Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own C.O.P.S or any of the show's syndicated characters. I'm just posting this for any the fans of this rockin' 80's show. Please read and review, and I hope you enjoy it

Chapter 2

I was staying with Doug while filming my movie. Shortly before lunch the next day, he and I drove to the airport to get Benjamin. I hadn't seen him since last Christmas, when my mother and I flew down to Miami to stay with him and Uncle Matt.

We ate in the airport, then stood outside the baggage claim waiting for him. Shortly after two o'clock, we saw a tall lean figure, brown hair with the tips dyed blond, with an excited-looking grin. Benjamin. After we hugged, he looked at us and said, "I suppose Randall is at the ol' 'bear's den' watching out for hookers and thieves, as usual."

"Afraid so," I replied. "He left at seven this morning, and won't be off until later this evening."

Doug checked his watch. "And I have to be at work at three," he added. "I'll take you to my place, and you and Leslie can hang out, Ben. I'll tell Randall you're here, and tell him to go to my house when he gets off."

"Oh, no need," Benjamin assured. "I've got reservations at the Manifesta Hotel. I'll keep Leslie until Randall can pick him up."

Soon, the carousels began to activate and bags started coming out. Doug and I were helping Benjamin look for his luggage. After we got the suitcases, we saw four cardboard boxes with his name on them. "Are those copies of your new book?" I asked.

He nodded. "Twenty books for each box." I helped him retrieve the boxes. God, but they were heavy. Benjamin would need a luggage cart to carry them to the car.

Doug dropped me and Benjamin off at the Manifesta from the airport. We helped him bring all his things to his room. Before Doug left, Benjamin opened a box for two books and showed them to us.

I read the title aloud and whistled. "Passions of the Junkyard Dog. I like this title."

Benjamin quickly autographed the copies for both my brothers, and gave them to Doug. He thanked him and said, "Ben, you should come by the headquarters tomorrow. I'm sure Bulletproof and the others would love to meet you."

"Oh, I'll be busy all day until Saturday," Benjamin said. "Maybe if you or Randall are on shift tomorrow night, I could come by. Just tell them that they're all invited to the book signing at the Empire Bookstore."

"Will do. See you." Doug left, closing the door behind him.

When we were alone, I started looking around the room. It was a very spacious two-bed suite. (I guess all the one-bedders were all booked.) There was an awesome desk with a glass top, and see-through drawers with golden knobs. I told Benjamin, "That'd be perfect for you to plug in your computer, and work on your next piece."

He laughed. "Unfortunately, I won't have much time while I'm here."

Next to the desk was an entertainment center with a 24-inch TV, remote control, DVD player, and stereo system. I turned on the stereo. Rock music was playing. I wanted to turn it up, but I noticed the rules on the door. Excessive noise was prohibited, so I turned it to an easy-listening station. Benjamin and I sat down on the waterbeds. It was so warm and comfortable, I lay down. I was bobbing up and down, feeling relaxed. It sure took away all the tensions from yesterday.

"Oh, I LOVE this!" I said exasperatedly. "Can I stay with you for the night?"

"Do you have $350.00?" Benjamin asked. That changed my mind.

He looked in the drawers between the beds and took out a room service menu. "How about a little treat before dinner, on me?" he offered.

"Sounds good," I answered. "I'll have a chocolate chip muffin and a diet Pepsi."

He dialed room service and took my order. He ordered an apple turnover and fruit punch. While we waited, I said, "So, Ben, you haven't told much about your book. What's it all about?"

"Oh, Leslie, I know that you, Doug, Randall, and all your little cop friends are going to love it," he answered, grinning. "It's about this tough, yet tender plainclothes policeman, Johnny Willis, also known as 'the Junkyard Dog.' On the police beat, he's known for rough style when apprehending criminals. But when he's off duty, he turns into this loving sweetheart whom women just adore."

"Plainclothes," I repeated. "I imagine his choice of attire also plays a part in his attracting women."

