Arthur

In a poorly-lit alley came a brief thudding of bass as a side door to a club opened and slammed shut. The sound was followed by a crash into plastic, scattering bottles and cans while sending screaming rats scurrying into the streets. 

Though I knew everything was a vision of the past, the realism was startling. I may not have been able to interact with most of the people and objects, but sights, smells, and sounds were vivid—especially the smells. There was something familiar about the odor as I closed in on the sound of snoring, side-stepping straggling rats. 

Though he looked a lot younger and thinner, I knew the werewolf sprawled out over mountains of garbage was Simon. He was drunk, of course, but there was also something different about his body, like he had gone completely numb from the neck down. There was no way to know how much time had passed between the last vision and now, but judging from the blocky-yet-curvy Pontiac GTO parked on the other side of the street and the tie-dye Volkswagen minibus behind it, it was safe to assume the decade. 

The door to the club opened again, and another werewolf hobbled out followed by an irate human man. 

“You’re both fired,” the human shouted in a thick Italio-American accent, pouring a pitcher of ice water onto Simon’s head, causing the werewolf to gasp and groan. “Get the hell outta here, or I’m calling Vince.”

“C’mon man,” the tall, black werewolf said. “He’s having a gnarly trip. I told you he hadn’t done this stuff before.”

“He shagged my girl. If we didn’t go way back, I wouldn’t think twice about having him tied up and thrown in the lake.”

The partially-sober werewolf grabbed Simon’s arm, tossing it over his shoulders before lifting. With a series of half-awake grunts, Simon leaned into him as they disappeared around the corner. This must have been the genesis of his drug use. As the scene faded and reappeared, Bon Jovi blared through the speakers in a small room full of colorful lights. There were two werewolves, including Simon and one dark-skinned half-turn lying naked on a sturdy coffee table with lines of cocaine trailing down his chest and abdomen. He looked to be close to turning because he was hairier and had a small tail jutting from his lower back.

Simon knelt next to the half-turn, his snout inches away from the white powder, but a clawed hand caught his nose. 

“Hold it,” the half-turn said with an impatient scowl. “One hundred for the blow, one hundred and fifty for the blow job. Two hundred for a full fuck.”

“Aw man. I only got a hundred.” Simon backed away, reaching into his orange, discarded hoodie pocket that was lying on the ripped couch. 

The half-turn gawked at Simon’s thick, throbbing cock and licked his lips. 

“Maybe I’ll give you a discount,” he said, grabbing Simon’s slick shaft while pointing to one of the lines. “You get that one,” he pointed to the other black werewolf I’d seen from that night in the alley. “And you get the other.”

Both of them turned into beasts as they pressed their snouts into the cocaine, the stimulant mixing with half-turn pheromones making them both snarl with ecstasy. When they were done, Simon was barely able to slow himself enough to allow the guy time to prepare. His dripping cock sank into the needy half-turn’s ass, and he gasped as the other werewolf positioned himself until his heavy balls fell onto his face. The black werewolf stroked himself until he was partially hard enough to slide his dick into the half-turn’s mouth.

Part of me was a little jealous from having to watch this, but the other part of me knew where this was headed. Another half-turn walked into the room, younger-looking with light brown hair fashioned into a mullet, his thick facial hair trimmed into long sideburns and a soul patch. The black-furred werewolf immediately caught his scent and grabbed the kid in a fit of lust. 

“Derrek,” the other half-turn shouted as Simon thrusted harder. “Get the hell outta here.” He grabbed the other werewolf by the dick, and pulled. “Minor in the room! Leave him alone.”

The black-furred werewolf yelped and turned his attention back to the half-turn on the coffee table, and young Derrek slowly backed out of the door. So that’s what he looked like. I’d have never guessed aside from his facial hair, considering he stood about four inches shorter than me. 

The vision progressed as usual until it was just Simon sitting on a stained carpet, leaning against the corner as he slowly came down from another state of mixed inebriation and stimulant abuse. 

“You look pathetic.” I turned toward Derrek who sat on a wooden chair while plucking a guitar string, twisting the tuning knobs at the top. It was a beautiful instrument, hand-carved and lovingly polished. “I wish you’d stop coming around here.”

“Don’t like me?” Simon slurred. “Join the club.”

“The only reason Ramón keeps you around is because he’s about to turn.”

“Guess I’m the only one that can make his eyes roll back, huh?” He looked up at Derrek. “Still under eighteen?”

“No.” Derrek held up his hand as Simon went to respond. “And also no. You’re disgusting and you smell like dumpster juice.”

