Chapter 4: The Deposit

“Hurry up, hurry up! Why is it taking so long to check the room? Who would even want to steal the furniture from this hotel?”

At the front desk, Link urged impatiently.

“Sir, after inspection, we found that you wet the bed. We’ll have to deduct your deposit as a cleaning fee.”

Behind the counter, a plump Black woman put down the phone and stated expressionlessly.

*Swish!*

More than a dozen guests waiting to check out turned their heads in unison, their gazes filled with amusement as they sized up Link. Some even let out chuckles.

*Swish!*

Link's face flushed red, his already pale complexion now tinged with an unhealthy blush.

“Nonsense! You’re framing me! I’m a 20-year-old man—how could I possibly wet the bed? Do you really think that’s even possible?”

Link protested angrily.

*Swish!*

The guests nodded in agreement. A twenty-year-old guy wetting the bed? That seemed highly unlikely.

Could this be a scam by the hotel, using such an excuse to cheat guests out of their deposits?

Doubt and suspicion now shifted toward the Black woman behind the counter.

Unfazed, she rolled her eyes and said, “Sir, there’s a large, dried stain on the blanket. It’s not milk, is it? Do you need me to have a colleague verify it?”

*Whoosh!*

Link's face turned crimson. He clenched his fist and slammed it on the counter.

*Whoosh!*

Once again, all eyes were back on Link.

A few women brazenly glanced down at his lower body, while some men burst into laughter.

Their expressions were a mix of mockery, amusement, and disdain.

Link, still flushed, gritted his teeth and slammed the counter again. “Ma’am, this is completely unreasonable! How am I supposed to control having a wet dream?

No, no man can control that—just like you women can’t control when your period suddenly arrives.

As fellow humans, you should understand me instead of using this to humiliate me.

Besides, why should I pay an extra cleaning fee when the bedding has to be washed anyway?

Are you telling me that if any of these gentlemen or ladies accidentally left the slightest mark on the sheets, you’d also take their deposit? Is that really fair?”

The guests nodded thoughtfully, now looking at the Black woman with even more doubt. Some even murmured about switching hotels.

“And another thing, dear lady, your hotel’s heating is colder than a corpse—I caught a fever because of it.”

“Alright, sir, you win.”

The Black woman rolled her eyes dramatically, then pulled a ten-dollar bill from the cash register and slapped it onto the counter.

“Ma’am, it’s not about the ten dollars,” Link said as he took back the money that rightfully belonged to him. “It’s about fairness. I’m a reasonable man. And by the way, have a great day at work.”

With that, he gave the Black woman and the surrounding guests a polite nod, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and strode out of the hotel.

Every morning, a tour bus departed from Park City to Salt Lake City, Utah, with a ticket price of just eight dollars.

Other bus tickets were much more expensive, costing over twenty dollars.

Link had to catch that bus—otherwise, he’d be walking all the way back to Los Angeles.

As he waited at the bus stop, a group of well-dressed men in suits walked out of the Hilton Hotel across the street.

Leading them was a stout man in a black wool suit.

He was in his forties, short and stocky, with a round face, a double chin, and a bulging belly.

A Hermès leather belt strained to contain his massive gut, looking like a rubber band wrapped around an overinflated balloon. As he walked, it almost seemed like you could hear the belt creaking under the pressure.

The man spoke as he walked, gesturing with authority.

Everyone around him leaned in attentively, listening carefully, as if afraid to miss a single word.

Among them, only one person looked relaxed.

He was over 6'3" (190 cm), with wild, curly hair and a long, gaunt face shaped like a kidney bean. His prominent chin curved slightly upward at the connection with his lower teeth—almost like a bent banana.

With his rough features, he looked both menacing and comical.

That man was none other than Quentin Tarantino, the rising star of the Sundance Film Festival, who had made a big splash with Reservoir Dogs this year.

And the toad-like fat man beside him? None other than Harvey Weinstein, the president of Miramax Films and a major figure in Hollywood’s independent film scene.

It was rumored that Weinstein had taken an interest in Reservoir Dogs during its Sundance screening.

They were probably discussing distribution deals right now.

“Hey, Quentin!”

Link shouted across the road.

He knew Quentin. Before coming to the Sundance Film Festival, they had lived in the same youth apartment complex in West Hollywood, though in different buildings.

Over the past few months, they had run into each other a few times and were somewhat familiar.

Since arriving in Park City, Link had watched Reservoir Dogs in the theater, and Quentin had seen Buried Alive, the film Link had worked on.

But as Reservoir Dogs gained buzz, Quentin got busier, and Link hadn’t had a chance to see him again—until now.

“Hey, Link!”

Quentin waved in response.

Before Link could say a word, a black stretch Lincoln limousine pulled up by the roadside. Quentin got into the car alongside Harvey Weinstein.

The elegant curves of the stretch Lincoln traced a fleeting shadow across the opposite street before vanishing into the cold, quiet streets of Park City.

A chilly breeze swept through the air.

The bus arrived.

Link boarded the bus and headed to the Park City Bus Station.

By around 2 p.m., he took a tour bus to Salt Lake City, the capital of Utah.

From Salt Lake City, he caught a train bound for Los Angeles on the West Coast.

Utah is located in the western United States, with most of its territory situated over 6,500 feet above sea level in the Rocky Mountains and the Colorado Plateau.

In January and February, temperatures in much of Utah hover around 27°F (-3°C).

The mountainous regions are blanketed with snow and swept by biting winds.

Every winter, many middle-class Americans come here to ski and vacation.

Park City, the host of the Sundance Film Festival, is one of the region's most popular tourist destinations.

However, for someone like Link, who was dirt poor, the place felt as cold and unforgiving as hell.

As the southbound train passed through Nevada and entered California, warm sunlight streamed through the windows. Link couldn't help but shudder as he slowly woke from his slumber.

The sky outside was a brilliant, spotless blue. A few colorful birds soared across it.

Golden sunlight spilled across the Providence Mountains.

The hills were lush with vegetation and adorned with blooming flowers.

Southern California, known for its Mediterranean climate, experiences hot, dry summers and mild, rainy winters. With average temperatures between 64°F and 86°F (18°C to 30°C), plants from virtually any climate can take root and thrive here.

Here, there was no need to worry about freezing to death. But to live well, eat well, and maintain dignity—just like in any other city—was a challenging feat.

“Hey, buddy, you’re finally awake. Someone stole your backpack.”

(End of Chapter)