"Shot of vodka."

"I'm sorry, sir, but the bar is closed. We'll be beginning our descent soon." The stewardess smiles, a seductive little grin that invites more than she probably intends. I smile back, excepting the girl's opening. Damn she's cute.

"I think that'll be all," Gypsy states, breaking my moment of serendipity. My head turns, and instead of the flight attendant's hazel eyes, I get two dilated pupils of jet black locked on me in a cold stare. The girl, noticing how pissed off my companion obviously is, quickly makes her way to the next customer a few seats up.

"I think you just ruined my chance at joining the mile high club, Gyps," I quip, throwing my head back onto my seat.

"I didn't come save you from that Romanian deathtrap you'd wandered into, just to watch you fraternize with commoners, Jack." Ah, there she goes again, that European aristocrat that has so ingrained itself into her personality chiming in at just the right time. "Besides," she continues, "if sex in an airplane bathroom is what does it for you, all you have to do is ask me."

I can't help but let loose a little laugh at Sibyl's offer, knowing full well that she probably means every word of it. Her name always seems to fit her personality, the Gypsy Moth, always ready to devour the first piece of material that passes her sight.

"So how's the cult these days, doll?" I ask, a vain attempt at turning the conversation's focus away from me.

"Relatively dull, I'm afraid. The main drawback to heading up a group of hedonists is that the mass orgies eventually lose their appeal. Things tend to get a little more extreme than originally intended, if you get my meaning."

"So I guess a little beastiality isn't far from your normal escapades?" God damn it, why do I keep doing that? It's like the woman's very presence is enough to turn me into a horny beast, pardon the expression.

"Jack, dear, I've fucked everything from an aardvark to a zebra. Spending a few hours with a domesticated lycanthrope such as yourself would be bliss."

"Look, Sybil," I start, trying to be as sincere as possible, while at the same time keep the throbbing boner from stabbing me in the forehead, "it's not that I don't appreciate you coming and getting me, but it really wasn't necessary for you to physically come and get me. All I asked was for you to wire me some money."

"I was on my way to Europe anyway, love," she replies with a weak smile, "and I thought that a familiar face might be a comfort for you, consider what you told me on the phone."

"Actually, you're right," I admit, "it is comforting. But, it's not like we're the two closest people in the world, Gyps. Sure, we've had some good times in the past, but how many years has it been since we've actually spoken to one another?" That's me, the master of tact.

"Los Angeles was a long time ago, Jack," she says without missing a beat, almost like she had the answer prepared, "but our time together was also something special. We had such heat, such passion...I feel it in the air, even now. Don't you?"

Now you tell me...how the fuck am I supposed to answer that?

For Mature Readers Only

#6
December '02

Strange Tales Presents

Werwolf by Night

"Damaged Goods"
Written by Chris Munn

"My name is the Shroud. I have an offer for you, Jack Russell...one of vital importance."

I remember the first time I met the Shroud like it was yesterday, even though I've long lost track of exactly how many years ago it happened. I was sitting in a bar in North Hollywood, trying to drown my sorrows in alcohol, when this guy that looked a lot like Batman just kind of materialized into the stool next to me.

"I'm about five drinks from being completely blotto, man. So you might want to hurry up with whatever it is you're gonna say." Yeah, I was such the badass back in the day.

"The Curse of Kali has stricken me with perpetual darkness, my friend, but the black place in which my vision languishes is in no comparison to the inkwell of an evil man's soul. Our ilk are lonely individuals, Russell, fighting the good fight so that the innocent may linger blissfully on."

The Shroud was always into heavy melodrama, as if you couldn't tell. I, on the other hand, was firmly entrenched in a "mad-at-the-world/mid-20-something-angst" fest, which pretty much just meant that I spent more time drunk than sober.

"Look man," I said, trying not to look into the black void that stretched across the Shroud's eyes, "I dunno who you think you are, but this is Christmas fuckin' Eve. Unless you've got a point to make in like the next thirty seconds, I firmly suggest you leave."

