Smoke hung in the air of the Jackal’s Lantern like fog rolling off a toxic waste pond. Hanging down from the ceiling, glowing plastic pumpkin heads filled the thick vapor with a lurid orange hue that defined and shaped the varied streams and eddies floating through the room. The smoke stank mostly of illegal substances, both organic and synthetic, but nearest the door where Tiger Jackson and Iron Mike Morrissey stood, car exhaust and the moist scent of rotten garbage held sway.