Werewolf Detective | Murder Under the Gibbous Moon

"Does every hotel seem to have the same terrible cable package? The least he could have done was leave me the remote. My eyes are so blurry, I wonder how long I was out?"

Bright afternoon sun shines into the hotel room through thin faded curtains. A pair of high heels lie in front of a low dresser. One shoe is missing its heel from an altercation with the television. A telephone ripped from the nightstand sits next to it. The Do Not Disturb sign still hangs on the inside door handle.

Clink, the sound of handcuffs hitting the bed frame as a shoeless woman drinks from a waxed paper cup.

"I screamed for a solid half hour! These walls are so thin, someone had to have heard me. Guess I'm not going anywhere unless housekeeping shows up or I roll this bed into the hall."

The door is thrown open. The silhouette of a tall man blocks the light.

Bang.

The sound of the room is muted by a loud ringing.

"Oh shit, no!"

Bang.

Bang.

***

Even though it was just morning, it was still hot from the day before. The sun shining through a cloudless sky gave the world the look of an overexposed photograph. The false appearance of water on distant asphalt mismatched the brown scrub dormant lawns. 1950s ranch homes converted into businesses pop out from behind larger commercial buildings. Many of the old front lawns are long gone. The arborvitae and marigolds have been replaced by angled parking spaces, ground creeping juniper and the occasional Japanese maple tree. One marquee sprouting from a narrow strip of lawn reads...

George Lupinewitz

Private Detective Agency

Walking through the door is a woman in a dress and heels clutching a wallet-like purse. Inside what used to be a living room is now a reception area. The lack of art on the walls, black leather couch, and glass-top coffee table suggest the taste and budget of your average pornagrapher. A woman on the phone sits at a large metal desk from a high school surplus auction. She's engaged in a telephone conversation speaking with a voice that has all the charm of a saxophone with a cracked reed.

"Excuse me, I have a ten-thirty appointment."

"Can you hold, please?" She moves the phone from her ear to her collar with a look of disgust. "That was fifteen minutes ago."

"Sorry, I had a little trouble finding this place. I don't often come out this way."

A long nailed finger presses a button on the telephone.

"Your ten-thirty finally made it."

A voice crackles through the speakerphone.

"Go ahead and send her in."

Heavy curtains give the office the appearance of night even at midday. Two mis-matched chairs that escaped from a doctor's office guard the front of another surplus auction desk.

"Come on in and a have seat, Mrs. Morrison."

"Thank you, Detective Lupinewitz. Karen is fine."

"Oh please, call me George."

The room lit by a single dim lamp, illuminating the chairs but leaving the detective in a shadow. He leans forward in his seat. He pushes back the sleeves of a stained blue dress shirt to reveal crude naval tattoos just barely visible through thick, dark hair. An open-mouthed smirk bares large teeth set in thin black gums.