Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own anyone or anything, but the idea and plot of this one and only story and the main character, Kitten, but the rest goes to the 'god' Frank Miller. Frank rawks. And no, since I can't put anything 'bad' in the title, the title is NOT 'Three Dollars More', it's 'Three Dollar Whore'. Enjoy and tell me what ya think.

Three Dollar Whore

There's something about men that keep me coming for more, even after my lip's broken and my eye's swollen shut. My mom's said the same thing to me over and over again. "Look before you leap."

Yeah, well maybe I'm just crazy. Or maybe I'm just stupid. I like to think I'm just different, that's all.

You can call me 'Kitten', just like everybody else, just like he did, the guy lying underneath me. That's another thing about me, I've got a temper and a temper with a gun isn't a good combination. After all, it was his gun.

Did I tell you there's something about men? I just keep crawling back for more, even after I've spit out another tooth and tasted the fresh blood from my nostrils. Well, this time, my temper got the best of me. I tell you about my temper? It's a bad one. A woman with temper and a gun isn't something you wanna cross, but this time it happened.

For a few minutes it was all good, his hands on me, wanting me, needing me…and when he's done with me, he throws me out like some kind of bone for the dogs. I say "Come on, baby, give this little kitty another chance, why doncha?" in my sweetest, most convincing voice that I'm nothing but a three dollar whore.

"Who do you think I am?" The guys says, his name's Jerry and he's tall, dark, and handsome. "I paid you, now get out."

Then he hits me—I snap, like always, the gun is in his belt, where every cop keeps it. We fight, for a few moments, it's like making love all over again, but it's hate instead.

Finally the gun's in my hands, the guy's below me, I'm straddling him like I'm gonna give it to him hard, and then, I cock the gun, because it's only a finger away. I pull the trigger like it's nothing, like I've done it all before, and the guy's face is blown off. Blood's everywhere, no more of those dark brown eyes of his to scowl at me with, those hands are down, nothing to please.

At first I don't know what to do. I look at the gun; it's covered with crimson, just like my hand and my face. Without even thinking I stand up and grab my coat—I don't even take time to wash off—and I'm gone. Gone, just like that.

Everybody around here call's me 'Kitten', I say that? Sorry if I did, I have a bad memory, but if I didn't tell you, now you know.

I stop, trying to assess the situation. That guy was a cop. Or was he? My brain's shot to hell, I can't think, let alone try to remember. I've got this problem, it's a memory loss problem, it started when I was a kid. It's short-term memory loss, but it's not bad enough to make me forget everything.

My coat's warm on the cold, snowy night. I'm heading to Kadie's, I know people there, people who can help me. I get into the first car I see and pull out some keys, keys that don't look like mine, but what do I know? I can't remember how old I am half the time.

I pull out like I'm in a hurry, like I'm running from something, but I can't seem to remember what. All I know was that I wasn't in my apartment and that I'm heading for Kadie's, because I can sort whatever it is out there.

My hands are on the wheel, the right hand's covered in blood. God, what did I do? Somebody rough me up? I feel my face, it's fine, but there's some dried blood there, too.

In a hurry, I pull over, my breath's gone shallow, but I don't know why. I got this temper, it's killer. What did I do? I see the sign for Kadie's and get out, not remembering why I came, but knowing this was where I wanted to be.

I pull my coat around me, I see that it's clean, and I go around the unfamiliar car jaunting right on into Kadie's after a hard night's work. There's money in my pocket, enough for a pack of cigarettes and a drink. When I enter the bar, unfamiliar faces scan mine, they see the muck and grime on my face, they don't know what I've done and neither do I, but nobody's asking so I feel all right.

When I sit at the bar, the blonde starts talking to me like she knows me. "Do you know what I hafta to put up with, Kitten?" She's yapping away as I get my cigarettes and a full glass of high priced wine. "If it ain't some slob grabbin' my ass, it's my boss, and you know what else? Jackie-Boy comes strollin' in like he owns the damn place. Some kinda pigs men are, right, Kitten?"

"Right." I say and then it clicks. "Shellie—you got a light?"

"Yeah." She pulls a lighter from her pocket and flicks it open. "Hey, somethin' the matter, Kitten? You don't look so good?"

When I pull up my right hand, blood staining it, she looks at it like it's nothing. Basin City's seen a lot like this. "Rough night, hun?"

"Yeah," I assure her, the cigarette in my hand is shaking, "yeah, rough night, Shellie."

A piece of my hair falls into my face, it's red, like the blood on my right hand. I forgot about the blood. I have this problem, short term memory loss it's called, but it's not so bad.

I get up, Nancy's swinging that rope of hers while those goofy men stare at her with their hands on their packages and their minds in places they can't be, except for Marv. Marv's a good guy. As I pass by, he doesn't even throw me a glance, but I don't mind because Nancy's got his attention and Marv deserves it. He's a good guy, a bit rough, but a good guy.

Just as I reach the alley, the shriek of the sirens hit me, and I see the lights—flickering blue and red, like the blood on my hand. That's when it hits me, I don't know why, but I just run. I'm running so fast and far without even knowing what the hell I'm running from. I know the police are there for me, but I don't know why.

I manage to evade the pigs and I get the nearest taxi. The snow's starting to dissipate. "Where to, sugar?" The guy asks as I give him a twenty.

"Old town." I say, knowing the cops won't follow me there.

The guy winks at me in reply. "Sure thing."

One last time I glance back and see the lights fade away as we race towards the edge of town. Time passes quick and slow at the same time—lights flash by, my mind's racing, but my hearts lugging on, making ever second an hour until the car comes to a screeching halt.

My hair flies into my face; it's red, like the blood on my hand. I look down to my right hand, it's still stained. "You gonna get out, honey?"

I stare at the man, for a minute I think I'm somewhere else, I feel like I'm gonna explode. Everybody just uses me and throws me out, but that's who I am and who I'm supposed to be. I've got a soft spot for men; no matter how mean they are to me I can't stop myself from coming back even after they've put me in the hospital. My Mom tells me to "Look before you leap" and I think I should listen to her more often.

With a kind smile, I thank the man and leave the car. I'm back at home, or at least what I've been calling home. Somewhere, off in the city, I can hear the faint whistles of the police, but I'm not worried. I haven't done anything wrong, yet. By the way, my name's Kitten.