Snow Job
DISCLAIMER: This Quantum Leap™ story utilizes characters that are copyright © by Bellasarius Productions and Universal Studios. No infringement on their respective copyrights are intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan fiction story is written solely for the entertainment of the readers and are not for profit. All fiction, plots, and original characters are the sole creations of the author.Part Three
The walk to the front office was more difficult than before. Over five minutes passed before he was able to get into the warm lobby, if you wanted to honor it with that title. He was just about as cold as he'd ever been. "Hello?" Nothing answered. "Hello? Anyone here?" Why did he think he'd find a human being?
Sam never thought much about his over-honest ways. His parents just expected him to not steal, lie or cheat anyone. Going behind a counter in a business establishment just gave him the willies, but being called a wimp and every other term the admiral could come up with was even more willie inducing. A gut sucking breath and he marched behind the registration desk. He'd never seen the back of a counter before. It intrigued his explorer's brain. He pulled at a drawer that had a keyhole on it. "That's got to be where the cash is." A slight tug and surprisingly, the drawer slid open freely. Inside he found what he wanted. "Good grief. Anyone could just steal all this." Still shaking his head, he slapped down a ten spot where tens should be and grabbed a roll of quarters. Looking up he said, "Thank you," and headed back to the vending machines. He spotted an empty grocery bag. "Good. This way he won't be sending me out again till at least tomorrow."
Whipping snows made the tips of his red ears curl and the vending machine was under more snow. He plunked a quarter into the slot and waited to hear it fall. It didn't. "Don't do this to me." His hip bumped against the old, cold mechanism and after three hits, he heard the coin drop. The next one followed more easily. Just for kicks, he bought an extra item. With his bag filled with chocolate, potato chips, Fritos, root beer, diet Coke and - for some reason unbeknownst to him - a little packet of paper with a golfer's tiny pencil. Considering the only items other than food were (as Al called them on those special occasions when he wanted to embarrass Sam) manhood mittens, in varying sizes and textures, the little pad of paper was something he oddly just had to buy. Sam dumped everything into the paper bag and wished he'd worn his hat.
Getting back to the room was a harder walk. The wind pushed at him and fought each step back into the room. He passed the door of Reverend Earl and as he did, the door flung open. "Beware the son of Satan!"
"Excuse me?"
A bony hand pointed toward room two. "Satan's spawn resides in that room!"
"I reside in that room with him."
Bloodshot eyes stared out from the unshaven cousin-married-cousin face. "He is to be feared! He is the spawn of Satan."
"You told me that. I know. Now, I need to get to our room." Sam shook the bag. "Spawn wants more root beer."
The hand reached out and took Sam's face and raised his eyes to heaven. "Lord, protect this man. Keep him from the evil lurking in room two. Keep his heart pure and true."
Sam pulled back. "I'll be fine. The Lord has protected me from Satan's spawn so far and I don't think He's going to stop now." It took a little effort to get out from Earl's hand. "By the way, what is your name?" The zealot looked confused. "Satan's spawn called you Reverend Earl. Who are you really?"
The man staggered back into his room and screamed like a banshee searching for Ireland. "Satan's son! I told you he is Satan's son. He called my name!"
"Because he called you Reverend Earl? He was just being goofy."
The man's eyes grew and grew and the fear on his face multiplied like loaves and fishes. "I am the Reverend Earl Johnstone. Tremble! Tremble with fear for the spawn of Satan knows my name."
The man's distress made Sam feel sorry. "Listen, he's just a guy. In fact, he's a decorated war veteran and an admiral in the Navy. He's a little unusual, but I can promise you that he is not the son of Satan. He can be noisy, but mostly he's harmless." A little lying was okay here. The man was going to have a stroke.
Earl sank down onto the unmade bed. "This snow is his doing. I know this, for why else would the Lord abandon me here amid the lustful and sinning masses."
"Reverend, there are no masses here. There might be a little lusting in room three and the snow is just a geothermic phenomenon. Snow happens. It happens all the time in Indiana." Sam pulled the door toward him. "Now, if you need anything," a sudden sense of sensibility hit him, "Just go ask at the front desk."
It took another minute to get to room two, but the ratty door looked like heaven. He pushed his way in and found Al stretched out on the bed reading a book. "Where did you get a book?"
"From my duffel. I always carry a book with me." Holding it up he told Sam, "Tom Wolfe's latest. Bonfire of the Vanities. Good story."
Sam recalled his own reading material - material left in the car. "I have A Brief History of Time in the car. Hawking is a genius."
"Great book, but it's not for scientists. It's kindergarten for you and 6th grade for me. You want non-fiction, then you got to pick up The Making of the Atomic Bomb. We need to make it required reading for everyone employed at the Project. Makes you think about what we want to do."
Sam dumped the bag on the table and took off his wet coat. "I want dry clothes."
