Smokin' Aces 2: Assassins' Ball

Is this the past or the present you're talking about?

And this is real? This is a story, or this is real?

Working on your man, Walter Weed.

Yeah, interesting career. Forty years, same division, same desk.

Is this that in-transmission that's been tracking?

Yep. There's an awful lot of crypto in the carrier wave,

and they're using some kind of spread spectrum.

Is that accurate? The name?

Walter Weed. Yes.

My wife, Elizabeth, daughter, Mary.

Why is the bureau putting a close protection team on Weed?

The question's why would they need to?

Retiring, wheelchair-bound, mid-level information analyst.

There's really nothing to tell.

How many enemies can this guy have?

Tell me about April 19th. April 19th, 3:00 a.m., to be precise.

Am I in some sort of trouble?

No, Walter, you're in very specific trouble.

Bureau intel has decoded credible data

that a multimillion-dollar contract has been put into play

by parties as yet unknown.

Unconfirmed information is that this is an open contract,

and that multiple assets may be involved.

Confirmed information from our good friends at ViCAP

had the termination date April 19th, 3:00 a.m.

Tomorrow?

Tomorrow.

And you said, "Termination date"?

Your termination.

You're the target.

Tomorrow's the day you're supposed to die, Walter.

This is some kind of a gag, isn't it?

Abrams is behind this, isn't he? Right.

For my retirement party?

This is an assassination market.

Normally this level of asset engagement is associated with heads of state.

Mubarak was a market target four years back.

Hamid Karzai more recently.

You're talking about people of great importance and power.

What do I have in common with them? Why would I be a target?

That's what we want to know, Walter.

So tell me a story.

You asked to see me, Father?

I thought we should pray together, girl.

Pray together and ask the Lord to forgive you your sins.

You do want God's love, don't you?

Of course, Father.

Well, then you know what you must do.

Please, Father,

kiss me first?

I was sent by the parents of the children you took liberties with.

As penance for your sins, they've asked for nothing less than your life.

Sometimes, true forgiveness has to be forced upon us.

An unknown individual has put a bounty on your head

that'll draw every animal who can point a gun,

wield a knife, or crush a skull.

Sublime, as always.

This individual, the un-sub contracting this hit,

is likely a major player in international assassinations.

It's not likely that we'll know the size and scale of the threat against you,

but we should be ready for anything.

I've been employed and entrusted with a responsibility.

What would happen to the world if we all abandoned our responsibilities, Marty?

Look, we could...

Chaos. That's what would happen.

Yeah. I understand that, all right? Believe me, I do.

But everything has a price, right? And I can pay.

I'm talking $2,000,000. Please.

Okay, okay, fuck that, fuck that.

Look, I... I could get you more.

A lot more. My brother, Morris Mecklen,

he's got this client, Buddy Israel, he's got shitloads of cash.

Two days and you'll have the money. Just two days!

Please!

We don't have two days, Marty.

We only have now.

The Mayans and the ancient Egyptians practiced brain surgery.

What the fuck? But it was Dr. Walter Freeman

who perfected it.

Depending on the position... Don't do this.

And the depth of the ice pick, one can neutralize pain,

the language center, or short-term memory.

My eyes! I can't see! Jesus. God. What the fuck?

Different parts of the brain,

different results. Wait, wait.

$3,000,000. I can get you $3,000,000.

The cerebellum controls speech, Marty,

not your hearing, so listen very carefully.

Don't do this.

The people who have employed me have already paid me,

and once I've been paid,

I see the job through. No!

No! You don't have to do this! Otherwise, chaos.

This is like an open casting for killers.

Every sociopath in the known world looking to pick up a paycheck

is gonna be coming out of the woodwork.

McTeague.

I have a job for you.

Are you free?

Free, no. Available, yes.

Our intel is still in the assessment phase.

What we're finding is that these assets

show no allegiance to any individual government or political ideals.

They're just cold-blooded killers.

Yeah! Yeah! Fucker! Look at me.

Where's my fucking shipment? Where is it?

Where's my fucking shipment?

They're on the base. They're on the base. All right?

All right? They're watching me. They were watching so...

You're gonna fuck me?

Oh, I am fucking you.

I want my motherfucking weapons!

You motherfucking filthy...

They're in the depot.

Excellent work, sailor. Dismissed.

The variety of monsters tracking you that are already

more than likely on their way here

is like the World Series of assassins.

Gonna make this joke about you shooting your load and then me shooting you,

but it wasn't as good as "dismissed."

How was the old swabbie? Ring your bell, did he?

Fucker said they's holding our stash in an armory just inside the depot.

You know, I heard that most Navy recruits

have had at least one homosexual experience

before they's even midshipman,

so, Sis, I was wondering, I mean, was his deck gun firing?

Or maybe he was banging you while he was thinking about Popeye's forearms.

Lester, why don't you just admit

that you want this sweet little package all to yourself, huh?

I admit I wouldn't mind a little...

Come on. Come on, now. Don't you fucking touch me,

you fucking prick. Get your fucking dirty paws off me, fucker.

Don't you know, boy, the danger of blood relations?

That's what double-fucked the Confederacy.

That's how we lost the Civil War.

You think you want a whole slew of kids running around

whose eyeballs are touching because you can't keep your hands off your sister?

Bunny Rabbit.

Time to get serious. We gonna acquire us some fire.

God damn!

That's a mini! Four thousand rounds a minute.

Let's go, Sling Blade, shake a leg!

Well, if it ain't the great benefactor.

God damn it, Lester! Suppressive fire!

Always busy, sugar.

We like to keep it oiled so we's always ready to roll hard.

What you got for us, honey?

Why?

There's a theory that this has to do with some code that you cracked,

some piece of cryptology that is meaningless with you alive

but invaluable with you dead.

I am only medium-security clearance.

Any top secrets that are disseminated

are deemed declassified long before they ever cross my desk.

Walter, we can head-scratch the semantics of this all day,

but the clock is ticking.

Oh, God, my face. What's wrong with my face?

What did you do to my face? No! No, please!

That's it?

I thought you were gonna cut my face.

You're not gonna cut my face, are you?

No. The face is sacred.

But the throat...

Most of these operators we know by deed only,

but they will be cold-blooded, ruthless professionals.

The bureau has mobilized my team with the express purpose

of protecting and thereby extending your life, and that's a good thing.

I trust these people with my life,

and we're asking you to trust us with yours.

Agent Dumare, counter-protocol.

Agents Abrego and Nicholas, transport and monitoring.

Sir.

Agent Redstone's gonna be on close protection detail with our SAC.

Hey.

You'll be moved to an undisclosed location

until the deadline and the bounty expire.

What is the price?

$3,000,000. That is mmm-mmm good.

For $3,000,000...

I'd kill my own mother.

Actually, I did, for a lot less than that.

God, I... $3,000,000?

I can't imagine what I would've done in my life to warrant such...

Walter. They're never gonna collect.

You just give us the word and we'll go all the way to the wall for you.

The exact time of kill is...

Ls a non-negotiable point.

April 19th, 3:00 a.m.

Any deviation from this timeline nullifies any form of payment.

You just have that money waiting on the 20th, sugar,

and I will have something sweet waiting for you.

All right, Agent Baker. My life is in your hands.

Keeping our subject alive

depends in no small part on the secrecy of this op.

We are ghosts, gentlemen. We do not exist.

We're completely off the clock on this one.

We're all being paid cash, tax-free,

in an effort to leave absolutely no footprint.