The Assignment Page #3

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Anyway, I always trust

my instinct,

you know what I mean?

I'm not sure why, but I feel

kinda connected to you.

Big boys tell me

I'm a little crazy.

I got that for Halloween

a couple years ago.

It's weird, huh?

You-- you thought your life

was in danger?

Clearly there was

that possibility.

Criminal organizations

sometimes try to pass

an unpaid debt along

to other members

of the victim's family.

The men who hired

frank kitchen

to kill my brother

might have turned

him loose on me.

You hired bodyguards.

I did.

Three of them.

I even insisted

on a dress code.

I'm sorry, a dress code?

Yeah. Dark suit,

white shirt and tie.

I, of course, had to buy

their wardrobe for them.

They were all but one

ex-policemen.

But in the end,

all three of them

turned out to be worthless.

Question:
If you're rich,

and you loved

your brother so much

and he's in all this trouble

with all the wrong people,

why didn't you just

give him the money he owed?

I did. All of it.

And he went out

and bought paintings

and drugs

and pinball machines.

Gambled and partied,

squandered every penny.

Then he came back,

said he was sorry,

and asked me

for more money.

As a matter of principle,

i said no.

It was a mistake.

So you feel guilty

about his death?

No. Not for a moment.

My brother was a fool,

but he was also a unique,

eccentric, and talented man.

He just never seemed

to find his place

in the grand scheme

of things.

How's it going?

Uh, she's gotten

very chatty.

But evasive.

Keeps a lot of it

theoretical.

Right from the get-go,

as soon as she got here

she was the most anti-social

piss-ant on campus.

No communication, no jokes.

Just death stares

and a wall of ice.

Ladies and gentlemen,

let's give it up

for Dr. Rachel Jane.

Phi beta kappa.

Three degrees with honors.

Never married,

no children, thank god.

Let's see what happens tomorrow

if I turn the heat up a little.

Hello, doctor.

How are we feeling

this morning?

You can release

the arms, Hector.

Thank you.

If you'd indulge me

here for a moment,

I'd like to go back

and review the facts

of this case

as they pertain

to your criminal

involvement.

You're sounding

very serious, Ralph.

I thought we were

becoming friends.

Your brother,

Sebastian Jane,

the semi-celebrity playboy

socialite art collector,

pinball wizard,

occasional art critic,

drug addict, alcoholic,

etc., etc.

A little respect.

He had world-famous collections.

It is believed that

Sebastian Jane was murdered

by certain mob interests

to whom he owed money,

a lot of money,

and then,

according to the police,

there were several rumors

in the criminal world

that you had hired

local racketeers

to find out who the person was

that killed your brother.

This "killer,"

which, according to you

is a professional hitman

named frank kitchen--

now this is

getting tedious.

Help me, doctor.

We have a lot

of dead bodies,

but none of them are

traceable to your

frank kitchen.

Are you really saying

that because my brother

wasn't a very nice person,

that he deserves

to be brutally murdered

by this street trash?

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Wait, wait, you're

creating a straw man.

That is not

what I'm saying,

and you know it.

What are you

saying, Ralph?

You're becoming

such a tiresome bore

and such a confused person

that I find it difficult

to follow your thoughts.

I'm asking you if all this

wasn't really some sort

of classical

psychological transference

of your own personal

inadequacies.

This man you keep talking

about, this frank kitchen,

doesn't even

seem to exist.

That again?

-I mean, really?

-Yes, that again.

Doctor, I had the FBI

do a run on the name.

Nothing.

No frank kitchen,

no professional hitman

or anything even close.

No criminal record,

no fingerprints,

no record

in the armed services,

no driver's license,

no taxes paid.

No passports, nothing.

Dr. Jane.

Was all this because you had

a nonexistent sex life?

You were a kind

of medical wallflower.

The female equivalent of

some guy who was impotent.

Couldn't get it up.

This is just silly.

I've had sex when I wanted

and with whom I wanted

for my entire adult life.

And did you have sex with

your surgical assistant,

Albert Becker?

Yes, quite often.

Any time I wanted.

Oh. It was part

of his job?

He seemed to enjoy it.

I've never concerned myself

with my partner's pleasure.

Just knock one off

and back to your real work.

Yeah, exactly.

I see. To summarize,

in addition

to your academic

and medical achievements,

your personal sex life

has been quite wonderful.

I guess I'll just have

to take your word for it.

Yes, you'll just have

to take my word for it.

Admit it. Your lover,

Albert Becker,

turned out to be

a murderous lunatic,

and there is

no frank kitchen--

I'm sick

of this bullshit!

Don't you dare play

psychiatrist with me,

goddamn it!

There is a frank kitchen!

There is a frank kitchen!

Do you think that you're

some f***ing detective?!

You're nothing

more than a cheap,

second-rate bureaucrat!

My name's

frank kitchen.

It's not my real name,

but it's the one

I use for my work.

I'm making this account

of what happened to me.

I don't know.

Consider it a therapy session

for someone that, uh,

never liked talking much.

When I'm done

telling this story,

I'm gonna send it out

to my lawyer in Miami

and he's gonna

put it on ice,

in case after I'm dead

somebody wants to know

what really happened

to frank kitchen.

I got hired to do the job

by a mob rep in Miami.

I did good work.

Why the hell

would they be pissed?

And if they were pissed,

why not just give me a push

instead of this butcher job?

And who was this doctor?

And how was honest John

connected to her?

I had to get back

to the street.

I had to get

to honest John.

But I wasn't ready

to go straight to him.

I had to make sure I could

still make my old moves.

It's hard to go back

to being frank kitchen

when you look like a chick.

I had to tape

my swollen tits.

I had to sit down

to take a piss.

And the goddamn hormones

were making me soft.

If there was anything left

of frank kitchen...

It was his point-blank aim,

and I couldn't wait

to use it.

First guy on the list:

Earl Hawkins.

Long time

on honest John's payroll.

Earl runs the pimps

that run the hookers.

next came two Nicaraguans.

Emece trece guys.

They did a lot of heavy

lifting for honest John

over in the east bay.

Joe caddigan.

Miami said Joe was

honest John's main dope guy.

He imported smack,

and a lot of it.

Nobody was gonna miss him.

Hey, Joe.

Vladimir gorsky.

This guy was some kind

of Russian mafia reject.

He was in charge

of collections

on short-term loans

that honest John made

at sky-high rates.

Gorski's sideline

was raising dogs for fights.

But if a dog don't win,

then he and his trainer

kill the dogs.

You're the one who called

about buying a dog.

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