"You can find some in the car. Oh, wait! The car isn't here. It's about a quarter mile and 30 inches of snow down the road." His face went back into the book. "Get those wet clothes off, take a hot shower and hang out in your shorts. Won't bother me any. I'd let you wear the other pair of sweats I got in my bag, but they're too small for you."
Sam hung his coat on the peg and started taking off his wet shoes and socks. "If you have a large, I can squeeze into it."
"Sorry, kid. The shirt and pants are both mediums. I don't like my sweats baggy."
He couldn't catch a break and it started to annoy him. "Why didn't you grow like normal people?"
Again, Al lowered his book. He was going to get another dig in, but he had to keep his face straight for it to work. "Well, Sam, my father was about 6'4" and built like Arnold Schwarzenegger. The docs at Annapolis said my size is probably due to childhood malnutrition. Now, where did you grow up? A dairy farm?"
A long, low growl filled the room. Al got him good. "Okay, I forgot about that."
Smiling at his victory, Al wrote in the air. "Calavicci, 857. Beckett, three," then added quietly, "More like two, but I'll give you that one back last August." Waving his friend off he told him, "Go get dry. You'll get sick and you're the doctor here."
While stripping down to his shorts wasn't the most appealing thing, Sam had to admit that getting the wet cold clothes off felt good. He decided a shower might warm him up. "Okay, my turn in the shower with Reverend Earl," realizing Al hadn't heard the story yet, "whom I met, by the way and you're never going to believe this. He really is a Reverend and his name is Earl. Earl Johnson, Johnston, no Johnstone, that's it. I tried my best to convince him you're not the son of Satan."
"I've been called worse."
Kidding his pal, Sam admitted, "I know. I've called you worse myself, but this guy is nuts. Don't provoke him, okay?"
"I never provoke anyone."
Sam lowered his chin and raised his eyes, "You? God forbid." He was just about to disappear into the bathroom, when he had to ask, "What did you say in there to make Earl so upset?"
"Just started singing."
Nodding, Sam laughed, "That would do it!" Al shot him a glare accompanied with half a grin. Sam laughed more. "That sure as hell would do it."
Nose back in the book, "Probably didn't help that I sang Plastic Jesus."
"Plastic Jesus?"
Without taking the book from his eyes, Al crooned, "I don't care if it's dark or scary long as I have magnetic Mary riding on the dashboard of my car. I feel I'm protected amply 'cause I got the whole holy family riding on the dashboard of my car."
The lyrics bordered on sacrilege. "You know, you just might be Satan's spawn."
Al kept it up, getting dramatically into the chorus, "Magnetic Mary! Magnetic Mary! Riding on the dashboard of my car. Once her gown was snowy white, but now I see, it ain't quite so bright. It got stained by the smoke of my cigar."
Shaking his head, Sam made his way into the bathroom for his shower.
The book was getting good. Al moved into speed reader mode to try to figure out what Wolfe's yuppies were going to do after running down the homeless guy. He heard the water start and then Sam's big baritone started in. "I saw the light. I saw the light. No more darkness. No more night. Now I'm so happy, no sorrow in sight. Praise the Lord, I saw the light!" Behind him, the wall once again added rhythm. Thud, thud, thud, thud.
The absurdity of their hole-in-the-wall was still laughable, but Al hoped and even began praying that it would end sooner rather than later. The television sputtered a bit and the picture disappeared into a black hole of a dot in the center of the screen. He was perfectly willing to survive without a television, but he didn't like the idea that it sizzled out the way it did. Pulling the plug would assuage his fear of fire, so he rolled off the bed and made his way to the wall. Just as he lowered his hand toward the socket, a spark flew out and scared him back about three steps. "Damn, that can't be good." Then, like anyone who wanted to test the Fates would do, he grabbed the cord, yanked it hard and fast, breaking the connection and sighing in relief. His engineer eyes took a close look at the cord. Frayed wires ran through the exposed covering. The next step was to check all the other things in the room. He wasn't about to go up in smoke at the Lick Me Motel.
The clock was okay. He took a little more care checking out the cord of the heater. It looked fine and more importantly, it felt cool. Actually, the heater looked relatively new compared to the bed sheets. Regardless, he opted to lower the temperature a little to let the mechanism cool down a bit. Before he went back to reading his book, he pulled the extra sweatshirt out of his duffel. He did have a large sweatshirt on hand. No man with an adequate supply of testosterone buys a sweatshirt any smaller than that, but yanking Sam's chain was an obsession he couldn't overcome. Now, the sweatpants were a different story. He was too short to wear large sweatpants without looking like a garden gnome in a Tae-Bo class.
Sam kept singing the refrain of I Saw the Light and despite how good the voice was, after about ten choruses, Al had enough. He knocked on the door of the bathroom. "Hey, get a new tune, Beckett!"