"I was made aware of your existence by a mutual acquaintance of ours...one Jessica Drew. I assume you remember the illustrious Spider-Woman?"

"Jess? Yeah, I know her," I stated, raising a curious eyebrow, "but what's the connection? I mean, why are you talking to me? I'm no super-hero, obviously."

"You have a hero's heart, Jack Russell. Trust me, I would not have sought you out if you didn't."

"The point, I'm still waiting for it."

"The world at large believes me to be a man of evil, Russell. This is a lie, for I am in truth a heroic man. It is a lie, one created and perpetrated by my own hand...a guise that I have adopted, so as to better strike out at the criminal element in our city."

"Yeah, okay, that makes a whole load of sense, man," I quipped, fingers rapping against the bar in anticipation of another drink. The clearest memory I have of the Shroud is, well, how badly he got on my goddamn nerves.

"I've brought together a gang of villains and ne'er-do-wells, whom I have dubbed the Night Shift, in order to solidify my stance as an underworld crimelord. In truth, my hand will guide these criminals into doing acts of good for the world, by striking at rival kingpins. I will destroy the Los Angeles crime syndicate from within, Jack...but I need your help to do it."

"Man, here, take this," I said, handing the Shroud a shot glass filled with Bourbon, "I think you need it more than I do."

"I'm a solitary crusader, being that no soul alive knows of my plan...save one. You have a hero's heart, as I said before. I need you Jack, I need you to be the one man in the Night Shift that I can trust. My safety net."

I sat there for a few minutes, just staring at my full shot glass, not saying anything. I couldn't understand why this guy would come to me, out of all the super-heroes that HAD to be running around LA, and think I'd just up and agree to it. "I don't know what good to you I'll actually be," I finally said, shattering the silence, "its not like I have super powers or anything. I'm cursed. That's the long and short of it."

"Then use that curse to better the lives of common man, Jack. Do it so the rest of the world can experience the life that your curse has denied you. I have faith in you."

I couldn't tell you why I did what I did, 'cause it made no sense at all. At least not to me, anyway.

"Alright...I'm in."

"As I live and breathe...Jack Russell? You sure about this one, Shroud?"

The first meeting with the Night Shift really could have gone better. Out of all the people the Shroud could have picked for his band of bad guys, he just had to find somebody that I knew. The Tatterdemalion was a guy I'd fought back in my early wolf days, though it was really more of a misunderstanding than anything. I was trying desperately to be this big, bad super-hero, and Tatty was just lame enough for me to have a chance of stopping.

"I should've known you by the smell, man," I remarked, trying to play the situation as cool as possible. The Tatterdemalion had this thing against materialism, the sight of anything dealing with money just totally irked his potato. He also seemed to have some sort of a problem with hygiene, as he lived in a sewer and just totally reeked of toxic fumes. His main weapon, get this, was a weighted scarf that he kept wrapped around his neck. That's right, the fucker hit people with a scarf. Do you see now why I failed as a super-hero, when losers like that would actually give me a run for my money?

"It is nice to see that you've finally come around to my way of life, though," Tatty remarked, commenting on the fact that my alcoholic lifestyle hadn't done any wonders for my own hygiene, "the smell of fermented spirits must do you wonders with the ladies."

"Tatterdemalion, please behave yourself," a female voice chimed in from behind me, and half a second later a soft hand was caressing my neck. The woman walked around me, her touch almost electric. "If the Shroud says Mr. Russell is to be trusted, then who are we to doubt him?"

The chick's name was Dansen Macabre, a stripper that had found religion in the Cult of Kali. Her skin was chalk white, though I didn't know if that was a naturally occurring thing, of if the swirling circles of Darkforce that constantly wrapped around her body had something to do with it. Oh yeah, and she had a tendency to walk around completely naked. Lemme tell ya, that alone made hanging out with those freaks worth it.

