"Weres?" asked Rebecca Hansen, as the hotel receptionist wondered if she would have to notify the police about this.
"Yeah," replied author Lawrence Cooke, as he barely managed to suppress another yawn. "Do you remember recent news events concerning a man named Lionel Ulysses?"(*1)
"No. Then again, considering my class schedule and doing the night shift here to afford college, I don't get much free time," said Rebecca, lying through her teeth as she innocently shrugged her shoulders. That bad wererat has caused us enough trouble as it is. What do we have to face now?
"Well, Ulysses was a bad man who was shot by the Seattle police while resisting arrest but was killed in his hospital room. That was the actions of a rival gang and the case has since been closed.(*2) Yet my editor back in New York has a horror author on staff who still can't forget the rumor that at the time he was shot, Ulysses allegedly grew a rat's tail because he belonged to some gang that had the audacity to call themselves The Rat Pack, after the legendary Vegas night club act(*1)."
"So, if everything's been resolved like you said, then why did your editor send you here?" wondered Rebecca, already planning to notify the police as soon as the man was gone. Too bad. I like his books, and he's kind of cute too, for a normal, thought the werepanthress, still currently in her human form.
"That's what I asked him too," said Lawrence, trying to control his anger. "But since Ulysses is supposed to have lived around here, the horror writer is hoping there might still be some kind of story here."
"A story? What story could there be? If what you told me is true, that Ulysses guy sounded nuts to me," said Rebecca, trying to downplay the situation as much as she legitimately could without arousing his suspicions.
"Yeah. To me too," admitted Lawrence. "Now I know the tail turned out to be fake. Just part of some weird obsession Ulysses had about rodents.(*2) But the way the horror writer's looking at it, she's already pitched an idea for a book about a man who is bitten by a rat and turns to a life of crime before becoming a human size rat that goes on a rampage before it's killed by the authorities. My editor is keen on the idea, probably because he's also sleeping with her too, so ordered me out here in hopes of digging up some background research material for her since I was already in Seattle attending that convention. Me doing the work saves my editor the expense of sending someone else out here especially for the assignment."
"So what happens now?" wondered Rebecca.
"I figured, once I got a good night's rest, I would just dig into the local history a bit. Get what I can on this Ulysses guy and then get the hell out of town. Nothing personal," said Lawrence.
"No offense taken, but what if there's nothing to get on Ulysses?" asked Rebecca.
"Then the horror author will make everything up from scratch like she usually does," complained Lawrence.
And probably smear Moon Lake's good name, let alone bring us unwanted attention, realized Rebecca.
"Anyway, I'm dead tired on my feet right now from that convention I attended over the weekend, and really need some sleep before I do anything. But you can tell me where a good place to eat around here is for when I get up tomorrow?" asked Lawrence.
"The Local Diner is just down the street," she replied, pointing in the proper direction.
"Okay. And the name of the place is..."
"The Local Diner."
Lawrence was about to repeat the question, then smiled when he realized what Rebecca was saying. "So the name of Moon Lake's local diner is The Local Diner?"
"Yes."
"Cute," he replied. Just like you. Okay man, get a grip. I seriously need to catch up on my sleep after that wild weekend in Seattle, thought Lawrence, recalling all the partying he did during the convention when not needing to keep his panel and public appearance schedule.
"You're in room 303," said Rebecca, handing him the key. "To your left just as you get off the elevator," she added, before pointing to the device on his right.
"Thank you. See you around, maybe?" asked Lawrence, picking up his bags.
"I have college during the day and only work nights, so..." and then Rebecca just shrugged her shoulders.
"Sorry if you think I was trying to hit on you. It's just that you're the only person I know around here in any way, shape, or form. Plus the fact that you sounded like you're on my side in this mess..."
"That's okay. You take care now," said Rebecca.
Lawrence Cooke knew a polite dismissal when he heard one, so just said goodbye and headed for the elevator.
After the car disappeared with its passenger, Rebecca picked up her paperback and looked at what he wrote.
"To Rebecca..." and then there was his name, followed by a phone number!
Must be his cell, she figured. Pretty cheeky for a normal.
Then, after seeing the elevator display showed the car with the writer on the third floor, called the police.
TO BE CONTINUED...
At this point folks, the rest is up to you. I'm just going to sit back and see what happens next, especially in light of recent developments in Moon Lake, Tad concerning the town deciding to adopt a plan to INTENTIONALLY reveal the existence of weres (but not of Moon Lake as a were sanctuary) to the world before the secret is exposed by someone else.
And for those thinking this story might have been better as a part of Tad, well, I realized there was too much going on in that story as it was, hence this spin off.
Have fun contributing!—tmw.
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*1. A major plot point of the early days of our Moon Lake, Tad series.
*2. More recent Moon Lake, Tad developments.—tmw.