The rain drummed steadily. The quiet clicks of bullets being loaded into clips could be heard.

"IHOP?" Hot Dog suggested.

"Sounds good."

Twenty-six pancakes and nine dead waitresses later, they rode off in the jeep, satisfied. They drove into the city at ninety-five miles an hour. They had roughly seven hundred dollars apiece from knocking over the IHOP.

"I'm hungry," said Hot Dog.

"Man, we just ate."

"I'm hungry," Hot Dog repeated. "I wanna eat."

"Sir, we just ate half an hour ago."

"Don't call me sir," Hot Dog scolded, shooting off two of Crazy's fingers.

"You ass," said Crazy. "I'm trying to drive here." He shot Hot Dog in the right shoulder. Suddenly there were sirens. Lights flashed behind them. They stopped as a police cruiser pulled up behind them.

"It's O'Malley," said Crazy.

"Put a slug in him," suggested Hot Dog.

They turned around and emptied four clips each into O'Malley's body, but he appeared to be bulletproof. He walked up to the jeep.

"What seems to be the rush, boys?"

"Fuck you, pig," said Hot Dog. He shot O'Malley point blank in the forehead. The bullet ricocheted and passed through Crazy's cheek.

"You ass," said Crazy, shooting Hot Dog's left ear off.

"Cut the shit," said Hot Dog.

"Boys, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you downtown," O'Malley informed them.

"What's the charge, bacon?"

"Well, we've got possession of an unlicensed firearm, assault..." O'Malley began; but the jeep, tires squealing, was already flying into the night, Crazy's howling laughter echoing behind them.

"...and speeding," O'Malley addressed their taillights. The taillights glowed in his dark sunglasses. He wore his dark sunglasses, even at night. He was cool that way.

He watched them go.

They found themselves at the supermarket. They loaded up on pasta, iced tea, and hot dogs.

"Man, you eat too many hot dogs," said Crazy.

"Fuck you," said Hot Dog, pointing a gun at him. Crazy batted it away and the shot took out a middle-aged woman with curlers in her hair.

"Now look at that," said Hot Dog.

"It's your fault."

"Fuck you."

"No, fuck you."

"No, fuck you."

"No, fuck you." Crazy punched Hot Dog in the face, breaking his nose. "Let's go."

They paid for the groceries, then asked for the money back along with the rest of the cash in the store. They blew away several other shoppers, then left. Out in the parking lot, their jeep had been trashed. They had just decided to jack a car when sirens sounded. Cruisers appeared.

"O'Malley," said Hot Dog. "That fuck."

They grabbed the cart and ran, blasting all the way. "Go, go, go!"

"Here come the dogs."

Several police dogs were running toward them, slavering. A helicopter flew overhead as a sniper inside took shots at them. Commandos could be seen running and taking up positions behind cars in the parking lot below as they pushed the cart up the hill. Crazy threw a few hot dogs on the ground to occupy the police dogs.

"My hot dogs!"

"Relax."

Crazy took a shot at the chopper, clipping its tail blade. It began to spin out of control. The sniper fell out and was caught in the blades and ripped to shreds. The chopper crashed in the parking lot, taking out the commandos and several pedestrians in a fireball. The supermarket exploded next, raining canned goods all around them. Hot Dog picked up a few cans of sauerkraut and threw them into the cart.

Below them, O'Malley stood up, thrown back by the blast but apparently unhurt. His uniform was on fire, but his glasses were still on. He fired up at them. A bullet passed through Hot Dog's lung.

"Fuck." He ate a hot dog raw, then shot open a can of kraut and ate a handful. Then they were over the hill and on the other side. Crazy hopped in the cart and Hot Dog stood on the back as they cruised down the hill, shooting behind them all the way down (not because there was anything there to shoot, but because it was exciting). They ducked behind a building just as O'Malley reached the top of the hill. He did not see where they had gone. They reached their pad and put away the groceries. Then they ditched the cart on some railroad tracks. Later on, a train roared by and hit the cart, derailing and killing forty-seven.

They ate seventeen hot dogs apiece that night.

Hot Dog was fucking someone. He was fucking her hard. They bit one another and pulled hair. In the other room, Crazy was drawing from a four-foot bong. Occasionally he would light a joint so that he could cauterize a wound here or there. He was in the process of loading fifty-nine different guns in between hits.

"Ah! Ah Ah Ah Ah!" Hot Dog fucked her harder.

"Shit, man, calm yourself in there."

"Ah!"

"Aw, for Crissakes, would you finish up in there and help me load these fucking things?"

"Ah!" He fucked her.

"Fucking-A." Crazy walked into the bedroom and shot her. Hot Dog flared.

"Man, what is your problem?"

"Help me with these guns."

"I woulda helped you in a minute, fucker." Hot Dog fired six shots into Crazy's abdomen. Intestines looped out.

"You ass. Just when I finished sealing everything up." Innards in hand, Crazy walked back into the other room to fix himself.

Hot Dog walked in. "So what the fuck is O'Malley's story?"

"He's a fucking pig."

"I know that."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What's your question?"

"My question is, what the fuck is O'Malley's story?"

Crazy put the gun he was currently loading down. "He used to be a gangster."

"A gangsta?"

"No. Not a gangsta. A gangster. Different. Worse. He was bad shit. I saw him once. Dark coat, hat, fucked up tie, dark glasses. But not like he wears now. These were different. Smaller; rectangles; purple."

"Purple?"

"Are you fucking deaf or what?"

"What did he do?"

"He was worse than us. There's two of us and only one O'Malley on our ass, but before he was O'Malley he was only one gangster with two badass cops on his ass, and he still got away. They threw him off a building, but when they went down there was no body. Just the hat and glasses and shit."

"Bullshit."

"Hey, look man, fuck you. I'm serious about this. I saw him. He was bad shit."

"Are you scared of him?"

"He's gonna get us, in the end."

"No fucking way." Hot Dog looked into Crazy's eyes. This was not easy to do, since Crazy's eyes crackled with sheer electricity. They were the eyes of Crazy. But Hot Dog looked into them. "We ain't goin' out like that," he said. "We ain't goin' out like that."

"We ain't goin' out," Crazy echoed quietly. Then began reloading again.

Hot Dog got up and went to the closet. "By the way, what ever happened to the two badass cops?"

"Nobody knows."

"Well, whatever." Hot Dog took another girl out of the closet. He brought her into the bedroom and fucked her. He fucked her hard. They bit one another and pulled hair.

"We need to go to the House," said Crazy.

"Man, you said a mouthful."

"No, I said that we need to go to the House."

"Fuck you." Hot Dog shattered Crazy's left elbow with a shot.

"You see? This is why we need to go to the House," said Crazy.

"I know, I know. I want to go too."

They left the pad packing nine guns between the two of them. They walked down the street, past the wall of a big hotel. Two large vents were set into the wall, blowing air out.

"I don't trust them," said Hot Dog.

They drew and fired repeatedly into the first vent. Thumps were heard. Then the catch broke and the vent opened. Six dead S.W.A.T. team members tumbled out. Hot Dog and Crazy ran to the second vent. A brief frantic scrambling noise was heard from inside. Crazy shot in several bars of the vent to make an opening, and then Hot Dog threw in a grenade. The blast blew the vent wide open. Blood, sinew, and viscera poured out. The remains of several other S.W.A.T. team members flew into the street. Shrapnel peppered both men and punched into Hot Dog's face and chest. They continued on to the House.

Outside, they fired several shots into the air in salute, then prostrated themselves briefly outside the opening. A brief angelic chorus was heard, supported by a power chord from an electric guitar. They went inside.

"Hello, boys!" the House Man said. "We just cleaned the floor, so try not to bleed too much on it."

"Yes sir," they said reverently. They sat in a booth facing one another and ordered coffee. Tommy came and laid several newspapers on the floor beneath them to catch the blood, then gave them their coffee.

"That's good coffee," Hot Dog sipped.

"Hi, Tommy," said Crazy.

"You boys want anything?"

"We'll have food. Thanks, Tommy."

Rick brought the food over. They ate. More plates were brought. They ate. Rick came over and told them about acting. They smiled and joked with him and laughed, and drank more coffee. As the coffee flowed through them their wounds closed. Crazy's missing fingers and Hot Dog's ear sprouted back into place. They were healed. They were happy. The House Man smiled and nodded at them. They raised their coffee cups in salute.

The lights went out. It became dark outside and rained heavily for three seconds as a figure appeared in the doorway. Then all was normal again.

O'Malley stepped through the door.

Crazy spilled his coffee and in panic reached for his gun.

"No!" hissed Hot Dog. "No! Not in the House! We'll be all right. He can't touch us in here. You know that. Be calm, Crazy."

O'Malley smiled at them from the entrance. Water dripped off of him and mixed with a few drops of blood Crazy had spilled upon entering. The two mixed and were indistinguishable.

"I'm sorry, man," said Crazy. "I just lost my head."

"It's cool. We'll fix everything."

O'Malley walked over to them. "Hello, boys. Mind if I join you?"

"We ain't your boys," Hot Dog returned. "And yes, we do fucking mind."

"Well. I'm sorry to hear it. But I'm afraid I'll have to insist. I am an officer of the law, after all."

