Disclaimer: The Lost Boys belongs to Warner Bros., Morticia Addams belongs to MGM, and Lily Munster belongs to Universal Studios. I'm just having a bit o' fun with the characters.

xXx

"Now where's this place you've been gushing about?"

The smile that lit up Marko's face would have been appropriate on a plump cherub, but it looked absolutely predatory on him. "Man, have patience--we'll get there soon enough."

"Come on pal, curious minds want to know: Where the Hell is this place you're talking about?" Paul walked backwards, jauntily stepping to the private tune that always played in his head.

Marko smiled again. "Like I said before, we have errands to run first."

"You're killing me!"

"Hey, you agreed to come along."

"I didn't agree to be an errand boy."

"Backing out now?" Marko was still smiling.

"I never back out of anything, pal."

"That's what you say, but I still remember that thing in L.A. You sure have a way of making an entrance, but your exit from that El Lay fiasco left a lot to be desired."

"You know the only thing I regret from that fiasco was the lack of style on my part."

"What style? You don't earn style points for falling on your ass."

"Ha ha Marko."

There are some things better left unsaid, but Marko wasn't done with the L.A. fiasco yet. The memory of that event still gives Max an involuntary shudder whenever he sees Paul; I know because I've lived long enough with the snazzy dresser to not miss every subtle nuance of his body language.

"Ha ha yourself, Goldilocks--you don't just crash a dinner party hosted by the biggest, meanest, and ruthless vampire in all of El Lay and his threesome of brides."

"It figures that the hottest looking babes should belong to that old geezer. I thought it was a feeding frenzy I could help myself to at first; I didn't know they wanted it all for themselves."

"You're such an opportunist, Paul. Nobody messes with Big D's chicks and their supper."

"Better an opportunist than an errand boy!"

Marko ignored that last barb as he slowed and finally stopped. "Hey, we're here - first stop o' the night"

The short vampire stood in front of a brightly lit storefront. The shop looked like those typical convenience stores usually manned by a pair of warm bodies willing enough to serve customers during the peculiar hours between midnight and dawn. In downtown Santa Carla, such stores would be catering to human tastes, but on the remote outskirts of town, inhuman tastes would be the norm.

I didn't realize how far we had walked. The wild odor of coastal scrub had given way to the cooling sidewalks and asphalt smell of Santa Carla at night. The old cement and burnt tar mingled with the blowing onshore breeze and light ocean mist saturated with the briny tang of the deep Pacific. It was a scent that reminded me of blood, glistening bones beneath a leprous moon, and weed. I looked up to see Paul saunter over to the entrance, his body odor wafting towards me; it wasn't really the stench of Death, but he did look like Death if Death was into hair bands and was willing to give up his funereal robe and cowl to wear the latest fashion disaster.

"Do they allow animals inside?" Paul glanced in my direction.

"Well, if they're going to allow you inside, I guess Thorn would be okay," answered Marko as he took out his shopping list.

As Paul read the sign on the front door, he started cackling, amused by whatever was written on it. "Oh man, these guys can't be serious!"

"What, they don't allow animals inside?" asked Marko.

"No, look."

"Shoplifters will be killed and eaten. Wow, the store must have a new owner; that sign wasn't there the last time I was here." Marko flashed a sly grin in Paul's direction. "Let's go inside and see what's up."

The bell hanging on the door handle announcing the presence of customers would have perked my ears up, but it was curiously silent. I sniffed at the bell and smelled the stale saliva and the long gone sweetness of gum crammed inside. Within the store, I detected the musty odor of long-settled dust, mildew, and ineffective cleaning agents used on the floors, yet there was a slight aroma of rot, and not just wood rot, but the cloying and tantalizing odor of rotting meat.

The lone cashier slowly looked up from the magazine he was reading as I followed the boys inside. He raised his eyebrows in greeting when Marko gave a little wave in his direction, but a small frown creased his pale forehead when Paul appeared.

"Hey, I know you. You're the asshole that-"

"Forget about the tall blonde, he's finally housebroken. So how are you, Beardsley? Got any news to pass on? And what's with the sign?"

"No new news for you guys, but I now have a new coworker and the sign's for--"

Murrggggh The muffled moan came from the rear of the convenience store.

"Whoa, what was that?" Paul was more than ready to investigate.

"Oh, that's the new coworker. Remember the guy he replaced - you know the stoner dude that worked with me on graveyard shifts? He disappeared a week ago. I say good riddance; asshole never shared his stash with me."

Paul flashed a knowing smile at this information, and a surreptitious glance from Marko said it all: Beardsley would never know of their involvement with the former employee's disappearance.

"The boss finally replaced him with Frankie over there." The clerk nodded in the direction of the frozen food section. "I've been keeping that living dead freak in the freezer with the extra ice when it's not busy."

When did it ever get busy? We must have missed the mad rush. I looked over at Paul, but all I saw were his coattails as he disappeared down an aisle. There was no doubt he was heading for the frozen zombie section when I heard his voice.

"Oh cool, do you mind if I check out the deadsicle?"

"Help yourself, but don't unlock the freezer door."

