The Waiting Room
~ Chapter One Hundred-One
Names and Shovels
“We
tend to leave him off on his own.” Jack whispered leaning close to
his new companion. “Doesn’t play well with others.”
Panza
nodded, understanding Jack's insinuation as the pirate poured another
drink.
“To freedom!” Jack raised his glass and the other
men followed suit. “Tis as elusive as a virgin and as
straightforward as a whore!”
Jack downed his drink in a
single gulp. Panza attempted to do the same but the rum was too
strong and burned on the first swallow. He coughed, not knowing how
the pirate managed.
He noted that Barrie sipped at the rum
then put it down, gently sliding it off to the side.
“If ye
not going to drink it, don’t be wasting it,” Jack said pointing
at the glass. Barrie stiffened at the pirate’s comment, realizing
he had been caught in the act of avoiding finishing the drink.
“By
all means, Captain Sparrow.” The writer addressed him, moving the
drink in his direction. Jack snatched it and with one even move
brought the glass to his lips and let the amber liquid fill his
mouth. In two swallows the rum was gone.
“How do you drink
that?” Panza asked, not knowing if he should be impressed or
frightened.
Jack smacked the glass to the table and pointed a
finger in his direction.
“Practice, m’friend,” he
sneered out one side of his mouth. “Years and years of practice.
But ye can only do it with the best. Rock gut rum? It’ll sear the
throat and rot the stomach. Nothing but the best for
Captain…Jack…Sparrow!” He rose when he saw the bottle was empty
and swayed to the bar.
Panza leaned towards Barrie. “Does
he drink like that all the time?” He watched as Jack rummaged
through the bottles looking for more rum.
Barrie’s eyebrows
rose, his lips pursed as he answered. “Oh, I am afraid he does Mr.
Panza. He is quite the connoisseur of rum. And when that is not
available, he will attempt the same with scotch. But rum is his
poison of choice.”
Panza sat back in his seat, awed by the
man’s ability to consume so much alcohol and remain standing…and
it was not quite noon.
“What the f…?” Mort did not
finish as he began to pound on his keyboard. “No, no, no! Get off!
I just lost everything!”
Barrie and Panza looked over to
Mort as he became more and more frustrated with his computer. Sparrow
shot him a look over his shoulder before returning to his search for
Jamaican Rum.
“I was writing…nearly finished. It could
have been the answer if I could have sent it to him…but now this!
Jesus H.!” He cursed trying the escape key but it was clear he was
not getting the response he was looking for with the computer.
Panza stood and moved next to Mort’s desk.
“What’s
the problem?” the newcomer asked. Mort glared at Panza.
“Like
you would know? You come in here dragging that ass…”
Mort waved at
the animal that had settled next to Porthos.
“Looking like this!”
Another wave at Panza’s clothing, nearly dried…but a reflection
that he was more accustomed to roaming the desert, not surfing the
web.
Panza looked puzzled as he let his eyes fall to the
donkey, then to himself.
“I don’t know why, but I think I
do know. I think I can help. I…I think that this,” his arm swept
towards the creatures. “And this,” he placed a hand on his chest,
patting the poncho, “Is not who I am. I think that Panza is not my
real name. I just don’t know why I think that… I just think I
have another name besides Sacho Panza.”
“Je comprends
completement.” The Frenchman said after Wilmot had translated.
Wilmot grunted at the man’s statement and turned to the men.
“He
says he understands completely though I do not know what it is he
understands.” Rochester added his own comment.
“His
name,” Barrie interceded. “He doesn’t know his name.” His
voice was quiet as he tilted his head towards the Frenchman.
“Oh
yes..quite right,” Wilmot replied, nodding. Panza stood, his eyes
darting between the men as they spoke until they returned back to
Mort.
“May I?” He waved at the computer. “At least let
me try. What harm could it do?”
Mort glared in Sparrow’s
direction. “More than you know and if you have any smarts…stay
out of the line of fire…just in case you hit on something a certain
someone doesn’t approve of.” He let his attention fall to the CIA
Agent.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Sands waggled a finger at each
word. “Nothing proven.”
Mort’s face reddened at Sands
words for he knew that the agent was responsible for destroying his
last computer.
“May I?” Panza’s request brought Mort
back as he realized the man in the poncho had sidled next to him,
pointing to the keyboard. Mort shrugged, rolling his chair a few
paces to give him room. Panza cleared his throat and Mort looked up
at him, his eyes on the chair.
“You want my chair, too?”
the writer asked, shocked surprise in his voice. Panza nodded and
Mort shoved himself from the seat. As he wandered to another chair
they could hear him mumbling beneath his breath.
Panza seated
himself, adjusting the keyboard in front of him, his fingers pausing
above the keys. “What?” he asked without taking his eyes off the
monitor. “What did you say?”
Barrie who had heard every
word leaned close and whispered the mumbled words.
“He said
Mr Panza…to be careful or you will find yourself the recipient of a
shovel.”
“A shovel, eh?” Panza said, beginning to type
his eyes remaining on the screen ahead. “Well, could always use a
good shovel.”
“Trust me Mr. Panza,” Barrie warned in a
quiet whisper. “Tis not the kind of shovel y’be happy t’
receive.”