Tacos & Werewolves

TaPreface

It's not easy being cursed. I don't mean figuratively; I mean literally cursed. Let me back up. My name is Drake Mullberry. I'm a twenty-five-year-old African American who works for "Munch Bucket", a food delivery service. I know, woe is me. At least I have a job, right? That's not the curse that I'm speaking about. For the record I did pass the bar exam with high marks back in the days when I was trying to impress my dad and join his law firm to pitch in on the family legacy along with him and my brother Brandon. I didn't mention that they're the most influential law firm in the city. But one day it dawned on me that I hadn't the slightest desire to be a lawyer and the mere thought of being one filled me with dread and suicidal thoughts. So, I took this job, much to my family's dismay. 

My dad, Arron Mullberry, had a heart attack soon after and died. I'd like to think that my decision had nothing to do with his sudden death, but I try not to think about that too much. 

When I was ten years old, I was hit by a beer truck while riding my bike. I almost died. I was in a coma for two months, the whole death's door trip. But miraculously I pulled through and managed to bounce back as good as new. Almost.

I started to notice soon after regaining consciousness that I had been gifted with the ability to see ghosts. Yeah, that's right. I see dead people. Just like in the movie "the Sixth Sense" but not as much fun. I tried to tell the doctors and nurses exactly what I was seeing, but no one believed me. Not even my own family. They all thought that I had suffered some sort of brain damage from the accident, but they were full of it. Sure, I had been bedridden and banged up with a few broken bones due to the impact of the truck, but mentally speaking I was fine. Of course, all crazy people will tell you this, but you see my point. 

Anyway, they hooked me up to all these machines to check my head and showed me ink blots to get my impressions and sent in a slew of psychiatrist to talk to me but no one could find a physical reason for the "hallucinations."

The ghosts would tell me personal things about the doctors and nurses and when I relayed to them the things that the ghost had told me about each one they seemed to get all flustered and red in the face as if I had violated aspects of their privacy and I could sense an air of uncomfortableness and animosity in them whenever they were in my presence after these encounters. Like the time I told a psychiatrist that this ghost named Mabel, a sixty eight year old Jewish lady that had died some fifty years back during surgery and baring a striking resemblance to Phyllis Diller (google it), relayed to me that she saw him and the pretty young RN Sandra from cardiology in the stock closet "getting it on" as she put it. Then I promptly pointed Sandra out, who conveniently happened to be passing through the ward at that moment on an errand or possibly on her way to the stock closet, for that matter.

"There she is right there!" I yelled. "Hey, Sandra! It's me and Dr. Ross. You know, from the stock closet!"

Neither seemed impressed. 

Or the time another ghost named Marv told me that Nurse Shannon was stealing drugs from the pharmacist tray when unattended. People seemed to keep a wide berth from me after that. The psyche sessions stopped altogether.

Anyway, what I'd really like to do is to be a photographer. I love taking pictures of life, particularly of the bizarre and supernatural. My big dream is to one day catch an iconic pic of something like the Loch Ness Monster or Big Foot. How lit would that be?! Well, why not take pictures of ghost you say, since you can supposedly see them? Ghost don't photograph. They're for the most part invisible to everyone but me. Yeah, they can appear solid for short periods of time but try and get one to pose for a picture. You can't. They hate cameras. So, I'm always on the lookout for strange occurrences. This food delivery job allows me the freedom to roam around the city, and the time to hunt down interesting leads. Who knows, maybe even get a clearer pic of Big Foot in the process, or something better, even. I once saw this video where a house elf walks across someone's driveway and it was picked up by the surveillance camera. I'm just saying, you never really know what's out here.

Chapter 1

The Phone rang.

"Drake, darling. What are you doing now? And please don't tell me you're in the middle of delivering someone's lunch!"

It was mother dearest.

"Well, it is during working hours Mom. And if you must know, I'm delivering eight Korean tacos with healthy scoops of kimchi, smells delightful."

"When are you going to leave that dreadful job and help manage the business with your brother? I mean you did so well on the bar it's just ridiculous that you're settling for such a mindless job. You could be living like a king."

"Don't cast dispersions on the honorable profession of food delivery. People need sustenance. By any respect, like I said, I really don't want to be a lawyer. In fact, the thought makes me ill."

"It's my belief that you never recovered from that bump on the head. Are you still running around with your little ghost and what not?"

"Yes, I still see them."

"Well, that explains everything."

"No mom, I'm not crazy."

"That's what crazy people say."

"I was just thinking that."

"Will you please try and come to your senses?"

"Sure. Right after I get a picture of the Loch Ness Monster, or Bigfoot, or that house elf that ran across that lady's driveway."

"What on earth are you droning on about?!" 

"Forget it. You wouldn't understand."

"Have you talked to your brother?"

"Not for a couple of weeks."

"It's been over a month. I know that you two have your disagreements, but he is your brother. Call him. He loves you."

"It's just that he's so full of himself. Not to mention the biggest jerk I've ever met."

"Doesn't matter, he's your brother."

"Yeah."

"Call him."

"Fine."

"Well, you take care, and don't forget to take time out to eat yourself. You looked so skinny last time I saw you."

"Yeah Mom, I will."

"Tootles."

"Bye."

I clicked off the phone and continued driving. By now I had almost reached my destination. I pulled up to the curb and walked the savory dish up to the door and pressed the buzzer of a pretty nice mansion in the Hollywood Hills. The owner, a young Asian tech type in his early twenties sauntered out wearing a t-shirt, cargo shorts and sandals to retrieve his bounty. 

"Hey, good time man! Munch bucket rules!"

"Thanks, I try to be prompt I know how it is when the munchies kick in."

"Solid."

I glanced in the direction of his neighbor's house on my left and saw the police with their yellow tape and detectives posted outside. I could tell by their stereotypical CSI issue suit and ties.

"What happened over there?" I asked.

"Oh man, totally freaked out scene dude. Some guy got mauled by a bear or something. Dismembered and everything. My friend Steve found him, said it was gory as hell."

"Whoa! Is Steve around now?"

"Yeah he's inside. HEY STEVE!" he yelled. "GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!"

We waited for some moments until finally a round curly haired white guy in glasses dressed similar to the first but wearing a different colored t-shirt trudged his way to the porch. He was wearing sandals and breathing heavy from the exertion. The shirt was clinging to his b-cup sized breast, each thread I imagined begging for mercy.

"What?!" he spat nastily.

