MEDICINE MAN...

'Fore we take you all back to what's gone on over Madam Shang's way, lemme learn you 'bout some cowboy 'vampirin'' they got goin' on. I hate that word. But I used it 'cause it's what you know. Some a the tribes calls 'em 'red riders.' I  do not know exactly what that signifies in their cosmology. I ain't never had much truck with their great mystics and all. Ain't never had much truck with no preachin', period. Like to make it up as I go 'long. Figure if it feels all right to me walkin' 'cross Monument Valley out in the dark with The Milky Way ridin' shotgun then God prob'ly gonna say - Run wit' it, boy. You know what I mean.

Used to run cattle on a spread by Santa Fe. Some was Longhorns, but most was Santa Gertrudus. Pretty country too. Like penny postcard 'wild west.' High Chaparal . Sangre de Cristo mountains in the background. All them 'picturesque' (I guess they call it) Spanish style ranch houses. They got art folks livin' there today. One's a Jew. The other talks Polish. I visit. I set with 'em once in a while. We get drunk. They ask questions. Look, I know you know how vampires can tolerate  hard alcohol ('cause it ain't no natural food), so we ain't gotta go into that.

I been night-ridin' since '88. Eighteen eighty eight, I mean. Not too old by life-eater standards, but I seen plenty, just the same. Hootchie Woman wit' a medicine show what done it to me. She come out and dance 'tween these two torches on the back a the wagon. Face painted up all orange. Eyebrows all black and all. Part a her left breast kep' lookin' outta the bodice..... what she wore 'round her body and all.  You know what I mean. 

She say - Come up here, cowboy. I wanna dance wit' you. Ev'rybody say - Yeah, get up there. Show her what you got. So me, bein' partially all gin-lickered up and all, climbs up on to that little stage and commence to slow steppin' all 'round her. Kind a like 'Cotton-Eyed Joe,' but not kind a like 'Cotton-Eyed Joe.' You know, Western Dancin' is a real beautiful and versatile art. 

She grab hold a me. Start kissin' on me. I figure she partial to hicky-fyin' folks. I don't know. You see, we the entertainment. We what keeps 'em lookin' while that 'Doctor' fella sells 'em his rot gut. But I think he wern't no real doctor. I think the part he like best is the part where you sees folks naked and all...... 

I already had forty two years on me back then. Just a rangy, ole, weather beaten cowboy. 

But she stick her tongue in my malf and soon I start gettin' little bit younger. Now I know she bit it. Now I know she had blood on it. I kiss her all up. See what she got down that bodice. Lady say - You can't do that! I got my daughter here!...... Fella say - Why? You want he should do it to her first?..... People start laughin' and laughin'. 

Doctor fella slip me a drink a whiskey. Only he say to the rubes that it his special rot gut. He say - Look what it do to his face! Look how it young-ifying this God damned bastard's ole body! 

Lady start hollerin' how come her daughter gotta hear all this. But her daughter like 'bout a year and a half older'n me. So it really don't pose too much of a problem.

They selled fifty two bottles a shit water that night. I guess she could a put little bits a her blood in each and ev'ry one a them, but she didn't. Some vampires is sellfish that way. I go to hop off the wagon, but she grab me and whisper - No, I ain't done playin' 'round wit' you yet, cowboy. So you better git in that wagon.

Nex' thing I know, we playin' 'Nights in Samarkand' while doctor fella countin' all the money.

I never did go back to them cattle. That vampire gal wer't all the cow I need.

So do they got cowboy vampires?..... Hell, yeah, they do.

Y'all wanna do the two-step? heh, heh, heh, heh, heh...

Now I go by 'Medicine Man.' 'Cause some folks dies... but other folk get a whole lot better.

Hey, good lookin', what you got cookin'? How 'bout cookin' somethin' up wit' me?

Route 66? Hollywood? Hell, I do 'em all...

I'll come back. You gone get to know me real good... And I gonna git a know you even better...

shhhhhh.....(hope you ain't ticklish)

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WELCOME TO THE PLEASURE DOME OF MADAM SHANG

Vampires have no entrenched governmental authorities. Do not believe the childish simplicities they hurl at you via the magic, talking box. Although, from time to time certain charismatic and powerful beings attract a following of sorts. 

There was Hitler's Lackey in the 1930's and 1940's and La Courtesan Arabesque during Napoleon's time. Some old souls may recall Beringeria's Handmaiden from Saint Jean d'Acre. We seldom call to them by name. And I do not know why.

