(Lights come up on a dressing room, backstage somewhere in an amphitheater or arena. There are flowers, half- eaten platters of food, a counter, a make-up mirror surrounded by lightbulbs, a couple of chairs. On the wall is a concert poster - it shows a guitar-player silhouetted by a gigantic moon, and reads HOWLIN' MONCK and BENEATH A FULL MOON: THE 1995 WORLD TOUR. Occupying center stage is HOWLIN' MONCK himself. He's wolfish - long hair, beard, mustache, dressed in blue jeans and studded leather. He's agitated - thrash metal BLASTS from a boombox, and MONCK throws himself about the room, trying to lose himself in the music. The music ends, and MONCK stops, disoriented, then grabs a near-empty bottle of Tequila, finishes it off with a handful of pills. When he realizes the bottle is empty, he hurls it against a wall, cracks a new one, takes a long pull. He shivers as the pills go down, seems to almost convulse for a second. He closes his eyes, fists clenched, jaw knotted. Finally he opens his eyes, looks into the make-up mirror, slowly begins to smile... but there's nothing happy about this smile. It's ferocious, cunning, wild. A knock at the door, and HARDY enters the room. He's younger than Monck, wears an plastic security badge identifying him as one of Monck's roadies.) MONCK: Get the fuck out - ! HARDY: It's me. Hardy. (MONCK relaxes slightly, downing more liquor) MONCK: You shouldn't do that. After all, you oughtta know better than anyone else how easy it is for me to lose control. HARDY: Yeah, you're right about that. It's too easy, Monck. Like you want to. You let the change go further tonight than ever before. You even snapped a string during the "Urban Vengeance" solo. MONCK: Yeah, and I finished it off with only five strings and claws, and it was great, so fuck you, Hardy. Now, what's on the menu tonight? HARDY: Monck, you promised me - MONCK: Oh Christ, Hardy, don't be so fucking pedantic, it's just a figure of speech. HARDY: Oh, you mean like "I promise I won't let it happen again, Hardy"? That kind of figure of speech? MONCK: C'mon, Hardy, this is L.A, right? So what's one more guy out of control? HARDY: I'm not sure... I can do it any more. MONCK: You're in a bad mood tonight. HARDY: Happens to me sometime at the full moon. MONCK: Next thing I know you'll be asking for a raise so you can buy Tampons. (A beat, as he drinks, then) You know, I don't even have to see the full moon. I can feel it. Here... (MONCK hands HARDY the new bottle of Tequila) HARDY: No thanks. (MONCK laughs, then drinks himself) MONCK: What's the matter? Afraid you'll catch something? HARDY: How much of that have you had tonight? MONCK: This is the second bottle. And a handful of 'Ludes. HARDY: That's not enough. MONCK: It'd kill anybody else. HARDY: Here... (HARDY uncaps another pill vial, hands MONCK another handful) MONCK: Hardy... HARDY: I'm not bringing her in here unless you take them. (MONCK grumbles but complies, with another swig of the booze) MONCK: Now that I've had my medicine, I want my spoonful of sugar. HARDY: No. First, we talk about Dallas - MONCK: So I made a little mistake. HARDY: - and Atlanta - MONCK: She was begging for it. HARDY: -and Miami - MONCK: She pulled pepper spray on me. HARDY: - and Charleston - MONCK (exploding): Who the fuck do you think you are? In case you've had a little lapse in reality lately, let me clarify: You are a roadie. You are one insignificant screw in the vast machine that is Howlin' Monck - me. You work for me, comprende?! HARDY: Work?! Monck, what I do for you is not part of any job description I know. MONCK: They why do you do it? HARDY: You know why. MONCK: Say it. (HARDY looks away for a beat, flushed, then) HARDY: You know, it's just sheer dumb luck the papers haven't picked up on the connection yet. Dallas, Atlanta, Miami, Charleston... and they still haven't found the ones from Albany and Detroit. But they will, Monck, no matter how well I buried them, they will find them sooner and later. And sooner or later someone will put those cities together with the dates of this tour. (MONCK smiles to himself, then) MONCK: You never did tell me what you thought of that "Urban Vengeance" solo tonight. HARDY: It was good. MONCK: Just good? HARDY (shouting back): It was brilliant, goddamnit, alright?! The best I've ever heard. The live album of this tour's gonna be one of the greatest fucking albums in all of rock'n'roll. MONCK: So I'm still the best? HARDY (reluctantly): You still blow Van Halen and Clapton out of the water, Monck. MONCK: Good. Now we know why you do it, right? (Again, no response) MONCK: And since we've answered that question, it's time to bring in contestant number one. (HARDY, abashed, complies. He goes to the door he entered through, exits briefly, then returns with ASHLEY. She's young, dressed for a concert, obviously awed in the presence of MONCK) ASHLEY: Oh my god, it is you. (She indicates HARDY) When he came up to me in the audience and said Howlin' Monck wanted to meet me after the show, I couldn't really believe it. But... (She giggles, at a loss for words) HARDY: This is Ashley. MONCK: Ashley. What'd you think of the show tonight, Ashley? ASHLEY: What'd I think? It was - it was awesome. You know, some of my friends think you're like this old guy still playing guitar, but when I listen to your CD's, I feel like you're talking to me through your guitar, like I'm the only other person in the world and you're talking just to me - shit, I promised myself I wasn't gonna weird out over this, and I know that must sound psycho - MONCK: I don't think that sounds psycho at all. Do you, Hardy? HARDY (tightly): No. MONCK: No what? HARDY: No, it doesn't sound psycho at all. MONCK: You see, Ashley? I am talking to you. ASHLEY: Like that song "Lost Souls", where you say "All the lost ones will flock to darkness", and then you do that scream? That gives me shivers, and it's like you're screaming for me, because I'd like to scream like that sometimes, but I can't... and now hear I am talking to you in person. This is like - godhood. MONCK (to HARDY): You hear that? You should be worshipping me. HARDY: What do you call this? MONCK: Well, then, we should get started with the mass. Communion first. (MONCK takes another pull off the Tequila bottle and passes it to ASHLEY) ASHLEY: Thanks. (She swigs, coughs, then hands it back) It would be really cool if I could bring my friends - HARDY: NO! (MONCK and ASHLEY both stare at his outburst) HARDY: I mean, they left already anyway. ASHLEY: I could call them - MONCK: Sure, why not? Hardy, get her a phone - HARDY: Goddamn it, no! Ashley, this was a bad idea. See, Monck's not feeling too good, maybe you should leave - MONCK: No no, Ashley here's gonna make me a feel a lot better, aren't you, sweetheart? (He pulls her onto his lap) ASHLEY: Sure, Monck. You know, I used to listen to you, and sometimes I'd feel bad because it was like, you were giving me so much through the music, and there was nothing I could give you... MONCK: So you're not just another starfucker, collect 'em and trade 'em with your friends? ASHLEY: No. I like you, Monck. (MONCK chuckles and begins nuzzling her neck. She looks over his head and sees HARDY watching uncomfortably) ASHLEY: Umm... Monck... MONCK: Yeah? ASHLEY: Does he have to stand there and watch like that? (MONCK looks up at HARDY) MONCK: Oh don't worry about Hardy. The only thing that turns him on is a guitar riff. ASHLEY: That's okay. MONCK: Really? That'd turn you on, if I played for you? ASHLEY: Oh my god, Monck, that'd be the ultimate! MONCK: Okay, then... (He sets her down, rises, indicates another door) MONCK: In here. I wanna show you my axe. HARDY (warningly): Monck... MONCK: Oh chill out, Hardy, you've already seen it. (MONCK gives HARDY a wink and exits into the other room with ASHLEY) ASHLEY (offstage): So where is it? MONCK (offstage): Where's what? ASHLEY (offstage, giggling): Your guitar. MONCK (offstage): Oops, looks like they packed it away already. Guess I'll just have to show you some real frets. (HARDY is pacing indecisively) ASHLEY (offstage, seductively): Ummm, like what? (We hear MONCK laugh, then offstage kissing, ASHLEY murmuring encouragement, etc.) MONCK (offstage): You know when you said you wished you could give me something? ASHLEY (offstage): Yeah... MONCK (offstage): I put my life into that music. What could you possibly offer me in return? (ASHLEY moans softly, in pleasure - then cries out sharply) ASHLEY (offstage): Ow - Monck, that - (Sound of ripping cloth) MONCK (offstage): What? ASHLEY (offstage): You're hurting me - MONCK (offstage): Really? What about - THIS?!! (A horrible sound - something being shredded, followed by ASHLEY's