The Matador Page #2

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- No, no, you go.

- You're the one with the kids.

- And you're the one with a tree

in your kitchen.

You wanna flip another coin?

Come on somebody has to stay, I'll call

the minute I hear something.

- Call me sooner.

- Yeah.

- Oh, God!

- What?

Cell-phone,

I think I left it at the front desk.

- Watch my stuff for a sec?

- Yeah, yeah.

- So you're staying an extra few days.

- What?

- I couldn't help but overhear. - So you're

spying on my personal conversations now?

Something about the a**hole-buyers

not being completely convinced?

Now they wanna hear about other pitches?

Sorry about that.

I knew things was too good

to be true anyway.

I'm sorry about the circumstances,

bu I'm glad you're still in town-

-because it gives me the opportunity to tell

you how embarrassed I am about last night.

See...

See... the thing is...

I liked you.

I kind of enjoyed talking

to someone, you know.

- Just talking.

- Really?

And yet...

... I tell you about my dead son,

and you mock it.

I lost my wife...

I was 24 years old, I was drunk...

...I crashed our car into an old tree.

And since then I've...

...soiled my way through life,

being a magnifically cold moron.

I run away from emotions.

Thus, you tell me about your dead son...

...I tell you a joke about a 15 inch shlong.

So, you can forgive me?

Got it!

- It's better I remember it now,

before I leave? - Right.

- Okey, speak to you tomorrow?

- Yeah.

- It's gonna be alright.

- I know.

Danny! Hey... wait, Danny!

I've got an extra ticket

to the bullfight this afternoon.

It's supposed to be a good one.

It would mean a great deal

if you could join me.

Thank you... thank you very much.

That's very nice of you, and I...

- ...I can't, I have work.

- On a sunday afternoon?

- Never seen a bullfight?

- No.

You've never seen the real Mexico-city,

until you've seen a bullfight.

Come on...

Bean is not gonna believe this!

I can't wait to tell her.

Where did you find a woman like that?

A woman you can share everything with.

She's pretty special.

Then you must be too,

I could learn from you.

Learn what?

Do you want my mortgage,

my blood-pressure?

If I'd ever had my blood-pressure taken-

- I wouldn't have a mortgage for all the

teenage-girls in Thailand.

- You don't own a house?

- No house.

No apartment, no address.

- You're bullshitting me?

- No, I sh*t you not.

- Want a cigar?

- Yeah... thanks.

If you don't have a permanent

address, where do you live?

I live wherever I'm working.

So what do you do, Julian?

What do you possibly do, if you don't have

a permanent home or address?

I'd rather not say.

Oh, my God! Did you see that?

Jeez, it's so bloody.

Yeah, they're lucky,

that matador was very good.

- It's much worse when they're mediocre.

- Why?

A great matador can kill a bull

with one plunge on the brain.

A less one, he's have to plunge

that blade more than once.

That makes the crowd very unhappy.

- They don't like to see the bull suffer.

- No.

They clearly care so very much

about these animals.

They respect these beasts.

- They want them to die with honor.

- That's ridiculous.

There's no honor by being killed

by a man with a sword, -

- weather it's 1 plunge or 20.

You're wrong...

You're very wrong.

- There is honor.

- And how would you know?

I do...

You're a mysterious man, Julian.

- And you don't want to tell me what you do?

- It's... confidential.

Confidential? Is your work confidential,

or do you work for the government?

Government... please.

You know what they pay?

Forget it, watch the picadors.

Are you a spy or something like that?

You read to many novels, Danny.

Are you a spy?

You're not gonna tell me,

it's okey...

It's okey.

It's alright...

- If I tell you, will you keep cool?

- What do you mean?

We're on a public place,

and I don't want you to lose your sh*t.

Lose my sh*t?

My God, what are you gonna tell me?

Sometimes...

- Sometimes, what?

- Sometimes...

... people need to be eliminated...

Oh, come on!

- What, you're a hitman?

- Oh, please... please.

My handler calls me a "facilitator".

"Facilitator" of fatalities.

- That's insane.

- Think what you like.

I've got to hand it to you Julian, you're

one of the best bullshit-artists I ever met.

- And I've met some.

- You're absolutely right, Danny.

My name is O. Johnson, and I

sell aluminium-siding in Minneapolis.

So you say you actually kill people

for money?

I do what I'm asked to do,

and what makes sense to me.

Kind of like the mob?

I tend to be hired in the more kind of

anonymous, high-paying jobs.

- Cooperate gigs.

- Cooperate gigs?

I'm a great helper at

getting deals closed.

I don't believe you... I don't believe you.

- I don't believe on the easter-bunny.

- I don't believe you for a second.

Come on!

Cooperate gigs?

- Think what you will.

- It's ridiculous!

- Yes.

- Cooperate gigs.

Yes...! My God...

I knew there was a reason

that I never told anyone what I did.

See that guy over there?

- The fat man and the little girl?

- Yeah.

Say I want him dead,

his family dead, dead... right now.

- Right here.

- Right now? Couldn't happen.

I know, but say that you could,

and money is no object.

- Are you sure you wanna know?

- Yeah.

- Are you sure?

- Yeah, I want you to "facilitate".

Okey, Danny.

Alright, come with me.

Lets go.

I'm a big fan of the "gotta pee"-theory

of assassinations.

- "Gotta pee"?

- Everyone's gotta pee.

- Ask me for a cigarette.

- What?

Do it.

- Can I have a cigarette please?

- Sure.

But these things kill you, you know...

Now look around.

- They're scary. - Yes, and no.

- Why?

They seem more interested in the

beautiful woman coming and going-

- from the ladies-room.

That's good for us.

Just like those men over there

at the concession-stand.

They're only interested in see

us walking there with our wallets open.

No-one is watching the mens-room.

- The "gotta pee"-theory.

- You're catching on.

- Now... escape-routes.

- Escape-routes?

- You don't wanna get caught, right?

- No, no...

- Don't get caught, it sucks.

- Right.

- See the main exit?

- Yeah.

- That's a traffic-jam.

- Where else?

You tell me.

Okey, okey... that door out there.

If it werent' locked.

A vietnamese girl I once knew had her leg

so locked together-

- that I couldn't get in reach

of the "spring-roll".

Two drinks, and I was at a

"all you can eat buff".

Every lock can be broken.

It's just a matter of will...

...and weather it's worth it.

This looks like it's worth it.

Why are we buying the cigarettes?

Because I wanna smoke.

Come over here.

Now, do your shoe-laces on.

What time is our flight

to Florida, Seymore?

I think two o'clock, Derek.

Let's go, Seymore.

Holy sh*t!

- Are you ready?

- Ready for what?

- You wanted to see what I do, right?

- Yes!

Yes, I've been watching...

Showtime is over,

the real deal is about to start.

"The real deal"?

Showtime is for sissies.

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