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—OK. But, dude, if it’s fucked in there? Sooner or later we’re just gonna get sick of your shit and kill you, money or no.

He opens his door and gets out. Sid tucks his pistol into the rolled waistband of his too-loose jeans, drops the tail of his shirt over it, and we get out and follow Rolf.

From the porch we can hear Hitler barking somewhere inside the house.

Rolf taps me.

—That your buddy’s dog?

—I guess.

—What’s he pissed about?

—Nothing, he always barks.

I face Sid and Rolf.

—All paranoia aside, guys, let’s remember these are just some mellow potheads. Try to be mellow too, OK?

Rolf shrugs.

—Hey, dude, they be mellow, we be mellow.

Sid adjusts the pistol in his waistband.

—Whatever.

I ring the bell.

Hitler’s barking gets louder. I wait a minute, ring again, and hear what sounds like someone shouting at Hitler to shut up. We wait another minute, then Rolf nudges me.

—Ring again, dude.

—Hang on, they’re probably sleeping or fucking or something.

Or getting ready to jump us.

—Just ring.

He reaches past me and pushes the button three times in a row and Hitler gets even louder.

—Hang on! Who is it?

Sandy’s voice, right on the other side of the door.

—Sandy! It’s me, Wade.

Barking.

—Hey, baby, what’s up?

—I’m here. Open up.

Barking.

The door opens a crack and Sandy’s face is framed in the five-inch gap.

—Hey, hey, Wade.

—Hey, I got my shit together a little early and thought I’d come by.

—Yeah, uh.

She’s looking past me to Rolf and Sid.

—Sorry, these are my buddies. They gave me a lift over. Is your guy around, or?

—Uh, uh, yeah, he’s here, but.

She looks back into the house and then at us.

—He’s here, but your buddies, they should. Can they wait in their car? He’s in the kitchen and won’t come out till they leave.

—Yeah, sure, but they’re totally cool. Also.

I hook my thumb at Sid.

—He needs to use the can.

She bites her lip.

—Wade, this is pretty uncool. I mean you know.

—Yeah, but T knows these guys. They’re cool. Go get him, he knows these guys are cool.

—Yeah, but T, T is still out, and.

—Jesus, what did you guys?

—We just came back and smoked out and he went down.

—Is he?

—He’s cool, he’s OK, but he’s out.

—Cool, OK, but just let us in so he can use the can and then they’ll leave and we can talk. Be cool and let the guy take a leak.

—Uh.

Another glance over her shoulder.

—Uh, OK, OK, that’s cool. OK. Just, all of you can come in, that’s cool.

She pulls the door open. I step inside. The house is dark. All the curtains are drawn. I pull my shades down my nose a bit so I can peek over them. Rolf and Sid come inside. Rolf nods at Sandy.

—Hey.

She half smiles at him.

—Hi.

Sid doesn’t say anything. Sandy closes the door. She points straight ahead.

—You guys can kick it in the living room. The bathroom is just to the left.

I stay where I am.

—What’s up with Hitler?

Sandy is wearing only a shorty kimono, her legs and feet bare. All her makeup is gone, her hair mussed, face flushed. I can see now how young she is; no more that twenty. She draws the kimono tighter, hiding the stars on her chest.

—He, he freaked a little and chased my cat, so I made T put him in the master bathroom.

—Hunh.

I walk into the living room. Sandy touches Sid’s arm. Sid just stares at her. She tries a smile.

—Bathroom’s down there.

Sid looks down the hallway, the open door of a bathroom visible at its end. A closed door on its right, Hitler’s barking coming from behind it. He looks at me.

—Well, go on, man.

He looks at Rolf, then turns and walks into the bathroom and closes the door, his movements as stiff and unnatural as a robot. But he’s not afraid. He’s excited; charged with violence.

I look around the living room. Electric blue velvet couch against the left wall, matching love seat against the right, a deco coffee table between them, wood floors partially covered by a fake Moroccan rug, fireplace in the far wall, entertainment center next to it, two floor lamps with colored scarves draped over them. On the walls, framed