The old desk clerk

The withered old man was standing there, looking from the teen in an obscenely ill-fitting swimsuit to a man her father's age standing in the middle of the hot tub with droopy soaked briefs. The desk clerk's ring of hotel room keys jangle in his hand as it shakes as he struggles to take it all in. He pushes his glasses up higher on his long nose as he looks to the volleyball coach.

"I knew there was something fishy when I saw you bring this half-dressed girl in from your car after you picked up your keys!" the old man barks as he points his finger at the stunned coach. "Bringing teen hookers into my motel! Harrumph! I ought to call the police now and haul both your asses to jail!"

Mr. McGill glances over to see Stacie, ready to burst into tears at the man's wild accusations. He reaches over to grab a large bath towel and wrap it around his waist as he steps out of the hot tub.

Self-assuredly, the volleyball coach steps up to the fuming old man.

"You ought to, but you aren't going to, are you, my good man?" McGill smiles as he reaches for his wallet, handing the man a couple of fifty dollar bills.

Stacie tries to see and hear what is going on, but the coach's well-built physique, and his soft tone, are preventing her from doing so.

The man looks from McGill's face to the profferred funds.