5 Click Click

Not gonna lie to you, I was flustered. Not just pissed or annoyed, but there was a true and sincere part of me invested in this, for better or worse.

The ribs smelled good. There were 36 so I wondered if they'd even notice if I snatched one from the cart.

I left my headphones downstairs at this point. As I was going up, I was eyeing every little thing I passed by, not even intentionally. My head, my empty stupid head wanted something to feed itself with. Working in the bland and painfully corporate hotel made it sleepy. It wanted to be awake.

I wanted to spot some secret service. I was gonna make that my mission. I knew they were pretending to be civilians, so as I passed by the dining hall to get to the elevator, I was taking peeks from under my hat. One man, bald, blue shirt, and round spectacles, looked almost too civilian. He was sipping coffee while reading a newspaper. No one reads the goddamn newspaper, especially a physical copy. The way he was drinking his coffee or whatever the hell was in that pristinley white mug struck me as suspicious as well. He was drinking it too often. He sipped it 3 or 4 times in the minute I was hanging around there.

The brown jacket man in the elevator next to me was far too still as well. He wasn't fidgeting a bit, not even the awkward, repositioning shuffle you'd do when you were in an elevator with a stranger. His eyes were front, and he held one hand in the other behind his back. It was a parade rest. It's how you'd stand if you were trained to stand.

Two so far.

The doors opened up and I rolled out. He decided not to follow me. The power of the uniform. No one questions you when you look like you belong to an establishment. What would have happened if I really did come to shoot the president? I almost wanted to try it just to teach the doofus a lesson.

I came to room 309, knocked on the door, and no one responded.

I knocked again, waited almost a full minute, then again and again. Still there was no response.

I was not about to take a hundred ribs back downstairs, especially not just to get shit from Danny boy. I helped myself to the knob with my keycard. I was just going to leave the trolley in the room with my little prop up sign.

I was just going to roll it in, just just just, such an important word here. It was a teeny little task, interjected by an even tinier sound.

Murmuring. Whispering. They hadn't noticed me come in. They were gathered in a back room speaking.

I could make out the Russian senator and the president. The conversation was in Russian, and the president spoke brokenly.

They were talking quickly, like they were students hiding under a teacher's nose, nervously passing secrets.

"Think of it! These are not people accustomed to our war. They come to us with a threat, and yet they send us hostage? As advanced as they may be in technology, they have no idea what they're doing when it comes to leverage. You do know leverage, don't you Ms. President? I mean, its basic business"

"I know what leverage is Kovaleski, and they have it. They are in control. I will not stand by this and I have no reason to explain myself any further. We are out."

Kovaleski switched to English. I almost thought it was someone else speaking though; his accent was flawless.

"Look at you Paula. Whose tongue are we speaking? Mine."

"Hold on, you speak English? Why the hell were using a translator all day-"

"Because I am Russian. I will not stoop for you. It's not what you do for you enemies.

"Enemies? So that's what you want to make of me?"

"No. We don't have to. Think about it, there's never been a better time for us to unite than this. There will no longer be enemies on earth. When are a people most united? In times of crisis, you know that. We can unify everything with this."

The question weighed heavily on the silence. I found myself much closer to the room than I started. I'd been tiptoeing closer inch by inch with every word. I was just close enough to rest my ear on the door.

Wshhhhh

"Hey Martin? I meant to put 506 not 509, sorry I was looking at the screen from a weird angle"

Tito's voice through the walkie talkie ripped through the room. I could hear fabric flip as heads and bodies turned to face the source of the sound.

I looked around, thinking for the best way out, but I knew I had no time. I dashed back to the cart, trying to appear as though I just strolled in.

A man barged through the door, looked all around until his eyes finally landed on me.

He marched over and grabbed me by my collar.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he said through a grimace.

He dragged me to the room of conversation, where I was greeted by the president and kovaleski opposite each other, surrounded by security.

"Who the hell is that?"

" I think he's just room service"

The president scanned me with her sharp brown eyes. "He is just room service. I don't think he even speaks English."

She stood up and glided toward me. "Do you speak English, do you understand what I'm saying?"

I shook my head. "No-no English. Sorry seniora."

She scoffed and turned to the others. "He's Mexican. He doesn't know what's going on. Get him out of my sight."

There was a click behind my head, and the sound of someone rummaging something back into a pocket. That was the only reason I even knew there was a gun to the back of my head.

I just let them drag me out of there. The worst part was they didn't give me my cart back.

I was laying on my ass across the marble floor, still processing how I was a misunderstanding away from a bullet. They were really gonna kill anyone who stumbled in. Even some random room service guy if they suspected. The president was gonna kill me. The lady who I thought was kinda cool, being the first Hispanic lady president and all. She could have just as easily told the guy to shot than hold.

She assumed I couldnt speak English? It was almost like that hurt me more than her nearly ordering my death.

The biggest pain in the ass was that I had to go get new ribs and apologize to whoever Tito's dumbass screwed over. Nearly getting shot wouldn't have gotten me fired, but the missing ribs ordeal would.

I got up, strained up my hat that was pushed to the front from the gun barrel, and carried on, this time with 0 intention of nosing around.