All About the Benjamins: Chapter 4

Sorry for the long delay between chapters 3 and 4, but I will have chapter 5 up next week I promise. :-)

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All About the Benjamins

Chapter 4
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He had been driving for hours. His hands wet on the wheel, while the radio played forgotten songs. Miles of an endless and empty desert had passed his eyes, the sun burning on his car.

But now the sun had disappeared completely and a single star shined it's light. he felt his tiredness. It had been such a heavy day. If the road signs were correct, the motel should be within ten miles. After a few minutes, the neon light of the motel raised from the horizon like a beacon in the night.
He drove his sleek '58 Corvette convertible into an empty spot and got out. First he loosed his stiffened muscles a little. Then he looked around. It was as quiet as the whole damn desert in this dull place, he thought.



The Bayside Motel, was just a dusty old two story building with bad coffee, bad beds, no hot water in the showers and screaming neighbors. He headed to the receptionist desk to check in.

The receptionist was a regular woman, about fifty years of age, friendly, not ugly, not pretty, but a nice body. Nothing special. He paid for a room, and told her he would be checking out tomorrow morning. She told him one thing and then another about the motel and the restaurant and gave him the key.



She didn't seem to be surprised that a guy like him was traveling alone. Luckily she didn't asked him about it. That was his business and he would tell no-one about that.

"You'll be staying in room 210." she said ringing the desk bell. [ding, ding.] "I'll have the bellhop take your luggage and show you to your room"

"No that's okay, I can manage myself."

"It's no trouble... really," she replied. "Ah, here she comes now."

Rebel turned to see this angelic looking girl not more than 19 or 20 years old coming down the stairs. It was like he was watching in slow motion as she descended to the bottom. A killer body, and legs that seemed to go on forever.



"This is my daughter, Kristie." the desk clerk announced.

"Huh?.. What?" Rebel snapped out of his trance.

"My daughter, Kristie. She will show you to your room now."

"Oh yeah, sure." he answered.

"Walk this way, please." Kristie suggested.

"Oh geez... If I walk that way I'm liable to break something." He joked.

Rebel picked up is bag and followed as Kristie the bellhop led the way back up the stairs. As they began slowly down the long hallway Rebel saw a light by each door illuminating the numbers next to the door. Each door was of brown wood with a brushed nickel doorknob. As they strolled down the long corridor, a man from room 208 step out into the hallway. Rebel identified him as one of Dawson's Boys. it was Marlon alright.

There was no mistaking the huge scar on his left cheek, and even though Marlon looked right at him when he walked past, he didn't even recognize him, with his disguise of the beard and mustache, sunglasses, long black trench coat and cowboy hat.



Rebel was glad to see him... if Marlon was here, that meant Danny was also. and that could ultimately mean only one thing... Dawson was somewhere nearby. A bear doesn't wonder too far from its cubs.

Rebel stood behind Kristie as she looked at the tag on the key and the number below the light; they both read "210", one in neat cursive and one in metal letters. She placed the key in the hole and began to turn, which required more force than normal. – She then pushed the door open, held the key out...

"Here you go sir... Now if you'll excuse me I have a lot of work to do."

Rebel took the key from her hand and replaced it with a ten.

"Thank you." she said with a huge smile.



Throwing his suitcase on the bed, he grabbed a towel and his shaving kit, and headed into the bathroom, laying them on the counter beside the sink; The bathroom room was large with tiled walls. He glanced into the mirror and swiped a hand over the bristles of hair on the face. He squirted some shaving cream into his hand, and proceeded to slather it across his face.

The steam from the sink began to fog the mirror, as the razor methodically skated over his foam whiskered face again and again. Then from his shaving bag he pulled out a small cordless beard trimmer and began sculpting his signature goatee, until he looked again like his regular old self. Rinsing his razor, and beard trimmer he dropped them into his shaving bag and turned off the water. He wiped the fog from the mirror with his towel, and slapped on some aftershave with a musky, heady scent.