Lawrence Watt-Evans - In for Pound

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In for Pound

Lawrence Watt-Evans

The moment she was absolutely sure they were out of earshot of anyone else, she hissed at him, "Are

you nuts?"

He smiled at her as he held open the car door. "I don't think so," he replied.

"But running for mayor?" She stood beside the car, not willing to interrupt the discussion even long

enough to take her seat.

"Why not?" he asked, still smiling that toothy smile of his. "Seriously, Jen, do you see anyone better suited

to the job? I'm an upstanding member of the community, I've had a good education, I have a career in

public service . . ."

"Dave, you know why not!" She pointed at the sky. "You're going to have a demonstration of 'why not'

in another hour or so!"

His politician's smile vanished, and he looked at her with an expression that just reeked of sincere

concern—an expression she was quite sure he had practiced for hours in front of the mirror.

"And why should that disqualify me from serving as mayor? Surely you realize it's just an occasional

inconvenience. So I'll be unavailable a couple of nights each month . . ."

"Inconvenience?" She stared at him, astonished. "Dave, you're a werewolf, remember? You inherited a

genuine gypsy curse. That's a bit more than an inconvenience!"

"Why?" he asked mildly.

Her jaw dropped.

"Really, Jen—it's not as if I'm running for president. It's just mayor of Eltonburg. So I'll want to spend a

couple of nights a month in private; so what?" He patted her on the arm, urging her into the car.

Stunned, she sat. She watched through the windshield as he walked around and climbed in the driver's

side.

"Dave," she said, "suppose there's a City Council meeting on a full moon? Suppose there's a disaster—a

blizzard, say—on the night of a full moon?"

He shrugged. "I'll be ill, or unavoidably detained. These things happen; people will understand. It hasn't

been a problem for me before."

"Before you were just a police lieutenant, not the mayor!"

"Detective lieutenant," he corrected her—he was touchy about the distinction between the two sides of

Eltonburg's police department, enforcement and investigation. He started the car and looked over his

shoulder to be sure the street was clear.

"Whatever. Don't you think that, even in Eltonburg, some reporter might stumble across the truth? Old

Bill Beasley isn't going to give up his job without a fight, despite the indictments--he's going to have his

people checking up on you all through the campaign, just looking for some little flaw. What if he notices

you're never around at the full moon? How are you going to explain that? Suppose he says you spend a

couple of nights a month at the strip clubs down on Route 8—how are you going to prove you don't?"

Dave frowned as he swung the car around the corner onto Main Street. "He couldn't prove I do."

"He wouldn't have to prove it—what are you going to say instead? That you grow fur and go running

through the streets on those nights?"

"Well, why not?" Dave asked. "I've never hurt anyone. Sure, I'm not quite myself when I'm a wolf, but

I'm no ravening monster. Even real wolves aren't, and I never completely forget who I am. I've chased a

few cats, sure, but I never bit or clawed anyone—not even the cats. Not even that damned spitting

Persian down on Third Street."

"So you'd just admit the truth? And you think people will vote for a werewolf? You know how

old-fashioned some of the people in this town are—and they're Mayor Beasley's biggest supporters. You

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