Benjamin nodded. "Extra large tank tops with blue jeans, loafers, and a trucker's cap. He's got biceps so big, virtually no police uniform can fit him. Why, he'd just rip the sleeves when he flexed his might. He does that to show the criminals who's in charge."

I groaned. "I'm jealous already. I'll never get to be like that with MY cerebral palsy! I guess that what makes all the girls want him."

Our room service arrived soon enough. Benjamin paid for it and gave me my muffin and soda. As I ate, he continued, "But what the ladies love the most about the Junkyard Dog is his caring attitude towards children, especially his own two sons. He's a single dad, too, which he sees as a plus." He took a bite of his turnover. "See, the book starts of when his wife is diagnosed with cancer and learns she is dying…"

I stopped him. "I'll read the book for myself, thanks."

At quarter after five, Benjamin took me to the Woodhouse Room. It's a family restaurant located at the hotel. I've never been there before, so I looked around at the décor. Silver wallpaper with gold and bronze stripes on the top half of the walls, and cherry oak on the bottom half. They could've put something nice in the middle to separate them, like a railing. Above all the tables against the walls were oil paintings of major world cities – London, Paris, Tokyo, and all else. There were windows at the farther end, but you could barely see anything out of them. They were all stained-glass, like the ones in a church, but with pictures of Empire City instead of all that religious stuff. On the ceiling were lighting fixtures shaped like stars. I thought that looked awesome.

"This sure does look homely," I said as we sat down at a window.

Benjamin ordered shepherd's pie. "A friend of mine that stayed here told me it's the best thing they have," he told me. That convinced me to order the same. But when the waitress took our order, she recognized me and cried, "Oh my God, you're Leslie Janes! The movie star! I've seen almost your movies!" She couldn't be any older than nineteen, and obviously a fan of teen movies. Of course, everyone heard her, and they suddenly left their tables to get my autograph. I gave her my order while autographing her uniform.

"That's funny," I said when they all left. "When I went out for pizza yesterday, the most I got were a couple of teen girls at a table near us, pointing at me and gabbing."

Benjamin sighed. "I'm a published author now. How come everyone looked at me like a regular guy?"

"They won't after this weekend. At this time next week, people will be saying, 'Oh my God, you're Benjamin Janes. I just think Passions of the Junkyard Dog is an awesome book! I just have to have your autograph. When's your next book coming out? I want to read that, too!' That's what people will say."

He smiled. "Thanks, Les."

"Do you remember when you were twelve years old," I asked, "and you told my Dad you were serious about being a writer? You and Uncle Matt were here for Thanksgiving, and you showed my parents a twelve-page short story that you wrote."

"Uncle Francis didn't read it!" Benjamin replied, disgusted. "He tore it out page by page, started yelling at me to stop being so foolish, then he got into my Dad's face. I believe his exact words were, 'Discipline that boy properly, Matthew! He doesn't have CP like Leslie! Send Benjamin to the police academy and make him a cop!' Then he started preaching all that stuff about family pride and tradition. Of course, Dad refused, saying he'll be damned if he loses his only kid to the crime-ridden Miami streets."

I frowned. I remembered Dad dismantling Benjamin's story, but I totally forgot the fight he had with Uncle Matt as a result. He was so disgusted, they left a day early. They made up when Uncle Matt called to wish me a happy birthday the following year, but he never visited my father again.

"I still can't believe Uncle Matt stayed away from here until it was too late," I said. "I remember when I was fifteen, and I was staying with you guys in Miami while I was doing Quarterstalk. We were three months into filming when Doug called, telling us that Dad had died. Sudden heart attack. I still remember how Uncle Matt acted the whole time he was here for the funeral."

"I'd never seen him cry like that since Mom died." Benjamin took a drink of his Dr. Pepper. "Still, it was stupid of you to dedicate that movie to Uncle Francis. It was about a pro quarterback who's stalked by a woman who claims he's the father of her son, for God's sake. You played the protagonist's biggest fan who defended him!"