"Shut up dork!" retorted tech guy pushing him on the shoulder playfully. "Tell my man what you saw." He said signaling towards me. 

B-cup took a few more angry breaths while his eyes appraised me acutely for signs of worthiness of hearing his fantastic tale. After some moments he must have decided that I passed his standard of excellence. 

"Yeah man, it was horrible. Body parts all over the yard. And all that blood! Dude I lost it! I blew chunks right there! I'm probably scarred for life. In trauma or something."

Judging from the smell wafting out of the house and the redness of their eyes they were probably both scarred for life. In a good way. Both were obviously wasted out of their minds.

"Why'd you go over there?"

"We accidently got his mail; I was returning it."

"Who was he?" I asked.

"Blake...something?" stammered tech guy, his face screwed with complexity. 

"Goodwyn?! No Goodman! He was a good man!" chimed b-cup Steve quite pleased with himself.

They both laughed with big Cheshire cat grins on their faces.

"What did he do?" I asked.

"Tech of course. Like everyone around here who doesn't have a TV show." Said the tech kid matter of fact.

I nodded, thanked them for their time and headed back to my car and drove away. I would have to check the scene out directly on my own when the activity died down later on. Maybe even talk to the guy's ghost. Quiz him on what happened. A killer bear in the Hollywood Hills didn't seem likely. Could this be my big foot opportunity? And why did Big Foot have an attitude? Only further investigation would answer these questions.

Chapter 2

I drove down Franklin Blvd busted a right at Highland and hit the freeway headed for the Valley. I decided to knock off early and go home and clear my head for a minute. I tried to drive at a good clip and keep my eyes on the road and looking to the side only when necessary to prevent myself from seeing a lone ghost camping along the freeway shoulder cast in all manners of disfigurements depending on what horrible accident they had incurred when the body was retrieved at the time of death. Some of the sights were pretty horrendous. 

I arrived at the apartment twenty minutes later. I went inside, grabbed a cold brew out of the fridge, sat in the lounge chair, flicked on the TV, and settled in for the Rick and Morty marathon. 

The phone rang.

My brother Brandon. Eccch! I contemplated whether or not to click over.

"Hello."

"What's up little bruh?"

"What's up Brandon?"

"Why you sound so glum? Oh yeah, the ghost whisperer has got to be glum. I know that it can't be that you're not happy to hear from me, baby bruh. It's not that is it?" he goaded sarcastically.

"Why would you say that? You know that I'm always happy to hear from you," I said. "We're like Eddie Haskell and the Beave."

"Wait a minute, the Beave hated Eddie Haskell?!"

Silence.

"Ha ha ha! Still a hard ass! Why don't you stop shaming the family and quit that rinky-dink Kato job and come work at the firm like Dad would have wanted?! You passed the bar. You're being stupid! For what?! To prove a point?! You're killing Mom, you know?"

"That's exactly why I didn't want to answer this call, because you're so full of it!"

"Knowledge? Logic? Is this the "it" you are referring to? You need to listen to me!"

"I'm alright."

"Are you? Are you really? Danny Phantom!"

"Danny Phantom turned into a ghost, idiot!"

"He saw them too, idiot! And you were also a ghost. You died in the accident. But they were able to revive and bring you back. But of course, you wouldn't know that. Me, being the one full of "it", Knowledge and Logic.

"You called for what? Just to harass me?"

"No, I missed your voice. I called to talk some sense into you. Unfortunately, you're brain dead."

"And on that note, see you on thanksgiving and thanks for calling. But no politics! Your views in that area suck also."

"Because you're a commie hippie."

"Goodbye Brandon."

"It's been real."

"Yeah, real nauseating."

"That goes both ways."

Click.

Brotherly love. There's really nothing like it. 

Almost on cue the phone rang again. Jeez! Was a brother ever going to get to his Rick and Morty marathon?! This time it was my Aunt Brenda. That was cool. She was the only one in the family that I could talk to that didn't make my stomach churn. Brenda's great! I have no beef with Brenda. Except maybe for that one time that she sold my soul to SATAN! Most guys would carry a chip on their shoulders over something like that but that's a testament to how engaging and fun and irresistible my Aunt Brenda's personality is. She's impossible to stay mad at. The exact opposite of my Mother. It's hard to believe that the two came from the same genealogical tree. Aunt Brenda is a professional gambler and stock investor. She has more money than my mom and brother put together, and my mom and brother are loaded. She's always jet setting off to some exotic country living the life of the fabulous and famous. I should mention that my Aunt Brenda is a witch, or more specifically a practitioner of voodoo. She had no qualms about using the arts to give her an added edge in whatever endeavor she chose to pursue. Mainly high-stakes gambling. She hit the state lotto twelve times and cleans house in any casino she steps in. She never loses. I mean, never loses.

"What's up Aunt Brenda?"

"Hey, Nephew, what's shaking?" 

"Nothing. Same old crap different day."

"They call that the human condition."

"Well that condition has never slowed you down. Where are you?"

"I'm in Monaco at the Monte Carlo. I was just heading downstairs to put a hurting on them slots, and maybe the crap table, too!

At that moment I heard the distinct sound of a harassed chicken's cackle. Then a swift cracking sound followed by a brief silence. Finally, there was the sound of silverware ratting on a table followed by a sickening uneven ripping noise which led into the soothing hollow echo of thick liquid draining into what I guessed to be a glass container of some sort. I heard my Aunt puffing heavily over the phone like one does when smoking on a cigar. My aunt gave a short hacking cough and spat.

"Sounds like you're still up to your old tricks!"

"Always darling, always. Luck ain't gonna make itself! Money comes in mighty handy like, always! I take it that you still don't want to work at your Brother's law firm?"

"Absolutely not!"

"I got you. So, what's the plan?"

"I don't know. Thought I'd just enjoy life before it's time to go do my stint in HELL!"

"Oh yeah, there's that. You know that I'm sorry about that. At the time it was the only way that I could think of to save your life. That truck hit you so hard. And you looked so helpless there in the hospital. You know that you actually did die." 

"Yeah, I kind of heard that."

"But don't worry. Aunties found a way to get you out of this, but you know that you're going to have to do your part. It's gonna take some work."

"I know. Perform good deeds."

"And stay out of trouble, especially when it comes to the commandments!"

"Keeping the commandants are easier said than done. I think. Honestly, I don't remember most of them to tell you the truth."