But this time it is different, for now we have Madam Shang. She whispers to the world from The Celestial Garden, high up among the hidden valleys of of The Abode of Snow, known to those of the Crustacean Race (excuse me. I mean Caucasian) and African Lineage as The Himalayas.

Come, I will enable you to experience her semi-divine presence. She takes her ease in a room without walls... an expanse filled with the most delicious opalescent splendor. A dark, pearly, swirling radiance bathes the monstrous chamber in a palpable light like milk and diamonds,... and life and death. 

See her seated in the heights, upon a throne that isn't there. Note how she manipulates the chopsticks, deftly clicking them together like long, thin castanets. And every time she does, another screaming mortal rises up from the Fetid Well, shrinking down to the dimensions of a moth as it goes. 

How quick she is. See her snatch them from the void. Watch her study them, held fast between the golden needles (a special alloy drawn from King Solomon's Mines and strengthened with unicorn's blood.) Then, in a flash, she sucks them through her teeth and rapidly chews them up, breaking the bones,  masticating the organs and savoring the flesh. 

Moments later, she stops, considers some question of great, universal importance... purses her lips and blows the victim out in the form of a rather hot pink, viscous bubble. Bazooka Joe never had it so good. 

But these are human bubbles, graced with the same eyes, nose and mouth they wore in life. And her quivering minions (lurking somewhere amongst the swirls and eddies of the opalescent gloom), 'ooh' and 'aah' at her unusual and entertaining ability.

Slowly they rise, tumbling through the void, til they pass above the sharp pointed ramparts and speed away on the icy winds of a dark, star-strewn, mountain night. I suppose they go 'boom' upon reaching the less pressured planes of the atmosphere. I wonder if it hurts?

And now she calls for the Russian. And now she whispers for Grigori.

I hope he bears great gifts.....

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NEVER TRUST A VAMPIRE WHO KNOWS HOW TO USE CHOPSTICKS

Someone foiled the oligarch's plans. Grigori Usipov never got his wish. The bacillus he so carefully introduced into the throbbing body of a Hamptons house guest did manage to leap frog (via various mucus membranes and a sundry assortment of orifices) into perhaps two or three dozen addle brained humans, but that was it.

An unknown creature, obviously some specimen of vampire, stepped in to save the day (in a manner of speaking). Small drafts of restorative blood trickled through the lips of those effected, facilitating a cure. The dastardly disease disappeared, while they who were healed unexpectedly acquired preternaturally smooth and youthful complexions. 

It's easy for one 'undead' to accomplish such a thing. Sublimating through bedroom doors isn't so hard. And if they wake up and start screaming, you can kill them. That's the vampire trump card. No need to be exposed, embarrassed or inconvenienced. Look, we all know even the most well meant altruistic gesture has its consequences. But like I said..... When they start screaming, kill the bastards. Nothing's gonna change. Humanity will endure. And if you feel like it, you can always be altruistic some other night. Sometimes souffles just fall. Get over it. 

But this vampire was successful. He, or she, clearly knew just what to do. A sharp, little bite to the lip. Wait for the first red droplets. Then a warm, soft kiss upon a sleeping mouth, carefully transfering  the ruby elixir from the life-eater in question to the clueless, human recipient. The gift of life never tasted so good..... hot, rich and salty.

Grigori, our Russian, vampire, oligarch, feared the presence of another nocturnal creature at the party that night. But the sensation was weak and nebulous. Either the other one was good. 'Powerful' would be a better word. Or he was simply paranoid. Centuries spent drifting among Muscovite sybarites can do that to a 'person.' 

But Madam Shang would not be pleased. And the epistle from her impregnable Himalayan redout arrived in a most timely fashion. It happened during a warm, steamy bath with his most favorite 'Natasha.' How he savored the soft, electric tingles of her expert effleurage. Yet just before that rarified moment of exquisite rapture he saw something. He saw fine tiny scratches welling up on his paramour's shapely flanks, forming the artistic calligraphy of classic, Mandarin script. And although he was no longer fluent in that language, the gist was clear and strong. So he rose from the bath (two other Natashas silently entered to pat him dry), called for his valet and hurriedly made plans to depart. His 'familiars' were used to these sudden comings and goings. They went down stairs and eighteen minutes later a sleek limousine purred curbside, as he left the hotel and sped away into the night.

How he hated these 'command performances.' But 'Madam' must not be denied. And he stopped off at the apartment of a certain dealer in carriage trade antiquities to acquire the appropriate gift. She liked chopsticks and these were made from dragon's bone...