I could tell right away, just from the looks she kept giving him, that she and the Shroud were more than just partners in crime. I could smell her arousal every time the two were together, that animal magnetism that my wolf senses immediately picked up on. None of my business, mind you, but I always had that little piece of info filed in the back of my mind.

"Dansen, please take Jack inside and introduce him to the rest," the Shroud said, prompting Macabre and Tatty to head into the Tower of Shadows. As I started to walk away, he placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered into my ear.

"Everything will be fine, Jack. Don't worry."

The Tower of Shadows was this place in the Hollywood hills that the Night Shift had taken as their home. I'd heard rumors that the place was guarded by some kind of monster, but really, despite being a werewolf, I didn't place much credence into that story. That was until I met the seven-foot-four zombie with the shovel, who was anxiously awaiting my arrival inside.

"Mr. Russell, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance! My name is Digger, the caretaker here at the Tower of Shadows. I've been telling your story for a few years now, as part of my nightly regiment, and I am thoroughly excited to finally meet you!"

Green skin, a shirt that looked like it was made out of dog fur, and a shovel with dried bloodstains on the blade. Yeah, that was Digger, one of the nicest guys I've ever met. His modus operandi was to take anybody he found intruding in the Tower, bury them in the ground with only their heads still seeing moonlight, and tell them true monster stories. Apparently, I'd been part of his repartee, along with such stalwarts as Dracula and the Frankenstein Monster. When he was finished with his stories, he'd crush the victim's skull with his shovel. Helluva nice guy, I'm telling you.

As I shook Digger's massive hand, I took a glance at the other figures lounging around the Tower's meeting hall. Most of the Night Shift, I noticed, had been culled from the ranks of Spider-Woman's old rogues' gallery. There was Dansen, obviously. Standing in the far corner of the room, keeping to himself, was a guy in white named Needle, a vigilante that went around sewing up the mouths of small-time hoods. I'd heard the guy was mute, which would explain why he wasn't having a conversation with anyone.

"The Needle approves of you," Dansen said, commenting on the Needle's head-nod in my direction. "He possesses an hypnotic stare, and is our interrogation officer."

Moving past Digger, Dansen took me to the three individuals in the middle of the room. "Jack Russell, meet the Brothers Grimm," she said, introducing me to two men in identical red and black costumes. Masks in the design of a skull covered their faces, and large pouches were slung over their shoulders.

"Jack Russell, the famed..." Brother number one said, his sentence seamlessly completed by Brother number two

"...werewolf by night. So good to..."

"...meet you."

"The Grimms are tricksters," Dansen said, moving me past them, "and have a tendency to get on our nerves. The final member of our little group is also our quietest, save the mute Needle. Jack, this is the Gypsy Moth."

Yeah, it may sound really bad, but that tacky outfit that Gypsy wore totally turned me on. Skin-tight black and brown spandex, a pair of antennae, and large butterfly wings protruding from her back. She smiled as I took her hand, and my first thought was "this chick doesn't belong here". She was shy, reserved, and nothing at all like the others, who were all a few eggs shy of an omelet. We must have kept eye contact for at least thirty seconds, before Dansen grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away. Gypsy's eyes fluttered away from mine as I backed away, and the Brothers Grimm took the chance to swoop in. Evidently, I wasn't the only one totally turned on by her.

"Do not be fooled by her reserved nature, Jack," Dansen whispered to me as we walked away, "for a twisted mind of depraved insanity lingers underneath her unassuming body."

Words to live by, I'd soon discover.

Life in the Night Shift was surprisingly kinda fun. Hanging out, getting drunk, robbing and killing bad guys. What did surprise me is that the Shroud, the founder of this little faux-villain group, was never fucking around. He spent more time doing his vigilante thing, away from LA of course, than he did guiding the group of dangerous nutcases he'd worked so hard to assemble.