“Eh. Too tired anyway.”

Derrek gave the guitar one final test strum before playing something sounding like flamenco. Simon smiled, his tail swaying in time with the rhythm. 

“Yer really good,” Simon said. “Who taught you to play?”

“My dad,” Derrek responded, his eyes closed as he focused on the music. 

“Is yer old man famous or somethin’?”

Derrek stopped mid-strum before opening his eyes again. He gently placed the guitar on a stand before reaching for an ashtray with a pre-rolled joint pressed between the divots lining the center. 

“Wanna share?” he asked, placing the joint between his lips before lighting it.

“Can’t turn down free weed.” Simon pushed himself up off the floor before sitting on the other chair at the table. 

After taking two hits, Derrek passed it to Simon who took in a deep drag, holding it in before exhaling loudly. He passed it back to the half-turn. 

“I want to get out of this place,” Derrek said, taking one more hit before setting the joint back into the ashtray. “Ever been to the beach?”

“A few times. White Dunes is a three-hour bus ride.”

“I wanna go there, but I’m scared. I don’t have the money to leave, and Ramón wants me to take over this shitheap.”

“He’s got cash. Ask him for some money to get you started.”

Derrek laughed. “You don’t just ask Ramón to give you money with no strings attached. He’s about to turn, and he’s been guilting me into working under him since he gave me a place to stay. I want to repay him, but I don’t want to live here anymore.” He looked up at Simon who took another hit from the joint. “I’ll end up like you if I stay.”

Simon coughed and snorted, his expression almost seemed hurt by that statement. It was strange to see it considering he seemed to revel in his lifestyle when I first met him. 

“Yeah, you don’t want that.”

“What’s your deal, Simon?”

The werewolf shrugged. “Don’t know. Can’t remember nothin’, but I know that’s probably for the best.” He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a fat wad of cash, dropping it on the table. “Was gonna use this for something harder, but I think you should go to the beach.”

Derrek’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

“Makin’ sure you don’t end up like me, kid. There’s five hundred. It should be enough to get you there.”

“You don’t know me.” Derrek pushed the money away. “What do you want in return?”

Simon picked up the stack and pressed it into Derrek’s hand before standing. He walked over to the front door and slipped outside before looking back at the confused half-turn. “I want you to find what makes you happy, and you got the talent to do something good. Don’t waste it here.” With that, he disappeared into the night, closing the door behind him.

The scene changed to someplace outdoors, rows of blue tarps over refrigerator boxes lined the sidewalk of the city’s outskirts. Trash bags full of belongings were stacked in grocery carts, discarded needles and balled-up aluminum foil were scattered in random areas. Simon walked along the encampment holding bags of hot food alongside a one-legged middle-aged man who hobbled along using a rusty walker. 

“Here ya go sweetheart,” Simon said, handing an old lady a plastic container, giving her a wink. “Made yer favorite.”

She blushed and graciously took the food from his hands. “Thank you, handsome,” she replied. 

“You sober now?” the man asked as they walked by another tent, Simon setting the last bag in front of it. 

“Nope,” he replied as they continued toward a wooden bench. The man sat down and Simon joined him, crossing one leg over the other. “You better be, though.”

“I am, I swear.”

They both took in deep breaths through their noses. 

“I just love the smell of piss in the morning,” the man said, leaning back before pointing at all the tents. “Behold. The foundation of the richest country in the world, and everyone ignores it. We get used up, and when they’re done…” A gunshot in the distance made the man scream as he held his face in his hands. “It would have been less of an insult to die over there.”

Simon slipped an arm over the man’s shoulder. “Yer shakin’ bud. Lean into me. Don’t worry. No one’s gonna do nothin’ with me around.”

The veteran cried out, grabbing tufts of Simon’s fur before burying his face into it. The episode went on for a few minutes before he pulled away. 

“You’ve got some powerful pits.” He wiped his face with the dirty collar of his coat. 

“They’re good fer what ails ya.” Simon patted the man on the back before pulling away. “Sometimes we all need someone to hold onto. I ain’t got the answers for ya, but I do got a soft shoulder.”

“You’re a damn saint.”

“Eddy, I’d burst into flames if I walked into a church.” They both laughed. “I ain’t a saint; I just like people. I like hearin’ their stories.” He pointed to the old woman from earlier slowly eating the pasta Simon had given her. “Mrs. Thompson had a son out of wedlock a long time ago. She never got married, but she’d do anything for her kid. Worked three jobs when women workin’ wasn’t a thing. He went off to fight in ‘Nam, but he didn’t come back. Good moms are—” Simon cleared his throat, holding back a surge of repressed emotion. “It’s good to listen, but I wish I could do more.” 

