Title: Sin City: Family Values.
Author/Artist: Frank Miller.
Genre: Graphic novel, fiction, crime.
Publication Date: 1997.
Summary: There's a kind of debt you can't ever pay off, not entirely. And that's the kind of debt Dwight owes Gail. The girls of Old Town have their own family values, their own laws-and when someone too dumb to know better breaks them, an example needs to be set. Dwight's got his own reasons for taking the job, and deadly little Miho... Miho likes to play with them a little first.
My rating: 7.5/10.
♥ "And I gotta take offense at you call me a slob. Yeah, I was enthusiastic. Yeah, I had myself one whale of a good time--but there was nothing sloppy about the way I fired out of that moving car. It was damn sharp shooting and there's nobody who can say it wasn't. I was Wyatt Earp. I was nothing short of brilliant. There wasn't one bullet I fired at that chauffeur that didn't punch a hole right through him. Amateur night this wasn't. My hands were steady as all hell. I was Wyatt Earp."
"Wyatt Earp wasn't known for using a machine pistol."
"Pistols. I had two of them. It was better than sex. Twin uzis, chattering like jack-hammers, kicking and kicking--my shoulders jerking and jerking with each kick!"
"Sounds plenty erotic."
"I'm telling you, man. Better than sex. It was like unto a work of art."
♥ A woman's scream wafts up from far below, tiny, fragile as a Christmas-tree ornament. Muffled by miles' distance, a pistol pops off six rounds. The scream dies. Then, children's laughter, cruel, tinkling like chimes. The sound belongs in a schoolyard. I hate the projects. They make me sick.
The projects. They're the result of the grandest social welfare initiative in Basin City's history. Construction was well under way when the labor problems started. The city's been negotiating a new contract with the plumbers union for the past fifty years. Nowadays, the projects are home to the hopeless and the crazy--and a favorite setting for bad business.
You couldn't ask for a better place to commit a few murders.
♥ There's no such thing as silence.
They say there is, up there in outer space. But not down here. Wherever there's air, there's something to breathe it. Something that makes noise.
Even at the city's angry shouts and honking horns and whining sirens fall away behind us, country noise rises in a chorus. Crickets chirp. Bullfrogs croak. A horny coyote complains for all the world to hear. An owl swoops for the kiss, its horrid screech freezing some hapless field rat in its tracks. And they say the city never sleeps.
...He gives with a muffled gurgle, his final breath whispers out his nostrils. There's no such thing as silence.