The Canadian Civil War: Volume 5 - Carbines and Calumets

by William Wresch

Chapter 14 –

  An awkward lunch

  By now I was due for some more aspirin and some food. I thought it might even be interesting to get dressed for the day. Walking was a challenge, but I made it to the bathroom for more aspirin. Feeling encouraged about my ability to handle life's challenges, I next tried to pull on a pair of pants. I thought that was going to kill me, and getting my arms into a shirt was even worse, but I made it. A round of applause for my accomplishment would have been in order. My bare feet stuck into open shoes (socks were not going to happen), I opened my door and stepped out into the hallway.

  What do you say to a man who has spent the last ten or twelve hours guarding your door?

  "Thank you for helping. Can I buy you some lunch?" He smiled, accepted my handshake, and said he thought maybe it was time to go home and get some sleep. I thanked him again and watched him go.

  Stairs are interesting. Fortunately they tend to also have a railing. I grabbed the railing with one hand and slowly got myself down the staircase, one stair at a time. The stairs were open to the lobby, so I knew folks were watching me, but I was in no shape to put on a brave face, although when I made it down the last stair, I did wave one hand a bit and say, "down in record time." Not sure if that drew a laugh, but it made me feel a little less embarrassed.

  The dining room was about a thousand feet away on the other side of the lobby, but I managed to shuffle over there in less than an hour or so. Or at least that's the way it felt. On the plus side, the wait staff had plenty of time to get ready for me. They had a table all set, with the chair pulled out, and a very large glass of red wine waiting for me. I actually needed both hands to get the glass to my mouth, but I didn't spill much, and I set it down - empty - without breaking the glass. Maybe another round of applause was in order.

  I know it sounds pathetic, but I actually sat and caught my breath after the effort to get to the table and drink a glass of wine. This was going to be a long day. One of the waiters stood very patiently while I breathed in and out, grateful again for the opportunity to do so. Eventually I ordered whatever the lunch special was. He hurried off and was replaced by the manager. Here was a man I was really coming to appreciate.

  "I have become a burden to your hotel. You have my thanks for your help, and my apologies for the extra work."

  "We are embarrassed by how dangerous our city has become. We are pleased to help where we may."

  "Would you like to join me for lunch?"

  "I am grateful for the invitation, but I have some duties to perform, and you have a guest, if you wish to see him."

  "Oh?" The manager passed me a card - James O'Conner, Chief Executive, U.S. Consulate, New Orleans. So if I wasn't going to come to them, they would come to me. Fair enough. We might as well get this over with. I told the manager I would see the man. How do you get ready to speak to a man whose people tried to kill you? I reached into my pocket for the pistol Henri had given me. Getting it out was no easy process. It kept getting caught on my pocket lining. It occurred to me if this were a quick draw contest, I would already be dead. On the plus side, I managed to get it out without shooting my own leg. I set the pistol on the table and put my hand over it. I had the barrel pointed directly opposite to me.

  "Professor Murphy, I am Jim O'Conner from the consulate." He held out his hand. "Don't get up, I know you had a rough night." I had no intention of getting up, or of shaking his hand. I pointed to the chair opposite and then put my hand on my gun again. He took the chair, and sat looking at me, making every effort to ignore my weapon. He was maybe fifty, with very red hair cut short. He was wearing the local uniform - white pants and white shirt, but he had an American tie with red white and blue stripes.

  "Do you mind keeping your hands on the table where I can see them?" I asked. At least I made it sound like a question, but it was really an order. He complied. He put both hands out palms up, and set them on the table.

  "I mean you no harm, but I can understand your caution. And if you need a doctor, the consulate has a very good one who could help you if you wish." I didn't respond. I could definitely use a doctor, but it wouldn't be one of his. "I want to apologize for what happened last night. And I understand an apology is pretty meager recompense for what happened. But I want to start there. But the real reason for my visit is to ask your help. We are trying to determine what happened last night. Clearly we have a major security problem, and we were hoping you could help us understand it." I had nothing to say to him. I just sat and listened.

  "Could we go someplace more private so we could talk about the attack?"

  "I'm not going any place with you." I slid my fingers closer to the trigger guard on my pistol. He noticed.

  "I understand your caution. But this is a matter that requires some privacy." As he said the last, he lowered his voice and leaned forward across the table. I picked up the pistol.

  "Keep your distance. If you have anything to say, say it here."

  "I wish I could do that, but we have security protocols. I simply can't discuss consulate matters in an environment like this."

  "Fair enough." I noticed the hand holding the gun was shaking. It was too much weight for my current condition. I began to wonder if I might shoot him by accident. I laid it back down on the table, but kept my hand on it. "Thank you for visiting."

  "You won't help us?"

  "If you are who you say you are, you already know who tried to kill me and why. You also know who will try next. Do your damn job and let me have my lunch." I got a long stare in response. Fine. I can do stare downs. He stared at me, I stared at him. Eventually he got up and left.

  With him out of the way, my waiter brought me a bowl of soup. Chicken soup. I doubted this was really the lunch special. Someone had decided chicken soup was a better choice. They could be right. I ate the soup, spilling as much of it as I got to my mouth. I left the gun out while I ate. That was really rude, but I was afraid I might shoot my own leg off if I jammed it into my pocket while I sat there. So it stayed on the table, and I slowly splashed my way through a bowl of soup. As I got near the bottom of the bowl, the waiter brought another glass of wine and two more aspirin. The service at the hotel really was special.

  I finished the soup, the wine, and the aspirin and slowly stood. I expected there would be a day when I could stand and move without pain, and I was pretty confident I would be smart enough to be grateful when the time came. For now, I cautiously put the pistol in my pocket, shuffled to the stairs, and slowly climbed back to my room. Once there, I managed to get my pistol out, and kick off my shoes, before I lowered myself back onto my bed. It may not be physically possible to be asleep before your head actually hits the pillow, but I think I was that day.