I don't own Death Wish.
The Subway Shootout.
Now the adrenaline which had rushed and surged through his body was wearing off which had started when he had attacked that mugger with the sock filled with coins, Paul had come to see it as a rush of excitement. Of pleasure for seeing justice done. For too long mugger crimes had been on the rise in the city, and it had led to the death of his wife, and the rape of his daughter.
What did it say that the muggers saw nothing wrong with breaking into a home, a place where they were meant to be safe and sound?
When he had left for Arizona for a job, Paul had just hoped to distract himself from the pain and grief caused by what had happened to his family, and now his wife was dead, and his daughter was in an institution where she would likely never come out of her vegetative state.
What did it say about a city that nobody would do anything about anything? Paul had lost count of the number of times he had visited the police station, and it reached the point where he found he didn't truly care if the police randomly arrested and fitted up a bunch of muggers for the crime; at least they'd be doing something constructive, and they might finally get somewhere by bringing down the crime rate, but no.
When he met with his client, Ames Jainchilli, he had opened up, spilling out his anger. Sympathetic, Ames had taken him to a Wild West town that had been recreated and was used in movies, and he saw the way the cowboys shot their enemies or anyone who was a threat.
When he had returned to New York, Paul had gone out and whacked a mugger in the face; the thug had run off, terrified. While he was shocked and horrified by what he had done, Paul couldn't help but be excited and even pleased by his actions, and ever since he had shot his first mugger and despite his guilt, Paul had come to find that it was fading.
He hadn't expected to deal with any muggers tonight; there were many muggers in the city who were terrified - according to the newspapers, although now he was starting to ask himself if any of it was true, or if the newspapers were receiving pressure from the authorities in the city to stop any more vigilante justice being meted out on them; it wasn't impossible, and Paul wouldn't put it past them if they took that step, it was logical enough, but even so he had hoped to go one night without shooting people.
No such luck.
The two muggers had come in through the carriageway doors, the moment he saw them Paul knew they were going to be trouble and since the only other passenger in the carriage was gone, he was the only logical target. They had come closer to him while he had pretended to focus on the newspaper before one of them armed with a flick knife had slashed the paper. Paul remembered how he had fooled the mugger into thinking he was frightened even as the mugger gestured for him to give him money, and then Paul shot him and his friend.
But as he got back home, Paul realised with horror that he had accidentally left his groceries back on the train. It wouldn't take the police long to look into the bag for the receipt, but with a bit of luck they wouldn't track him down.
