Colm, still unsure about the whole thing, was more than a little startled when he was confronted by what appeared to be the last standing member of the Rat Pack. "Uh, hi," he said, his tentatively outstretched hand enthusiastically pumped by the newcomer. "Colm Davies. Here from Seattle. Yeah, I think I saw you." He gave a self-deprecating smile. "I'm not much of a morning person, to be honest. Hope I didn't seem rude or anything."

He gave a polite grin as Tallah showed up as well. Reinforcements- at least he knew this one's name. "Hey, Tallah, good to see you again. Guess this town is small enough that we keep, uh, running into people," he said. Colm groaned inwardly, tried not to make it too obvious that he was staring off into a corner. Of course. He wasn't in the habit of going to churches, but nothing had led Colm to think the Great Mouse Detective was one for staying off holy ground. There it was, just chilling, casually leaned up in a corner. If it had eyes (well, to be technical, it had hundreds), they'd be innocently studying the ceiling. 

Another young man joined the group, but he seemed to be exclusively speaking to Tallah. This limited Colm's options- talk to Dean Martin here, or possibly edge slowly out of the small group and make his way back to the table for some more coffee, carefully positioning himself so as not to see his ever-present stalker. Colm chose to do the second one. A little more caffeine- he didn't want to doze off.

A couple more people came in. Colm recognized one- the desk clerk from the inn, the tall girl with the dark hair. Siobhan, he was pretty sure. How about that. The other man cut a more imposing figure, though. A big, broad, black man in a beautifully tailored, absolutely spotless white suit (did anyone in this town wear a normal suit?). The suit wasn't what caught Colm's eyes, though, it was the tall, almost luminous white top hat he wore. Colm watched as the man shook hands with Deacon Blue, and the two seemed to have a quiet but warm exchange. Colm thought nothing of it. At least, not until Blue pointed directly at Colm. The man in the top hat shot a sly smile at Colm, and then started to quietly pad over. 

Colm was a little taken aback as the man came over, placed a big, heavy hand on his shoulder. Slowly, deliberately, the man winked at Colm. "Welcome to the invisible world, Colm," he said. Unlike the man at the hotel, this one did have an accent. Colm had once spoken to a CI back in Seattle on a marijuana racket. The guy had been Haitian, and had sounded similar to this fella with the top hat. Sure, that worked.

Colm wasn't sure what to say, or what was expected as the Haitian gave his shoulder a squeeze, then reached into the cage of mice, gently picked one up. He stroked it with a finger, cooed softly at the terrified animal, and then bit off its head. Colm stepped back involuntarily, at the spurt of blood staining the white lapels of the man's suit. "That's fucked up, dude," Colm found himself saying, because really, nothing else seemed to fit. The man grinned at him through reddened teeth, then stepped over to the other little knot of people to wordlessly take another bite.

Colm, transfixed, looked around the room. Deacon Blue grinned inanely over by the door, flanked by what seemed to be an orangeish light wearing a coat and a winged shadow. Over by Frank Sinatra there was someone that hurt to look at.

What in the world was going on here?