The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Seventy-Nine
Evidence, Muffins, and Bears...Oh, My!
The
corn disappeared into the kitchen in the arms of Brasco and Armacost.
Sands followed as best he could, knocking his knee against a chair,
cursing at the idiot that had left it out in the middle of the room.
He found his seat at the table nearest the kitchen, taking in
the aroma of the chili that Sam had created with Jesse’s chili
peppers. He couldn’t wait to fill his mouth with the hot, spicy
concoction. The thought of it brought a smile to his lips…hot and
spicy…just like Jess.
But the thought of Jess reminded him
of the pirate and he tilted his head trying to locate Sparrow with
his finely tuned instinct-radar. He located him, just to his left,
drinking heavily at the bar. Sands figured he would be dead on the
floor before dinner arrived.
To satiate his own appetite he
drained the glass of Mexican beer he had left before he went in
search of the corn and wondered what Sam would create with the ears
that would compliment the chili. He would just have to wait.
Meanwhile Ichabod was busy, still trying to decipher the
mangled computer that had been demolished by one bullet. The same
bullet he now had placed carefully in the manila envelope. He had
decided he needed outside help with the major piece of evidence. In
the Room he was limited, but out there, now that he knew he had the
means to have it delivered, Crane would send it to a fellow
constable.
He picked up his quill pen and carefully wrote her
name hoping it would reach her.
Constable Hozro
Evidence
Room 222
New York City Police Dept.
The constable only
hoped she was still there and that she would accept it. He needed
help in solving the mystery of who had shot Mort Rainey’s computer.
But his thoughts darkened as he thought about coming closer to the
truth. What if he discovered the person responsible? Then what?
He
recalled Sparrow, offering his wrists to be slapped into irons,
defying him, asking him that once he had arrested him what was he
going to do with him. Crane had to give this much consideration,
after all, he was an officer of the law, sworn to uphold the codes as
they were written. But it was a little hard to do when one did not
have the facilities to secure the perpetrators that continued to
perform their crimes so blatantly.
Yes, he would have to give
it much thought, indeed.
Sam entered the room, his signature
cart loaded with a large pot still simmering with the mouth watering
chili. Quickly the men queued up, forming an orderly line waiting to
get their fair share of the tempting meal.
When he finished
he brought the last bowl over to Sands who waited anxiously, spoon in
hand. He listened as Sam set down the steaming dish before him and
the fragrance of the chili filled him. He felt as if he were Pavlov’s
dog, salivating for the treat before the bell rang. Then he caught a
new aroma. Corn.
He could tell Sam was waving the corn based
product just below his nose so he could savor the delicious aroma.
“Jesus, Sam. Freaking genius. Don’t know what you’ve
made, but I can tell, liking it already. Now come on, stop screwing
the pooch and tell me what it is,”
“Corn muffins, Agent
Sands. Piping out from the oven.” Sam removed Sands' glove and
placed the warm muffin in his waiting hand.
Sands stuffed a
bite in his mouth, unable to wait for the butter that would have made
it that much sweeter.
Perfection, Sands thought. This maniac
had made the perfect muffin. F--k, he hated doing this, but there had
to be balance. Sands thought it was his responsibility to have Sam
and his muffins honored for all eternity…a balancing of the
universe. Sam would never be able to repeat this faultless meal.
There wasn’t one thing wrong with it.
“Perfect, Sam,”
the agent commended. “No one will ever match this.” Sands hand
slid beneath the table, finding the weapon he had secured for
emergencies. It was his duty, he repeated. No one could blame him for
letting Sam go out in a blaze of glory.
But as he began to
slide the gun out from its hiding place an unusual noise assailed
the room. A banging upon the door, but it was not the hard knocks of
Noodlemantra. Neither was it a sound that would be equated with a
human hand. Whatever it was, was pushing hard against the door, with
might and brute strength, followed by a grunting sound.
The
door creaked and moaned against the weight that was pounding against
it. The men gathered together and in the excitement Sands felt that
Sam’s Perfect Moment had passed and returned the gun to its
holder.
“Someone answer the freaking door!” the agent
yelled.
“Come in!” Wood welcomed the newcomer though
some of the men were wary as to what was about to come through the
door. The pounding continued, the muffled sounds unfamiliar to them
as whoever, whatever cried beyond, but no one entered.
“Perhaps
we should open the door?” DeMarco suggested. All eyes turned to
him.
“You want the door open? You go open it,” Cry-Baby
Wade told him.
“Very well,” the Spaniard said, getting up
and crossing the Room. He stopped short as the pounding began again.
He stood still, waiting for a few moments and when there was silence
he reached out and turned the knob.
Instantly the men went
running into the far corners of the Room, some even escaping to what
they thought was the safety of the bedroom, slamming the door after
them.
The bear lumbered into the room on all fours, growling
and shaking its' mighty head, a powerful paw lashed out and knocked
one of the empty chairs to its' side. It then lunged upward, coming
to its' full height, filling the room with its' power and size.
Lt. Victor, Blake and Brasco had drawn their guns; Lt. Lerner
put the enormous creature in his sights, and both Jung and Duke
fumbled for their weapons that had been misplaced.
But it was
Barrie who stepped forward, putting himself in danger, within swiping
distance of the animal and shouting in his heavy Scottish accent.
“Don’t, I beg ye. It is but Porthos!”
The Room
watched in shock as the author stepped even closer, putting out his
hands, touching the huge clawed paws of the bear as if it were a
fragile woman.
“Porthos, me friend! Have ye come to have a
dance with yer old friend?”