"Will you take this, serious! You have to put in a little effort, okay?! Did that helper I conjured up show up yet?"

"Yeah and she's a total buzz kill! Can you send her back?!" 

"Send her back?! People would jump for joy if they had their own personal guardian angel. So, it's a girl. Is she pretty?"

"Auntie! They're just not all they're cracked up to be is all I'm saying. And she's cute, but that's beside the point!" 

"Well your situation is different than most. More dire might I say."

"All I can say Auntie is that she sure is one big pain in the ah...!"

"Language! I'm sure that you'll want to tread lightly there, also."

"See what I'm saying? This sucks!"

"It'll take some getting used to I'll admit but it's not the end of the world."

"It's exactly the end of the world!"

"Let's not dwell on the negative aspects."

"Said the person getting rich in Monte Carlo!"

"We'll get through all of this nephew, I promise!"

"Yeah Aunt Brenda, it's just so hard."

"I know baby. I promise you; I'm going to fix everything. You just hang in there. Got to go, my hand is itching. Money! Got to get that scratch! You take care honey. I'll call you before I get out of here.

"Where to from there?"

"Paris, Rome, Spain with a possible stop in Russia."

"Well, have fun."

"I will. And you take care. And listen to the angel! She's only looking out for your best interest."

"You sound like a lawyer."

"You sound like a pessimist."

"It's one of my better qualities."

"For who?"

"Let's just say, it gets me through the day."

"Whatever works for you, baby. Ciao, got to run."

"See ya, Auntie."

"See ya, nephew. Wish me luck!"

The phone clicked off and I placed it back on the coffee table. I sat back and finally tried to concentrate on the Rick and Morty show but soon got bored (most of the episodes being reruns that I had already seen way too many times) and grabbed my phone and clicked on a well- known porno site. I wired it over to the big screen in front of me, did the usual scroll before settling on an interesting pic of a female in a traditional porno contortionist sex pose with a well- endowed black stud positioned over her and pressed play. 

I undid my zipper and began to pleasure myself and was into it immediately watching the girl's pubic region thrusting forward like a wave breaking back and forth from the shore. Each stroke sent sensations of ecstasy rushing to my brain. 

Then the angel appeared in front of the TV holding an iPad which she tapped at furiously. She was dressed in her usual navy-blue business suit and matching skirt that fit snuggly around her plump bottom and heathy legs. Her long blond hair danced about her shoulders as she typed.

"I wouldn't think that this would be the most optimum way to spend your time considering the situation, Mr. Mullberry!"

"Tiffany! How did you get in here?! Stupid question. Better yet, Why?! Get out! Now! Man! Can a brother have some privacy or what?!"

"Oh, don't be so touchy. I'm here for your own good! Do you know how much paperwork I'm going to have to do behind this?! Form HJ S2C! Form Joe nineteen four F! Form JAK-be four P! What about me?! Is anybody thinking about me?! And could you put that thing away. From my research that appears to be the area where most of your problems stem. Hmmm. You'll have to work on that."

"Hey! You just can't barge in anytime you want to! I've got rights, you know?!"

"Actually, clause six nine dash two one-A specifically states that you have none."

"Just go!"

"I will but you're just going to have to make a better effort to get a grip on yourself, but not in that way."

"I wasn't breaking a Commandment!"

"I know, but it's frowned upon. Plus, the paperwork. You think I'm filing these for my health?!"

"Well, don't file them! Just sweep the whole shebang under a rug like it never happened."

"That would be unethical. If caught it would be a black mark against you and that wouldn't help your case much. But more importantly, I don't want to go down for your nefarious suggestions! What do you take me for, some kind of Johnny come lately?"

"And how is a whacking off file going to help my case?!"

"Every little bit helps your case Mr. Mullberry. I mean, selling your soul to the Devil? How medieval."

"I didn't have anything to do with it! It was my Aunt!"

"I know, bad break. But so fifteen hundreds. Couldn't your aunt have thought of a better cliché? Like giving the first born to Rumpelstiltskin?"

"You're hilarious. Can't wait to catch you on the strip."

"Just please, try to be better. These trips aren't exactly fun for me either, you know?! We're only allotted a set number of frequent flyer miles a year and it looks bad if we abuse.... never mind! Do better!"

"Excuse me for living!"

"Gratitude. I'd say. By the way, you might want to get some napkins. You wouldn't want to stain the leather. I mean it's a nice couch and......."

"Get out of here!"

"Fine! Goodbye."

She vanished in a puff of smoke that wafted away like a desert mirage.

"This is nerve racking!" I yelled out loud.

I sat back and tried to collect my thoughts. The moon glowed like a silent bulb in the sky. The night was young I thought. I might as well head back into the hills and try to locate some clues on the Blake Goodman murder. The mood for Porno time had been assassinated by an experienced snipper. Since I had nothing better to do why not take a spin over. I grabbed my phone and keys and headed for my car.

Chapter 3

The drive through the hills was pretty uneventful. As I was driving through Mulholland I caught a glimpse of one of my favorite ghosts standing alone by a guard rail next to a sweet vintage silver Jaguar looking up at the stars, none more radiant than himself, just as he was in life. When I see ghost, they're bathed in light like a streetlight shining above them at all times, making them stand out from ordinary people. This ghost didn't need those frills. This one was a true star in every rite. He was the light. I pulled my car up next to his jag and got out and approached him smiling. I found myself star struck whenever in his presence. He was wearing the same red leather jacket that had made him a Hollywood icon, god of the silver screen and an enduring symbol of rebellion to the young generation for years to come. 

Other than the oozing bloody gash across his severed neck that had leaked caked blood on to his pristine white t-shirt he looked perfect. A silky blonde bang hanging dangerously down over one eye and a smirk to die for.

"Deaner, what's up?"

"What's up cat?" 

We dapped each other up and ended the ritual with a cool sliding of palms beatnik style.

"Stargazing?"

"Yeah, look at it. I was always captivated by the vastness of space. Heavens out there somewhere. I wonder why I didn't, I couldn't make the trip man. The road was there, but I just couldn't cross over. Something inside wouldn't let me. I wish that I could tell you, man."

"It's just the natural rebel in you."

He smiled the same smile that had made him a demigod to millions. 

"Anyway," I continued. "It's been my experience that something might be still holding you here. Mentally you're anchored here due to some unresolved issue."

"Like what?"

"Only you know the answer to that."

"I can't think of anything. That car. I love that car." 

"I doubt that it's that. It usually has something to do with a person."

