Frank Miller

An old man dies. A young woman lives. A fair trade. I love you, Nancy.

Sometimes the truth doesn't matter like it ought. But you'll always remember things right. That's gonna mean a lot to me. But stay away, Nancy. They'll kill you if you don't stay away. Don't visit me. Don't write me. Don't even say my name.

Sure, Bob. You'll call for back-up. And we'll sit on our hands while that Roark brat gets his sick thrills from victim number four. Victim number four! Nancy Callahan. Age 11. She'll be raped and slashed to ribbons. And that back-up we're waiting on will just happen to show up late enough to let Roark get back home to his U.S. Senator daddy and everything will be fine until Junior gets the itch again.

Nancy's car. Six miles from the farm. "Nobody but me can keep this heap running" she told me. Good girl. The car stalled out on that yellow bastard and you didn't tell him how to start it up again. You kept your mouth shut. I'll bet Junior was furious.

Just one hour to go. My last day on the job. Early retirement. Not my idea. Doctor's orders. Heart condition. Angina, he calls it. I'm polishing my badge and getting used to the idea of saying goodbye to it. It and the 30 odd years of protecting and serving and tears and... blood and terror... triumph it represents. I'm thinking about Ilene's slow smile, bout the thick, fat steak she picked up at the butchers today. I'm thinking about the one loose end I haven't tied up. A young girl who's out there somewhere, helpless in the hands of a drooling lunatic.

The Fire, baby. It'll burn us both. It'll kill us both. There's no place in this world for our kind of fire. My warrior woman. My Valkyrie. You'll always be mine. Always… and never.

Most people think Marv is crazy. He just had the rotten luck of being born in the wrong century. He'd be right at home on some ancient battlefield swinging an axe into somebody's face. Or in a Roman arena, taking his sword to other gladiators like him. They woulda tossed him girls like Nancy back then.

This time I can't bring myself to tell him to shut up. Sure he's an asshole… Sure he's dead… Sure I'm just imagining that he's talking. None of that stops the bastard from being absolutely right. I don't have a chance in hell of outrunning this cop. Not in this heap. The only question left is whether I'm gonna kill him or not. Tough call. For all I know, he's an honest cop, regular guy. Working stiff with a mortgage, a wife and a pile of kids. My hand moves all on its own, sliding on of my guns to my lap and thumbing back the hammer. I don't know what to do…

She almost yanks my head clean off, shoving my mouth into hers so hard it hurts. An explosion that blasts away the dull, gray years between the now and that one fiery night when she was mine.

Miho. You're an angel. You're a saint. You're Mother Teresa. You're Elvis. You're God. And if you'd shown up about ten minutes earlier, we'd still have Jackie-Boy's head.

It wasn't "Stop." Shellie wasn't saying "Stop." If I had waited and listened to her, I would've known. I could've warned the girls to go easy. To settle for scaring them off. Shellie didn't say "Stop," she said "Cop." He's a *cop*. Detective Lieutenant Jack Rafferty. "Iron Jack" the papers call him. A goddamn *hero cop*.

Dozens of them. Armed to the teeth. I'm outnumbered. Outgunned. But the alley is crooked, dark, and very narrow. They can't surround me. Sometimes you can beat the odds with a careful choice of where to fight.

It's your apartment. But be careful, Shellie, this clown's got big, mean drunk-on and he's got four friends out there in the hall, breathing hard and just as drunk as he is.

The night's as hot as hell. It's a lousy room in a lousy part of a lousy town - I'm staring at a goddess. She's telling me she wants me. I'm not going to waste one more minute wondering how I've gotten this lucky. She smells like angels ought to smell, the perfect woman... the Goddess. Goldie. She says her name is Goldie.

That there is one damn fine coat you're wearin'.

I'll stare the bastard in the face as he screams to God, and I'll laugh harder when he whimpers like a baby. And when his eyes go dead, the hell I send him to will seem like heaven after what I've done to him.

This is blood for blood and by the gallons. These are the old days man, the bad days, the all-or-nothing days. They're back! There's no choices left. And I'm ready for war.

Hell's waking up every goddamn day and not even knowing why you're here. But I'm out now. It took someone who was kind to me getting killed to do it. But I'm out. And I know exactly what I'm gonna do.

He never screams. Even after the dog has its fill and his guts are hanging out, he never screams.

I'm on my feet for about ten minutes before the cops kick them out from under me. They don't ask me any questions. They just keep knocking the crap out of me and waving a confession in my face. And I keep spitting blood all over it and laughing at how many fresh copies they come up with. Then along comes this worm assistant district attorney who turns the recorder off and says if I don't sign their confession, they'll kill my mom. I break his arm in three places and I sign it.

I don't know why you died, Goldie. I don't know why and I don't know how, I never even met you before tonight. But you were a friend and more when I needed one. And when I find out who did it, it won't be quick and quiet like it was with you. It'll be loud and nasty. My kind of kill. And when his eyes go dead the hell I send him to will seem like heaven after what I've done to him. I love you, Goldie.

So, you were scared, weren't you Goldie? Somebody wanted you dead and you knew it. Well, I'm gonna find that son of a bitch that killed you, and I'm gonna give him the hard goodbye. Walk down the right back alley in Sin City, and you can find anything.

You crazy god-damn broad! Just take a look at this mug. Would any of you dames let me get close enough to you to kill you? None of you would, but Goldie… But she only did because she thought I could protect her. And I bet those cops didn't do a damn thing about those other girls, did they? But as soon as they had me for a fall guy they showed up, guns blazing. But they didn't get me and I've been killing my way to the truth ever since. So go ahead, doll, shoot me now, or get the hell out of my way.

I've been having so much fun I forgot to take my medicine.

I've been framed for murder and the cops are in on it. But the real enemy, the son of a bitch who killed the angel lying next to me, he's out there somewhere, out of sight, the big missing piece that'll give me the how and the why and a face and a name and a soul to send screaming into hell.

What if I'm wrong? I've got a condition. I get confused sometimes. What if I've imagined all this? What if I've finally turned into what they've always said I would turn into? A maniac. A psycho killer.