You going up or down?

Obviously, I felt like shit. And obviously, I wasn't going to acknowledge that I felt that way, because that would mean having to break the trance-like state I was in where everything just passed right before my eyes and nothing meant a thing.

So as soon as I got out of the kitchen, I went upstairs to the cart room. Pretty self explanatory what that was like, just a room full of carts. All I had to do was arrange the dishes and cutlery and put some little candles and shit on it to make things look pretty, then roll it into the kitchen. The only problem was eventually, I'd have to go back to the kitchen, and see Tito.

Then I realized by then all the sous chef's would be there, and the clattering and chopping and everything else would mask me even going there to retrieve the dishes, which brought me some nice relief.

The little cart room was pleasant, and was, in fact, one of my favorite parts of the day. No one there but me, doing an easy little task with great efficiency, it was almost like being in one of those zen gardens where you rake sand or something. My hands moved without me really telling them too, enabling me to just kick back and watch the view from behind my eyes.

"Martin!"

Everyone wanted to yell at me that day. I turned around to face the sound and it was, the dreaded, Daniel.

He was on his Thursday rotation for clothes. The red and black suit with the red bottoms. I had to admit, he looked fresh. He always had a sharp beard and those trimmed up edges on his hair.

"Martin!" he yelled again. "What the hell is your problem? You look…terrible! Shave! Now!"

I really, really wanted to say something. But I didn't. Not because I wanted to be the bigger person, but because I thought it would be really awkward and funny if I just didn't say anything after he yelled at me.

"Your going to go to the restroom, shave with whatever goddamn razor we have in storage, and smile nice and big, because we have SENATOR fucking KOVALESKI from Russia and Andrea Paula!"

He got closer to me, as if I couldn't hear his distinctly bitchty, whiny, voice from across the room.

"You're also gonna give them their order first, I don't care what the order chart says, they're getting it as soon as they wake up! And oh my god Martin, if I hear even the slightest hint of trouble from either of them, your gonna be fired faster than…I don't know, but pretty fucking fast!"

He straightened his suit out after his tantrum. I just nodded to him so he'd leave. I really didn't get the point of the whole shaving thing. I thought I looked better with a little stubble. So what if we had some Russian Senator and Andrea Paula? Would they really give that much of a shit if I didn't shave?

Later, as I was shaving, I remembered Andrea Paula was the fucking president. I evidently wasn't quite all there when he was yelling at me.

I actually felt…sort of, anxious. Normally I would just have some headphones in and I wouldn't really care about who we had at the hotel, but this time was justifiably different.

I went into the kitchen, and as I anticipated, the sous chefs were chopping away in the now cleaned kitchen. There was a little screen in the back of the room, it was the order screen, sort of like the one you'd see at McDonalds with the annoying beeping sound every few seconds.

The Russian dude would be first, that's what Daniel said anyways. Just for today, I was gonna do what he said and not half ass it. As much as I hated my job, it was sort of necessary I kept it, and I didn't want to make this day any longer than it had to be.

Twenty names down, there it was. Andrei Kovaleski.

Steak and potatoes. Real classy guy. I could already see Tito searing the steak side to side one last time, and tipping the pan slightly to the side, pooling the butter in a corner, which he then scooped up with a spoon and poured it back onto the steak. I couldn't lie, the shit looked good.

I collected the potatoes from the side dish station, then reluctantly rolled my way over to Tito. He took the steak off the ban and dropped it carefully on the plate. He didn't look at me as he worked. He just cut the steak up into ribbons, drizzled some steak sauce elegantly along the pieces, and topped it with some finely sliced caramelized onions. Lastly, he put the lid on top, and gave a brief nod to me. At least there was something.

I tried not to think much of it as I took the cart up the elevator. I was short witted, and I hated that about myself. I'd let rage take over my tongue and lips too quickly, and puppeteer me. Perhaps earlier in my life it was a positive attribute. Rage. It was something useful. But around here, rage only hurt people, those around me and myself. Though I supposed that's also what made it useful for a time.

I was alone in the elevator and my thoughts were racing again. I covered my ears with my hands, like a stupid little kid. I couldn't help it. I was so overwhelmed with…practically nothing.

The door opened. Fifth floor. I rolled my cart out into the halls, carpeted with velvet silk and a glass window view at the very end that you could see the whole city through.

The board in the kitchen said 505, the one at the very end. I rolled my cart over there and was just about to knock on the door, but I could hear they were speaking in Russian. I didn't want to interrupt mid conversation. I was gonna wait just a bit, just to be certain there wasn't a complaint.

But my ears… couldn't help but perk and listen. Old habits die hard I guessed. Key words and phrases, my ears naturally perked at them, and something these Russians were saying, really struck a chord.

"Are you threatened, Mr. Kovaleski?"

There was a heart laugh that followed.

"No, of course not. I'm simply weary, that's all. We have no idea if anything they're saying is the truth. I am not a man of faith, Mr. Sidorov. What I can not see or touch, I will not believe. I really don't think calling us all here means anything at all, I think it's one big fraudulent scam, and I'm certain that woman is involved."

I was still listening, when suddenly they stopped. It was abrupt, unnatural.

"Someone is here."

Those words. Those are words I'd heard before. My immediate instinct was begging for me to leap to the side, but I worked at a hotel now. Things were different.

I did probably the smartest thing I think I'd ever done, and knocked before the guy could open the door.

The peep hole slid open, and a gray eye peered at me. It was riddled with caution, but it all dissipated into relief at the sight of me, or rather, my uniform.

The door opened, revealing a tall, white man. Evidently older, but wrinkleless.

"Who is it?" asked who could have only been Kovaleski from the back of the room. The man before me scoffed.

