The Black Dahlia Page #8

For messing up Nash...

So,

on the night that he went to the

Olympic to settle an old score

you tracked him there.

Like a dog.

I've been pointing my gun

at a lot of people this week.

I haven't had a chance

to shoot anybody yet.

What do you think?

I think you'd rather f*** me

than kill me,

but you don't have

the guts to do either.

You're a boxer, not a fighter.

You're a murderer.

Of my partner.

A murderer?

Of Lee Blanchard?

You should thank me

for Lee Blanchard.

If it weren't for me,

you wouldn't

have had the balls

to f*** your partner's girl.

You don't talk

about them, okay?

Wait. I forgot.

You don't f*** her anymore

because you'd rather

f*** me.

You don't talk about them.

You chose me over her.

You'll choose me over him.

He was going to take

Daddy's money and leave,

leave all of you.

You'd never shoot me.

Don't forget who I look like.

Because that girl,

that sad, dead b*tch,

she's all you have.

No.

Madeleine was wrong.

I had others.

Ones I'd loved

and ones who'd loved me.

People I'd betrayed and people

I needed to protect.

And, for the first time

in my life,

I had people that knew that,

for the briefest of times,

in the darkest of places,

I had been so,

so good at some things.

Come inside.

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