Day 12, and Finally Something is Happening

Hi everyone... I have reached almost 21,000 words, and I finally got my characters out of Jackie's Diner... only to send them on to the Boo(!)-Bie Mansion. They found a matchbox from the Boo(!)-Bie Mansion among Tom's things left behind at the hotel and have decided that it might be a clue. Once there, they meet a familiar character...

“No, I’m afraid you misunderstand me. I am a vampyre, not a vampire. Vampires are for Hallowe’en and third rate horror films. Vampyre is a noble tradition celebrating the state of being undead, which is to say becoming animal. I covered this extensively in chapters 15 through 23 of my doctoral dissertation,” he said, pronouncing doc-TOR-al in a hopelessly pretentious manner that rubbed Annie the wrong way. “Surely you have read it?” he asked, his eyebrows raised, a look of desperate hope on his face. “If not, I would be pleased to provide you with a copy, not that I have many left, you understand they are quite in demand,” he said this last with a chuckle, and for the first time in the conversation Annie felt that the vampire had done something appropriate. If she were less panicked and desperate, she, too would have laughed at the suggestion that his seemingly meaningless waste of paper called a dissertation was in high demand.
“I can see from the unhinged expression on your face that you are not familiar with my work. Pity,” he said, looking haughty once again.
“Right, well excuse me sir, but can you please answer the question… were you the manager on duty last night?” Ryan asked, intervening before Annie could lose her temper. It was indeed a very near thing.
“As I said, in a manner of speaking, but you see I am not really a manager at all,” Gordon said, with another high-pitched giggle. Annie looked at him threateningly. He continued. “I am actually the owner of the chain of Boo(!)-Bie Mansions.” Mansions, he pronounced man-see-ons. Jesus, Annie thought, who the hell was this guy?
Gordon continued, unphased. “Normally I run the original Boo(!)-Bie Mansion, located in the heart of Blackwood, a much maligned farming community located in Southwestern Ontario.” Annie and Ryan experienced a flash of joy of the sort that one experiences when one runs into a fellow Canadian whilst traveling abroad. Ryan couldn’t contain himself.
“No way!” he exclaimed. “When I was in Junior we played there all the time! The Blackwood Vultures, right? Am I right?” he asked. Gordon brightened.
“Yes, of course. The Blackwood Vultures. When the team wins the fans throw road kill onto the ice. It is a most barbaric custom, and yet quite in keeping with what I described in my dissertation.”
“I’m sure,” Annie said, clearing her throat and elbowing Ryan in the ribs. He had seemed to be lost in a reverie, perhaps remembering the bliss of having a dead skunk thrown at you after suffering the indignity of a loss. “In any case, were you in charge last night. In charge of this facility, as opposed to one elsewhere?” she asked, trying to be as precise as she could to avoid further intentional misunderstanding. It was like doing her goddamn Master’s thesis all over again.
“No, I leave the management of this establishment to my regional manager. As you can see, his management style is quite effective.” Gordon said, indicating a man to his left. Annie had noticed him earlier, while they had been waiting for Gordon to appear. His ‘management style’ appeared to be nothing more than placing his hands on his hips and circulating throughout the bar, randomly lifting items up off the table or bar top and asking ‘who’s is this?’ while scowling. He rarely waited for an answer to his query but moved on to the next item. Patrons (the few that were there) appeared to be mystified by the behaviour. The staff and ‘talent’ merely rolled their eyes, breaking from their creepy roles to demonstrate the contempt they felt towards such useless and clearly counterproductive inquiries. The manager was unphased by this show of contempt, but merely continued on his way. Every so often he would retreat to his office, presumably to burn copies of Hung Season One on dvd, or he would shuffle off to the local grocery mart to pick up supplies, one item per trip. It was a grossly inefficient use of his time, but was in keeping with what Annie knew about management techniques.
“Yes… I can see that,” Annie said. “So, should we be talking to your regional manager then?” Trying to get information out of the Gordon the Vampyre was extremely frustrating. Jesus, Annie thought, if I wanted to have my every request met with such obstinate resistance I could have just gone home to my job as a college teacher. Or I could have just stayed in any one of my last 10 relationships, for that matter.
Much to Annie’s chagrin, Gordon had begun chuckling in that superior manner she had come to know so well in the 2 minutes or so that she had known him. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that. His management style is incredibly effective, but his powers of observation leave much to be desired. However, if you are looking for information, you have come to the right place. I am a trained paranormal investigator, you know.” He finished, a propos of nothing. It should be noted that when he said investigator, he pronounced it investiga-TOR, with the emphasis on the final syllable."

Finally, if Indigo gets to keep posting cute pictures of pigs, here's a cute picture of a German Shepherd, who may or may not hang around the Boo(!)-Bie Mansion:


Which leads to other cute dog pictures: