The Kingdom of Killain—
—that’s the Duarte, a big-city hotel at the crossroads of the world.

The grifters, tough lads, girls on the make—all learn to stay away from Hotel Duarte because Johnny Killain’s in charge there. That’s his turf—a flick of his fist makes broken guys and dolls.

So Johnny patrolled the dark corridors in peace—until the night he rounded a bend and looked murder square in the eye.

The blonde lay on the bed in 609, her face a puffed, blue, strangled horror. Her name was Ellen Killain, and she was Johnny’s ex-wife. His still beloved ex-wife.

The Kingdom of Killain—
—that’s the Duarte, a big-city hotel at the crossroads of the world.

The grifters, tough lads, girls on the make—all learn to stay away from Hotel Duarte because Johnny Killain’s in charge there. That’s his turf—a flick of his fist makes broken guys and dolls.

So Johnny patrolled the dark corridors in peace—until the night he rounded a bend and looked murder square in the eye.

The blonde lay on the bed in 609, her face a puffed, blue, strangled horror. Her name was Ellen Killain, and she was Johnny’s ex-wife. His still beloved ex-wife.

The Kingdom of Killain—
—that’s the Duarte, a big-city hotel at the crossroads of the world.

The grifters, tough lads, girls on the make—all learn to stay away from Hotel Duarte because Johnny Killain’s in charge there. That’s his turf—a flick of his fist makes broken guys and dolls.

So Johnny patrolled the dark corridors in peace—until the night he rounded a bend and looked murder square in the eye.

The blonde lay on the bed in 609, her face a puffed, blue, strangled horror. Her name was Ellen Killain, and she was Johnny’s ex-wife. His still beloved ex-wife.