Murder.

It had all started with murder, for Roxie, at least. Death was one of those things that made life rough for other folks, but not for Roxie. She was golden, so far as murder was concerned.

Death had launched Roxie into fame like a rocket; it had been good to her. Roxie wasn't afraid of death, so long as it was somebody else's.

This time, it wasn't.

Greed.

The newspaper clippings lining the petite blonde's cell are yellowed; the tattered edges and smudged blurs across ink that dried a good three years ago are all reminders that she isn't news anymore.

Old news, that's what Roxie Hart is these days. She doesn't warrant a Billy Flynn these days, are you kidding? What with all the sick and deranged things going on in this town, in these times? Oh, no, a simple murder doesn't hardly rate anymore.

Almost makes a girl nostalgic for the old days. Almost, but not quite.

Corruption.

It's a pretty chic garter for a jailbird, but you wouldn't think twice about it once you knew that she'd stolen it. A little scrap of luxury snuggled up around her thigh; nothing that she'd bother to flash in the courtroom anymore, even if she did think it might change anybody's mind.

No, Roxie's got what you might call a sentimental attachment to this little circle of blue silk and you'd best believe that she's taking it to the grave with her.

Violence.

Nice girls don't murder men. Or women, for that matter, but Roxie figured that she'd forsaken her claim to being a good girl the first time she pulled the trigger on Fred. Then Velma had come along into her life and before she knew it, Roxie was doing all kinds of things that nice girls weren't supposed to do.

It might not have been a genuine sister act, but it was close enough. Fought like sisters and made up like lovers. The nail marks were hell to cover in their skimpy costumes, but Roxie was terribly clever with a powder puff.

Exploitation.

Whatever rakes 'em in, whatever takes 'em in. That was their motto, during the first months of the act. Of course, it didn't exactly ring true after the ticket sales dwindled as the rest of the world slowly forgot who Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly were. There were other scandals, other sensations and fresher names to be torn from the headlines and pasted up on the marquees.

So they used what they had, a couple of hot sisters with a lukewarm act and hearts like ice. It worked, for some. But in the end, it wasn't enough.

Adultery.

Somehow, cheating on Amos had never felt wrong and it certainly hadn't been regrettable until Fred wound up dead. Amos had been Roxie's husband and it seemed somehow permissible to cuckold a husband. Besides, he hadn't really minded so much, had he?

That was one of the differences between Amos and Velma, Roxie had learned. The other differences, on the whole, were a lot more pleasant.

Treachery.

How many times did she have to say it? She wasn't guilty. It was a crime of passion, not at all premeditated. Why was the gun there? Why, self defense, of course. You don't know what Velma was like when she got angry, she was like a wildcat! And.and you don't expect me to not defend myself, do you?

The funny thing about justice was that it didn't believe you were very likely to keep killing people in self-defense. It just wasn't likely, the second time around, no matter how sweet and frail you made yourself out to be. After a certain point, you were going to have to admit what you were and you'd swing for it.

Oh, she wasn't going to dance her way out of this one, Roxie knew that much. Her shoes were worn down at the heel and even that flash of blue garter was frayed by now. No Amos, no Billy, nobody who was going to get her out of this.

As for Velma, Roxie had a feeling that they'd be seeing each other again real soon.