Monster Bar Brawl

Knowhere is the type of city that draws in the worst of the worst, we’re talking ghouls, ghosts and goblins. I am one of those lucky numbers, got a little hickey by a vampire lord some 200 years back and since then I’ve been doing the rounds. This place ain’t all bad; sure, New York is the place if you want to find some sweet necks to nibble on but I’ve had my fill of that long before the city was even planned. This is the spot if you wanna make a pretty penny, and my wallet happens to be hurtin’.

Today’s a full moon, for vamps like me it’s prime huntin’ time, it makes us stronger, yeah? Problem is, it does the same for the lycros, werewolves; those guys are a pain to deal with on any normal day, hairy and loud as humans - doubly so in dog form. Thankfully, I get to take out some frustration on my latest mark, city’s put out a bounty on a certain Eddie Who, known chow-eater.

Bounties come and go, government’s too afraid that we’ll overtake regular humans in terms of numbers, so they try to “trim the bushes” every now and again, sic us on each other. One day my number might come up, but today the check is on Eddie’s name, and I’m comin’ to collect.

Where to find him is no mistery, it’s where everyone who’s anyone in Knowhere comes for a drink on a night like this, Misery.

“May I come in?” I shouted at the front door.

Guy on the bar was Hook, you’d know why he got the name just by lookin’ at ‘im. Old pirate type that had his hand eaten by a ‘gator some years back.

“You always gotta say that? Come in kid, leave the iron at the door.” He pointed at a hook on the wall, it looked identical to the one on his hand, fuckin’ narcissist.

There’s three things you gotta remember when huntin’ a lycro: Bring a gun, load it with silver and aim for the head. All that goes out the window in this case, my revolver is left hanging next to a blunderbuss and someone’s gaudy samurai sword.

I step up to the bar, people barely notice; pale-skins like me are the least unusual thing that come by this place. Hook says that a lich came in once, asked for some OJ - odd shit.

“Get me a bloody Mary.” I got the price memorized a few weeks back, it’s already next to Hook by the time I sit down.

“A bloody Mary or a bloody Mary?” Asswipe always loves this joke. He snickers to himself before drawing a blood sack from under the counter, “So, Knowhere’s own gumshoe, to what do I own the pleasure this time?”

“Tonight’s huntin’ night, looking for a fella by the name Eddie Who, know him?”

“Eddie, who?” He sliced the bag open with the hook, usually he gives us A+, cheap blood. Tonight’s a full moon and he needs to keep his clientele happy with O-, real expensive.

“Very funny, folks call him Husky.”

“That’s a number I do know, he’s in the back playin’ poker with some friends.” The drink slid across the table towards me, tastes better than ever.

“Mind if I pay ‘im a social call?”

“Long as you don’t dirty the floor too much and remember my fee, of course.”

“This is official business, Hook, prefecture’s gonna pay you for any damages.”

“I hope so.” He said in a weary sigh.

The drink’s so good I’m tempted to just sit there and let bygones be bygones - then again I run the numbers through my head, with his bounty I could keep these babies flowing for two days straight. I leave the glass half-full, time to get to work.

I’m up in a second, headed for the back - I bump into a moth-man on my way there, guy’s got a hundred eyes and still let’s himself get shoved over? It’s his fault, really.

“Hold up there!” Hook shouted. “Can you take these to ‘em?” He held a bleeding piece of steak on his hand.

“Do I gotta?”

“He’s paying me too, y’know.”

He’s convincing enough and I’m probably gonna leave a mess for him either way, wouldn’t hurt to do him a solid.

You see, there’s one thing I’m forgettin’ - I’m the forgetful sort so please, don’t mind me - there’s a fourth rule for lycros, always carry a silver knife. Lucky for me, Hook only knew about the first three. So, right now, I got a mighty powerful thing between the legs - two, actually. And there I am, piece of steak in one hand, knife in the other.

“May I come in?” I hate this part, can’t ever sneak up on someone.

“Make yourself at home, pal.” I can smell the dog breath from a mile away.

Around the poker table there are at least four of them, full-grown werewolves leaving thick patches of fur everywhere, I think one of them shat on the corner between their sessions. They’re sharing three or four bottles of bourbon and are lookin’ at the steak in my hand like it’s the last one on earth.

“Well I can’t believe it!” One of them, slightly pudgy with a gray coat jumps up, “Manny Malvado, that you?” Shit, it’s Ronny, guy let me borrow his car for a week when my house - I mean, my van was towed.

“Don’t know that number, pal. I’m here for Husky.”

“Who’s he to ya?” The largest one, with black and white fur stood up; it’s always the big folk, can’t ever be easy.

“My next cash cow.” I throw the slab of meat on the table and watch as the green felt turns red, Hook’s gonna have my head if they don’t get to it first. Slowly I raise the switchblade and bare my fangs, it’s on.

First on the menu is the guy closest to me, brown fur and scrawny. He doesn’t even seem to want to try, just stands there and takes it like a champ; knife in the gut and fangs in the neck. His blood is thin, goes down like dry wine, makes me thirst for something heavier.

The answer comes right after, Ronny is throwing his claw right in my face - fucker actually leaves a scar under my cheek.

“Thanks for the car, pal.” I say, biting off one of his ears.

