Sex is complicated. It can be loving, friendly, or angry. It can be bored and boring. Willing or not willing. It can be just bad or a chance to reach out and touch God. But sex is not meaningless. There is no such thing as meaningless sex. Whether they're making love, having sex, or fucking, people have come together for a moment in time. How can that be meaningless, even if the whole meaning is that someone had an itch to scratch? In a perfect world, both people get off. Too bad there's no such thing as a perfect world.

Gail had left after writing her cell number on Rose's whiteboard. It hung on the refrigerator surrounded by an extensive refrigerator magnet collection. The whiteboard had previously hosted only a scrawled message which said, "Impotence: Nature's way of saying 'no hard feelings.'" Miho left with her. The next time they saw the little assassin, she'd be sitting on the roof of the building at the corner of Bleaker and Browning watching them leave Old Town, but she'd be watching over the apartment until then even if they didn't see her.

Carmel noticed Marv reading the message and spoke up from the couch, "Sharon loves bumper stickers." She smiled a little. "She'll see one she likes and when she comes home, she writes it down until she sees a new one that makes her laugh. She's been doing it for years."

"Sharon?" Marv grunted, "Why does she call herself Rose?"

Carmel joined him in front of the refrigerator. At first he thought she had come to read the bumper sticker wit, but with a soft hand on his arm, she moved him aside to open the refrigerator and pull out a beer. There was a bottle opener refrigerator magnet next to the whiteboard, which she used to open her drink.

After a pull on the bottle, Carmel answered, "Rose is a play on her name, you know, Rose of Sharon? From the Bible?" Marv could almost see her thinking that there was no way this big lug knew anything about the Bible. "Nevermind."

"Song of Solomon. I remember." Marv's face, which could charitably be described as resembling a pile of gravel, split in a broad and surprisingly white smile. "I was a Catholic school boy." He glanced down at the cross he habitually wore around his neck. "A long time ago."

"You're a man of many surprises, Mister…?"

"Just Marv."

"Well, Just Marv, you're quite a guy. Not everyone would drop everything he was doing just to help a prostitute he didn't even know." She took another swallow of her beer and noticed the way his eyes had followed the bottle up to her lips, "Do you want some?"

Marv snapped out of the almost hypnotic effect of her lips and eyes, "Huh?" Carmel was holding the bottle out to him. "Beer. Yeah, a beer would be good." He took the bottle from her and raised it to his lips. For a moment, he could smell her lipstick, and for another moment, it was her taste in his mouth before the flavor of the beer overrode it.

Carmel smiled, "It's the least I can do." But her eyes clouded quickly as her mood shifted. "She's with them right now. I can't stand it." Her shoulders shook until she gave into her tears.

Marv held his hands away from his body when she leaned into him and began to sob against his chest. The giant man looked down at the woman clinging to him and patted her shoulder awkwardly before tentatively putting his arms around her.

"You have to help her, Marv. Don't let them hurt my sister."

"I won't, Carmel. I'll take care of you and Sharon." He promised it and he meant it. Always was a sucker for the dames.

•••

I don't know how it happened. One minute she was crying in my arms about 'help her' and 'don't let them hurt her,' and the next she was all over me. I've been with a couple of dames. It's never been anything special, mainly just two really drunk people and the woman's so looped she doesn't care about my ugly mug. This was something else.

It was the kind of sex people have when they hate each other and can't help fucking anyway. The kisses were one step away from drawing blood; when she pushed her body down against mine, it felt like she was trying to push me right through the mattress; when I put my hands on her breasts, I left bruises.

I don't hurt women, and I don't leave marks on dames. This was something crazy. By the time we were done, she was bruised, I was bruised, the sheets were spotted with blood from where her nails had raked my back and shoulders. I ached as bad as I have after some brawls.

Yeah, it felt good. She got off. I got off.

It still felt wrong. Dirty. Angry sex is too much like hitting a woman for me to feel good about what we'd done. I got a condition. I'm not a bastard. And I should be grateful, not angry when a woman lets me near her with the kind of guy I am. Maybe she was just angry about what her sister was going through and taking it out on me. I shoulda known better.

•••

The phone finally rang. Marv and Carmel had been sitting silently on opposite sides of the living room. They hadn't spoken since Marv had gotten out of bed and showered and put band-aids on some of the deeper scratches Carmel had left on his shoulders. Marv couldn't read Carmel, but he felt like a heel and he wouldn't blame her at all for hating him after he'd been such an ass.

Both of them were grateful for the break in the silence and the end of the waiting. Carmel gingerly picked up the phone and said, "Hello?" She glanced at Marv before looking at the floor. "Yes. Yes." She looked around for a piece of paper and a pen and found both in a drawer of the table where the telephone receiver sat. "I'm ready." She began writing quickly, then hung up.

She handed Marv a set of car keys, "Mine. My car's parked in the apartment building's garage downstairs." Her hands were shaking and the keys jingled as she handed them over. "I'm too nervous to drive."

She stopped at the TV to pop out the DVD that had Sharon's plea for her sister's help. With Sharon's diary and the incriminating DVDs tucked into her purse, Carmel was ready to go.

The drive was uneventful despite the pouring rain. He leaned his head out of the car's window as they passed Bleaker and Browning and saw the pale oval of Miho's face watching them. He waved, but she didn't acknowledge him, sitting quietly in the downpour as though it bothered her not at all.

He was drenched when he pulled his head back inside the car and the windows steamed up when he rolled his back up. Rain was so damned unnatural here. Miho looked to be the only one in Sin City who wasn't bothered by all this wet at this point.

The directions were easy enough to follow and brought them to the warehouse studio that Sharon/Rose had escaped from and later described to Gail and Miho.

Marv went in first, with Carmel following close behind him. At the end of a short hallway was a single closed door that opened for Marv right away. Inside was the studio where Robson's little horror movies were created and recorded.

Sharon was seated facing the door when they entered. It looked like Robson had learned from Sharon's last disappearing act. This time she was duct taped to the chair. Her arms and torso were practically mummified in the silver tape. Marv groaned inwardly. That was going to be a bitch to get off and he didn't want to spend any more time here than he had to. He was more worried though that he didn't see anyone else. Were he and Carmel walking into a trap? He had assumed so since the beginning, but his adrenaline was really going now that they were there.

Sharon was conscious and her eyes widened when Marv came through the door. He saw her looking behind him for someone and hurried to reassure her. "I got your sister here safe and sound. Let's give your guys the book and discs and then let's get the hell out of here."

Sharon still looked past him and her brow furrowed, "Where is she?"

Marv glanced over his shoulder at Carmel in time to see her gun pointed straight at his head. "He thinks he means me."

Life got very loud for a gunshot moment. Then it was over.