Yanking chains was a two way street for the buddies and annoying Al was just what he wanted to do. "It's my favorite hymn," and he had to add, "Oh, Spawn."
From beyond the wall, Reverend Earl joined the conversation. "Oh, ye son of Satan! you must see the light! You must see the light and ask your God for forgiveness."
Sam laughed. Al rolled his eyes and Reverend Earl began his own off-key version of the song. "I wandered so aimless, life filled with sin. I wouldn't let my dear savior in. Then Jesus came like a stranger in the night. Praise the Lord, I saw the light!
Every so often, the stars align and everything happens perfectly or imperfectly depending on your point of view. Al yelled to the Rev, "Hell, I don't need to see the light!" and the entire motel crackled with the sounds of a power outage. All of a sudden, no one saw the light.
From behind his walls, Reverend Earl was heard repeating, "Save us, Lord! Save us, Lord!"
Sam looked up at the dark ceiling light and called to Al, "Didn't know you could do that! Pretty cool, Al."
It wasn't a tragedy, but plans needed making so Al went into commandant mode. "Sam, get out of there and dry off before we lose all the heat in here."
All of a sudden, the thudding from the other wall came fast and furious, with each participant calling out the other's name, "Bambi!" "Spike!" "Bambi!" "Spike, what happened to the lights?"
"Lights, what lights?" Thud, thud, thud."
Al stood in between the extremes of human behavior and rubbed his eyes. "What the hell is going on here?" It was his turn to look up to the heavens. "You testing me? This is a test, right?"
Sam popped out of the bathroom and Al threw the sweatshirt at him. "What's this?"
"A sweatshirt, Moriarty." He grinned. "It's a large. I was fibbing before." The room was nearly blacked out. "But I don't have pants that fit you. You're on your own there."
The bright snow reflected the little bit of light still available. The room was a haze, but at least Sam could see outlines. "It's going to get cold in here pretty quickly. The wind is strong."
"So, put your pants on and let's see if we can find the owner of this joint. There's a wood burning stove in the office. We'll burn the damn furniture. I don't like being cold."
Sam dressed as quickly as he could. The dry sweatshirt fit well enough, but the only pants he had were wet from the knees down. "Cold, wet wool. Nothing feels better. You got dry socks?"
"Yeah, check the duffel." Standing by the window, the admiral gazed at the unending deluge of white stuff. "This is just nuts. Give me the desert any day." Walking back toward Sam he kept on talking. "You get the Rev and I'll get the banger twins. I'll meet you in the lobby. Where the hell are my boots?"
"Ow!" Sam reached down and rubbed his sore toe. "I found them." The free hand handed his attackers to the admiral. "I don't think I'm ever going to get warm."
When things needed doing, Al got all business. As he pulled his boots on, he told Sam, "You'll be warm." He grabbed his coat and gave one last instruction. "You get the Rev and I'll pickup Bambi and Spike. Tell him to grab the blanket and bedspread and bring it along. You bring the ones from here." He tucked his hands into his gloves. "And bring the goody bag."
Al pushed his way out the door leaving Sam standing there with his mouth hanging open. "I guess you're in charge." But there was something comforting in knowing his friend was going to pull everything together. He finished dressing and followed orders.
Once outside, Al started cursing under his breath. Until the lights died, their situation was inconvenient. Now the potential for emergency reared up. The snow between room two and room three drifted almost to mid-thigh on him. Albeit, he was not a tall man, but snow that deep was not safe. The 12-foot hike to room three took several minutes and he had to take a few calming breaths to get him ready to confront Bambi and Spike. His gloved hand banged on the door and he called out, "Open up!"
His acute hearing heard Spike anxiously hustling around the room. "You're way over 21, right?"
Bambi practically squealed, "Way over 21? Way over? How old do you think I am?"
Al could feel the guy's pain. Whispering quietly, he told the unseen Spike, "Man, you're screwed. You will not win this one."
Spike didn't have the sense God gave Gilligan. "But Bambi, you're . . . you're still pretty."
The admiral shook his head. "Aw, Spike, wrong thing to say. Just plain wrong in so many ways."
"Still? What do you mean by 'still'?"
He had to stop it before his fellow fellow got any deeper into things. "Hey, open the door. We got to find the owner here and figure out what to do!"
The thud puppies scrambled around and it was a full three minutes before Al was welcomed inside. A one-time lovely, now very chubby, 40ish woman, dressed in a camisole and a pair of panties that would make both sets of cheeks frostbitten if the door stayed open any longer, gave him a look-over. She stood up to her full six feet in height and hummed, "Come on in, short, dark and handsome."
Every so often expectations just don't meet up with reality. While it was his nature to give all women a good look, this time he was trying to be sure that the figure in front of him wasn't Spike. Once assured that the very bleached blonde was a woman, he darted into the room to get away from the blowing snows. His foot started tapping impatiently. "You're Bambi?"