The lycro screams in pain, howls, actually. I put him to sleep with a slash across the throat, I’m gonna miss that car. The last two finally wake up and go for me at the same time; Husky’s tearing off my left leg while the other one who’s name I don’t even know is nibbling on my arm.

Now, in case you forgot, tonight’s a full moon, mean’s us vamps get a few quirks like faster regeneration. So, instead of sitting around in my room for a whole month waiting for that leg to grow back, it’s already there again by the time it’s off. Only thing missing is half of my pants.

It seems that the other guy got the memo, though; he’s still chewing my arm and is making sure it hurts, figures I’ll return the favor - stab‘im right in the snout.

The dog lets go as it cries out, stupid thing that it is. Fangs go right for the neck - this one had a little too much to drink, tastes foul and I get a tad woozy just from a sip; bet ya didn’t take me for a lightweight.

Husky’s the last one standing and it seems that, even in the heat of battle, a mut is a mut. he’s eating up what used to be my leg and practically forgot I’m even there - can’t say I don’t feel offended. Last thing he sees is a bottle o’ bourbon headed for ‘im with a lit cigarette right behind it - that’s rule number five, just made it up, always carry some cigarettes in case you need to burn some fur.

I sit there for a minute, making sure that Husky burns up real good; throw the carpet over him and call it a day. So I walk out the door, smelling slightly of dog piss with half my pants gone and fur in more places that I can even fathom, but at least I’m richer. I head for the bar, hoping that Hook was still nursin’ my drink, only to find another mut gulping it down.

“That’s mine.” Can’t even hide how pissed I am, white-knuckled and all.

The freak turns around, guy’s got this jet black fur and somehow managed to fit in a suit; big scar across his eye, too. You’d recognize him anywhere, the big dog in town, Slint.

“Tough luck.” He’s licking the glass all over, licking it. Guy’s got balls, “Hook says that some of my boys were here earlier. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you, Malvado?”

“It was a government job, Slint, nun’ personal.” Got my knife ready behind my back, just in case.

Slint stands up and so does everyone else, like it’s a dance group or sumn’. Guy’s bigger than half the bar by a huge margin. He picks me up off the floor by the neck.

“When someone tries fucking with my boys, it’s always personal.”

I wanna reply something cool to this chow-munching, piss-smelling, fur-leaving mut. Before I can even open my mouth, someone answers for me. That moth-man from before smashes a bottle against his head.

“Bar fight!” He screamed before Slint split his head in two, at least it meant that he let go of me.

I’ve been in my share of wars during my day, World War 1, World War 2, just about every war in the Pacific on every side imaginable - but there ain’t no fight worse than a monster bar brawl. While I’m gasping for air I already see some shmuck get thrown out the window - other are running for the weapon rack, Hook’s gonna be pissed.

A zombie comes up behind me, thinkin’ I’m easy pickings but these guys got the mobility of an old lady and smell like one too. I flip him onto the counter and smash his head in - us vamps got super-strength, you see. Just as I wrapped it up, something small climbs up my back; it’s hands are made of plastic and it screams like a hyena, it’s one of those annoying living dolls.

“You still owe me for last time, Malvado!” It’s Riri, knocked her head off last time and it landed in the sewers, oops.

This time I do it a little different, while she’s yanking my head - I pull her off (along with a few patches of hair), launch her in the air and punt her out through the window, see ya. The bar’s a mess, I’m talkin’ centaurs trampling people, skeletons gettin’ blown to a million pieces and Slint is reveling in all of it.

I try to make my way over to him and get rocked around for a while, lotta burns, scratches and indentations in my skull that I can probably live with, hopefully.

My switchblade is aimed for the big dog’s back but it’s like the freak has a sixth sense, sees me coming out the corner of his eye and dodges. I end up planting my blade on some poor centaur’s chest, guy goes down in a sec.

Hook sees that the situation is out of control and he’s already pulled out his blunderbuss. Shit is ridiculous now; half the bar is on fire and a third of the patrons are dead - safe to say business is not going smooth. Vampires, werewolves, what’s next? Ninjas?

Just then, I see the silver glint of a katana, you gotta be fuckin’ kidding. I deck the dude in the face without even blinking and jack his sword. Slint just ate a pellet o’buckshot and he’s got me swinging for him, talk about a dog day afternoon.

Of course the dog-freak manages to dodge away, but a beer bottle is dancing around the guy and hits him in the head, invisible man, my old friend. I run up and skewer him with the blade; the katana slides off of his body and slices through his head like butter, sayonara.

With the big dog dead, the fighting dies down, Hook is still screaming ‘till he goes course. Most clients are banned for life, told they’ll be sent to the pen and what not. I sneak out during the whole ordeal and watch their walk of shame from the curb.

The sun’s gonna be up in a bit and I can already feel my skin burning a lil’, not the worst thing that happened today so I think I’ll be fine. My pompadour is ruined though, that’s probably the biggest casualty.

“Malvado,” Hook is standing at the door, glass in hand. “You didn’t get to finish your drink.”

He hands me the stuff and I gulp it down in a second, double dose o’blood, can’t beat it.

“Some night, eh?” Let’s hope we can make amends.

“You can say that again. Thanks for paying for the repairs, by the way.”

“Me? I told you this was a gov’ job, they got you covered.”

“No, no, your job ended the moment you clipped Husky, ‘member?” He points inside to the half-burnt, totally destroyed establishment. “It means all this is on your tab.”

You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.