36 Ribs

Haymill hotel was built to suit diplomats and other high end guests. Security had stations on every floor, stairwell exits on every floor, and the biggest collection of them at the front desk. If anything happened to any of these guys we'd have an insane amount of trouble, and I'd probably lose my job. So, as much as I didn't care, I had to make a stop by Daniels office and let him know.

I parked my cart next to the kitchen, and went right into Daniel's office at the side.

I was greeted with some fancy paintings on the wall, Knicks merchandise, and a loose tied Daniel sitting at his desk on his computer.

"Suaro, what are you doing here, was the President and Kovaleski taken care of?"

His hand was by his mouth, and he wasn't even looking at me. He was looking at his computer. Probably porn or something, knowing he is a closet pervert.

"No. I brought Kovaeski his meal but I need to report something."

Now he looked up from his computer, and I could really see his mouth all too well from his beard, but I was certain it was curled in disapproval.

"Suaren, what the fuck? Why? I said I wanted no complains from them or your fire-"

"No, Daniel, just listen. Someone else was in the room with Kovaelski. Big, buff, he was obviously some sort of security personal."

He stood up and rummaged through his hair like he was distraught or something, revealing his ever so slightly receding hairline. Sometimes with rich people, you can't really tell how old they are except in little moments like this.

"So?! I don't give a shit if he has a bodyguard! Go! Get the Ms. President her food and finish the damn job!"

"It's Suarez. Martin Suarez. And It's not just the bodyguard. He had a gun. It was made of plastic. He snuck it through security."

Ahhh, that caught his attention. I knew deep down inside the little shit wanted to keep his job just as much as I did, if not more. I could already see his pale face getting red, and the thoughts bubbling in his head. It is really fun to watch when it happens to other people.

"A gun? You saw it? Like in his hand?"

"Uh, no. But I know he had one. He was reaching into his pocket and I heard it."

"Heard what? He shot it?"

"No. He just…I could hear it alright, believe me, I know. He pulled the little hammer back."

His face got even redder, and he was standing out of his desk now, with his hands at his hips like an angry housewife.

"So you didn't see the gun, you just… picked up on a faint sound? Because of your…killer instincts."

I knew exactly where he was going with this. I wasn't gonna bother wasting my breath with this asshole.

"Suaro-"

"It's Suarez."

"Whatever the fuck! Listen here, and this is the last fucking time, Im being very, very, very fucking patient with you! You are not! And I repeat, not going to put my position or anyones position here in jeopardy because you want to pretend like you're on a mission! Your in fucking…room service! Stop being delusional! "

He stomped around his desk and got in my face.

"Thin ice, Martin Suarez. Now go give the president her meal. Now!"

I was not going to argue. Zero intention too. Perhaps a few years ago I would have, but I was like a sick and tired old man now. I really, really, was not up for this shit today.

"Okay," I said, and closed the door behind me. I could hear him whisper something along the lines of "asshole," or "asshat," I couldn't really tell. I just popped my headphones in and rolled the cart over to the kitchen to collect the president's meal. The rest of the meals for that day could be delivered in bulk, meaning I could just bring up all the meals for a single floor on one big cart, so it would be much easier, and I wouldn't have to keep coming up and down as often.

I really, really should have felt a strong inclination to persist for the sake of everyone in the hotel. That maybe there was a terrorist in the building, or maybe an assassin, and it was my responsibility to stop it all.

But I kinda hope the guy shot me. At least then I wouldn't have to show up to work or pay my rent.

I went to the kitchen, grabbed the Mediterranean shrimp kaboobies or whatever the hell they were called, and got my ass upstairs.

It was on the fifth floor. Again. I supposed all the fancy guys were put there because of the big window view and bigger room space.

I rolled it down the halls with 6 o'clock blues playing in my ears and the rattling cart in my palms with not a goddamn care. Maybe some Russian would pop out and paint the marble floors with my brains. It was pretty funny, honestly. Seeing some rich white lady walk out with little Timmy only to find an open skull with brains all over the place. Then I realized it wouldn't be funny and questioned what was wrong with me.

514. I was just about to knock, but I wanted to look semi presentable. I took my headphones out and slicked back my hair in the reflection of the little golden plaque with the room number. It made my face look wonky.

I checked my breath too, and straightened my tie. I didn't feel like I was nervous, but my hands were shaking.

It was time now. I reached for the door and knocked.

"Room Service!"

