The problem with not having a commitment to one's life is that one doesn't know how far one has gone until one has gone too far. And that always leaves an aftermath of destruction. Maybe that's what got me into this business. I've got nowhere else to go. I can't live in your world. I don't want to live in your world. I assassinate your world. Nothing makes me feel better than taking you out.
Scary, huh?
How do you reason with the guy who enjoys killing you? That part of you that clings to a world who gives no recourse puts you in perpetual fear of the karmic boomerang that gives you no recourse. Yes, I am the monster you support. I am the one you ostracized, banished to the desert to die in the worst way possible to cover your own sins. I'm the last person you want to see showing up with a gun at your head. For me, every killing is a revenge killing.
Don't pretend to know my pain. That only makes me angrier. I already know who the other outsiders are by sight. We who live on the edges know perfectly well those who do not. The further inside you are, the more you accepted The Deal, the more I enjoy putting you out of your misery and hearing your children wail. You built your house on my back. I have the right to evict you. Did your children ever wail for those who you evict?
The beauty of this - my trump card ace in the hole - is that in the necessity of removing a killer like me from society you fail to realize you slam the nail in your own coffin, that the minute you pull that trigger, you become me; you are the horror. That's why the cycle of killing never ends. It's the killer within you need to get rid of, not me. But that's the problem with not having a commitment to one's life: one doesn't know how far one has gone until one goes too far. Only then is the truth realized. Kill me or let me live, either way you lose. Beautiful! Just like the choices you gave me.
Every assassin has his own approach. I can be a chameleon, though, taking different approaches as they suit me. Sometimes I feel like being clinical, concentrating solely on the perfection of my execution. That must be quite horrific to my victims, to see a robot devoid of feeling devoted to the singular task of ending your existence. You're simply on my To Do list and I have as much concern for you as you do for paying my rent. The ending of your life means my life can go on, simple as that. Ask any President and they'll tell you the same.
It's funny actually. Twice when I've been challenged in this mode I replied, "Just paying the rent." It made everything clear for them, understandable, and - funny enough - they had no moral argument in return. It can even be said they lost their anger. Observing that is when I knew just how corrupt your average person is. They too kill to pay the rent, just not as directly as me. Who refuses to put blood on their hands when facing the street?
Sometimes I look for something I hate in the person. I still long for belonging and acceptance and on occasion begin to recoil at my own deeds. In those moments I have to feel what I'm doing is justified. I hate those turmoil hits. There's always the danger the person is not as you surmise and you find a reason to cancel the job. But to cancel the job is to cancel yourself. It's only happened once but once is enough. The turmoil, you see, never stops from that moment going forward. Too many hits like that and you go mad. I wouldn't be the first assassin to lose his mind.
But most of the time I look for something I like in the person. I got the idea from the Iceman Kuklinski. He says this one time in a interview:
It was a man and he was begging, and pleading, and praying, I guess. And he was 'Please, God'n all over the place. So I told him he could have a half an hour to pray to God and if God could come down and change the circumstances, he'd have that time. But God never showed up and he never changed the circumstances and that was that. It wasn't too nice. That's one thing, I shouldn't have done that one. I shouldn't have done it that way.
I'm just the opposite. I want them crying out to God to save them, just like Jesus hung out to dry on the cross. Even I found something to like in you but God ain't coming, motherfucker! Believe me, I know! Forget what you need, you gonna bleed! I always tell them they can pray their guts out. I love hearing it! God got his rent paid already, sucker, you're on your own. These fools just be talking to the walls.
You people see this?
A weeping 12-year-old Philippine girl, asking the Pope how God could allow children to become prostitutes
And you know what the guy has got as a response? He's got nothing! "She is the only one who has put a question for which there is no answer." You're goddam right there's no answer. Show me an answer! Show me a way out of this hell. Show me a god who cares. You can't, can you? That's why you gotta die. Bang!
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