Sin City: A Dame to Kill For

Metal screams.

Something hits me

square in the chest.

There's no up or down.

I don't weigh a thing.

I don't remember a thing.

This doesn't look good at all.

I've gone and done

something again.

Wish I could remember what.

How did I get here?

What have I done?

And why?

I must've forgotten my medicine.

I've got a condition.

It's bad to forget your medicine

when you've got a condition.

Caught myself a bullet.

The wound's fresh,

maybe an hour old.

I can't remember how I got it.

For the life of me,

I can't remember.

The projects.

Ugly as ever.

What the hell am I doing here?

Put the pieces together.

Remember.

It's Saturday,

so I must've started the night

at Kadie's joint.

Just another Saturday night.

Me and all the other losers

like me

sucking back the sauce and

drooling like fools over Nancy.

I was in a mood.

Even watching Nancy

couldn't cheer me up.

I get that way sometimes.

Empty in the gut,

hollow in that lonely place,

and wishing I had an excuse

to break somebody's face.

It was just another

Saturday night.

I was wondering

what I was gonna do with myself

when I smelled something awful.

Burning hair.

Burning meat.

Like these poor old winos didn't

have it bad enough already.

Damn frat boys.

Damn rich, spoiled brats.

Leave him be.

Crawl back into your bottle,

Bernini boy.

Why did he call me Bernie?

At least I know

they're bad guys.

Nothing wrong with

killing the bunch of them.

Hell, it's practically

my civic duty.

Oh, these wormy little twits.

I hate these guys.

God, this really hurts.

They made a run for it.

I did what any good citizen

would do.

Go to hell.

What the hell?

What the hell?

What the hell!

That's when I got my idea.

If they got back to their

university out in Sacred Oaks,

I'd never catch them.

I banged them around

like a hockey puck.

Cut them off at every turn.

I left them no choice

but to head over the hill

to the projects.

I could just turn my back

and leave them here.

My old neighbors would

take care of them but good.

But hell, why should

they have all the fun?

The projects.

I was born here.

My old neighborhood.

Damn

He's a dead man.

I'm telling you,

I'm one b*tch of a good shot,

and he's a dead man.

My old neighbors.

They let me know

they're watching.

I remind them who I am.

I tell them what to do.

No! No, please!

Please, I...

I've got money.

I've got a trust fund.

I can pa)'-

You'll pa)'-

HEY-

Before, when you shot me,

you called me Bernie.

Why did you call me Bernie?

Bernini.

It's a brand name.

That coat

you're wearing.

It's a Bernini.

Really? Oh.

Thanks for clearing

that up, kid.

Knife!

Bernini, huh?

And one fine coat it is.

Somebody must've spent

a fortune on it.

I wonder who.

And while I'm at it,

where the heck

did I get these gloves?

I can't remember

for the life of me.

Poker.

Savage power

in gentlemen's hands.

It's a good game.

Now, who wants to play?

Sin City's

where you go in with your eyes open...

Or you don't come out at all.

But a city's like a woman

or a casino.

Somebody's gonna win,

and it's gonna be me.

It's the kind of place

your father doesn't want

to talk about.

But where I come from,

a father is a thing

no one seems to be able to find.

I was feeling lucky.

I'd won money

in joints all over town,

and I finally

made it to Kadie's...

...where the real score is.

What happened

to the show?

How's tricks, stranger?

Heads or tails?

Heads.

That's a trick.

That won't get you anywhere.

Follow the shiny object.

Where'd you come from, handsome?

Do me a favor

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