around the end of the building. It had areas that led around the end of the trains. It was quite a hike, but eventually I was around the train station itself. It was dark by this time as I heard the Amtrak train move out.
I was in the main part of town, so I looked for a decent chain motel. I soon saw the sign about three blocks away. It was an easy walk, so I hung around outside until another couple pulled up, then went in right behind them.
At the desk, they signed in and then, because there was only one guy on duty, I waited the twenty minutes it took to get them registered. As they walked away, I said to the woman, “See you later.”
She nodded at me and kept on going. The desk clerk was busy with his paper work so I just waited. “I need a room next to my friends if possible. Just for one person.” I smiled. I pulled out the wrong driver’s license. The clerk hardly looked at it as he worked on the computer. Fortunately, a businessman came in to stand behind me.
The clerk held out his hand. “Credit card?”
“Oh, can I pay in cash? “ I pulled out my wallet, starting to count out cash. I let him see the tops of my credit cards.
“Sure, oh, and you can pull your car around in back. Your room key will open the outside door.”
He told me the amount and I got change back along with the room key. I went out to get my non-existent car. I walked around to the rear door, entered, and went up one floor to my room.
I took a nice shower, then had an equally nice night’s sleep, only interrupted once by a dream of dark eyes. I sat up in bed expecting to see him in the room. Once my breathing had settled down, and I was able to make sure I was still in the room by myself, I went back to sleep, finally waking up in the morning surprised that I was rested.
* * * *
F. J. Franklin
Just when Franklin thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did. He was in a small town in Georgia. He saw no hotels, just single story motels, facing the highway with paint-peeling signs. Every other vehicle had a shotgun rack, filled, and a Confederate Flag decal on the rear bumper.
Most houses had vicious dogs in the yards. Not the pure bred Rottweilers used in New York dog fights. No, these half-starved mutts would attack in packs, the fighter and his owner, and when the fighting was over, they would eat both before they slink back under the front porches.
He had come in with a small team to meet a man who was reputed to be the power behind the Governor. The man was the epitome of white southern trash, but from what Franklin’s men had researched, it was all an act.
The man had a college degree, but played up the good ole’ boy routine for his elections. He had gotten his first money to invest from his own family. Somewhere along the way, he had changed his name, managed to put on a lot of weight, then surrounded himself with a group of down-home trailer trash, and probably some white supremacists. He threw in a couple of black lawyers just to make the mix laughable and give the media something to talk about.
Franklin and his men had come in, driving a couple of civilian Hummers, which he found no more comfortable than the military ones, both with room for only one passenger in front. Evidently one of the men thought they would fit in with the guys who went hunting every other day, but they stood out as bad if they had driven up in bright red VW beetles. Next to all the mud-covered pick-ups, including the four-door that the brain stepped out of, now, the Hummers looked like show offs.
They followed the cavalcade of trucks accompanied by yelping, shooting-torn jeans-wearing men onto the red, dusty, unpaved roads deep into the high pine forests to a rolling log hunting cabin that had been added onto, complete with wraparound porch and rockers. He put up with the good ole boy jokes and ate the bar-b-q pig or whatever it was. Actually the meal was pretty good.
But there were the mangy dogs, flies in droves, and
I was in the main part of town, so I looked for a decent chain motel. I soon saw the sign about three blocks away. It was an easy walk, so I hung around outside until another couple pulled up, then went in right behind them.
At the desk, they signed in and then, because there was only one guy on duty, I waited the twenty minutes it took to get them registered. As they walked away, I said to the woman, “See you later.”
She nodded at me and kept on going. The desk clerk was busy with his paper work so I just waited. “I need a room next to my friends if possible. Just for one person.” I smiled. I pulled out the wrong driver’s license. The clerk hardly looked at it as he worked on the computer. Fortunately, a businessman came in to stand behind me.
The clerk held out his hand. “Credit card?”
“Oh, can I pay in cash? “ I pulled out my wallet, starting to count out cash. I let him see the tops of my credit cards.
“Sure, oh, and you can pull your car around in back. Your room key will open the outside door.”
He told me the amount and I got change back along with the room key. I went out to get my non-existent car. I walked around to the rear door, entered, and went up one floor to my room.
I took a nice shower, then had an equally nice night’s sleep, only interrupted once by a dream of dark eyes. I sat up in bed expecting to see him in the room. Once my breathing had settled down, and I was able to make sure I was still in the room by myself, I went back to sleep, finally waking up in the morning surprised that I was rested.
* * * *
F. J. Franklin
Just when Franklin thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did. He was in a small town in Georgia. He saw no hotels, just single story motels, facing the highway with paint-peeling signs. Every other vehicle had a shotgun rack, filled, and a Confederate Flag decal on the rear bumper.
Most houses had vicious dogs in the yards. Not the pure bred Rottweilers used in New York dog fights. No, these half-starved mutts would attack in packs, the fighter and his owner, and when the fighting was over, they would eat both before they slink back under the front porches.
He had come in with a small team to meet a man who was reputed to be the power behind the Governor. The man was the epitome of white southern trash, but from what Franklin’s men had researched, it was all an act.
The man had a college degree, but played up the good ole’ boy routine for his elections. He had gotten his first money to invest from his own family. Somewhere along the way, he had changed his name, managed to put on a lot of weight, then surrounded himself with a group of down-home trailer trash, and probably some white supremacists. He threw in a couple of black lawyers just to make the mix laughable and give the media something to talk about.
Franklin and his men had come in, driving a couple of civilian Hummers, which he found no more comfortable than the military ones, both with room for only one passenger in front. Evidently one of the men thought they would fit in with the guys who went hunting every other day, but they stood out as bad if they had driven up in bright red VW beetles. Next to all the mud-covered pick-ups, including the four-door that the brain stepped out of, now, the Hummers looked like show offs.
They followed the cavalcade of trucks accompanied by yelping, shooting-torn jeans-wearing men onto the red, dusty, unpaved roads deep into the high pine forests to a rolling log hunting cabin that had been added onto, complete with wraparound porch and rockers. He put up with the good ole boy jokes and ate the bar-b-q pig or whatever it was. Actually the meal was pretty good.
But there were the mangy dogs, flies in droves, and
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