Curtis hurled himself at the door and yanked on the handle, which the woman had locked. The entire shack rattled but the door held firm.
"I'm callin' the police!"
"No, please don't call the police!"
If she didn't let him hide, the police would come and he'd be a werewolf. He wasn't himself when he was a werewolf. He might hurt them. And they couldn't stop him, either: police budgets didn't cover silver bullets.
Curtis is a werewolf. He spent the day driving around in his Miata with the top down. The full moon is about to rise and the convertible roof is stuck. How could things get any worse?
A bank robber could take him hostage.
Below is the list of fine retailers where you can purchase your copy of Werewolf in a Miata to support my eating habit.