The door swung open almost immediately, and if I had a penny for the amount of times I was greeted by a big bodyguard today, I'd have two, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

Behind him was another bodyguard, somehow bigger than this one, and behind that another, and another, and it was fucking bodyguard inception up in their. Those guys were having a goddamn party.

I swallowed some nervous spit, and carried out the basic protocol in Spanish. I thought it was a nice touch considering her campaign had so much to do with her lineage.

"Good afternoon, Madam president. I present to you Haymills finest': Mediterranean shrimp scampi with a side of Creme Brulee."

Six bodyguards, from what I could count. All with ear pieces and black suits and ties, and big as shit. They were towering over me, and I felt like I was walking through a forest of thick ass men to get to the dining table.

I suppose with the president, it made sense to have extra security. Secret service and such. But I hadn't seen any secret service on the outside of the room. Now that I though about, the entire hotel should have had tons of secret service. My only explanation was that they were in civilian clothing, which could only mean the president being here was supposed to be something confidential.

I could hear high heels approaching, and Andrea Paula herself emerged from a back room. She had these elegant high cheekbones and almond eyes, she sort of reminded me of my mother when she was younger. She didn't look diplomatic either, but not in the ugly, fat, Kovaleski way. She seemed like a real person. Like someone you'd just see walking down the street.

"Wonderful," she said.

I laid my table cloth over the table as the giant linebackers watched me, and lit two candles at the very center before finally settling down with her meal and utensils.

"If there's anything else, Madam President, it would be my pleasure."

I smiled at her. I sort of meant it too.

I made my way out to the exit, relieved that I'd finally finished the more important orders.

It was over. I'd just finish the days off with some bulk deliveries, go home, maybe get some take out, watch something on Disney plus, smoke and sleep.

The door closed behind me, and was locked with the briskness of worry. I couldn't help but get my mind off it. These people were terrified. The president had even more bodyguards than the Russians. Though they might have hid it well, I believed they were armed as well.

For both parties to be so fearful, there was most certainly a threat.

The thought occupied my mind all the way down the elevator, and not blurry either. The voice in my head was sharp, like an angry school teacher. Armed people. Threat in the hotel.

I swerved through the Sous chefs in the kitchen back to the screen at the front. It was bulk time.

15 orders in my cart, all on the 5th floor. Room 503 had some Chinese ambassadors. I was comfortable enough to greet them in Chinese since I studied Mandarin all throughout high school. They were delighted to hear me speak it actually.

But then the next room were Indian ambassadors, speaking Hindi, which I recognized but wasn't proficient in, some Korean ambassadors, a few more Russian representatives, Swiss representatives, and so many I couldn't keep track.

There were never this many. It seemed like a UN meeting was gonna go down, which made it even weirder why the president being there was so secretive. A UN meeting ought to have been global news.

I was just about to finish my 15th order, when the walkie talkie on my belt sounded.

I answered.

"Suarezo!"

"Its Suarez Dan"

"Yeah yeah whatever. Listen. We just got word there was a very very important ambassador here that we didn't account for. You're gonna deliver his meal individually too."

"What?"

I let go of the talk button and muttered something about his fat mother before I pressed the button again.

"How didn't you account for him? Didn't he sign in?"

"Goddamn it Suarco! You're late already, stop asking questions and get him his meal! Tito's got it ready."

His whiny voice was so piercing I just snapped my walkie talkie back on my belt and got back downstairs. It was classic for Dan to put his mistakes on the works. I was betting he was too busy scratching his sack and forgot to greet an important guest.

I got to the kitchen, and there was 7 sous chefs along with Tito gathered around the largest pan I'd ever seen. Seriously, I didn't even know they made pans that large.

"What the hell's going on here?"

Tito was flipping and searing what looked like an entire pigs worth of pork with the help of the other chefs.

"Dis pees of shet!" he said between flustered flips of a spatula. "Ordered 36 ribs!"

The other chefs were putting the pieces he was preparing onto different plates, each prepped with a nicely formed tower of white rice.

I stood their awkwardly as they hassled to finished the dishes.

"Is he having a party in there or something?" I asked.

"I thin so, It sounded like a lotta people on the phone"

I was gonna complain, but I figured I was doing the least amount of work than everyone else in the room. As they were finishing up, I made my way to the order board, just to see what nutjob ordered so much and where they were from.

I traced my finger along the letters on the screen.

"36 ribs for a…Ambassador Zhenn?"