The Virtuoso

You prefer corporate or government jobs.

There's usually a complete dossier.

They allow time for planning.

Planning because typically they prefer low profile.

Low profile is safer.

Low profile makes almost no ripple.

Low profile is unspectacular.

Time can become an issue.

You may have to hasten things along.

Your training lets you slow your breathing,

lets you calm your heart.

Two pounds of pressure and...

But organized crime likes a visible statement.

Let them know you were there. Send a message written in blood.

With this employer, you rarely get more than a name,

sometimes not even that.

It adds to the risk, and it adds to the fee.

But you know there's a risk in that too.

The other risk with organized crime:

It creates enemies.

Experience has taught you she won't call for help

until she's vacuumed up his cash

and has at least slipped on her panties.

It's vital that you show no urgency.

You trust your planning, your accuracy.

Two minutes until she calls the front desk.

Fifteen to 30 seconds to get the manager on duty,

some low-level schlump working the graveyard shift.

He'll call either his boss or the head of security.

Both will be home sleeping.

The phone rings once every six seconds.

Typically it will ring four times before they're conscious enough to answer.

That's another 18 seconds.

Another minute before police are dispatched.

In this part of the city, police should arrive in under three minutes.

You're a professional...

An expert devoted to timing and precision.

A virtuoso.

You keep your tools in pristine condition.

Perfection demands precision.

Precision demands perseverance.

You live off the grid as much as possible.

You leave no trace of your real self.

You're a shadow.

You keep your true identity protected.

You avoid the us postal service

and open a mailbox run by an independent company.

No hames.

No trail.

You make sure the process to engage you

is complex enough to preserve your anonymity.

You might miss out on some assignments.

You see it as the cost of doing business.

However, you set your fee to compensate.

Hmm?

You recognize the code.

(50.

You're outside established protocol.

This is a one-off.

And afterwards, we'll return to procedure.

It's a short time frame.

- How short? - Forty-eight hours.

Not much time to plan.

Is it worth it?

I'm seeing double.

Let me be clear. Crystal clear.

For this fee...

It is delicate.

Special outcome demanded by client.

- Understood. - Good.

I knew you would. We go back a long way.

Do not put me in a bad position.

Call me when it's done.

Details?

You can inquire discretely today...

At 6:32.

Six, three, two.

You need to make it look like an accident.

You don't mind the added complexity in general.

But to do it right, you need more time to plan.

And to add to it, no headlines.

Quiet.

A plan forms in your head.

You have to hit a two-inch moving target

on a car going 60-plus miles per hour from 50 yards away.

And you only get one shot.

The blown tire should pull him sharply to the right.

He'll over correct, which should cause him to hit this very building.

It's rushed. You know that.

You wish you had more time.

But it's a plan. It'll have to do.

You know the rules.

Do not rush.

Do not hesitate.

Hey, mom.

Mom! Here, pass!

Okay, kick it over.

Nice one, mom.

Do not get distracted.

Careful.

I got it. Don't worry. I got it.

Do not question.

I ook out!

Mom!

Mom! Mom!

- Call the police! - Oh, my god!

Somebody call 911!

Relax.

It's only me.

Your father was a good soldier.

- So you've said. - It's a fact.

And you too.

So the medals say.

It's a family business.

I figured that I might find you here since you don't answer the phone.

- I needed some time. - I understand.

Till now, you were perfect, on point.

I rushed you, I know. Couldn't be helped.

It's on me, not you.

Yeah.

Collateral damage. It happens.

You know that.

This is not amarijah.

I know what happened there.

You shouldn't let this stuff get to you, kid.

I'm not.

It's not your fault.

Did your father ever tell you about pinkville?

No. Never spoke of it.

Ah, that's not surprising.

That's where we met, you know... pinkville. Me and your old man.

We were just young kids, fresh out of boot camp.

One night, the officers told us,

"tomorrow you'll meet the enemy, a whole battalion of gooks,

viet cong, who killed your...

Friends, your relatives, who'd kill your family

and rape your sister if they could.”

So, we kids, we toked it up, and the officers, they just drank it up,

because, you know, they were...

They were preparing us, as they say.

So we were prepared and...

We woke at 3:00 A.M., jumped on those choppers and...

We took off...

To kill or be killed.

It's really simple when you think about it.

Only, finally, when we got there,

already the intelligence was bad, because usually it was.

Because there was no hostile fire. There was no fire at all, really.

There were just old men,

women and children,

sitting around fires, heating their rice, ready for breakfast.

So, the officers, they just gathered up all these...

The old men and the women and the children,

even their pigs and their dogs and their cats and...

Pushed them into ditches.

And they ordered us, me and your old man, to plug them.

So we did. Clip after clip after clip.

Like a couple of automats staring at each other, just firing and...

So we couldn't see the target,

the blood and the... carnage.

Until we stopped firing.

And then, as bad as that was,

when it was over, we started to have lunch right there near the ditches.

And, you know, maybe 10, 15 feet away from the bodies,

from the stench and the groaning.

Anyway, suddenly we hear this noise. It was a whine or a squeal or something.

Maybe it was one of their pigs.

So, we all go to the top of the ditch and we look in for the first time.

And it's...

This ain't no pig. No, sir.

It's a little boy,

two, maybe three, tough to say.

But his mother must've sheltered him with her own body.

And he was too young to know that he should've just played dead, stupid kid.

So the whole squad is watching him now,

crawling on tiny hands and feet over dead bodies,

probably his whole family.

And then, none of us is moving.

We're just watching.

Maybe just rooting for the kid.

Till he gets to the top and he starts running away towards the jungle.

The jungle.

And still none of us moves.

And then this little guy, this officer, this lieutenant,

he comes running up to us and he's still finishing his k rations.

And he sees all of us staring at the tree line,

and then he sees the kid, maybe 30 yards away, still going.

And he looks at me, and he looks at your old man, and he says, "plug him."

Pointing at the kid. "Plug him.

Shoot him."

So, I look at your old man and he looks at me, and...

I can see clear as day in his eyes, he can't, he's done.

So I look back to this lieutenant,

this heartless little motherfucking prick of a human fucking being...

And he looks at me and he smiles.

He points at the kid, he said, "plug him, goddamn it.

Shoot him."

Yeah.

Oh, yeah.

Yeah, I was a good soldier that day.