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CAVE MAN RHAPSODY -- a Neanderthal 'tourist' on the streets of Philadelphia

They dressed him like a local...like somebody you'd see prowling the wee hour streets of Center City (think manhattan) Philadelphia on a Sunday night. Straight leg, Wrangler jeans, a Chase Utley, number 26 jersey (the pinstripe one), white ankle socks and some original, black low cut 'Chuckies.' I think they gave him a baseball cap too. Did he look strange? Did he appear out of place? Not at all. In fact, most people would consider him to be quite good looking. You know, Neanderthals, both male and female, sport gymnast builds. Facial features, as we've said, tend to be strong. And the small, shapely chin resembles many seen in the best examples of Japanese Anime. (did I spell that right, or does it mean something else?) The over developed brow ridge might pose a problem. Not that it's unattractive, but just different in a visceral, ativistic sort of way. But the hat (brim low over the eyes) should camouflage that.

And so, Mister Old Bones was set. They gave him one hundred dollars in cash. He knew how to read numbers. Annie taught him. And they told him to stick to taxis. If anyone questioned his accent, he's to say it's Estonian. Come on, who's gonna know what an Estonian accent sounds like anyway? 

Initially, everything went well. He bought lip balm and a box of tampons in an all-night CVS. At first he thought the girl behind the counter might be one of his own kind. But when he tried to manipulate her breast to see if it conformed to the norms of his tribe, she slapped him away and shouted something he couldn't understand. True, there were some isolated bands sharing his home territory in Siberia, but he wanted to find out if any lived  outside the area too. And breast manipulation was a friendly form of greeting among his people. Look, he wasn't offended when 'cave' ladies manipulated his scrotum. Good manners are good manners. So he cursed the CVS girl in his Mother Tongue, as he stormed out into the night.

After a while walking proved tedious, so he automatically fell into the lemur-like, leaping gallop traditionally found among his people. Some tired folks heading home from night work huddled together inside a bus shelter when he went by. Yet a bike cop reading porn at a newsstand didn't say a word. A whore yelled - Yo, where you gone, shit-for-brains cute stuff? But he didn't understand such colorful colloquialisms, so he just kept on bouncin' and bouncin'. A few hundred heartbeats later he carefully examined some sleeping, homeless guys under the arcade of a post modern office tower, but they were deep into a muscatel induced double feature, so they slept right through it. Needless to say, they did not sport the requisite physical traits.

Now a warm breeze blew up from the south right about three o'clock. That's when he lost the jersey. Some old guy in a Chevy Caprice slowed down to pick him up, but the car smelled funny...kind of like the caribou did come rutting time, so he waved him off. Five minutes later the guy circled back. Mister Old Bones still wasn't interested, but he gave the sloppy bastard two Andrew Hamiltons as kind of a goodwill gesture. Guy mumbles some curse at him, but ,ten minutes later, was seen tucking into a twenty piece box of Chicken McNuggets at an all night Mickey D's. I guess he satisfied his hunger in a somewhat different way.

A little bit later it got even hotter. That's when the pants came off. Never did put on them tightie-whities, so at least they weren't a loss. And off he goes, gallopin' down the street. He did know that it wasn't permissible to go running around all naked in this culture. That's why he kept the baseball cap, the socks and the 'Chuckies.' Did have to lose 'em so he could pull off the jeans, but put 'em back right after, 'cause he hated gallivanting 'round the city barefoot and all. Some people exiting an after hours club in Queen Village cheered and whistled as he flew by. He liked them. They were friendly.

And a different whore from the one he saw before did all kinds a neighborly things to his not-quite-private parts. He gave her four Andrew Hamiltons. That seemed to be the going rate. And  then he reciprocated with friendly ministrations of his own. When it was over, he was sure she was Neanderthal. But she didn't exactly know what she was, though she thought her father might a been part Cherokee.

Two hours later, he comes back to the Anti-Enchantment-Bureau complex under the Navy Yard with a big smile on his face and a Donald Duck tattoo on his ass. Guy at the parlor said he wasn't big on pants neither. But vampire skin can't hold no tattoo, so come sundown he was back to being all regular and bare assed again.

Little Annie said the tampons made good bolsters on the beds in her Barbie's Dream House and she was glad to get 'em. They figured he must a carried the box under his hat. But the tube of lip balm was long gone.

Did he feed? Well, he did take a little bit off the whore and from one a the sleepin' homeless guys. But that's all. For except in matters of dress (or undress), Mister Old Bones was fastidious and discreet in every way. And although no mostly Neanderthal specimens were found that night, the outing was an exceedingly favorable one just the same.