So, naturally, it fell to me to keep the lunatics in line. Now, keep in mind that I wasn't the happy-go-lucky fun guy back then that I am now, and I really hated playing watchdog to the freaks. All I wanted was to continue my battle against sobriety, which meant lots of long nights hanging out in the Tower of Shadows' fully stocked wet bar.

"I'm planning on writing a book someday," Digger would tell me almost every night, as he gave me company during my alcohol binges, "where all the stories I've collected can finally be given the spotlight they deserve. I only need to find a publisher."

"Might be kinda hard, what with the whole zombie thing and all," I replied during one of my more lucid nights. Digger just smiled.

"Yes, there is that. Also, I don't know if it'd be the same if I didn't get to smack somebody in the head with a blunt metal instrument every time the book was read..."

I choked out a laugh at Digger's statement, even though I knew he was probably being serious. I had no idea what the rest of the gang did on the nights we weren't out doing our vigilante thing. I'd heard rumors, sure, that Dansen ran some Satanic sacrifice cult in Santa Monica, but other than that it was a big mystery. Needle and Tatterdemalion usually kept to themselves, which was just fine with me. The Brothers Grimm ran a magic shop of some sort, so that ate up a lot of their time. The only one that really interested me, as if you haven't figured it out by now, was the Gypsy Moth.

"Hey, Digger, you have any idea where Gypsy lives?" I asked as smoothly as possible.

"She lives in a mansion, Jack! Gypsy Moth is very rich, very rich indeed."

"She is?" I asked, slightly stunned. "How the hell did she pull that off?"

"She is Romanian, I do believe, raised by gypsies. She met her husband on a foreign shoot of Dracula, as he was an actor."

"Really? How'd that turn out?"

"Terrible movie, completely devoid of anything remotely close to the true story. Would you like to hear the true story of Dracula, Jack?"

I sighed, rubbing my eyes with my fingers, "No, man, Gypsy's marriage. How did THAT turn out?"

"Oh, so you want to hear the story of the Gypsy Moth, then?" Digger asked with wide-eyed excitement at the chance to tell one of his stories.

"Sure, yeah, okay. Just remember not to hit me with that fucking shovel when it's finished."

Digger cleared his throat as he stood from the barstool, preparing himself for story time. "The Gypsy Moth was once a poor Romanian gypsy (hence her name), doomed to a life of poverty and ignorance that she could do nothing to stop. That is until one day, a troop of American filmmakers stopped in her tiny village to film a movie...a rather unfaithful telling of the story of Dracula. The movie was crude, and far removed from the vampire prince's true..."

"Digger! I don't care about Dracula, man!"

"Oh, sorry. So, a young, rich actor named Jason Reed immediately seduced the Gypsy Moth, and she accompanied him back to America. Despite barely knowing the English language, Gypsy immediately fell in love with her new lifestyle of excess and reckless abandon. The fairytale didn't last for long, however, as her lover frequently pushed her to the side in favor of his work, leaving her alone in Hollywood more often than not. She felt like a prisoner in a world not of her own, and quickly began to realize that Reed was having affairs with other women behind her back.

"What Jason Reed did not know, however, is that Gypsy herself harbored a secret. She possessed fantastic powers that allowed her to manipulate organic materials, such as skin, tissue, and fabric. Disillusioned at how her dream life had turned out, she used her power to make a costume and took flight into the night as the Gypsy Moth. She prayed on socialites and the wealthy, blaming them for having what she had been denied."

"Wow...that sucks." I know, eloquent I'm not.

"Eventually, Jason Reed died of a heart attack, and to her surprise, his entire estate was willed to Gypsy. With her newfound money, she created a cult that worshiped hedonism, drugs, and sex, which she holds meeting for in her mansion."

"Hey Digger," I asked with a smile, "you up for a party tonight?"

I will say this about the Gypsy Moth...she definitely knows how to party. After about half an hour of convincing Digger to come with me, we made our way over to her mansion. Lo and behold, he wasn't lying. There was a party going on, one of the wildest this wolf-man has ever attended.