"A person, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry, got nothing."

"I'm sure it'll come when it's time. Like sex, don't rush it."

"Whoa, brother. I never agreed with that philosophy. But, whew...I don't know, I've been here many a year." 

"To you. Time is relative."

"I guess you got a point. Where were you headed? To a swinging party in the hills?"

"Naw, to check out this murder. Some guy was killed by some kind of animal. Really weird science."

"Cryptic."

"What you doing? You want to roll, check it out?"

"Sounds freaky. Why not?! Can I drive?"

"You're joking, right?"

"Yeah."

"Deaner, what am I gonna do with you?"

"Maybe bury me."

"Shut up."

"Alright."

We hopped into the Toyota Prius and I threw the car in drive and headed further up the hill. We arrived at our destination a few minutes later. We jumped out of the car and headed for the house. By now the place was vacant with the yellow tape blocking off portions of the yard and house. We searched the property's immediate surroundings and found the spot or more accurately the bloody smudge where the attack must have occurred.

"Nasty." said Dean staring intently at the blood smeared crater in the grass. "Red and green are supposed to make yellow. This looks black." He said clinically.

"He's deep into the role now." I told myself. "I'm officially with detective Dean now."

What he lacked in knowledge he made up with intensity. I had never seen eyes blaze so brilliantly with such emotion as when he said that stupid shit about the grass. He was breathtaking to watch.

"Maybe the victim is still around here?" I said.

"Yeah. I'll look around."

Dean wondered off to the other side of the house and I continued the search for clues on my own. I walked to the front door, picked the lock, and stepped over the yellow tape. It was time to get acquainted with Mr. Blake Goodman. If nothing else maybe I could find a picture of him. Make sure that I didn't walk or drive right past the guy. It usually took a ghost three days to a week to get its bearings to figure out which path leads to either the light or the void. Rarely was a spirit ushered immediately to heaven or hell upon death. This is especially true with murder victims. Their souls were bound to the earth until their murderers are brought to justice. So, the spirit was out there roaming around somewhere. Perhaps in here sipping a cool martini on ice or whatever his favorite beverage was in life. I checked the bar. Nothing. The bedrooms, the bathrooms, the basement, nothing. The house was empty. I did find a picture of what I figured to be the victim, on the mantle and removed it from the frame. The Vic was a middle-aged white guy in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts sitting pool side at what looked to be Vegas. I pocketed the photo and took one last look about the house and stepped outside relocking the door. 

I stood on the porch and lit a cigarette. Dean walked up the steps and stood beside me. 

"Nothing." He said.

"Smoke?"

"Sure, I've been dying for one. No pun intended."

I handed Dean a square. He lit it and inhaled deeply. Smoke curled out in bellows from the bloody slash underneath his chin. The effect was ghastly to watch and a little sickening, but it seemed to give J.D. so much pleasure I had to bear through it and tried my best to show no emotion.

"You know, you'd be a great anti- smoking commercial."

"Hell yeah! I was a great smoking commercial. Sold more packs then the Marlboro Man, jack!"

"I believe it. Is there no limit as to how you have contributed to the downfall of this society?"

"No boundaries, cat! You got to shine! Blaze like a comet! And whatever burns in the wake let it burn! Let it all burn! That's art!"

There was a blazing fire in his eyes as if it were dire that he conveys this message. Man, I could watch this guy all day. And I've really got to snap out of it because I think that he just said something else nonsensical.

He flicked an ash from his cigarette and I instinctively followed its descent down to the ground with my eyes and watched it land lightly on a paper doorknob advertisement that was laying there amongst a number of others bearing the same logo. I bent and picked one up. It was one of those rectangular pieces of paper with the hole cut out towards the top to fit over doorknobs like a do not disturb sign. It was an advertisement for Mario's Pizza. I had made runs from there a few times and even knew some of the employees who worked there. I pocketed the advertisement as I puffed on my cigarette. 

I saw a whiff of smoke appear on my left side and turned in its direction in time to see my nemesis Tiffany, the angel, standing there fanning the residual smoke from her eyes.

"What now?!" I asked in an irritated voice.

"Smoking. You know that's not very good for you!"

"There's no Commandment against smoking!"

"Yeah, technically but it is frowned upon. The body being its own temple or something like that?"

"Who's the babe?" Dean asked. "Introduce me."

"Trust me," I said. "You don't want to know this person."

"Well let me be the judge of that." He countered.

"Oh, I'm aware of who you are Mr. Dean. You were supposed to report to us more than sixty-five years ago, what happened?"

"Got distracted."

"Well the review board is there waiting for you whenever you're ready."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"What?!" I said surprised. "I thought you missed your flight. You didn't mention that you never booked a ticket."

"I'm a procrastinator, I guess."

"You think?" I turned back to Tiffany. "I'm working on an important case right now. You know something that will improve my standing with your boss and maybe knock off a few more years? So, if you could just leave and let me get to it, it should work out for both of us."

"Alright, I'll go but the smoking thing is very bad for your health. And don't think that you're the only one that's irritated. I'm a very busy person and if you think that my idea of fun is chasing you all over town to make these minor corrections, you've got another thing coming!"

"Don't sweat the little stuff. I've got this."

"By "this" you mean the curse, right?"

"Are all angels as infuriating as you?!" 

"She's an angel?!" asked Dean incredulously. "Far out!"

"Not far out enough, trust me!" I said.

"You don't have to be so rude." said Tiffany.

"I'm rude?! Who's harassing who?!"

"It's not harassment! I like to call it guidance." 

"I'd like to call it a pain in the rear end! And could you possibly guide your way out of here?!"

"Fine. But I'm going to have to ask you to use better judgement in the future. Your previous actions have not helped matters. Remember this isn't only for you I'm trying to earn my halo!"

"From your smoky entrances it looks like you could use some wings too, and a personality!"

"Look who's talking?!" "You know it wouldn't hurt to show a little gratitude!"

"Well, bring a blunt and a few beers next time and we'll work on my attitude."

"You're disgusting! Goodbye!"

"Same to you, sister!"

There was a popping noise followed by a plume of smoke and she was gone.

"You guys dating?" Dean asked.

"You're a funny guy."

"I don't know, she's attractive. Thick, nice butt like you like em. She's built like a sister, right?"

"There's still a major problem."

"What's that?"

"Vocal cords."

"Well, there's that part. So, what do you think we should do now? I mean there's obviously no one hanging around here."

