Your first thought is that you should be able to get a bike cheap from Udolpho.
Wrong. Fool. Did you think there was going to be some kind of store discount? What were you thinking? This is why you don't run your own bike shop.
While Udolpho berates you, you search through his contact list and call a place across the bridge in Hadley. You've talked to the owner in person before and she seemed okay, and after you spend a few minutes explaining your situation and commiserating about Udolpho, she mentions a Cannondale mountain bike, brand new, for less than $400.
"Sold," you say.
"I'll bring it over tomorrow," she says, and she does. You're a little skeptical of the low price, but you take the little Cannondale around and it handles great. You hand her a wad of twenties without another thought, and ask if she's hiring.
"I already hired for the position of the person I fired for ordering ten of these instead of two," she says. "Sorry."
But you've got a bike.
Elton has a surprise waiting for you when you swing downtown one afternoon: a toolkit with a mini-crowbar, a flashlight, some screwdrivers, a folding knife, plastic baggies to store extra clothes for shapeshifting, and wet naps. (Life as a werewolf requires a lot of wet naps.) Everything is courtesy of David Banicki's shack near the dam you took apart.
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