“If there is a God and heaven exists, I hope you’ll look me up.”

“How ‘bout you settle for keepin’ me company in life?”

“Deal.”

The sun disappeared and Simon knelt in the flickering light of a burning barrel. He was next to a tent holding onto an arm with a rubber tourniquet tied around the upper half. Simon held the man’s hand with both of his and looked up at the sky, tears falling from his face. 

“Wait for me, buddy.” He removed the tourniquet and gently placed the lifeless arm inside the tent before covering Eddy’s face with his jacket. After patting the man’s chest, he stood and ambled along the tents as if in a trance before finally leaving the light of the fire. 

His memories became harder to watch as I followed him into the darkness, only to end up on the beach in the middle of the day. The warm breeze of a familiar place lightened the mood as I watched Simon sing along to fully-turned Derrek playing his guitar. People walked by, tossing money into the guitar case while cheering and clapping after each performance. 

“We’re gonna take a break, but we’ll do some more tonight,” Simon said, turning away from the dispersing crowd. “Can’t believe how big you got.”

“Can’t believe how fat you got,” Derrek said, poking Simon’s stomach with his finger. “You have an incredible voice.”

“Why thank ya, sir. How much more do you need to start building yer house?”

“More than I can get doing street performances.” He looked at his tent in the distance. It was in the same place his house would be in the future. “That’s all mine. I own that little part of the beach, and I get to surf and play my guitar every day. It’s like a dream.”

“I knew you’d make somethin’ of yerself.”

“All because you gave me that chance.” He pulled the guitar case close, looking down at the impressive amount of cash they’d received. “It’s yours.”

“I didn’t come here to collect a debt.”

“Then why’d you leave the city?”

“It was time,” he said, his ears off to the side. “I needed some sun and fresh air.” He smiled at Derrek. “And a friend.”

“Ever surf before?”

“No, and I ain’t about to start.”

Derrek pulled out a plastic ziplock bag with some weed in it. “I think I could persuade you to give it a try…dude.”

“You just smoke this shit out in the open?”

“It’s legal here,” he said, pulling a thin sheet of cigarette paper from a metal case. 

“No shit. When did that happen?”

“Midterms. It was on the ballot.”

“Ah. I don’t pay no attention to politics.” 

“I do when there’s weed on the line.” Derrek twisted the ends of the joint and handed it to Simon. “I also noticed something weird. Werewolves are in the government now. They have their own branch and everything. There’s talk about social programs that can benefit half-turns and werewolves.”

“Sounds like a trap to me.” Simon grabbed a lighter and lit the end of the joint, inhaling deeply before passing it back to Derrek. “They ain’t gave a shit about us for as long as I remember, so it’s a little suspicious they start carin’ now.”

“You’re half right. They probably wouldn’t have cared if there weren’t so many homeless werewolves. They’re trying to get the human and werewolf bums off the streets.”

Simon gritted his teeth, but didn’t say anything. 

“I don’t think it’ll benefit us, plus it’s not gonna happen for a few years at least.” Derrek looked out over the ocean as the sun disappeared behind a passing cloud. “Thank you, Simon.”

“For what?”

He pointed to the ocean. “For all this.”

“I believe you end a thank you prayer with an amen, seein’ as I created the ocean and all.”

“You know what I mean, jackass.”

“All I did was get you here. You did the rest.” A child’s cry broke through the sound of waves crashing against the shore, catching everyone’s attention. “Ah shit. Ain’t no lifeguards here?”

Derrek jumped to his feet and ran into the ocean until he was waist-high in the water before gliding across the rip current like a fish. It was just as I remembered from our time at the beach, watching him work. The way he swam defied his nature, and I almost believed he was a shark in a past life. 

It took less than thirty seconds for Derrek to reach the bobbing child. He lifted the boy onto his back before swimming parallel to the shore, the kid’s frantic parents running to meet up with the werewolf. Before long, they were safely on the beach, and after the mother hugged the child, she threw her arms around Derrek, thanking him. 

He walked back to where Simon was with a huge smile on his face. 

“Damn. Ain’t never seen a werewolf swim like that. I just sort of float on the surface of the water like a buoy.”

“I think that’s the tenth person I’ve pulled out of the water in the last two weeks. This place is getting packed.”

“Where are the lifeguards?” Simon asked. 