"Yeah. Maybe head over there." I motioned towards the house where I had spoken to the tech kid and B cup Steve earlier. "They're a couple of neighbors I spoke to earlier. See if we can gather intel on the vic." I said all CSI.

"Sounds good." Said detective Dean in a mumbled monotone that put my effort to shame. I couldn't help but marvel at his stage presence. J.D. had star power in spades. No one could take that away from him.

We got in the car and drove up a steep up climb and a curvy hill and parked in the neighbor's driveway. We both got out and walked to the door. Once again, I was met by tech kid.

"Munch bucket guy! What's up?"

We fist bumped. I had to mentally remind myself not to introduce Dean. That would kill the conversation out right. They would think that I was mad since they couldn't see Dean.

"Nice digs, Drake. "Dean said, appraising the mansion with a smile. "I must commend you; you're certainly keeping better company now. Look at the jet setter! Don't get all fancy pants on me after this!" he smirked. I ignored him and continued on my line of questioning.

"Hey, is your man who found the body still here?"

"Steve? Yeah, he's inside." He said before turning his head towards the open door and yelling. "STEVE!" he turned back to me. "What's up?"

"Nothing really. I just had some questions about the guy who got killed."

"What?! He stiff you on a tip? I heard that he was good for that."

"He's got a history?"

"Renown. Ask any delivery person. He get you too? Penny pinching Blake. The guy's kind of a douche."

By this time Steve had joined us in the driveway. 

"Munch bucket guy! What's up, man." He extended his fist and we bumped it out.

"Nothing much dude, I just had a couple of questions about your neighbor."

"You came back here to ask questions about a murder?! You some kind of freak or something?! Cuz I told the cops everything I knew, so what do you have to do with anything?! Did he stiff you for a tip?"

"Naw, I'm also a photographer. I want to photograph whatever killed him. I'm actually looking for the animal. Because to be honest, from what you described it didn't sound like a bear attack to me."

"Yeah." said Tech kid with a quizzical look on his face. "You think Big Foot is pissed off?"

The comment drew a moment of silence from all of us for about forty seconds. Finally, I said "So what kind of guy was he? He was cheap, I get that. Did he have enemies? Anyone that would want to hurt him?"

"I don't know. He liked to gamble. He was always bragging about his Vegas winnings." Steve offered.

"He only bragged twice that I remember. Most times he came back pretty salty." Said Tech Kid.

"Hmm. You guys ever hang out with him?"

"Hell no!" said Steve. "That guys a total lame and kind of a douche, too!"

"That's what I said!" added Tech Guy.

"Did he gamble locally in town anywhere?"

"Didn't know him that well dude." Steve relayed.

"Of course. Hey, I'm Drake by the way." I extended my fist. Tech Guy was the first to re bump.

"Roger."

"Hey, Rodge. I already know, Steve, right?" I bumped fist with Steve.

"Yeah, Drake, right?"

"Correct. Glad to meet you. Now I'm not Munch bucket guy anymore."

"Oh, don't say that, you'll always be Munch bucket guy to us." Quipped Steve.

"That's what I'd save you in my phone as Drake, Munch bucket, guy." Said Roger smiling like a Cheshire Cat.

"I'll give you that one. Like in my phone I'd probably put Roger and Steve stoners. I get it."

"Speaking of which, you want to hit a bowl man?" Roger asked.

"Well, I shouldn't but...."

"Aw come on! Level up! Bong it out!" blared an exuberant Steve. 

"Okay. You talked me into it!" 

Steve and Roger yelled as if watching their favorite football team score the winning touchdown. We turned and started to enter the house when I heard a popping sound behind me. I cringed as I turned to face what I knew would be standing there. She was of course, both hands on her hips and a pissed off look on her angelic face. 

"What?!" I asked angrily.

"What?! I don't believe this! I just spoke to you not two minutes ago and now this?! Really?!"

"Hey, where did she come from?!" shrieked Steve whipping around with a stunned look on his face. 

"Wow! Is this your girlfriend, Drake? Me likey!" crooned Roger.

"No. It's my probation officer!" I lied.

"Whoa!" said Roger snapping into serious mode. 

"Bummer." Sighed Steve.

I turned back to Tiffany. 

"I repeat, what?!"

"Do you have to ask?!"

"What?! You mean the weed thing? Weed is definitely not in the Bible!"

"But...."

"I know it's frowned upon! Who's doing all this frowning?! Is there a commission of frowners? You know what? Take tonight off! You work far too hard and take your job much too seriously. So, go out, sing some hymns or whatever you do and buzz off! I've got things under control from here!"

"That's not part of the contract."

I heard Roger ask Steve.

"Where did he do time?"

"Sounds like the Vatican!"

"This is nothing like CSI."

I continued on with Tiffany.

"Contract?! I had nothing to do with your contract! In fact, I have nothing to do with none of these contracts!"

"Well ignorance is no excuse. Obligations are obligations."

"You deal with your issues and I'll deal with mine!"

"You're not making things any easier on yourself!"

"That might be, but I have something that trumps all of your contracts!"

"And what would that be?"

"Free will. So, if you'll excuse me, you're infringing on my free will. I hear that's a big no, no for angels looking to earn their halos."

"You are impossible!"

"That's why I'm so lovable."

Tiffany made a motion to vanish in a puff of smoke, but I stopped her. 

"No! I mean, why not walk away before you do that? There's people here."

"Fine. You are such a dip wad!" She turned and began to walk down the driveway towards the road. 

"That's no way for an angel in training to talk! Malice in your heart. That's got to be a black ball in the "I want to get my halo fund."

"Maybe burning in hell would be a good thing for you!"

"With a mouth like that you'll be bringing the wienies and marshmallows!"

"Ass!"

"Fanatic!"

A second later she was gone, and I was absolutely in the mood for a bong hit or two. After smoking half of southern California's weed supply in one sitting, I was able to pry another interesting bit of info out of Steve and Roger. Apparently, Blake Goodman was a heavy drinker and was well sauced every time they saw him. As a goof, I freaked them out with my ability to levitate the bong in mid-air and have it smoke itself. They begged me to tell them how I did it, but I just said that a true magician never reveals his secret. I couldn't tell them that James Dean was sitting on the sofa next to me getting cross eyed stoned. 

Dean and I were pretty wasted when we left Steve and Roger's place. I climbed behind the wheel and we headed down the hill.

