Disclaimer: I did not make Sin City, or the Characters. They respectfully belong to Frank Miller and Dark Horse comics. Also, any characters I come up with that aren't mentioned in any of the comics, you can guess are mine.

Foreword from the Author: Ah yes, I'm getting ahead of myself but damnit I love how this is working out. It's like a bitchy, action filled noir story with some rather lame sarcasm involved. Rolls his eyes. Anyway, it's nice to see the Sin City Section pick up, pity I'll not be seen by most of the general public because of my rating. Shrugs Ain't no thing though, because I'm still writing, so what's the problem?

Sin City
Dirty White Lies
Chapter Five: One Cop, Two Cop

It was starting to get dark on the way back to the Bar. So far things had gone to plan. Renveau and his little syndicate boys had been working around the clock to find me. I didn't mind the fact that I couldn't be seen around the upper north side. The place had enough appeal to me as a steamy shit sandwich. A hand grabbed my shoulder and on reflex I reached back for the arm attached to it. The barrel of a revolver pressed up against the back of my spine and I heard the trigger pull back. Ah shit…and things were going so well.

"DJ Kirra. Huh, I could've sworn you were dead."

"Officer Richards, nice to know you're still able to walk as silent as a graveyard." I responded.

I felt Officer Richards give me that smug look of his, "Still has the wit too."

"Skip the bullshit." I answered shortly.

"Word on the street is you capped Mark Aski. This true?"

"You want me to go before a judge and tell you? Because I won't otherwise."

Richards spun me around and looked at me, "You think I'm going to just arrest you because you killed some sleazy accountant who worked for you're ex-boss. Come on DJ, you know cops better then that."

"You're right, I do. I know them as corrupt, morally challenged and last I remember wife beaters too." I said recollecting.

Richards' lip rose in a spike of anger, I just hit every cop's soft spot. A couple months ago, a two-bit hero cop named Jack Rafferty, or Iron Jack, was killed in Old Town. The cops had no proof and the truce stayed up. I of course was still working with Renveau when it happened. He sent me out that very next night to go handle some cocks on the edge of our territory that'd just killed some of our guys. Anyway, after the whole death and mourning of that belittled piece of shit, some anonymous bastard stepped forward and told of how he used to beat up people. There was the typical public out cry and such; I didn't pay much attention, too wrapped up in work.

"That was a low blow." Richards said in a low tone.

"Yep, I know that, it doesn't change the fact that cops seem to be nasty pieces of work." I said crossing my arms, "So what do you want anyway Richards, I've shit to do, other then chat with you."

Richards holstered his .38 six-inch Smith and Wesson and looked down at the ground, "Truth is DJ, after Renveau capped you and declared you dead, the cops got worried. So far, you were just a little minor annoyance killing all the loser punks that seemed to haunt these shit bars and fucked neighborhoods. But after the news, we wondered who they would hire. If it was some fucked up mad dog killer, truth be told, we'd be in trouble with corpses popping up night and day with no end in sight."

"I see where you're coming from. So what do you want me to do about it? Hold your hand?" I asked.

Richards shook his head in a no, "No DJ, I came here to offer a truce and a bargain."

I raised an eyebrow at that, I knew the cops were corrupted and twisted, and the only truce they had been with Old Town because that was a place you couldn't win in. But a truce with my ass, I didn't believe.

"What the fuck're you talking about Richards?" I asked.

"I saying, we'll get off your back if you help us out." Richards said.

My eye narrowed in skepticism, still seemed fishy, "So you want me to kill Renveau?"

"Exactly, that fat fuck has had us by the balls and is using us like a baseball bat to knock out his competition. All the others are getting sick of it, including the chief of police and District Attorney. Since you seem to be on the high road to revenge, we want you to kill him, in exchange; you're exempt from any crime you commit in the process including the murder." Richards explained.

"So I've amnesty to all criminal actions if I kill Renveau, you guys must have it out for him." I said.

"You've no clue. This bastard has threatened to kill our families if we even dare cross him or back talk; he's holding us hostages in a sense." Richard said breathing hard.

I might've been a cold bastard but I had my limits. They stopped at Families; women and children weren't involved, and they should never ever be. Even mentioning that they'd be harmed was low, even in the criminal world. One time, a guy named Dick Ferzelli whacked a kid because he wanted to get back at this guy for doing something to him. Out of sheer anger, I decided it was high time I showed that it wasn't smart to do that kind of shit. I broke into the guy's apartment and stuck his head in the stove and broiled his ass. Nobody asked me what happened to Dick Ferzelli after I killed him, they knew in the back of their minds what happened.

"Now Richards, if you're bullshitting, in anyway, I swear that I'll come back for you and turn your wife into a widow. That is my word." I said darkly.

