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Message: <blockquote data-quote="johndaw16" data-source="post: 2676693" data-attributes="member: 12033">Fistful of SteelA .44 full of bulletsFace full of paleEyes full of emptyA stare full of nailsThe roulette ball rolls alone on the wheelA mind full of fireAnd a fistful of steelConsciousness teased Miller once more, pain goading his mind from its retreat.  There were sounds, like a voice but garbled.  Like someone yelling underwater.  But the pain drowned out thought and Miller couldn’t make sense of the words.  Someone was kicking him.  A groan escaped Miller, as he took another kick.  Unknown hands dragged him to his feet, and threw him against the car.  The car!  The woman!  Miller opened his eyes, just in time to see the bejeweled hand before it slapped him across the face. Miller’s attacker was a dark Latino man in a suit, creases razor sharp.  Guess I found the owner of the car.  The man paused to wipe Miller’s blood on the Di Meo.  Miller opened his mouth to protest, but the man hushed him pulling a revolver from his coat.  “You do have cahones, letting yourself pass out next to my car.”  The man talked with his hands, the revolver weaving about as he spoke.  He continued to drown out Miller’s voice.  “No, no, you are going to be quiet puta.  You are going to listen to me.  And then...you’re going to give me answers.”  Miller slumped against the car, his arm draped over the passenger door, too beaten to protest more.  The man moved to Miller’s left, leaning in to look at the woman’s body laid across the backseat.  “Do you know who she was, man?  C’mon dude man…SMACK…pay attention.  She was my woman, but you probably knew her as Joliette Kane.”    Recognition dawned on Miller slowly.  He was starting to get dizzy again.“I see you’re starting to understand now.  Her papita, he’s a powerful man, he’d kill you for doing this to him.”  The man finished examining Joliette’s body and turned to face Miller again.  “But…her papita won’t get the pleasure.  No, I will get the pleasure…the slow pleasure.  You wouldn’t know it but you have cost me an’ da Havens a lot’a money.”  Sh-t…I’m dead.  Miller cast about; there was no one for miles, except for the man’s driver sitting in that second Poseidon smoking.  With a sigh of resignation, Miller looked the man in the eye and did the only thing he could do... he desperately kicked his leg out.Miller’s kick slammed the rear door shut, catching the man’s right knee in the door jam.  The man cursed, taken completely by surprise.  Miller was on the man before he could bring the revolver up.  He grabbed the man’s gun arm in one hand and snagged the man's greasy hair in the other.  They grappled, spinning away from the car.  Recalling every dirty desperate trick in the book Miller slammed his forehead into the man's face.  The face gave way with a  crunch and spray of blood.  The driver was yelling now.  Miller was losing his grip on the man’s arm, his sweaty palms slipping.  He groped frantically with his other hand, feeling across the man’s ruined face.  Broken nose, bloodied lips.  There…an eye socket.  Miller plunged his thumb in, twisting up and across.  The man cried out, one high long note, jerked and fell back bringing Miller down on top of him.  Miller rolled off the man, scrambling for the gun.  He came up on his knees wincing as he heard the driver’s gun.  Miller blindly fired…eyes closed screaming for his life.  ClickThe cylinder was empty.  Miller was alive.  He stood, felt a cold trickle down the side of his thigh.  The driver was sprawled across the hood of the second Poseidon, his heart and lungs misted across the windshield and pavement.  The man’s bloodied socket stared up at him.  Miller fell into that bloody well, his world spinning, and doubled over heaving.</blockquote>

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