Crazy let out a choked cough. O'Malley paused and turned his glasses on him for a few long moments. Then he smiled again and slid into the booth next to Crazy. Hot Dog and Crazy's wounds began to reappear and open again.

"What the fuck do you want, pig?" said Hot Dog.

"Boys, now you be still and listen to me. You're bad boys. What you do isn't good. I can't have it going on."

"You lousy fuck. You come into the House to tell us this? You desecrate this place just by being here."

"Now boys, this is America."

"No. This is the House."

The House Man and Rick and Tommy were in a small knot, talking in low voices and glancing in their direction. O'Malley signaled them. They discussed a moment further, and then Rick came over.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Why yes," answered O'Malley. "How nice of you to ask. I'll have coffee."

Hot Dog flared. "O'Malley. Get the fuck out. We don't want you here. This is the House, do you understand? This is the House. You can't do shit to us here, and you know it. Get out. Why are you here?"

"Boys, I'm here to tell you that I'm through playing. I'm here to tell you that your time has come. I can't have you running all over town the way you do. I have to come down on you. It's a shame, in a way. I like you, boys. I really do. I feel... attached to you, in a way." He turned his glasses on Crazy again. And smiled. Crazy trembled. O'Malley smiled. Hot Dog watched with a furrowed brow. O'Malley stood.

"I've got to win, boys. It's the only way. I'm the good guy."

"No." Crazy spoke for the first time. "No. You're not the good guy. You're the Bad Guy."

O'Malley's brows raised over the tops of his glasses in mock surprise. Another smile touched his lips. "Am I?" he asked quietly. "Am I the Bad Guy? Or are you? Are you the Bad Guy, Crazy? Are you the Bad Guy? Crazy?"

Crazy trembled. Hot Dog did not know what to say. He was confused.

"Crazy?" O'Malley repeated, softly.

"Fuck you!" Crazy screamed. He writhed in the booth and spilled Hot Dog's coffee and tumbled empty plates off the table. His wounds bled afresh. "Fuck you, pig! I know who I am! I'm Crazy! I am Crazy!"

"Get out, O'Malley!" shouted Hot Dog. "You can't do this! This is the House! You are a profanity! Get out, get the fuck out!"

"All right, boys. I've said my piece." O'Malley fixed his glasses one last time on Crazy, then turned to go. In the doorway he stopped and faced them again.

"I've got to break you, boys. It's the only way. Don't be angry. Things will come right of it, you'll see. But I've got to split you." Then he left.

"That fuck! That cheap lousy fucking piece of shit." Hot Dog turned back to Crazy. "Hey man, you okay? Did he rattle you? That fuck. Tommy, can we get some more coffee, please?"

The House Man came over. "I'm sorry, boys. I'm very sorry. I couldn't stop him. You know I didn't want him in here."

"We know. Don't worry. Thank you."

Rick came over. He had stalled so as not to have to give O'Malley any coffee. He cleaned up the plates and spilled coffee. He laid down fresh newspapers and gave them more coffee.

"Thank you, Rick."

"I hated to see it, you guys. I really did."

"We know. Thanks Rick."

They drank their coffee and closed their wounds again. Good music played. Hot Dog did not ask Crazy about what O'Malley had meant. They drank their coffee and felt peaceful. When they were ready they stood. They thanked the House Man and Rick and Tommy and went into the back. The lights dimmed and the music became a part of their minds. All good music was in their heads. They knelt before the altar. Rick lit candles, then left them alone. They began.

"Praise the House," said Hot Dog. "Praise the steps and doors of the House, and the floors and walls of the House."

"Praise the sights and sounds of the House," continued Crazy. "The things we see and the visions we receive, the music we hear and the conversation we experience."

"Praise the feel of the House: the smoothness of the tables, the softness of the seats."

"Praise the smells and tastes of the House: the quickeners of our spirits."

"Praise the living things of the House: the crawlers and fliers of the House. Each has its place."

"Praise the House Man, and Tommy, and Rick: the makers of our sustenance, supporters in the continuance of our cause."

"Praise food."

"Praise the healing powers of the Almighty Bean, from whose nectar we draw our lifeblood: our strength, our fuel, our motivation, our revitalization."

"Praise the House, which welcomes us in good times and in bad, whether we be purposeful or derelict, joyous or sad; without discrimination, without hesitation, without fear."

"Praise the House, which is our icon and our idealization of life; which draws us in with its power; whose call is heard, whose pull is felt, and whose memory remains intact and undiminished, regardless of separations of time and space."

"Praise the House," said Hot Dog.

"Praise the House," said Crazy.

"Praise the House," they concluded in unison.

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