Day 4: A Day In The Life Of Ben Heintz, Private Investigator

Ben's Blog: Day 4
The day began, as any ordinary day would, with the sun. It rose, loudly announcing its presence to anyone who tried to sleep past 5:00. If you ask me, I'd say it was a tad much, like bringing a gun to a knife fight.

My mid-morning thought process was interrupted by a dame, who, like most dames, wanted something. And they way she asked for it didn't leave me with a shred of doubt that she meant business. Violently, she dislodged me from my perch. My head hit the floor quicker than a Louisville Slugger smacking an award winning pitch. "Get up," she said, using her voice with all the force of a trained professional. I knew that voice. When your teacher's the streets, you get it a lot.

I inquired as to the hurry. She merely snarled, pointing out of the room, with a look that said "If you want to leave the room in something other than a bod bag, you leave it now." I complied. My head works better when it's firmly attached to my shoulders.

Breakfast was a thin, tasteless gruel, prepared with all the warmth and loving-kindness of a parole officer, who's recently gotten off of parole himself. I swallowed it, knowing that it'd be the last good meal I'd have for a while. A long while.

As I was finishing the last watery mouthful, a rough sack was pulled over my head, and tightened. I was dragged outside, and heard a car start. Chevy. 1952. Not a good year for Chevys. I was forced inside, between two people. A large man, built like a sack of bricks, and warmth to match it, and a larger woman, named Florence. At times I got confused as to which was which. After a long drive through a barren wasteland, we came to a cheap motel. At this point the sack came off my head. The neon "Vacancy" sign looked as if it had been saying that for a while, and by the looks of the place, it would go on saying it. I was thrown into a room, and handcuffed to the radiator. And so here I sit, with the cold steel of a revolver pressed to my neck, and wrists rubbed raw.

[Truthful Interjection #7: I decided that today's "adventures" really weren't adventurous in the slightest. So I improvised. Basically, we drove a lot, and ended up in Rawlins, a town where the only thing that pleases the eye is the graffiti on the passing trains.]

-A Cheap Motel In Rawlins, Wyoming,
Ben