"And don't taunt the undead!" added Marko as he reached for a large bag of potato chips and those strangely addicting bright orange cheese things I sometimes can't help munching on whenever I find them. Turning to the clerk, he asked, "Why do you have a flesh-eating zombie for a coworker?"

"It's a long story, but here's the short and disgusting version: the boss is new, fresh from the East Coast – they keep saying that he's a retired virologist or biochemist – I keep forgetting which; I also heard that he worked on a government project at some big lab that went bankrupt. So last week I came to work, and there's the old boss showing him around the place. I heard from the jerks on day shift that the doctor won this joint from the boss during a game of poker."

"Listen, do you think it's strange that the new boss hired a zombie when there are perfectly qualified and living workers around?"

"Hey, I just work here, and I don't care about who I work with as long as it isn't a ventriloquist's dummy!"

"Sorry I asked," replied Marko as he raised his gloved hands in mock surrender, "but the way I see it, you'll have more trouble with Mr. Dead over there than with shoplifters."

"Yeah, yeah, I know! He's not much help with customer service, but he keeps the unsavory types from holding up the joint which is the reason for the sign. One look at the sign and they usually keep walking," explained Beardsley. "Unfortunately, it's like swimming with a great white shark when I let him roam the aisles. That's when I have to make sure where he is all the time. I also warn the rare customers that pop in now and then about Frankie so they don't get eaten."

"I bet old Frankie likes his customers really rare, like kicking and screaming rare," added Paul who had just arrived to catch the tail end of the clerk's explanation. There was a silly grin on his face that stretched wider when he noticed me looking up, but something distracted him. He stopped at a nearby aisle, briefly vanishing as he bent down to retrieve something from the lower shelf. "Hey, I found an extra-large doggie muzzle. It even comes in tough black leather! Check it out." Paul waved the muzzle in front of us before tossing it to Marko.

"I didn't know we sell that kind of stuff," remarked Beardsley.

"You didn't know you sold pet supplies?"

"No, I'm talking about that kinky bondage stuff. Remind me to check the inventory, dude, because I have no idea what type of junk the new boss orders for the store. Hey, could you tell your tall friend to stop messing around back there."

"You know you don't have to put up with this crap from your boss." Ignoring Paul's antics, Marko leaned on the counter, and earnestly searched the pallid, hollow-eyed face of Beardsley. "It's all going to end in one big cluster fuck."

"I hear you, but I kinda like this gig, and I can hold my own against Frankie." At this, Beardsley smiled, showing off his yellowing teeth. "He keeps me on my toes, and I have this morbid game where I lock the door and let him chase me around the store. But if he gets too close for comfort that's when the cattle prod and this comes in handy." The clerk reached under the counter and brought out a magnificent machete. He wielded it like a seasoned handler, his grip sure and powerful.

"Aw, isn't that sweet? He really likes to work with the living dead. This guy's a total nut job!" muttered Paul.

I had to agree with him on that observation. Beardsley's occupation would be as close as one can get to being a member of the shambling undead, but without the downside of decomposition and the ravenous urge to devour the brains and flesh of the living. Yet it did have the negative aspect of turning one into a borderline homicidal maniac.

"Well, if you put it that way, there's no point in complaining to the boss, but if you get bitten and try to eat us, I'll fucking kill you!" At Paul's offhand remark, Marko grinned savagely, his eyes bright and dangerous beneath the wan fluorescent lights.

Beardsley's answering laugh sounded forced. Returning his machete to the shelf beneath the counter, he turned to the wall display of cigarettes behind him. "So along with the muzzle, I bet you guys need a couple of packs."

"Yeah, the usual brands and toss in a few cases of beer; can't have fun without beer, especially when we have unexpected guests over."

"Hey, could you throw in a couple of skin mags too?"

"Paul, you can't add to the list! I only have enough for what's on the list."

"Screw the list!"

Now that's like Paul to derail a normal night's shopping with his little inappropriate side trips. I guess last night's revelry of pot and unexpected werewolf porn wasn't enough.

"Sorry man, I'm the only one with store credit, and I'm not using it to pay for your sexual appetites."

"Aw, come on! How about getting just one for those long days when I can't sleep?"

"There's no way in Hell, Paul."

"Well, Thorn old buddy, at least I tried."

Besides being a good walker, Paul was now under the strange delusion that I was a silent accomplice to his relentless search for pornographic paraphernalia.

"Hey, I have an idea for next time - write it on the list!" Marko then turned away and handed Beardsley the cash.

"Write it on the list? When do I have the time or the chance to write anything down? You got David and Dwayne hogging the damn list whenever you pass it around," complained Paul as he walked out. I could still hear him out front as he paced back and forth.

With a rueful smile, Marko shook his head and said, "Do you see what I have to put up with every night?"

Beardsley nodded, "I hear you, man. I hear you."

"Well, so long pal!" Leaning closer, Marko added, "Hold on to the stuff; we'll come for it later. We still have one last stop."

"Okay, just knock on the window to let me know."

I followed Marko out the store. Paul had stopped his colorful complaints by the time we joined him.

The street we were on wasn't really empty; vagrants loitered along closed storefronts and abandoned lots; a few were rummaging in the trash. From the scent they were giving off, I knew they were ghouls. They ignored us as we strolled by.

