Rich Tommaso's Clover Honey plays with the conventions of the comics form and genre fiction: what looks like a trendy, shoot-'em-up mobster story is actually a contemporary reality-based story about growing up weird, paranoid, and fatally Catholic in an Italian-American family.
Trevor is Abigail's reluctant mentor in the hit-man business. When the mob thinks Trevor absconded with some of their money, Abigail is given the assignment of tracking him down. But, the bitchy, spoiled Abigail dilly-dallies and takes her sweet time to find Trevor (who's cleverly hidden himself in the bowels of a Newark ghetto), discovering along the way that the life of a bounty-huntress and hit-woman isn't quite as glamorous as the media paints it. She finally weasels Trevor's whereabouts out of a third party, but in the end, Catholic guilt and signs of maturity ruin any satisfaction from a job well done.
If Martin Scorsese, Jim Jarmusch, and Quentin Tarantino huddled for a story conference, they might have come up with I, a sobering tale where casual violence and a trendy contempt for human life finally come home to roost.