"So," I said. "Blake was a drinker and a gambler. They didn't know any local spots he went to, but he wouldn't be able to have fun there anymore anyway. You know of any place where a newbie ghost with a penchant for liquor and gambling might be able to get some action?"

J.D. thought for a moment then said. "Mickey Cohen's place. La Brea and Sunset."

"You up for it?"

"Whatever cat. Right now, I'm flying high. To the moon and back! And to Mars and back and to the stars and back again! You got it?" 

"Yeah."

Total gibberish, but man could he deliver a line. Really, you couldn't take your eyes off of him. An icon in every rite.

Chapter 4

We arrived at Sunset and La Brea at around ten and the boulevard was alive with people, living and dead. We parked on a side street then walked to what appeared to be a boarded up out of business clothing store. I looked up and read the words on the weather-beaten dilapidated sign above the building saying, "The Gap".

"This it?"

"Yep."

"Looks a little dead tonight;"

"Good one. You ready?"

"Let's do it."

Dean stepped forward and passed directly through the boarded up locked door as if no impediment existed to restrict his entrance. I waited a short period until the door swung open on its own and Dean stuck his head out.

"Hey, it's really swinging in here tonight, cat. Come on in, the waters fine!"

He ushered me in, and I stepped through the door. 

He was right. The club was packed with the dead and the bar was hopping. The crap tables were alive in a matter of speaking, and the blackjack tables were full. There was a live jazz band on stage being led by Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis and what looked to be Charlie Parker on Sax. 

All heads turned in my direction as I made my way through the bar. They could all feel the disruption of a living person in their midst. Their fascination over the anomaly faded after a few seconds and everyone went back to coveting their chips and drinks. 

The owner, Mickey Cohen, spotted us from across the room and approached us with two of his thugs in toe. Mickey was a short olive-skinned Jewish gangster with beady malicious eyes and an air of mayhem in his demeanor. I felt a wave of fear wash over me as he drew nearer. They stopped directly in front of Dean and I. Mickey's hard eyes met mine and I could feel a lump forming in my throat. His eyes moved to Dean and a friendly smile began to form. 

"The Dean!" he said. "It's an honor to welcome you at our establishment! Who's the blood sack?" he asked referencing me. 

"He's cool." Said Dean. "Name's Drake Mullberry. He can see us."

"I can see that." Said Mickey before addressing me. "So, what's your story, mac?"

"I'm looking for a recently deceased murder victim. I heard he had a taste for booze, gambling, and pretty women. Dean said this was the place."

"Smooth talker this one. What'd you want him for?"

"Think I can help him. He was attacked by some kind of animal. I think that maybe he can give me some information that can help me track it down. Expedite his transfer to the light."

"A good, Samaritan, eh?"

"Not exactly."

"Good. Cause I hate good Samaritans!"

"It's more like obligations. I'm cursed. My soul is destined for hell. What I'm doing is more like community service, to work off some hours."

"On the lam, huh? The big boy's really got the goods on ya. I can relate to that. Blake's over there at the blackjack table losing his shirt."

I looked in the direction Mickey was indicating and saw a middle aged balding man in a Hawaiian shirt with a chunk of his skull missing and one eye held only by the tendons drooping down on his cheek just above his lip. It looked like the man in the picture if you had an eye for Picasso.

Mickey declared the first drinks on the house for me and Dean and wished us well on our quest.

Dean and I went to the bar and both ordered whiskey. We threw down the shots and I could feel my head begin to spiral. Ghost liquor being stronger than earthly liquor. I looked at Dean and he was still flying from the weed, now he just looked zonked. I signaled to him for us to make our way over to Blake. We both stood and headed toward the blackjack table where Blake was fixated on the three cards he held in his sweaty mitts. I tapped him on the shoulder making him turn his head so fast that the drooping eyeball slammed hard against his ear with a sickening smack and stuck there momentarily before sliding back down to hang loosely at his cheek.

"Wha...What?!" He rudely stammered.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need a word."

"And who the hell are you?! Can't you see that I'm busy?!" His brow furrowed and his head cocked to one side as he eyed Dean.

"Is that James Dean?!" he asked. 

"Yes sir! Glad to meet you." Dean said extending his hand and shaking Blake's.

"Man, I love you! I grew up on you!"

"Well, thanks. I appreciate that."

"Well, hell yes I'll talk to James Dean!" He gathered up the few remaining chips that he had scattered on the table and deposited them into his pocket. "Count me out boys! I'm gonna talk to the Dean! I'll be back in a minute."

He stood up and we all made our way to an empty booth towards the rear of the club in the dining area. Once we were all seated, I started in.

"So, what happened to you?"

"Hey, I'm here to talk to Dean not some fleshed out flunky!"

"Everyone said that you were a dick, now I see what they meant."

"Hey, ass! I don't know you and I don't have to take that kind of lip from you!"

"Can I ask you something?" said Dean.

"Yeah Dean, anything."

"Why are you so hostile?"

"I don't know?! For one thing, I was just killed by a goddam Werewolf!"

"A werewolf?! Did you say a werewolf?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Yeah! Like in the movies! You know, American Werewolf in London?! Underworld?!"

"A Werewolf? Are you sure?" I asked.

"Look, I don't have to prove anything to you blood basket! You can believe me or not, makes no difference to me! All I can say is I know what I saw!"

"You know of anyone who'd want to hurt you?"

"What part of Werewolf are you not hearing?"

"Well, you're a gambler, right. Maybe someone you owed money to? Or an ex -girlfriend or wife could have unleashed whatever it was on you? I say this because you were the only one in the area attacked."

"Let me tell you something. This was a friggin' Werewolf! Not a German Shepard or Rottweiler! No one was gonna train this thing! You understand, nitwit?!"

"Fine. I just wanted to explore all the options."

"All the options? You hear this joker, Dean? What would you do if you actually confronted this thing, eh? I'll tell you what. Nothing! That's what! You're an experienced monster killer, huh? You certainly don't look like one to me!"

"But to my credit, you're only seeing with one good eye and half a brain."

"Screw you blood bag!"

I looked at Dean.

"I guess we've gotten all we're gonna get out of this one."

"I guess so." Replied Dean. I turned back to Goodman.

"You know, you should look into anger management classes."

"And you should take a long walk off a short pier!"

Dean and I got up and left the club. Once outside there wasn't a remnant of life emanating from inside and we were once again standing in front of an abandoned Gap store.