"You can call me anything you want," her hands slipped to his waist as she looked to his tapping toes, "Thumper. I bet you are a thumper, aren't you?"
It's not that she wasn't his type. Almost anything that ever wore a skirt was his type, but timing is everything and this timing couldn't be any more wrong if he tried to design it. "I've had my moments, but, honey, this ain't one." He pushed her hands off of him. "Not sure if you actually noticed, but we lost power and it's going to get really cold, really fast. There's a stove in the lobby. You and Spike need to get dressed, grab the blanket and bedspread and come with me where we can stay warm."
"Exercise keeps you warm." She fingered a stray curl on his head. "You like exercise?"
Pulling her hand off his head he told her, "Bambi, another time, another place, but we have to think long term here. If we freeze to death, then there won't be any more thumping at all."
She sighed her disappointment. "I guess." Turning toward the bathroom, she called out in the grating voice of a trucker after a pack of Camels, "Yo, Spike! Get a move on. We got to go back to the lobby and wait this thing out."
Spike slinked out of the bathroom like a ferret on speed, pulling on his pants and trying to zip the fly. "I'm comin'! I'm comin'!" He spotted Al and froze in his tracks, his slacks dropping down to the floor. "Dear Lord, in heaven." Wearing satin polka dot boxers and stumbling over the chinos wrapped around his ankles, Spike saluted. "Seaman Arnold de Beauvoir at your service, sir!"
Curiouser and curiouser. Al was terribly confused. "First thing, Seaman, I'm not in uniform so you don't need to do the saluting thing. Secondly, how the hell do you know me.?"
Al hadn't returned the salute yet so Spike still stood with his hand at his forehead. "Everyone knows you, don't they, Admiral?"
Bambi sidled up to him again, "Not everybody, Spike." She tickled Al's ear and said, "Thumper, are you an admiral?"
"Stop it." Finally, realizing Spike had frozen in his salute, Al returned the unnecessary protocol and watched the man relax. "You don't have to salute. Just call me Al."
Trying to get into his hair again Bambi purred, "I like the name Al."
"So do I." He pulled her hand down, "I asked you not to do that." Backing toward the door he tried again, "Listen, we have no power. The rooms are going to get very cold. I can't imagine the insulation is any good in these walls. So, get dressed, fold up the bedspread and the blanket and meet us in the front office." He pointed his finger at the bug-eyed seaman like the commanding officer he was. "Pull up your pants and get her and you down there in 15 minutes, Seaman. Understood?"
"Aye, aye, sir!" Arnold saluted again, his hand riveted in position waiting for Al to do his part of the whole thing.
"I told you before, I'm not in uniform. We are not on a military base. You don't have to do that."
The stammering was getting on Al's nerves, but that simply made Spike get more confused. "Aye, aye, oh, okay, aye, sir." He lowered his hand, but his head lowered with it until the skinny little guy hunched over.
Rolling his eyes like only the Italian admiral could, Al grunted, "You got to be assigned to Intelligence, right? "
Spike had his zipper in his hand and he wasn't having much luck getting it to work. "Yes, sir, I was." Finally, the zipper cooperated. "I always have trouble with this zipper."
Bambi turned her attention to her recent partner. "You didn't have trouble pulling it down."
Al threw his hands in the air. "I'm out of here. Be in the office in 15 minutes." Braving the elements yet again, Al made his way toward the office. The snow between his room and the good Reverend's was recently disturbed, so he figured Sam was trying to convince the preacher that Al was not a relative of Satan's. He knocked on the door reluctantly, "Sam, open up!"
Inside the room, Reverend Earl stood in the far corner as Sam bundled up the bedspread and blanket. "I'm telling you the truth. He isn't the devil or the son of the devil or even a distant cousin. What I said before, I meant it. He's a two star admiral in the Navy. He won the Congressional Medal of Honor. A few years ago, he was an astronaut and flew to the moon and back."
"He cringes at the sound of hymns."
Sam walked to the door. "I'm going to let him in and you can meet him." His hand slipped to the doorknob. "You ready?" Reverend Earl nodded. "Okay, I'm letting him in." Tugging at the door, Sam let the admiral and about three inches of snow in. Al pulled the door shut behind him.
The wind and cold made Al's face quite red and Bambi's fingers allowed for some curls to stand up from his head. In the low light, Reverend Earl saw the outline of the devil, horns and all.
"Be Thee gone!"
Al buried his head in his hands. "I'm done." Ignoring the preacher, Al told Sam, "Bambi and Spike are getting their gear together. I'll meet you and . . ." pausing for a second or two, "my arch-rival on the other side." He made his way out without closing the door completely.
Page 10 of 10
