New Storm Rising

23. Mr Mayor, We Have a Bullet List of Complains...

Striding across the entrance hall, Mr Ambrose stepped up to the desk behind which an unfortunate clerk was sitting, waiting to greet guests. Or rather, to judge by his facial expression, waiting to greet any guest whose name wasn't Rikkard Ambrose.

"Announce us," Mr Ambrose stated, gazing down imperiously at the clerk. "We have come to discuss a serious matter with the mayor,"

"And to see whether we can interest him in some digestive medicine and hair products," Mr Angleton added brightly. "I have the most amazing baldness cure!"

"Um..." The clerk swallowed. "The mayor isn't bald,"

Narrowing his eyes, Mr Rikkard Ambrose leaned forward across the desk, until his face was only inches away from the sweating clerk's. "He's about to be. Now. Announce us."

"Err...I fear that the mayor won't be able to receive you. His calendar appears to be completely full." Pulling out a book from a drawer, he hurriedly started leafing through it, nodding as if confirming his words. It was probably just a trick of the light that I thought the title read The Wild Adventures of Buffalo Bill.

"Then," Mr Ambrose suggested, grabbing the book and slamming it shut, "how about we make it a bit fuller?"

"Um...I wouldn't...I couldn't..."

"I see. So that's how it is, is it?"

And without giving the clerk another second of his time, Mr Ambrose breezed past the desk and started up the steps.

"No, wait! You can't just—"

But this was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He wasn't a man whom you could tell what he could or could not do.

I should know. I'd tried.

And tried. And tried. And...

Well, you get the idea.

Muttering under my breath, I hurried after him, trying not to pay attention to the shouts in Spanish outside of the building.

Having caught up, I glanced sideways at my dear husband. "Are you sure your plan is going the way you want it to?"

"Certainly. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason. No reason whatsoever."

It didn't take long for all of us to reach the mayor's office. Judging by the expression on the faces of the townspeople who were still following my husband and me, it could have been a little longer and they wouldn't have minded in the least.

Unlike the last time, Mr Ambrose did knock on the door. With his entire fist, hard enough for the door to slam open.

I'd have to remember that method for later use.

"Wha—Señor Ambrose, what are you doing here?" A Hispanic man with a handlebar moustache you could most likely use to actually break doors open nearly leapt out of his chair. His eyes flickered to the others. "And who are you all?"

Marching forward until he towered over the smaller man, Mr Rikkard Ambrose sent the man his patented arctic gaze, guaranteed to deep-freeze opponents. "We? We are concerned citizens."

"But...you're British!"

"I'm very good at being concerned long-distance."

"Um...is sat so?"

"Indeed." Placing his fists down on the desk, Mr Ambrose leaned forward until he was close enough to cause frostbite to the smaller man by sheer proximity. "However, there are some things that are better taken care of up close and personal."