The interior lighting of Rooster’s
small office flashed blue. He froze. A single breath escaped before being
choking to a close. A single bead of sweat began its decent from his brow,
trekking past his eye, and finally plunging to the floor from his chin. The
lights returned to their soft yellow hum before returning to blue once more.
There was no mistaking it. Phoebe, one of the hotel cleaning staff, was
standing right outside his door.
Rooster had programmed the load
cell in the floor outside to trigger corresponding lights within his office to
alert him whenever staff approached his office. Discovering each individual
staff’s correct weight had been a challenge.
It’d required persuading security to lend him hours of CCTV footage of
each unwitting person engaged in their mundane work around the hotel. He then
filtered it through Chinese facial recognition software he’d “borrowed” from
the MSS. Although none of the hotels
staff or occupants were in the database, it still allowed him to calculate each
person’s weight and dimensions.
“Show me,” he spoke to the room.
The lights returned to their normal
hue, then dimmed as his monitor automatically brought a live feed from a
biometric security camera he’d hidden in a fake shrub placed strategically
across the hall from the door to his office. Standing impatiently outside his
door was none other than Phoebe, holding a brown paper bag with unmistakable
golden double arches.
“You know Rooster, I am happy to do
this for you but it’d be nice if you’d let me hand it to you face-to-face,” she
spoke good-naturedly. Rooster did not respond.
“I have half a mind to go enjoy
this in the lounge,” she continued, opening the bag slightly to spy its
contents.
“No!” he said almost shouting, then
quickly quieting. “No,” he spoke again much calmer.
He arose from his chair and crossed
the short distance to the door and cracked it open an inch or two. A bright smile
greeted him through the crack. Phoebe’s red curls danced up and down as she
impatiently fidgeted, waiting for the door open further.
“Who delivered it?” he asked
calmly.
“He was a short guy, Italian I
think, great smile,” she began but was quickly cut off.
“A name Phoebe, I need a name,” he
said sharply.
The hurt quickly registered on her
face. She forced a smile to return.
“I don’t remember his name,” she
said impishly, tilting her head to the side pouting her lips.
The shock quickly registered on his
face. He made as if to close the door but Pheobe bravely stuck her index and
pointer finger in the door.
“Suburu,” she blurted. “His name
was Suburu.”
Rooster just stared at the buxom
maid.
“Malibu? Jujitsu?”
“Tulumeu?” offered Rooster.
“Yes, that was it. Tulubu. Are you
going to let me in or not?” she asked, placing hands on ample hips.
“Where are my manners?” he
apologized, opening the door nearly a foot. Pheobe bumped the door the rest of
the way open with her buttocks and stepped inside.
Rooster quickly mumbled, “retreat”
and instantly his four monitors went black, several digital documents blinked
out of existence on his touch screen desk. To an outside observer the cramped
office appeared no different than one might imagine a maintenance office in a
large hotel.
Rooster quickly snatched the bag
out of Phoebe’s hands and retreated back to the comfort of his desk. The door
had shut itself automatically.
“I don’t understand why you insist
on ordering Uber Eats when you get free room service. Room service that I might
add could be brought to your office by someone whose job it actually is to
deliver food.”
Rooster briefly looked up and
locked eyes with Phoebe before opening the bag and hungrily tearing into a
Double Quarter Pounder. Phoebe took a few steps forward and bent over his desk,
still staring intently at him.
“You also might consider inviting
someone to dine with you from time to time,” she said proactively. From his
angle, had he been looking up, he would have spied the beginnings of cleavage
and a wry smile on her face. Instead, he reached into his pocket and blindly
held out a $20 bill.
She quickly stood erect whilst
snatching up the bill and placing in her pocket. She sniffed and proceeded to
storm of the office. The second the door clicked shut, Rooster spat the chewed
up burger into a waste bin. He reached back into the bag and underneath a
second Quarter Pounder and an apple pie he retrieved an odd looking pistol. It
was matted black, with a purple orb in its stalk and a silver array on the
muzzle.
Just as he was admiring the alien
craftsmanship, an alert flashed on his screen. A message from the Night Auditor
glared at him.
I am not going to tell you again Rooster. Fix the AC unit in room 111.
The guest is wondering why it’s taking so long and quite frankly I am wondering
that myself. Get it done. NOW
Rooster looked at the door to his
office. His breath caught while his chest seized at the thought of exiting his
room. It had been 2 weeks since he’d last left the office. This was evidenced
by the disorderly couch brown couched crammed inside the room behind his desk
and the discarded personal belongings on the floor. Rooster looked up towards
his only shelf and stared at the seven sealed Snapple bottles that contained
his urine.
Sighing deeply, he typed a
response.
On my way.
He longingly stroked the alien
armament before opening a desk drawer and reverently placing the item within.
It took several more minutes and a dab of cocaine on his gums before he was
able to stand before his door. With a final breath he turned the handle and
stepped out into the hall.