The bright lights from the police cruiser pulling up and abruptly stopping in front of me was blinding. I saw the silhouettes of two bulky uniformed officers exit the car and approach me menacingly, the driver leveling his Glock directly at me as his partner tapped his baton over and over into his open free hand.

"Put your hands up and lay on the ground! Now!" Glock yelled as he inched closer. 

I followed his instructions swiftly, praying that I wouldn't be another statistic on their score board of brutality and itchy trigger fingers whenever it concerned black males. Baton bent down and placed his knee with all of his weight squarely on my back and painfully twisted my arms backwards, slapping a pair of handcuffs so tightly around my wrist that the metal dug into the bone.

"What were you doing in there?! Drugs?!" Glock accused with a crazed look in his eyes and spittle glistening on his lips.

"No sir! I don't do drugs!" I said, still woozy from the weed and alcohol.

"Right. Anyone else in there?" Glock asked.

"No sir!" I said. 

Glock turned to Baton.

"Check it out!"

Baton lifted his knee from my back, and I was able to breathe once again. He vanished into the store for a few minutes then returned.

"It's clean." He reported. 

"Okay. Get him into the car." Said Glock.

"Why am I being arrested, sir?" I inquired.

"Breaking and entering." Said Glock.

Baton lifted me to my feet and retrieved my wallet from my rear pocket and removed a California driver's license from it and perused it in the dim light.

"I didn't break and enter; the door was open."

"That's what you say!" said Glock.

"Drake Mullberry? Why does that sound familiar?" Baton said aloud.

"My father was Aaron Mullberry, of Mullberry and associates in Encino. My brother Brandon runs the firm now." 

When I said this, their demeanor seemed to deflate and soften all at once and I could clearly see the stress lines of apprehension form on both of their faces.

"Oh, a lawyer's kid, eh?" Glock said in a shaky voice as he lowered his weapon from my chest to my shin. 

"Mullberry and associates. That's that big-time law firm that handles all those high-profile cases. Aaron Mullberry, he was famous." confirmed Baton.

Glock holstered his weapon and begrudgingly retrieved a handcuff key and undid the shackles. I felt instant relief as the blood began to drain back into my fingers. 

"Well, you can't be too, careful, Mr. Mullberry. You know how it is." Glock said as he undid the cuffs. "Sorry, about the inconvenience. Mistakes happen."

I knew from the constant news reports that mistakes did happen, especially with black males. Had I been a lone white boy the experience would have been quite different.

"If I were you, I'd stay out of abandoned buildings. They're dangerous. Anything could happen." Glock said before turning and reentering the cruiser with Baton and speeding off.

"I see that race relations with the police haven't changed much since I've been gone." Dean said eyeing me with concern.

"The more things change the more they stay the same." I said.

We turned and headed towards the car that was parked around the corner. I heard the beeping of a car's horn off to my right and turned my head to see what the commotion was. 

A red Kia with a Mario's Pizza sign on its roof was driving slowly next to us with the driver a youngish dark-haired white girl waving her hands frantically in an effort to get my attention. 

"Hey!" she yelled. "I saw what happened! That was screwed up!"

"Yeah!" I said. "You know how it goes." 

"Yeah. Racist cops! I hate em!" she said.

"You're not alone." I retorted.

"You're okay, huh?" I was filming from across the street. I've got the whole thing on film if you want to press charges against those dicks!" 

"Thanks. You got a number?!"

"Yeah. I'll pull over just ahead and I'll give it to you."

"Alright."

She drove her car to the end of the block, parked it, then met us on the sidewalk. 

"You work for Mario's I see. I know Mario. Tell him hi."

"Okay. What's your name?"

"Drake Mullberry." 

"Mullberry? Like the law firm."

"Exactly like the law firm. It's my family."

"No shit! Wow, Hollywood royalty standing here."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Oh, don't be modest. Own it, dude."

"How long you work for Mario?"

"About a year."

"You ever deliver up in the hills?"

"Oh yeah, all the time."

"You know a guy named Blake Goodman? Has a habit of stiffing his delivery people?"

"I know the jerk. A real douche bag!"

"That seems to be the general consensus, and after meeting him I agree."

"You knew him?"

"In a matter of speaking. What's your name by the way?"

"Marci Lincoln." She reached out her hand and I shook it.

"Glad to meet you. Did you deliver to Goodman recently?"

"Yeah. He loved pizza. "

"When did you last deliver to him?"

"Probably a couple of days ago."

"Got it. You know he's dead now?"

"Really?! What happened?"

"Some kind of animal attack."

"Like a cougar?"

"Or something."

"Can't say that I'm broken up."

"Understandable. What's your number?" I asked pulling out my cell phone. 

She gave me her number and I punched it in.

"You ever see any large animals roaming around when you were delivering?"

"No, never." She thought for a second then said. "Wait a minute, one time I was driving around there, and I thought I saw a hulking shadow creeping around Goodman's place. I just thought I was freaking out. I attributed it to a trick of the light or being really tired that night or something. I didn't really make much out of it."

"Where was the shadow heading?"

"Towards the rear of his house."

"Okay. Thanks. It was good meeting you, Marci. I'll call you if I decide to press charges."

"Good deal. You take it easy. It was good meeting you too. See ya. Power to the people!" she shouted giving the universal closed fist symbol representing the movement.

"Right on, sister!" I said returning the salute.

She walked back to the car, cranked the motor, and drove off. I turned to Dean.

"What the hell. Let's check out the back of Goodman's house. What do we got to lose?"

"Sounds good to me. I didn't see anything but who knows, something might turn up." Dean shrugged.

We walked to the car and headed back to Goodman's house to check out his back yard.

Chapter 5

We arrived at Goodman's house shortly after and made our way to the rear of the house. The backyard looked similar to all the backyards in the hills. A slab of concrete leading to a pool surrounded by a brick wall. There were two tall tower electric heaters on opposite ends of the pool near the wall. I walked to the brick wall and stood on one of the lawn chairs and looked out over the eight-foot wall down into the dark wilderness of trees and foliage. I saw a large object moving up the hill fast snapping the weeds and branches with a sickening crack as it approached. I fell backwards off of the lawn chair on to my butt and skinned my elbow on the concrete. I quickly regained my footing and ran towards the house's rear sliding glass door. I tugged on the handle and of course it was locked. I saw a big black shape bound over the wall and land on its hind legs on the other side of the pool.