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MISTER OLD BONES IS LONELY

He hails from a land of deep forests. Winter lasts eight months. And stories live for millennia. Blood meals were few and far between. Most times he lived with his benefactors, holed up deep within ancient, maze-like caves, painting totems and spirits to help with the hunt. 

Some called him 'The Weaver.' It was his job to bind them all together. They's sit in a circle staring at the fire,  dazed from imbibing arcane distillations made from creeping, microscopic lifeforms more than plant and not quite animal. Mold, I think you call them, or maybe fungi. 

He'd silently go 'round taking little drinks from each of the congregants, then return to his place and regale them with passionate tales from the old days..... battles with giants..... secrets from bees...... tear drops from the stars. 

Then, perhaps twelve hundred heartbeats later, he'd rise  up and return 'round the circle, giving each soul present a tiny drink, a rich warm gift from his own veins. In that way they were bound up within the bonds of life-never-ending...... They had a prayer--- May He Who made the universe, make us forever one..... And they covered him with flowers, fresh in summer, dried in winter, as he slept.

The strange man, the 'Neanderthal' vampire shaman who came back with Papa, remembered these things, as he sat with the others watching television. What could Chelsea Handler say to him, or even Charlie Rose for that matter. 

Doctor Franklin knew he was restless. And when the Jersey Devil let loose with his piercing wail from the secured menagerie,  the ancient soul would bow his head and cry. Occasionally he'd spend nights with the polar bears, cavorting with them, as they swirled and dove through the artificial pools. The night crew knew what he was. But they also knew Doctor Franklin and Tomas, so the zoo was a very welcoming place.

They tried giving him blood cajoled from various researchers and technicians, but he said it made him sick. He said it tasted from processed cheese and artificial sweetener. Granted, he did not use those words. But they understood his meaning just the same. 

Conrad, also a man of faith in his own right, commiserated with him. They sat in the corner playing game after game of Master Mind, only Mister Old Bones always won. He always broke the code and by the second row his colored pegs were invariably  in the correct positions. Wandering through the thoughts of others came natural to him, as it did to all Neanderthals, mortal or vampire.

He wants to go out. Oh, they've had him out before and not just to the zoo. But he wants to feed..... And he wants to look for others of his kind. 

Now scientists claim we have anywhere from three to five percent Neanderthal DNA mixed in among all that Cro Magnon stuff. But it is possible, after centuries of random breeding, that some people have more..... much more. And Mister Old Bones wants to find them.

Imagine.... two strains of humanity living side by side. Sometimes even in the same house. What if word got out? What if people began to realize this? What would it do to society?

It's warm tonight, very warm. And the strange man from the forests of Siberia wants to take the air. Doctor Franklin says he'll let him, if he agrees to swallow a capsule-like tracking devise that should harmlessly exit his body by sunrise. Only problem is vampires never crap. The blood circulates and circulates through each and every bit of tissue til it's all used up. And then it's gone. Perhaps a chip beneath the skin would function just the same?

Ah, what 'we' do for science.

Come back when next the night bird sings again and find out what happens when Mister Old Bones steps out.

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THE VAMPIRE AND THE BATTERED WIFE

Tomas drifted through the basement/family room. The two, young children were sleeping, bathed in the flickering light from a forty six inch flat screen TV. Larry Parks, as Al Jolson, silently mouthed the words to 'Mammy.' One of the kids must have pressed the mute button. But Tomas watched for a moment. He remembered the real Al Jolson... He remembered a lot of things. Then he turned off the television and covered them with some knit 'throws' folded over a worn reclining chair in the corner.

He could have sublimated up to the bedroom, but he didn't. He softly walked up the stairs, into the kitchen. Someone obviously tried to jazz it up a bit...new pulls on the freshly painted cabinets..... some twelve by eighteen inch marble cutting boards lined up along the counter, trying to look like something they were not. But the broken plates were still on the floor. He picked them up and put them in the trash, before continuing into the unfurnished dining room (the picnic table from outside filled in at Christmas time.), through the small, plain living room and up to where she was.

The room was dark. He stepped inside, smelling the pain and disappointment oozing from the walls. She lay upon the bed, silent as the night and curled up like a ball. Was she sleeping? Not really...just drifting through a place far better than reality. He sat down on the bed. She made no sound. Perhaps it was the drugs? He brushed her hair. She sighed, then whispered - Who are you?........ He said - I don't really know, but I am here to help you.....Then he gently, but firmly took hold of her body, rolled her on her back. He kissed her forehead. She whimpered. He kissed her neck, down low, right by the collar bone. She relaxed, stretching out to her full length....... Are you like an incubus?- she slurred. I saw them on the History Channel...... Then she trembled and yawned. He rubbed her belly. She moaned...... Well, are you?......... A little, I suppose, but just a little - he said....... She arched her back. He pushed the blood stained blankets to the floor....... She quietly said - Excuse the mess. But my husband made me bleed...... Then she was silent, remembering what had happened. A few heartbeats later, she cried. Tomas knelt down over her and kissed away the blood, gently cleansing her with his practiced tongue. She breathed deeply, but did not say a word. And when it was over, she slept. He sat there, stroking her thighs and waiting for the wounds to disappear. A vampire's blood can do magical things...