“There aren’t any. They’re all further up the coast near Crooked Palm, but now this place is seeing more action. Maybe they’ll put a station here soon.”

“Maybe you should take the job.”

Derrek snatched the joint out of Simon’s hand. “I’d never pass a drug test.”

Simon shrugged. “Well, you’ve been lookin’ for another job for extra money, and you seem to be pretty good at it even when yer stoned. Couldn’t hurt to try.”

“Maybe.” The larger werewolf let out a heavy laugh. “Could you imagine me wearing those dorky red shorts with that red dildo strapped to my back?”

“Why not just be naked? Ain’t like people can see nothin’ most of the time.”

“Tried that. Had a run-in with the fuzz because of it. I’m petitioning to have this part of the beach clothing optional…well, for werewolves, anyway.” He looked down at Simon’s bare crotch. “How do you get away with it?”

Simon shoved his arm into Derrek’s. “Get this. A cop tried to get me for that indecent exposure bullshit, so I went to a thrift store and got the tightest speedo I could get my hands on. You could see every vein and outline, and I technically was following the law. I looked more indecent in that thing than I did wearin’ nothing at all. They eventually told me to just take ‘em off after a lot of people started complaining.”

Both of them laughed, but as that died, a more somber atmosphere took its place. 

“What about you?” Derrek asked. “What do you want to do for the rest of your life?”

Simon stared out at the waves as the sun peeked back out from behind the clouds, seeming to give the question more scrutiny than usual. 

“I dunno. Didn’t expect to live this long.”

“Werewolves live for hundreds of years, dude. What did you expect?”

Simon shrugged. “I didn’t know that. Just thought all the drugs and booze were pickling me or something. I look damn good for—however the hell old I am now.”

“You don’t know your age?”

“Hell, I don’t even know if Simon’s my real name anymore.” He tapped his head. “The ol’ memory’s a little fuzzy when it comes to anything more than a few decades ago.”

“This place is better than the city. Why don’t you look for a job around here and stay with me?”

“A job might interfere with the pickling process.” 

“How about you stop with the hard drugs?” Derrek tossed the plastic baggie into Simon’s lap. “We’ve got cheap weed and light beer. Don’t need anything more than that.”

Simon shuffled the bag around in his hands. “This certainly sweetens the pot. Alright. I’ll see if I can find a shitty job around here.”

“Don’t you have anything you wanna do? Ramón said something about you being able to turn tasteless leftovers and expired food into the most delicious meals he’s ever eaten.”

Simon frowned. “Naw. I don’t wanna cook food fer people no more. Too many painful memories.”

“Sorry.”

The smaller werewolf playfully shoved Derrek. “It’s all good. I’ll go be a bouncer or somethin’. That’s an easy job. You just stand there and scare the shit out of people so they don’t bother causing problems. I’ve been thrown out of bars more than I’ve had to throw anyone out.”

“How much does that pay?”

“Enough to get by. Could help you get yer house built faster.” He held his hand out. “Wanna let me stay on that little strip of sand you got?”

Derrek grabbed his hand and shook. “You got it.”

The beach scene shifted, and a half-built house stood behind two tents close to the water. Derrek was seated up on a high lifeguard chair surveying the crowded waters, but Simon was nowhere to be found. 

“Ready for a shift change?” a male, human lifeguard called up to him. 

“Yeah,” Derrek replied, jumping down from the chair. “I’m gonna get baked. Anyone seen Simon around?”

“He’s out of jail?” 

“For now. We’ll see if he stays that way.” He gripped the handle of his lifebuoy and made his way to the tents. The left-most one had Simon’s legs sticking out of it, and Derrek bent over to grab his ankles, pulling his unconscious body across the sand toward the water. The moment a wave crashed into them, Simon yowled. 

“Oh shit! The tide’s too high!”

“The tide’s not high, you are,” Derrek said, slapping Simon’s face a few times to snap him out of it. “You can’t keep doing this, dude. Every time you say you’re gonna get clean, I find another bottle of pills. You said you’d help me with the house, but even my money keeps going missing.”

Simon spat out water, but had a strand of seaweed dangling from his bottom canine. 

“Everything’s fine. Just need a little something to help me sleep at night.”

“A half a bottle of dilaudid is not a little something. This is getting serious, and I don’t know if I can keep this up. I love you, Simon, but I can’t handle this.”

“Everything’s under control.” He reached into the tent and pulled out a bottle of pills, pouring them into his hand before tossing them into the water. “Ain’t gonna take those no more.” 

“Great. Now the sharkmen are going to have an opioid problem.”