A naked guy wearing a leather leash opened the door, and you'd think that a normal person would freak out once they laid eyes on Digger. This guy took it in stride, though, and just assumed we were there for the party. He led us through the foyer and into the main party room, where a huge mass orgy was happening.

Our tour guide left us after we entered the great hall of boners, apparently distracted by somebody waving a cock in his direction. I looked around at the people giving hand jobs with their left hand, and smoking crack pipes with their right. Those fuckers sure went all out when it came to partying. Digger looked like a kid in a candy store, filing away information for yet another story to tell his victims before the shovel smackin' started. I'm sure he probably wished for a pencil and pad of paper at that moment.

I finally spotted Gypsy in the left corner of the room, sucking cock like it was going out of style. I nodded to Digger, who just smiled that dopey grin of his and turned to find his own sort of fun. After a second of steeling my nerves, I walked over to Gypsy and her boy toy, really having no idea what I was going to say.

"Be careful, you could choke to death on that thing."

Both Gypsy and the guy jumped up, startled by my statement. "Hey man, d'you fuckin' mind to wait your turn? Queen Dvorak is giving ME special time right now!"

Ignoring Blowjob Bob, I turned my gaze toward Gypsy, who was busy wiping cum off her face. When she finally looked at me, it was like Digger had walked over and smacked her in the face with his shovel.

"Jack! When did you get here?" she asked, grabbing her robe from that chair beside her. Blowjob Bob didn't look too happy, but was either too scared or too embarrassed to say anything about it.

"Me and Digger got here a few minutes ago," I said as she took my arm and led me out of the room. We approached the large staircase, and for some reason I stopped in my tracks. Gypsy walked up the first few steps, then turned around and beckoned me with her finger.

"Um, look, maybe this wasn't such a good idea...Digger's walking around here with his shovel. I'm kinda afraid he may try to stick it somewhere it shouldn't go."

"Look, Jack," she said with a smile, "you didn't come all the way out here just to say hello. Digger will be fine. I'm even taking you somewhere secluded, because I'm sure you're not into the orgy scene at all."

"Um...nah, not really."

"Now come along, my little wolf-wolf," she said sweetly, taking my hand. I didn't fight it, I could feel her power pulling on my clothes, commanding me to go upstairs with her.

We fucked for six hours straight.

A few months later, the Shroud came out of the closet. The Night Shift found out that he was really a super-hero, and that everything he'd told them had been a lie. Luckily for me, he'd left my involvement in his little plan out of his confession. The rest of the gang didn't take it well, and pretty much told him that if they ever laid eyes on him again, they'd kill him.

Honestly, I wasn't surprised. I'm also sure that the Shroud wasn't surprised, since he knew it was gonna happen eventually. I guess he figured it'd be better if he told them himself, instead of the group getting it through rumors and hearsay. I'm fairly sure he took the group's threat seriously, 'cause I haven't spoken to the man since he walked out on us.

But, to tell the truth, I was kinda glad he bailed on the concept. It gave me a way out of a situation that would one day have probably got me killed. I hung around the Tower for a few days after Shroud left, weighing my options about what I should do. Most of the other guys just kind of moped around in muted anger, obviously ticked off that they'd been deceived for so long by someone they trusted. Digger seemed especially hurt, and it almost seemed like it killed the good part of his personality.

Finally, after a bender from Hell, I packed up my shit and headed for the door, determined to put the freak show behind me. Before I hit the door, I turned to take a look back. Digger was standing there, another look of betrayal in eyes. I was the only member of the Shift that actually treated him like a person instead of a monster, and I guess he assumed I was abandoning them. I broke the stare with Digger and walked out the door, closing it behind me.

I stopped when I got outside, milling over any last minute reasons for why I should stay. None immediately came to mind.