SCREAMS) MONCK (offstage): Does THAT hurt?! ASHLEY (offstage): No, stop - what are you - ?! MONCK (offstage); Now Ashley, if you wanna be a real groupie you're gonna have to take a certain amount of pain - (And that's the last coherent word from offstage. The rest is a hideous sequence of unintelligible snarls, roars, shrieks, rippings, poundings, wet splatterings. HARDY races to the doorway, too late - he takes one look inside and staggers back, gagging. At last the worst of the sounds are over; all that's left is - eating. A few beats later MONCK appears in the doorway. He's covered in blood, his face, his hair his shirt. He's sucking on the fingers of a severed hand - ASHLEY's hand) MONCK: Finger-lickin' good. (He hurls the hand back into the room and staggers to the chair, so sated he can hardly move. HARDY is clutching himself tightly, rocking back and forth on his heels) HARDY: Oh god... oh god... Monck, you promised... MONCK: Yeah, and you were dumb enough to believe me, so who's fault is that? (A beat, then MONCK wrinkles his nose in disgust) MONCK: Clean up the leftovers before it starts to stink, will ya? (When there's no response) C'mon, Hardy, we don't have all night... HARDY: What if I say no this time? MONCK: Yeah, just like all the other times. (MONCK throws a bunch of 55-gallon black plastic trash bags at HARDY) MONCK: Now stop your bitching and moaning and get to work. HARDY: It's too much, Monck. Don't you see that? It was bad enough when they were hitchhikers picked up on some lonely stretch of backroad, some stray camper out in the woods. But the last five have been girls like Ashley, ones you wanted out of the audience. MONCK: C'mon, Hardy, I'm not a complete idiot. I read the papers, I know they think they're lookin' for some ucked-up nutcase with a hungry pet doggie. They'll never connect it to us. HARDY: Monck, nobody comes to a concert alone. These girls have all had friends, friends who saw me, who know you and I were the last ones to see these girls alive. I mean, yeah, the kids are pretty stoned, but still... (Just then a moan comes from the other room - from ASHLEY. HARDY goes ashen) HARDY: Oh jesus... she's not dead, Monck... MONCK: Well, fuck me. Maybe Ashley's little brain is so pickled it hasn't realized it's dead yet. ASHLEY (offstage): Help... help me... HARDY: Oh Monck, this is bad, this is really fucking bad - (MONCK comes up with a knife, which he offers to HARDY) MONCK: Here. (HARDY doesn't take the knife, just stares) MONCK: If it bothers you so much, go finish her off. HARDY: I can't kill her. MONCK: Twice, you mean? HARDY: Monck, I can't. I can't do it. MONCK: Fine. Let her suffer, then. ASHLEY (offstage): Please, god.... MONCK: She's not gonna live anyway, you know. (HARDY grabs the knife) MONCK: Think of it as a rite of passage, Hardy. Your introduction into manhood, courtesy of Howlin' Monck himself, thank you very much. (HARDY turns towards the door, gritting his teeth. Finally he goes offstage) ASHLEY (offstage): Mister, you gotta help me, he's crazy, he's not human... HARDY (offstage): No, he's not. I'll help you. But you gotta close your eyes. (After a beat - a THUD, followed by a last cry from ASHLEY. Then HARDY stumbles to the doorway, staring at the blood on his hands and the knife he still clutches) MONCK: There, finally popped your cherry. How'd you do it, anyway? HARDY: The heart... MONCK: Ahhh, you broke her heart. Don't you feel like a man now? HARDY: I feel sick. MONCK: Believe it or not, I felt the same way the morning after my first time. When I saw the blood all over the sheets... and the floor... and the walls... HARDY: It's over, Monck. No more. MONCK: You're starting to sound like old vinyl, Hardy, stuck in a bad groove. HARDY: I mean it. I'm not doing it this time. I'm leaving her here for them to find. MONCK: Uh-huh. Do I need to remind you that if I fall, you go with me? You're an accomplice, after all. HARDY: I don't care any more. MONCK: Oh really? Well, chew on this: They won't be able to hold me. Come the next full moon, I won't stop the transformation halfway. I'll let it go, let it go all the way, no booze, no pills, all the way until they have a snarling, frothing beast that chews through steel bars and can't be stopped by boring old lead bullets. How many policemen do you think I'll kill then, Hardy? Ten? Twenty? More than