"It's just the food you ordered, it's here."

The little bald head that was peaking from over the white sofa in the back perked up, though not as high as I expected. Kovaleski was a short, fat, bald man, quite undiplomatic looking. He looked more like a grump old, negligent, wife beating father or something; Though, I supposed that's what politicians were anyways.

He walked, or rather waddled over to me, and peered eagerly at the tray.

I was about to speak to him in Russian, but I was sort of embarrassed. I hadn't spoken it in years, I was rusty. So I just gave him the good old fashioned-

"Room service for Mr. Kovaleski!"

Wow my voice sounded cheery. I guess my subconscious really didn't want to lose my job.

What my subconscious forgot was that Russians aren't typically cheery people. He seemed almost disgusted by my cheeriness. I was starting to worry I might have come of as too cheery, maybe even gay.

"Steak and potatoes, sir," I said, this time much more firmly, with my "referring to a superior" sort of voice.

He scowled down at the plate. I knew the fat shit wanted to eat it. He was just acting all tough.

Just as suspected, he practically yanked his plate and walked it to the table. I was supposed to set the whole table ordeal up for him.

I took a few steps closer in, just to at least put the candle on so Daniel wouldn't give me shit, but I immediately felt the hairs on my neck stand up.

The other taller man, he tensed, and he smelled anxious. You can tell when someone's heart rate goes up. They smell like sweat.

And not only that. His hands were in his pockets, and I heard the sound of a little hammer being cocked back on a piece.

He was armed. I didn't take another step forward. I just said my brief and formal little goodbye-this time in Russian- and got the hell out of there.

They closed the door abruptly behind me. I could feel his eye still on me through the peephole though.

At least the ass didn't send me down with his meal again. I'd had that happen to me before many times. Sometimes because it was too hot, and I'd just go outside and blow on it then bring it back.

But these guys were nervous, I could tell. And they were certainly armed, nothing could convince me otherwise. He was gripping a piece and he was inches away from pulling it on me. The only thing I couldn't figure out was how the hell he got it through security and the detectors.

The sound of the little hammer getting cocked back, now that I thought about it, no gun I ever knew sounded like that. No metal gun at least, which would explain how he got it through security.

Kel Tec PF9 was the only piece I could think of made of plastic. Unless they printed it themselves.

The one thing I still couldn't figure out, as I rolled my miserable cart to the elevator, was why the hell they wanted to be armed so badly as to sneak a gun in. The hotel had security all over the place. Kovaleski didn't need a bodyguard, even less one with a gun.

Unless of course, it wasn't protection from outside the hotel he wanted. Something on the inside was what he was afraid of.

To my relief, the elevators ding stopped my thoughts from getting too spastic. I had to remind myself how little I gave a shit about foreign affairs or whatever. I was getting tired, and I started digging around in my little vest pocket for my headphones. Maybe some smooth blues. Today felt like a B.B king sort of day.

But I noticed someone called the elevator on the fourth floor, and just in case it was the little jew boy Daniel, I kept the headphones in my pocket for now.

The elevator rang, and the metal doors slid open. My eyes were greeted by a man's chest.

I thought it was Daniel at first, since his tie sort of looked the same color, but Daniel wasn't this tall, this guy's nipples were eye level to me. He must have been nearly 7 foot, and his suit was so baggy, it fit his shoulders like a loose piece of clothing on a hanger.

He just stood there. He wasn't going inside. I couldn't help but feel cautious at looking up at him. I was worried perhaps it was another one of those Russians.

The door was beginning to close, and still he stood there, I was begging to think he called it by mistake-until he sprang in at the very last second-very idiotically if I was being honest- like a little kid would.

Then he started yanking on the tail end of his coat that got caught on the door, and managed to slip it out before the elevator started moving.

He sort of strided over, with one long awkward step, and stood painfully close to me.

Nope. Still was not gonna look at him. I was from New York. I'd seen weirder.

"Greetings." He said to me,

Now I had no choice but to look at him. This dude just said "greetings" to me. Ever so slowly and cautiously, I turned my head to look at him, in hopes that I could just flash him a smile and get it over with.

I was horrified to see how close he really was to me, I flinched backwards and hit the cart with my knee, spilling the candle wax all over.

This guy, tall as a tree, was looming over me, and somehow I didn't feel his breath on my face. He had the weirdest face too. At first he looked like he might have been Caucasian white, maybe mixed with some sort of Asian, but the longer I looked, the more confusing his features were. Especially his eyes. They were the darkest I'd ever seen, like someone blotted them into his skull with a sharpie.

He was still looming over me, freaking me the fuck out, honestly I was about ready to smack the shit out of him, but then he started inspecting the cart with his long, creepy ass fingers.

"Is this food?" he asked dumbly.

Yes motherfucker, its food, now can you back up? That's what I wanted to say at least.

"Yeah, it is."

He picked up a fork and put it in his pocket. I didn't even know what to say. No, don't take that? He wasn't a child. He might have some senator from some weird foreign country, or possibly mentally disabled. The guy could have his fork.

"Could I try some?"

Yeah he was definitely fucked in the head. He started grabbing sugar packets and putting them into his pocket, still with 0 thought behind those coal eyes of his.

"Yeah, you can…order it; From your room. Just press "one" on the phone for room service."

"Okay."

The door opened up on the second floor, and the lanky man stepped out.

"What's your name?" He asked me.

"Um…Martin."

The doors began to close, and he stood there, with his noodly arms at his sides, and a totally paper blank expression on his face, getting one last look at me, for, whatever reason.

Honestly, I didn't really give a shit. I just popped my headphones in. I'd seen weirder.