Text: (Top Left) All the tears of all the angels in heaven were falling over this city. She wore the rain like a funeral shroud. She was in a sad state, this filthy prison I called home.
I was here for a reason. Joe "Bullets" Capone. He was inside drinking champagne and throwing around his dirty money while I stood in the rain smoking a soggy cigarette. But that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was I knew Bullets had a bad night coming his way, and he had no clue. He made me wait for it, though. My pack of cigarettes was long gone by the time Bullets staggered out the back door. I detached myself from the shadows, stepped right beside that pathetic excuse for a man.
"Long time, Joe."
Bullets looked up. His booze-soaked grin twisted into something less friendly. "You!"
He reached for the pistol under his jacket. A six-shooter with slugs big as my cigarette stubs. I'd done my homework. He barely had the piece out of its holster before I was on him. I wrestled it out of his hands, tossed it behind a dumpster. Bullets didn't like that. Game me one right in the gut. Wind rushed out of my lungs like a soul leaving a body. Through my wheezing, I could make out the slap of boots against water. Bullets was legging it. Had to get after him. Couldn't lose him. Not when I was so close. He had info I needed. The address of the last stop for this train called revenge. So I sucked in whatever air I could and took after him, through the twisting maze of alleyways. Two rats, but only one cheese. I pulled out my revolver. I was playing for keeps. "Don't make this hard, Joe!"
I caught up to him as he was dropping down the other side of a chain link fence. He sneered, teeth like rows of grey tombstones. He thought he was escaping. He thought he was safe.
My body slammed against the fence like a bird against a window. I clutched the thin metal, scrambled over it, the jagged ends of wire ripping through the sleeves of my leather coat and biting into skin. The pain was welcome.
Text: (Top Right) I dropped down in the alley and ran like a panther. At every blind corner, I expected a train can lid to the face. None came. Maybe Bullets hadn't liked what he saw in my eyes as I climbed that fence. I bet he wasn't smiling now.
Then I had him. A trapped rat trying and failing to wrench a locked door off its hinges. I levelled my gun at him. "You know what I want, Joe"
Bullets let go of the door handle, hands as up as they'd go, beseeching a higher power not to cast him down. "Come on, man. Ain't gonna bring your wife back."
"Can't hurt to try. Talk"
"Yeah, yeah. Sure thing. Sure-" Bullets lunged for his ankle. A crack of lightning from my hand and he was down in the gutter, clutching his belly.
I walked over. Calm as snow. I stood over him, watched his putrid blood mingle with the rivers of rainwater. "You talk, I call an ambulance."
His words were having a hard time getting through the pain. "You're insane, man. Insane!"
I raised my gun level with his eyes. "Try again."
"Okay, okay, okay!" You want the Big Man, yeah? I know where you can find him."
Blood pounded in my ears like war drums. All the killing, the sleepless nights, the booze, the countless cigarettes I smoked while ghosts swirled around me, all for this. The drums got louder.
Text: (Bottom Right): Bullets caught his breath, straining against the pain. Then he spilled his guts.
"MY NUMBER ONE FAN, IF I DON'T MAKE IT THEN I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT... NO I CAN'T SAY IT. CURSE MY CRIPPLINGLY SENSITIVE ARTISTIC NATURE!"
I left the alley and told the waiter on the curb that a guy had been shot. Didn't care what he did with that information. I had what I needed.
Additional Tidbits: The book on the shrine carries a similar thematic connection to the Alex Casey series written by Alan Wake, which in turn mirrors Remedy's Max Payne games. In both the books and the games, the main character's wife had been murdered, throwing him into an emotional search to find the killers.
The scene is not that dissimilar from Payne's chase with Vinnie Gognitti in the original Max Payne game.