The beast was massive in size and muscular. Its wolfish mouth was agape baring razor sharp teeth with strings of saliva dripping from them. Steam came from its nostrils in the brisk night air as it approached. I saw the wolf leap once more and clear the entire width of the pool in one bound and land a few feet beside me. Instinctively, I jumped headfirst into the pool hoping Werewolves couldn't swim. Unfortunately, I was wrong. The wolf followed me into the pool and began to dog paddle its way towards me as I treaded water in the deep end. I turned and began swimming frantically towards the edge. I spied Dean out the corner of my eye flipping on the electric heaters on switch and pushing it towards the water. I climbed out of the pool exhausted from the effort and soaked from head to toe. I dragged myself to the wall and pressed my back against it to try and gain my breath. At that moment Dean pushed the heater into the pool and I could instantly smell burning fur as I watched the beast writhe in agony as the volts of electricity traveled through its body. This went on for some minutes until the beast finally became motionless and lay there floating face first in the water.

I looked across at Dean and gave him a military salute in gratitude which he returned. We both turned our attention to the water where we watched the wolf's floating carcass transform into the body of a naked dark-haired girl floating face down in the pool. I reached in and turned the body on its back and pulled it out of the water and laid it on the pool's deck. It was Marci Lincoln the Mario's pizza delivery girl. 

Six new Werewolves bounded over the wall and stood stoically at the far end of the pool looking in my direction. A new wave of fear washed over me knowing that they were here for retribution. Each wolf looked bigger than the last and all bigger than Marci in her wolf form. I prepared myself for the sudden painful death that seemed imminent. To my surprise and lucky for me the six wolves reverted into human forms and I now looked across at six trendy dressed men. Two were black. One bald the other in dreads. The other four were bearded giving the impression of a rock band or motorcycle club. The group slowly walked over to me and what I assumed to be their leader; a white Jason Momoa look alike addressed me.

"She's one of ours. We'll take her."

He knelt and touched her forehead with his fingertips and her eyes fluttered open. 

"What happened?! Sasha?! What are you doing here?!" asked Marci disoriented.

"You broke the pack rules. You attacked a human. We have to take you to the compound."

"No! Not the compound! I can't be locked up!" 

"I'm sorry. You know the rules. Your activities could jeopardize the whole pack."

"Please give me another chance!! I won't do it again, I promise!"

I had to know; it was driving me crazy.

"Why did you kill, Goodman?" I asked.

She looked at me with malice in her eyes.

"He was an asshole! And he tipped for shit!"

It was as simple as that. A member in the council of wolves stepped forward and placed a blanket that was laying on the deck, around Marci before transforming back into a wolf and bounding over the wall with her in toe. The rest followed suit and me and Dean were left alone on the pools deck in the crisp night air.

Meanwhile... Mickey Cohen and his six henchmen surrounded Blake Goodman in the alley behind his club. Mickey puffed on a stubby cigar as he spoke.

"You better cough up that money Mac or this evening's not gonna end very well for you!"

"Give me a few days, Mick! I'm good for it!"

"You take me for a sucker?! Do I look like a sucker to you?!"

"Not at all, Mick! I would never think that!"

"I'm gonna ask you one more time. Do you got my money, or do I have the boys start cutting off pieces?!"

"I don't have it Mick! Please don't do this Mr. Cohen! Hold on, what's happening to me?"

Blake looked down at his hands and saw that they were beginning to dematerialize. A bright light from the heavens poured down on him bathing his entire body.

"Hey!! I'm going to Heaven! What do you know?! I'm going to Heaven! Screw you Mick! You little toad! You can kiss my ass! Ha ha ha!" 

The light shot back into the sky and when it had vanished so had Blake Goodman.

"Damn!" cried Mick, waving his fist towards the heavens. "You're taking that welcher's side over mine?! I'm not gonna keep letting you screw me around! There's gonna be a reckoning between us one of these days! And you better bring your big guns, boy! Cause I'll bring mine!"

I dropped Dean back off at his jag.

"Thanks for hanging out." I said. "And saving my life. I owe you one."

"Don't mention it cat, it's always a blast hanging out with you."

"Thanks man. You take it easy."

"You too. And don't forget to aim for the stars."

"I won't. Later, Dean."

"You be cool, cat."

Chapter 6

I drove off headed towards the Valley exhausted from the night's activities. I parked the car in my parking space and headed in to catch some shut eye. I regretted not getting a chance to snap a quick pic of the werewolf. It would have made a great Enquirer cover page. Maybe next time if I'm lucky. As I headed up the walkway leading to my apartment, I saw Tiffany standing there waiting for me and to my surprise she was smiling.

"Hello, Christian warrior."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'll let that pass. Heaven got a new soul tonight thanks to your deed of bringing Mr. Goodman's murderer to justice!"

"What?! Blake Goodman gets to go to heaven, and I'm cursed?! That guy's a total douche bag!"

"Well politics. I try not to get into all of that."

"Politics?!"

I turned and headed towards the door disgusted.

"Drake!" Tiffany called out.

"Yeah?" I said turning back to face her.

"You did good tonight. You earned yourself five years off your sentence and a few brownie points for me."

"Cool." I said. "But eternity's a long time."

"True. We'll work our way through it."

"We'll see."

"I think we make a good team."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Goodnight, Drake."

"Night, Tiffany."

She was gone as quickly as she had appeared. I used my key to enter the security door of my building then headed for the elevator. Being cursed isn't a fun gig, but it certainly is exciting, and the company you keep makes it almost worth it. I had to get some sleep before I fell on my face. Tomorrow would be a big food delivery day with it being the weekend. 

Foreshadow

As I walked by the lobby area, I saw Bruce Lee's ghost sitting on a sofa signaling to me. He was wearing all black and the luminous light shining down on him lit him up like a Christmas tree. I love Bruce Lee. As a kid I had his posters pasted up all over my wall and must have saw everything's that he's done on film. This was truly my hero of hero's.

"Mr. Dwake!" he called. "I need to talk to you! It's important!" 

Oh crap! Here we go again. I really, needed to knock off for a few hours. But who can say no to their childhood hero? I walked across the room and sat down in the lounge chair situated next to the couch.

"Good evening Mr. Lee. It's an honor to meet you." I said extending my hand which he shook. "I'm a big fan! What can I do for you?"

To be continued ...  The Munch Bucket "Eerie" Mysteries Book 2 "Sushi, Soup & Vampires"

 lesTales of the Black HoodTales of the Black Hood of the Black Hood