Disclaimer - Frank Miller owns all of the Sin City universe and all it's characters.
This is my first stab at a Sin City fan fic. I noticed that there really are not as many as there should be so I might as well write one. R&R please.
Made to Pay
By James Bland
My breathing is like a great dane's. It's slower than a normal dog's, but louder too. The taste of dead flesh fills the air like a rancid fart. My face is covered in splatters of blood like oil on a mechanics shirt. Beneath me, Antonio Marchese is strewn across the concrete of an underground car park, his head looks like a bloody autopsy. He made me do it. If hadn't fought back, it would have been quick, mostly painless. If only he hadn't wrestled the blade out of my hand, if only he hadn't spotted my blazing eyes in the window of his car, if only he hadn't tried to stab me with his car keys, then I wouldn't of had to rip the side mirror out of its socket and bludgeon his head in with it, over and over and over again. He just wouldn't stop breathing, you see, wouldn't stop sitting up for more, more pain.
Amazing what a man will do to save his own skin, take the pain, cling on to life, just so he can see his kids again. But a man can only take so much and there's no limit to what I can give. Now I'm standing over his body, I've just killed a man I didn't even know, a man I never even knew existed till this morning. How far have I fallen?
"Nice work, Dwight", an all too familiar voice says behind my back.
"Manny"? I say, turning to face the old fucker. He holds a cigarette in his right hand and it occurs to me I've never seen him without one. Maybe he thinks it makes him look cool. Maybe he's just an addict. I wipe my brow, smearing more of Antonio's blood across my forehead. "What the hell is going"?
"Nothing going on", Manny says as he approaches me, smiling a lawyer's smile, "Jesus Christ, Dwight, you're way too paranoid. It's just business as usual".
Business. Humph, business ain't a good word in Sin City. When ever someone says business, something bad's gonna happen.
Manny walks passed me, passed Antonio, passed Antonio's car. This isn't good. So why don't I just get the fuck out? Maybe that fight took more out of me than I thought it did. Maybe that blood on my forehead isn't just Antonio's blood, maybe it's my blood. Oh crap, it is my blood.
"Just business Dwight", Manny says again, stopping at the fire exit; ironic. For the first time ever, I see Manny without a cigarette. He just threw it at an oil slick that's dripped off Antonio's car. I should have spotted that oil slick. I'm off my game today; did they drug me or something?
It's like the cigarette's moving through a slideshow; just land already, kill me. Just watching it move so fucking slowly is killing me.
Finally it lands, explodes in my face. Can't see Antonio anymore. I think my back is broken too. My new face feels like it's melting off. My hair is on fire. Are my arms still in? I hope so; I like my arms, they come in handy every now and then. Next thing I know the fire's put out. My blood's all over the place, more of my blood than Antonio's; he's so burned up you'd have better luck getting a toaster to bleed.
I think I'm in a hospital. That's pretty good. That means I'm gonna live if history proves anything. Marv lived and he got shot up worse than a target in precinct 11 on 4th and 6th.
As they patch me up, the anaesthetic wares off way too fast. All I can think about is what I'm gonna do to the bastard that did this to me, and who I gotta kill to get to him. More important than that, who do I have be friends with to make the assholes burn?