"I don't bullshit about Families, especially innocent ones." Richards said.

I knew he wasn't lying, I could tell, he'd been telling the truth the whole time. His eyes never ever pulled off from me. The call sign of it was, if he looked above you, he wasn't telling the truth, if he looked to the ground for more then a few seconds, he was lying as well. He'd only stared at the ground for maybe one second tops, and that was because the subject was personal.

"Alright Richards, you better keep up your end of the bargain." I said.

He grabbed my hand and squeezed it, "You do this and we'll forgive you for all of it."

"Get off me man, I got my own personal reasons for nailing this son of bitch, but your assistance is appreciated." I said.

Richards said goodbye and left me standing there all alone. So far Renveau was becoming more and more of a jackass as my little crusade went farther along. Amazing as it was, I still had to climb farther up the shit tree. At the top was Renveau, one branch down was Doctor Levi, Pa Jennings and Me but I was kicked out of the tree.

Doctor Levi was an ex-plastic surgeon turned Hitman. All he did was kill people, and he was good at it. His logic was cold as ice, and his methods were more than questionable. I would know, that son of a bitch was sick in the mind. He'd kill people in their sleep using his fingers. He'd duct tape people's mouths shut and cut their throats. I know he cut off their noses sometimes and kept them as a collection. He'd take teeth as well. Taking him down would be a nasty, nasty job in its own.

Pa Jennings, a.k.a. The Shotgun Assassin. The guy used a shotgun kinda like a swordsman used a Katana. So far the guy had 27 notches on his barrel. His MO was to break into the room and get you from behind. That was his calling card. As lame as it was, he was the best of the three of us. He put that Roark Bastard's pet, Kevin, I believe, to shame. He knew the building plans; he memorized them and made sure to know the exits and quick routes. The cops knew he existed and they knew what he did, but they'd have about a good of a chance catching him as they did big foot.

Then of course there was me. Now since I began this little narrative, I never told who I was. I'll leave it to a couple of paragraphs considering I'm not writing a damn autobiography here.

I was born and raised in Basin City. The bastard son of some low life, I lived, breathed, and ate on the streets. I learned at a young age, you had to kill to live and that's exactly what I did. I never got a thrill out of it, unlike some of the other sick bastards in my line of work. I never knew my mother either; she ditched my ass as well because I bet she couldn't handle it.

My teenage life wasn't as shitty as my childhood. I was picked up by some small time thieves and low life street brawlers. The little lost boys were the gang name and it wasn't any farther from the truth. Half the guys were retired lone sharks or drunkards. This was where I quote, unquote lost my virginity. I learned the ways of the street. The pulse, the feel, the flow of the city. I no longer was some ratty looking snot nosed kid as much as I was a tough as nails street punk. My mentor, Devlin Jack Kirra was one of the guys' right hand men. He taught me a lot about the arts of stealing and robbing. I picked up my street fighting from around town learning the ropes as I went.

I later took on the name, DJ Kirra to pay respect to Devlin. He truly was my father figure in all the shit that I'd dealt with. It wasn't until I was 19 that I learned the Lost Boys were being taken by the fat fucker of the north simply called Renveau. The French bastard had figured to move his territory farther south despite the dangers of moving in on our territory. Now we held out for weeks again that son of bitch, the hit men were always the most feared things of his empire but we were never scared.

It was around week number four that things went wrong. Renveau sent, after I found out much later, Doctor Levi to take care of our leader. He did it with flying colors and we never knew what hit us. The whole week was put to shit as they started getting more and more heat and we started losing more and more guys. Then the worst decision they made was killing Devlin Jack Kirra; my father, my mentor, my friend. It was then that I declared all out war on Renveau. I killed, I maimed, and I destroyed. I sent throats back up north in boxes, I sent fingers in envelops.

I got the nickname Killer Kirra after I tore off a man's jaw and beat him to death with it. The name stuck and it soon became the truth. The fact of the matter was, I didn't stop, which was a mistake, after they'd quit coming. I took the fight to Renveau's doorstep and showed him exactly what it meant to fuck with me. I was too foolish to guess I'd overstepped my bounds and then of course my life went to shit. One week after I took the fight to Renveau, he sent enough thugs after me to topple an empire and I was nabbed like a treasure.

He promised to leave my corner of the city alone if I worked for him. Since I was a stupid self-sacrificing bastard back then, I said yes and agreed. He didn't waste much time in burning the whole stinking place down, and I watched. I owed Renveau a lot, more payback then he ever knew with enough hatred to put myself in a mental home for eons. Now though, it seems Renveau's dark little secrets were coming out, all because I was going to kill him like some bastard dog that'd just bit its master. Renveau in my eyes, was dead already.