"So you're leaving as well?" a female voice asked from above. I didn't even have to look up to know who it was.

"Yeah, Gyps, I'm leaving," I responded, my head hanging, "not much point in me sticking around, y'know? I mean, I joined this group because the Shroud asked me to. Now he's gone, and I have a feeling my welcome may soon wear itself out."

She landed beside me, her wings fluttering from the wind. Sure, I knew her wings weren't real, that her flying was just a form of levitation, but damn were they impressive. She had a stern look on her face as she lectured me, with finger wagging and everything.

"Who the fuck are you to walk out on us now, Jack? Our entire reason for staying together was a lie! We need to stay together now more than ever, to prove that we're not as ignorant as the Shroud made us out to be."

"Yeah, you guys weren't too bright," I commented, "considering it was pretty fucking obvious what the Shroud was doing this whole time." Yeah, I was being an ass intentionally. I figured that if I pissed her off enough, she'd just fly away and let me leave.

"From what I understand, Jack, YOU were just as fooled as the rest of us...or were you?"

That was it, my jig was up. I just sighed and ran my hand through my hair, avoiding eye contact at all costs. "Look, don't tell the others, okay. I was the Shroud's back-up, the only other person that knew he was on the side of angels this whole time."

"Jack, I'm honestly not surprised," she stated coldly, her silk wings extending to take her airborne, "your secret's safe with me."

As she slowly started to float away, only one thought crossed my mind. "Wait, Gyps...I don't even know your real name."

"Sybil. It's Sybil." She replied with a weak smile.

That was the last time I saw her, or any of the Night Shift. I made it a point to stay out of California after that, because how did I know Gypsy didn't blab my confession as soon as I made it to town? As much as it may seem to the contrary lately, I'm not one to take stupid chances. Yep, eight years since I'd seen the Night Shift, until a few weeks ago in New York. Gypsy just happened to stop by my motel room, flaunt some uninhibited sexual energy in my direction, and then leave. Following my less-than-stellar outing in central Europe, I was hurting for cash (i.e. I had NONE) and a ride back to the states.

If you couldn't tell by now, my list of friends is not that long. Michael Morbius is God knows where, Jessica Drew is always travelling the globe on assignment...hell, I don't even know what happened to Johnny fucking Blaze. You'd think a guy with a flaming skull for a head would keep a pretty high profile, but he'd dropped off the scene a long time ago. All of us old-school monsters had faded into obscurity, replaced by, well, mutants I guess. Who needs a Man-Thing when you've got a Wolverine or a Punisher?

"Jack?"

I guess it's because most of the good monsters from my day didn't go around eviscerating people like today's so-called "heroes". I mean, yeah, Morbius and I have ate a few people in our day, but only when we absolutely had to. You never saw Dr. Strange going around slicing people up with razor blade claws or shooting people with an Uzi, that just wasn't our style.

"Jack, what the fuck are you talking about?"

I look over at the seat next to me, where Gypsy is giving me the strangest look. "Um, what?"

"You were talking out loud, mumbling something about the Punisher...are you okay?"

Fuck. I hate it when I do that. "Oh. Sorry about that."

"It's okay. You ought to come by the house when we get back to New York. I think you'll like it, I've got plenty of room. You won't have to stay in any more seedy motels."

I shoot Gypsy a smile before craning my neck to take a look at the back of the plane. "Hey Gyps, we got what, an hour and a half before we land?"

"Something like that. Why?"

"I think the bathroom's free...care to make good on that offer from earlier?"

"Jack Russell," she said with a firm scowl, "you are the most infuriating man I've ever met."

We fucked for a full hour in the airplane men's room. Gotta love that super werewolf metabolism.

NEXT ISSUE: Okay, I'm sure everybody's getting sick to death of flashbacks by now, so the next issue is going to take place completely in the present! Join Jack as he takes a trip to the wilds of Colorado in search of Glaucon and Juliet, in the first part of "Drop the Leash"!