"Two things, Ben," I replied. "One, I couldn't go back to work for two weeks after we returned. I think I called Bulletproof about fifty times for comfort. God knows what would've happened to me if he wasn't at that funeral! Two, I played a policeman's stepson in that movie. Dad would've loved my performance!"

When our food arrived, we started reflecting on happier memories. Still, I couldn't believe this one embarrassing memory Benjamin insisted on bringing up.

"Do you remember when you were nine years old, and you spent the whole summer with us in Miami?" he asked. "Remember that hot summer day when my Dad was mowing the lawn in a speedo, and you came up and poked him in his belly button while he was watering?" He was laughing and whooping, slapping his lap.

I slammed my hand on the table, giving him an evil look. Nobody outside the family ever knew about that. I looked around to see if anyone was listening. They weren't, they were just eating and having their own conversations. Thank Christ! I don't like being laughed at, stared, and whispered about in public.

"You swore you'd never bring that up ever again!" I whispered spitefully.

"Oh, come on!" Benjamin scoffed. "Dad said it tickled, but he never minded. And your parents sure had a hearty laugh about it."

I took a forkful of shepherd's pie, chewed and swallowed. "My brothers called me 'belly button boy' for a whole year! How would you like me to tell everyone about the time at the beach a few days later? We had sodas with ice, and you went up to a woman in a one-piece swimsuit, and put your ice down her back!"

He nearly choked on his bite but managed to swallow. "I almost got grounded that time," he growled. "After that, I made you keep that a secret."

We ate two more bites of our dinner in silence, then he asked about the movie I was working on.

Back in the hotel room, the phone rang. Benjamin answered it.

"Of course Leslie is here," he said. "May I ask who's calling?… Oh, hi, Randall. This is Ben."

They chatted for a few moments while I got myself ready. Obviously, Randall was calling to say he was picking me up. When I had my shoes on, he handed the phone to me.

"Leslie," he said to me, "I'll be at the hotel in just a few minutes."

I noticed that Benjamin had another copy of his book that he was autographing for me. "Do you want me to meet you at the lobby or outside?" I asked.

"Nah, Ben already gave me the room number, so I'm coming up there," he said.

"Where are you right now?" I asked.

"At Doug's place, packing an overnight bag for you. You'll be spending the night at my place, all right?"

"Yeah, that's cool." Doug's wife is a nurse at the Empire City General Hospital, and with her working a double shift tonight, I guess he didn't want me going back to the house being so empty.

I said goodbye to Randall and hung up. Benjamin gave me my own copy of his book, and I opened to see the autograph. I read aloud, "To my cousin, Leslie. You have been my inspiration forever and always. Love, Benjamin." I smiled at him. "Nice. Did you write this in Doug and Randall's copies?"

Benjamin nodded. He pulled out eleven more copies and autographed one for Bulletproof. "It'll be nice to see him Bulletproof again," he said. "I haven't seen him since Uncle Francis' funeral."

"How many copies are you going to display at the signing?" I asked.

"My publisher wanted sixty-five, but I requested some extra copies so all your friends can read it." He gave me Bulletproof's copy and opened another. "And what are the names of the other guys he hired?"

"Highway, Longarm, Hardtop, Mace, Mainframe, Bullseye, Mirage, Bowzer, Sundown and Barricade," I answered.

Benjamin feverishly autographed the rest of the books. I noticed he was writing the same thing in all of them. When he had two more copies to go, we heard a knock. "That's Randall," I said. I opened the door and let my brother in.

I picked up six autographed copies, and asked Randall to carry the rest. Before I left, I said to Benjamin, "If I don't see you again before Saturday, see you at the signing." He smiled and replied, "See you later."

Outside the hotel, I put the books in the back seat of Randall's police car. I got in the front and buckled up. Minutes later, I saw Randall putting the rest of the books in the back seat. Once he got settled, we were off to his place.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it's coming slow, but come next chapter, it's all going to explode. Just wait until you read excerpts of Ben's book, and you'll see what I mean. Once again, please read and review, and Chapter 3 is on its way