Bullets of Rain by David J. Schow

bone thing looks gruesome, like the inside of your arm seen through X-ray Spex."
        "Hurts more to do the back of your hand, or fingers, or your knee, or the top of your foot. That's where the bones are closest to the surface. Once I did this baby, guys started asking for all sorts of bone overlays. A lot of skeleton hands, and never mind the fucking pain, they'd say. If I'd stayed in longer I would've gotten to try a full-on skull on this skinhead guy named Turk, no lie. I'd put spiders on the backs of heads, with the legs curling around the ears. Cobweb patterns. Inevitably some clown wanted me to tattoo a bone on his dick-yuh know, the bones that grows, haw haw-but I was spared the delight."
        "That serpent looks familiar."
        "You got it. That's our snake, immortalized."
        Art was surprised by the speed with which he'd gone from initial distaste to considering an identical snake for himself. The thing on Derek's arm was Art's exact idea of the imaginary rattler inside his vitals. He wondered what Lorelle might have requested, and came up with nothing obvious.
        "Why just the left arm?"
        "Because I'm right-handed. So it's long sleeves; I don't really mind. It's not that weird anymore. Twelve-year-olds are getting inked and pierced at the mall; they can buy niobium safety pins at any drugstore. I know this guy, a studio guy down in L.A., who has a great big curlicued fuck you tattooed right across the center of his chest. Says he loves to sit in bullshit meetings, just knowing it's there, just thinking about the day he quits and unveils it at the correct moment."
        "Speaking of Hollywood, I think I've got just the movie for your mood."
        "Thrill me."
        
***
        
        They sat through I Married a Monster from Outer Space , a Fifties classic about aliens taking over human bodies in order to mate with Earth women. It was better than its hysterical title, it was in glorious black-and-white, and best of all, it featured monster-fighting dogs, a pair of German shepherds, one of whom gives his dog-life to repel the invaders.
        Blitz was not moved by the selfless sacrifice of his brethren.
        "Ever notice that?" said Art. "Dogs are always the first line of defense against extraterrestrial bad guys. Purebred Monster Fighters." He thumped Blitz. "Would you take on a slimy alien for us? At least let us know one's around?"
        "Not if the alien brings a steak," said Derek. "I think ole Blitz would turn traitor on us, for a steak. Say steak."
        Blitz woofed, exactly once.
        "When your dog betrays you, that's the worst. You're not listening, are you?" Blitz put his head back down on the carpet with a capacious nasal sigh, and remained encamped under the table.
        "How's this for a transition?" said Derek. "One of the reasons I'm 'bound for L.A. is a fella named Joseph Clawfoot, Joe to his friends."
        "That's one way to avoid being made," said Art. "Hang out with people who have inconspicuous names."
        "Joe's in construction, and they've got him slaving away on this refitting of the Cinerama Dome Theatre down there. They're restoring it so it can show actual Cinerama movies-the screen is curved, and it'll be ninety feet wide. Only other place that can show true Cinerama is in Seattle.''
        "How many movies are there in Cinerama, anyway?"
        "Fewer than ten. Most people know How the West Was Won. Anyhow, Joe asks if I know anyone who'd be interested in his next project, and I thought of you."
        "I don't build 'em, I just draw 'em."
        "You make my point for me. What he needs is a new design for a very special kind of movie theater. See, the multiplex is dead as a concept. That big ole screen you've got in your living room is proof. People don't want to pay, what, nine-ten bucks to see essentially the same thing with no focus and some guy spitting popcorn in their hair. So Joe wants to tear the