if ye not taken me letter.” Sparrow sneered.

“Ah, the letter. Quite a dilemma that one is. Just trust me, Captain. It’s for the best of all involved. Let’s just say, what happened in Mexico, should stay in Mexico. Now, you can take the weapons, but you have to promise me that there will be no hanky-panky with them.”

Sands waited, tilting his head slightly to listening for the pirate’s response.

“I don’t hear your answer,” the agent said.

Sparrow mulled over the agent’s request. It was better to agree, for to not to meant he would not get back the sword or pistol.

“We have an accord. But what about me letter?”

Sands sat back into his chair, releasing the hammer on his gun and shoving it back into his holster.

“Oh, let’s just say the letter for now is under tight--ss security. I don’t think even you can crack open the safe that it’s in.” Sands let himself laugh at his own private joke.

Jack gathered the sword and pistol, his eyes narrowed at Sands until he decided to go to the bar and try to get his fill of the day’s rum. The letter, he surmised would have to wait.

Meanwhile, DeMarco watched as BonBon left the bathroom and crossed the room. He noticed that the lady had a different spring to her step. He wondered if her thong was bothering her.

He then concluded it was as she carefully attempted to adjust herself before sitting down.

But what DeMarco could not know was that it was not her underwear that was bothering the lady.



 

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