Just before dawn, he went into the bathroom, found a tube of lipstick and wrote a phone number on the mirror. Above it he scrawled - Call this for help. Then he sublimated up through the skylight and made his way back to Franklin's lair beneath the Navy Yard.

That morning, she called. A man picked up. She said - What happened last night?....... The man, an old and trusted 'familiar,' a lawyer by trade, told her she'd been saved. Later that afternoon, they met  over coffee at a Starbucks in Center City, where he presented her with a fresh, crisp cashier's check made out for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars , along with a few other necessary documents. Vampires tend to be very well fixed, you know. She studied it for the longest while, then said - I'd better go, now before the trains (subways) get crowed. But he walked her to the street and put her in a cab. 

That evening, she packed a few things, pictures mostly, some much loved baby clothes, took the kids and drove away, to a safe, new future with a different name.

The deed was done. The wife beater was gone and for the next month at least, Tomas was fed.

But the once-battered-wife always remembered that night and she thought about him often...

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DINNER AFTER MIDNIGHT....the Vampire Tomas/Jonathon comes to dine.

Under certain conditions, when the barometric pressure, temperature and humidity are just right, vampires produce a momentary, fiery trail, as they plummet toward the ground. some say it's rather like a meteor.

The body of the life-eater in question is not harmed in any way, for the actual physicality of the supernatural being lies beyond the nuts and bolts of our quantum universe. It is the air surrounding the vampire that burns. Some avoid sublimating when the atmosphere is like that to prevent being seen. But it was late. Tomas was hungry. There'd been a vision. He had no choice. Fortunately, in this predominately working class district, few souls were about. Most snored under covers, gathering strength for tomorrows labors. A patrol car rolled by from time to time, but the cops rarely looked up. They studied the cars parked in tiny driveways (parking pads, really) fronting each narrow row house, searching for slashed tires. A 'rubber-ripper' was abroad in the land and he was their first priority.

Tomas materialized just as he hit the ground...In this case, a small patch of grass, bordered by a six foot tall, wooden 'privacy' fence. Such were the backyards in this highly conformist neighborhood.

There was a man there snoring away on a flimsy, folding, chaise lounge, deep in the midst of a clammy, beer-sleep. He was 'the husband.' He was the wife beater. He was the quarry. Tomas bent over him. He studied the man's features..... how coarse..... how basic. Then he shot out his tongue and ever so slightly licked the tip of the man's nose. The sleeper stirred. He did it again. The sleeper moaned, attempting to turn over, but the chair was too narrow. Tomas took hold of the aluminum arms and shook it. More snoring. He shook it again. The man opened his eyes. Tomas grinned.... a practiced, stylized grin meant to scare and beguile. His fangs, rather small, well-formed and discreet, reflected the starlight like mirrors. The wife beater gasped, instinctively raising an arm in defense. But before he could emit even the slightest noise, Tomas cracked off the hand and jammed it down his throat. There was some thrashing about...a few moans... but thank God for the din of cheap, window air conditioners. Then, before the man could choke on his own blood... and perhaps an errant shard of wrist bone, Tomas tore into his belly, just below the diaphragm, buried his head in the gore and manically ate his way up to the racing heart. That's where the blood was richest..... thick, warm and soupy...... A delicacy among night-folk. And he drank til the man was almost dead. Then he ripped off his pants for one final mutilation before the deed was done. True, the blood down there had an ammonia taste, but he was bound to do it. The man must suffer. And from the looks of things, he did...... torn asunder from crotch to sternum. His swollen fingers waved forth from his mouth. Though an apple would have been more appropriate.

A moment later, Tomas stood back and watched, as the ruined body spontaneously ignited with a cold, blue flame. First a lick here...a lick there... a dancing tendril, then whoosh..... In three minutes it was over and even the bones were gone. Some night birds flew down to feast upon the scraps.

The vampire softly stroked their delicate, feathered forms. Then he sublimated through the steel back door ($199.00 at Home Depot) and went upstairs to 'comfort' the wife...

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