HEIR from the STREET

CHAPTER 3

“YOU’RE MY HERO!” The drunk lady giggled beside Jon. She scooted over and gave him an alcohol-infused hug, which was awkward because the taxi was a cramped space. “You are my Knight in shining armour.” She said again.

And then she relaxed against his arm, smiling and humming a tune.

“Where are we going, sir?” The driver asked with a Mexican accent while throwing occasional glances at Jon through the rearview mirror.

“Um, tell me... what is the best hotel in town now?” Jon asked.

“Okay sir...” the driver sped on. “We have the Metropolitan. It has a good 4.5 rating...”

“is that the highest, most expensive?” Jon asked.

The driver looked at Jon again and at the words written on his shirt. It was the food delivery uniform. Their eyes met in the mirror and the driver cleared his throat. “No sir. There’s one with a 7 stars rating. The Continental – that’s the name.”

“Isn’t that the biggest hotel on the west coast?” Jon asked, excitement creeping into his voice.

“Yes sir, it is.”

“Then let’s go there,” Jon replied.

“Are you sure, sir?” He eyed Jon’s shirt and cap again.

“Put your foot on the gas, godammit,” Jon exclaimed.

The driver nodded and sped off towards the highway leading to the continental Hotel.

After about 30 minutes of driving, the scenery changed from mid-suburban to top-class houses with top-tier lawns, classy cars and big establishments. Even the taxi in this area was different. The one Jon was in, stood out like a sore thumb.

They parked at the base of the stairs leading up to the reception, snobbish eyes glared at them as Jon tumbled out whilst holding the drunk lady. The taxi driver sped off after collecting his fare.

Jon led the girl up the front stairs. The doorman gave them a once-over look and hesitated before reaching in and opening the door. They stepped in, Jon took a look around and smiled. He was oblivious to how different they looked, from his worn-out shirt and cap that said “Instant food delivery” to his trousers wet with poodles and his bloody fist from the punch to the fat man and his scuffed-up shoes. Add the fact that he held a drunk lady on his arm with dishevelled hair.

He had a wide smile plastered to his face as he made his way to the receptionist's desk. The receptionist turned her eyes on them with a sneer on her face.

“Good... morning, madam,” Jon said. “I would like a room, please.”

“The hotel is full at this moment.” She said, not bothering to reply to his greeting.

That’s a shame, Jon thought. We drove all the way here for nothing.

He turned and started to walk out when a rich-looking woman passed by him and said, “I want a room."

The receptionist smiled, showing all her teeth and gums. “Of course, Miss Charlotte.” She tapped her keyboard and soon said, “Room 307. Here is the key card. Do let me know if you need anything.”

The woman collected the key card and left.

Jon turned to look at the receptionist. He was furious.

“Hey, lady. What the hell? You just told me the hotel was full.”

“And it is.” The receptionist said without looking at him.

“But you just checked in that woman. Why would you lie to me?” Jon asked.

“Listen, delivery boy... I am doing you a favour.” The receptionist sneered. “Just a drink from that bar there would pay your annual salary, okay? This isn’t some shabby motel on the street. This is the continental, okay? Get it. The Continental. The only 7-star hotel on the west coast. So to put it simply, you can’t afford it, even if you sold your soul.”

Jon was stunned into silence. He looked at himself and realized he still wore his work clothes. He then knew the reason for all the weird looks the taxi driver was giving him, the doorman and now this receptionist.

He put his hand in his pocket and felt his family’s badge and then he also remembered that he was now very rich, so he put his head up and said, “What do you know? I can afford it. And I want to room, RIGHT NOW!”

The receptionist laughed. “You’re making a scene here. I’m calling the security.” She dialled some numbers on her telephone and requested security.

Then a short, bald man came down the stairs. “What is all the noise about? I could hear you all the way from my office.”

“Sir, this... man...” The receptionist eyes Jon. “...has requested a room when obviously, he has no money. I just called for security. We don’t want any esteemed customer coming in and seeing this.”

The man, who was the hotel’s manager, rubbed his chin. “No, we don’t want that.” He looked at Jon. “Kick them out.”

“Yes sir.”

The manager turned to go, but just then, the girl on Jon’s arm groans and the manager stops to take a very long look at her.

“Don’t kick them out...” the manager said in a small voice, his eyes not leaving the drunk lady. “Call the cops right now!”