“You still on about that? There ain’t no sharkmen.”

“I saw one!” Derrek’s eyes went wide as he held out his arms. “He was about as big as I was! I tried to wave him down, but he panicked and disappeared into the water.”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “He panicked, you say. Huge muscley monster with two rows of teeth ran away from a werewolf?”

“Who is also huge with one row of equally sharp teeth and glowing eyes. Hell, I’d be scared of me.”

“Yer crazy.”

“He was hot. If I see him again, I’m gonna swim after him.” 

Simon yawned and crawled back into his tent. “Good luck with that.”

“You’re gonna sleep all damn day?”

“It was a late night. Gotta get up in five hours fer work.”

The daylight faded and I took a few steps forward only to end up in a pawn shop with Simon pacing outside with a guitar case in his hands. Derrek’s story played out in real time from Simon’s point of view as the desperate werewolf pushed the door open. He froze in the entrance, his eyes wide and blood-shot, his body trembling from withdrawal. 

He looked around the empty shop before making his way to the counter, the pudgy balding man behind it eying Simon suspiciously. 

“Need a loan,” he said, sliding the guitar across the counter. 

The man opened the case and shook his head before slamming it shut. 

“Where did you get this?”

“My dad left it for me, but times are tough.”

“Whoever you stole this from, you better make sure it gets back to them. This is a legitimate business, sir.”

“It ain’t—” Simon drew in a deep breath before lifting the guitar off the counter. “Alright.” He sauntered out of the building, growing more anxious as he passed under street lights toward a much seedier side of town. Two scantily clad women sat on a curb sharing a crack pipe, catching Simon’s eye. 

“You ladies know where I can…do some tradin’?”

“Depends on whatcha want in return, good-lookin’. Ben down the road deals in antiques. Vinny on Peachtree Lane’s got a more…modern inventory you might be interested in.” She spoke in a thick, high-pitched Brooklyn accent.

Simon put up his hood and nodded. “Thank ya.”

“If ya go to Vinny, tell ‘im Sasha sends her best.”

“No, Simon,” I whispered, following him close. He told Derrek he sold the guitar to a pawn shop, but of course Derrek knew it was a lie. They would have never sold a stolen priceless guitar that fast. 

The vision finally faded, and I was dreading what the next scene would be, but instead I ended up in a black room with one uncovered lightbulb overhead and Simon rocking back and forth on the floor with his head in his hands, crying. 

I knelt in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Simon?”

He looked up and nodded before bursting into tears again. 

“I’m a bad guy, Art. I manipulated you into keepin’ me around, and I destroyed the only friendship that ever meant anything—and I left my pack and my mate. It was a mercy mama died young so she didn’t have to see her screw-up boy turn out like this.”

“Simon, look at me,” I said, holding the underside of his jaw in my hand. The pain in his eyes broke me because he’d been hiding this for as long as I’d known him. Every funny antic, lighthearted jab, or the way he’d shrug off my criticisms, it was all a mask. He hurt every time, and I’d been unknowingly making it worse. “You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met.”

“Stop lyin’,” Simon said, wiping his face. “You were right to be suspicious of me when we met. I was gonna get high, remember?”

“But you didn’t. You followed me home, where you belonged.”

Simon’s watery eyes grew wider. “Home…”

“I couldn’t call that place home without you. You brought adventure and fun into my sad, boring life. You make me smile every day, even when you’re being an ass. I love that about you.”

Simon wiped his face and looked down at the floor. “I thought…even with the kuu, there’d be no way someone like you could stand to be around someone like me. I always expected you to leave, but you didn’t.”

“And I won’t. You’re stuck with me.”

“I don’t deserve you, Art.”

“I don’t deserve you? I saw you how you grew up in poverty, hungry, and alone. Somehow you had the strength to keep on living. Then you met someone and fell in love, but what happened there was beyond your control. If you stayed, they’d have finished what they started. When no one else cared, you cooked delicious meals for all those homeless people and you helped a veteran through the worst time of his life. You helped a teenage boy you didn’t even know make his dreams come true.” I shook Simon’s shoulder, forcing him to look up. “Terrible people don’t do that stuff, Simon. You touched so many lives, and while you think it didn’t matter in the end, it did, and it ultimately made you a better person. You made mistakes, but it doesn’t make you terrible.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and fell into him as he returned the embrace. We stayed like that for several minutes, me stroking his head while he held me. 

“Thank you,” Simon whispered. “Thank you, Art.” The room turned white as the visage of a broken Simon shattered under me, leaving me alone in silence again.

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