I don't own Death Wish.
I can now go down the street.
If there was one thing he liked, it was that at night nobody was jumping out at him, but even if they did, they wouldn't have time to regret it.
Ignoring the headlines about the vigilante killings that were down to him, Paul Kersey walked down the street towards one of the local stores. He had almost finished redecorating the apartment - thanks to the trip to Arizona for that job with Ames for that job, he had been forced to abandon the place when he had received the contract so he could find some time away from the city.
After his wife was murdered when their home was invaded and his daughter was raped, Paul had just wanted to get away from New York for a while so he could immerse himself in his work as an architect, so when he did return home then he would be in a sounder mind to deal with the apartment and he was right, he was; when he returned to New York, he had found it in himself to redecorate the apartment and he was nearly finished.
But when he had returned home he had not just come back with a new resolve. Paul had returned with a gun, a gift from Ames Jainchilli, as thanks for what he had done, and in recognition of his marksmanship skills. Paul had broken the vow he had given to his mother after his father was shot in that accident, and his mother, desperate to make sure another accident didn't happen, made Paul promise her never to use a gun again. He had agreed and he hadn't touched a gun since.
Until now.
He had broken his promise, but Paul no longer cared. After the loss of his family, Paul found it hard to care anymore. When he returned to New York from Arizona, Paul immediately felt himself change.
He was angry, with the system.
He was angry that nothing was happening to the muggers in the city; instead of dealing with any of them, the police just ignored them.
The sight of his changed apartment as he gladly painted over the graffiti was proof of that.
But ever since he had returned, no - ever since he had seen those cowboys shooting their guns, Paul had wondered what it would be like to get justice for his family if he went out into the streets….
And he had.
He might have cried and puked everywhere after he whacked that mugger in the street with that coin-filled sock, but it had been a step in the right direction; he had been amazed by the look of terror on the mugger's face, and he knew that part of the reason they succeeded was that nobody was doing anything about them. They felt they could get away with it, but that was before he started killing them. The attitude people had towards his vigilantism were mixed, of course - there were some people who admired and cheered him on, but there were others who called him a criminal. Paul didn't pay attention to any of them. He had little doubt there were people who had suffered because of muggers in the past, and they were inspired by their actions while they were openly frustrated by the police for their lack of action, or just simply tired of being frightened of going out at all hours of the day, and were now picking up weapons like guns, baseball bats, and knives to go after muggers.
Paul didn't care.
After the brutal way he had slaughtered those muggers on the subway train, he had really poked the hornet's nest, but even with the police actively looking for him, mugger crime was going down since they were so scared of how many were dying.
