Waiter, Waiter, There's A Bomb In My Soup!

• Michael Fitzgerald, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2009

Jake knew what he had to do. He reached over the stove to the huge silver saucepan that sat simmering on a large hot plate. Removing the lid carefully, he checked that no one was watching and reached into the pocket of his waiter’s apron. His fingers slipped around the small metal bomb. “I feel sorry for the guys who are going to be here when this baby goes off”, muttered Jake as he dropped the bomb gently into the warm bubbling soup, whose heat would eventually set the bomb off. Replacing the lid gently, Jake breathed a sigh of relief, his job was almost done.

“Hey you there!” came a voice from behind Jake. He spun around to see where the voice had come from. Another waiter stood in the doorway, his eyes wide open and a silver platter in his hand. Jake stood there, his feet frozen to the ground with shock. The waiter broke the tension, pulling a shiny black revolver from his back pocket and aiming it at Jake. Jake looked around for a weapon. Using his body to hide his searching hand, his fingers came across the handle of another saucepan filled with boiling water. Seizing his chance, Jake fell to the ground, swinging his arm to catapult the boiling water into the waiter’s face. The man clutched at his face and took a wild shot at Jake, shattering the window behind him. Jake ran across the kitchen floor, skidding to a stop as he reached the door that led to the roof.

Atop the building, Jake came to a halt. The busy New York road beneath him was smothered with people, cars and shops. He heard the pounding of feet from behind him, the crack of a gunshot and then he jumped. The wind whizzed through his hair. He was sure his attacker had not followed. He yanked the top button of his shirt. Suddenly, his tailcoat ballooned into a parachute, slowing his fall. ‘Good ole Tom’ thought Jake as he counted his blessings for the inventor installing a parachute in his waiter’s disguise.

He steered himself towards the roof of a limousine that was speeding by the front of the restaurant on the road below. He had timed his leap to perfection sinking through the steel roof like a knife through hot butter just as the limo passed the building. He took off his waist coat. “Measly attempt for a hologram Giles; I saw right through it.” The driver forced a laugh at his passenger’s joke. “Yes sir. I’ll try better next time”, Giles said as he pulled out of his park from beside Vito’s Café and sped away. Jake watched over his shoulder as the restaurant burst into flames. “Pity”, he remarked, insincerity soaking his words as he took a Pepsi from the mini bar and hummed along with the engine as the limo rolled away from the rubble.