Disclaimer: SinCity is the property of Frank Miller.

It's nearly a month after Nancy sent waves through Pecos that she shows up again. When she's getting ready in the back I see the almost healed marks on her back.

'What happened?' I try not to sound too alarmed, but I have a bad feeling about those marks. I've been roughed up good and proper more times than I care to admit but I never seen anything like that before.

Nancy goes all quiet for a moment, 'Are they really noticeable?' she asks.

'Nothing the shitty lighting out there can't handle,' I reply.

I think back to the fella that Nancy wrapped herself around three weeks ago. Old guy…Grizzled. I took him for a cop when he first asked about her,

'This got somethin' to do with that stud muffin you were so happy to see the other night?'

She goes all funny for a second- stiff, like a man goes before he smacks ya one- then she lets it out in a long ragged sigh,

'He's dead,' she tells me, 'I loved him Shell, and now he's dead.'

I give her a hug and try to pretend I know where she's coming from. Truth is, I would be pleased as punch to find out that most of my so-called lovers were dead. I'd probably throw a party. But then again, I can't really pick a good guy from a crummy one- I don't know what it would be like to be with someone nice enough that you care whether they live or die.

'You could've taken more time off you know.' I tell Nancy, 'What's Kadie going to do- fire you? You bring half of these losers in every night.'

She smiles, 'I'm fine. I'll see ya out there.'

She leaves the dressing area and all of a sudden I'm reminded of that time she came in bruised in other places. She had already started her act, and the crowd was lovin' it. I pulled her off the stage when I saw the ugly purple mark on her inner thigh. I'd experienced marks like that myself, and I knew what they meant. She'd started crying before we even got to the back, and Marv took notice. Some college kid… Poor dumb bastard- But he shouldn't have messed with Nancy.

I watch her go, thinking about whoever did that and how dead they must be now. It's kind of funny because I bet Nancy could of taken them herself, she has a gun and knows how to use it. But something about her face tonight makes me think it was the cop. She'd loved him, and it had probably been enough. He'd looked capable of killing someone. I'll ask her about it sometime when she's done grieving, but for now I have my own problems.

It's a man. It's always a man. 'Dwight the Fright' the girls call him. They say that I'm a softie and I am. It's why I have such rotten luck with men. Ever since I was little I've tried my hardest to please the hardest men to please. Every time I fail I pick myself up (usually literally), wipe the blood off wherever they've made me bleed, and move on to the next one.

That's the problem with Dwight- He's not like the others.

I met him here at the club of course. He was standing in the doorway a little too long before coming in and I knew he'd be trouble. He walked in an already drunken stagger, falling into a booth in the back. I took him. The other girls won't have much to do with Dwight and his sobbing over that two-timing bitch of his, but I felt- feel bad for the guy. He's been done wrong by a member of my sex that doesn't know a good thing when it worships the ground she walks on and that makes him just up my alley.

We had sex at my place a couple of weeks ago, then again last night. He calls me 'Ava' when we're making love, he sobs when we're through, but all of the times I've seen him since he's been grateful, respectful, even kind.

It's a sad day when you love a man for not knocking you down.

But I do love Dwight. I love his broad shoulders and his haunted eyes. I love the way he looks when he falls asleep beside me. Like a newborn baby, he looks just like a newborn baby. I want to make him happy in a way I know I never will, but at the same time I'm more than happy to simply be there for him now. Besides… He's really good in the sack.

I check that my rouge isn't covering up my freckles too much and fluff my hair. Dwight's not here tonight which is a good thing since I don't want to dwell on what to do with him. There's a handsome swarthy type in his usual place, he's playing with a napkin and leering at the other girls while he waits. I approach him with a little more sway in my hips than usual and smile brightly,

'Hi sweetie, I'm Shellie,'

He looks up and the intensity of his stare overwhelms me,

'Hey baby, my name is Jack. How's about a brew and a phone number?'

I have a feeling that by the end of tonight this fantastic creature will have more than a number to remember me by…

A/N: Hmmm… Maybe Gail next? I love Shellie because she seems like the type that gets into a lot of trouble, but is always ready to point out when someone else is headed that way. R&R please!