a couple of groupies, I should think. And all the while you can sit rotting in your own little jail cell, thinking about all those family men I've killed because of you, and knowing that your turn is coming soon. (A long, tense face-off... interrupted finally by a knock on the door) MONCK: J-Boy? (The door opens and J-BOY enters. He's another of Monck's roadies, like HARDY sporting the plastic i.d. badge. Strangely enough he doesn't seem the least bit disturbed by the blood on either MONCK or HARDY) J-BOY: Everything okay here, boss? MONCK: Fine, J-Boy. Oh - take a look at what's in the other room there. (HARDY stares in mute disbelief as J-BOY crosses the room and looks onto the unseen remains of Ashley - and giggles slightly) J-BOY: Oh wow, man, that's gnarly. HARDY: J-Boy... ?! J-BOY (to MONCK): You want me to... ? MONCK: Not yet. Maybe tomorrow night. (This exchange has not escaped HARDY) HARDY: What's tomorrow night? MONCK: J-Boy, why don't you tell Hardy what you found in Dallas. J-BOY: Oh yeah. Found this chick's shredded dress in the dressing room trashcan, man. Not too cool, Hardy. HARDY: You found... ? MONCK: You've become undependable, Hardy. It's been building for a while, so I've had J-Boy checking up on you, seeing to it that you don't miss something - like leaving behind an obvious clue. If I didn't know better, I'd think you did that intentionally. HARDY (to J-BOY): You're my replacement, aren't you? Are you supposed to knock me off first? MONCK: You see, Hardy, J-Boy has one big advantage over you: He does it for the money, not like you, with your ridiculous notions about loving the music and loyalty. HARDY: It's not ridiculous, Monck. Your music saved my life when I was 15. I'll never forget the first time I heard "Urban Vengeance", and "Tatter Me", and "Dying for You." I probably would've od'd, blown my own head off, but instead I lived to listen. I would've done anything for you - hell, I've gotten you drugs, I used to stand by you every full moon, before you learned how to control it. I risked my life once a month because I loved the music, I still do, but... it's not worth it any more. J-BOY (turning to go): Monck, do I gotta hear this bullshit? MONCK: I don't think any of us do. (J-BOY glowers at HARDY and starts to go, but HARDY won't let him, he grabs him by the arm, restraining him) HARDY: Do you really think you can do this?!! J-BOY (through gritted teeth): Get your hands off me or you're dead now. (J-BOY shrugs him off and starts out again) J-BOY (over his shoulder to MONCK): I'm right outside if you need me, boss. MONCK: No problem. (J-BOY exits. HARDY turns to face MONCK) HARDY: Why, Monck? Why did I have to kill her, when you could've had your bulldog there do it?! MONCK: Ever heard of last chances, Hardy? And you just blew yours. (HARDY nods, considering - then reverses his hold on the knife) HARDY: Maybe I'm not the one who blew his chance. MONCK (uncertain now): What are you talking about? HARDY: It's time to end this. (HARDY begins to advance on MONCK, who rises from his chair) MONCK: Well, if it isn't my own little Mark Lindsay Chapman. Get real, you little shit, you can't kill me. HARDY: Why not? MONCK: That blade's not even good steel, let alone silver. So you might kill me tonight, but in 28 days - at the next full moon - I'll just resurrect. HARDY: Sure, you can get out of whatever specially-designed coffin you've already got in the will. But you're wrong, Monck - you will be dead. Because if I kill you here tonight, I'm gonna make sure the whole world knows about it, and that they know the whole story - the girls, the hitchhikers, all of it. Oh, you can come back - but not as Howlin' Monck. (A tense beat - then HARDY throws himself at MONCK! They grapple for a moment, then HARDY manages to drive the knife into MONCK. MONCK staggers back, living up to his name - howling. J-BOY bursts into the room) J-BOY: Holy shit - !! (MONCK finally collapses, dead. J-BOY just looks at him, then paces in agitation. HARDY stands by, panting) J-BOY: Oh man, this is fucked, this is fucked - (He turns on HARDY in rage) You killed him, you asshole! You fuckin' killed him!! (But a strange serenity descends on HARDY as he stares down at the corpse) HARDY: No. I killed the music. It won't matter if he comes back, because... I killed the music. (Lights fade out slowly) CURTAIN