"Some ghouls can't seem to find a good night shift these days," observed Marko.

"Yeah, I see the same crew in the dumpsters a lot," added Paul. "I wonder what they find in them. We all know they're more likely to chew off their own arms before scraping the dumpsters for a bite to eat, and they're looking for human flesh in the wrong place anyways."

"Beats me, but there's other stuff they're finding in the dumpsters they can probably use or sell."

"Like for a ghoul garage sale?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't be caught alive at such a sale." Marko replied, "But I know who'd be checking them out."

"Man, if only the sales were held at night, I'd believe you, because I don't think Max would be prowling around during the day and looking at second-hand clothes. Have you seen the stuff he wears?"

"No, I usually don't visit Max every night to stare at his clothing. Why, do you?"

"No, but Thorn can tell you a lot more about it. Look, forget about the ghouls and their dumpster diving, where are we going next?"

"You brought up the ghouls' habits in the first place." Marko looked up at the night sky, his long, curling locks swaying gently against his back. "We'll be there soon."

"It better not take too long. I didn't come along just to go shopping," said Paul as he kicked at the cigarette butts that littered the sidewalk. He turned to Marko. "You know what? That hairy chick from the other night got me thinking about a lot of things. She's probably got a hairy boyfriend ready to get it on with her and tickle her row of nipples; and if he's willing to put up with her, there's a chance they'll have a werewolf wedding and a litter of little hairballs along the way. Do you think we'll ever get a lucky break like that?"

"I wouldn't consider that a lucky break, and if you're thinking of getting it on with a werewolf, don't. I think the chick's dad and Max would have a fit," replied Marko.

"So vampires really don't have a chance at married life, huh?"

"Paul, I really don't get your drift. What's this all about?"

"Oh, nothing, I'm just wondering. That's all."

"I should've given you your porn then I wouldn't be listening to you talking about crap while Thorn over there is sniffing the real thing."

If that was meant to distract Paul from his domestic musings, it didn't work. I had wandered off to sniff at something interesting, but it wasn't crap. On hearing my name, I trotted back.

"It's not about the skin mags. It's about this one question I've been burning to ask, and I don't know if I'll ever find an answer."

"Did you ask Max or the guys?"

"No, Max would get angry, David would tell me to shut up, and Dwayne would just stare at me."

"Okay pal, what is it? I'll try to give you a straight answer," said Marko. He already had a resigned look on his face.

"No, no, you'll probably laugh at me."

"Me, laugh? Come on, I'm serious. At least I'm giving you a chance."

"Well, you asked for it. Who's hotter: Lily Munster or Morticia Addams?"

Marko stared at Paul for what seemed like an eternity before answering. "What the fuck is that? I thought you had a serious question or problem of some kind."

Always expect the unexpected from Paul, and that question alone was an example of what emerged from his strange, convoluted thoughts. I always knew that whatever lurked (or danced) in Paul's whacked out brain would emerge to stupefy innocent bystanders. On the other hand, I was curious to know Marko's answer.

"You need to broaden your horizons, man. These babes are the epitome of hotness. And you didn't answer my question."

"You do know they're fictional characters, right? And what makes you think that I'd spend a nanosecond of my undead existence thinking about Morticia or Lily?" said Marko as he marched on ahead.

"Come on, I betcha Morticia's kinky, kinkier than Lily by far."

"Okay, okay, what if I say they're both hot? Would that make you shut up?"

"No way, pal. I'm not letting you off easy with a pussy answer like that. It's one or the other."

"Paul…"

"Who's hotter: Lily or Morticia?"

"If you really must know: Morticia." Marko emphasized his answer with a low wolf whistle. "No buts about it - she's hot. I'd go out with her just so I can have a wild night."

"I knew you'd pick her."

"Why did you even bother to ask such a stupid question?"

Paul shrugged and said, "I just get a kick out of asking you stupid questions."

"Now I know how Max feels."

"Wait, are you saying Max likes Morticia?"

"No, that's not what I meant!"

Paul's sudden laughter at his exasperation caused a few ghouls to turn our way, but they quickly returned to their own activities after muttering some nasty comments about the state of Santa Carla's night life. "Hey, I'm just pulling your leg. Besides, they'll never leave their husbands."

"True, all too true. Well, I sure hope you're happy, because we're at our last stop."

xXx

Author's Notes: Well, this chapter took far longer than I thought it would, and I apologize for the glacial output of updates for this story, but real life has taken up a lot of my free time. And on a sad side note, AJ, the dog that inspired this story died in February of this year. She was 12 years old. I still miss her.

Strange dreams have been plaguing the writing of this chapter also. The most recent involved the discovery and autopsy of a stranded sperm whale (Physeter macrocephalus) on a golf course. While examining the contents of its stomach, my dream self and assistant found a weird variety of food items in their own plastic bags (the majority of which would never be part of any sensible whale species diet, such as pasta and various unidentifiable edibles clearly manufactured for human consumption.) Strangest of all were the masses of squid-like creatures that surrounded the bags.

Many, many thanks for all who have read this sordid tale.