Original subtitles

♪

Oh, man!

Oh, no!

Oye, burrito.

No saludas.

A donde vas, burrochito.

Cervesas.

Si, every day, mas cervesas.

Yeah, what do you want?

Too cold.

Too cold.

Yeah.

Cervesas.

Senor, Guerra.

Jose.

Solomente Jose.

No mas, no menos.

Muchas gracias por el honor de

su presencia en estas últimas semanas.

Espero que mi cantina pueda aliviar el dolor de tu tragedia.

No sé cómo eres capaz de soportar tanto.

Fue una tragedia terrible.

Lo sé.

Pero es una tragedia lo que nos enoble.

Y yo tengo continuar a vivir.

Bueno, pues, sentimonos.

Senor, come on, come on.

Hey, time to go home.

Two o'clock in the morning.

Time to go away.

Ah, Dios mio.

I am so hungry.

Can I-

Maritza, un platillo, rapido, rapido.

I'll work for it.

Just scraps.

I'll work for the cervesas too.

These gringos are the laziest people on the earth.

Miss Lucy Goldwasser,

355 Huron Drive, Paramus, New Jersey.

Dear Lucy, I hope you're doing better,

starting to move on and leaving memories of me behind.

I know you'd hate to see what I've become but it would make me

feel better if you got some kind of pleasure out of it.

You see, my second week here stumbling around drunk,

a walking cliché in a white guayabera shirt and Panama hat,

I got the shit kicked out of me and robbed.

Stupid me, I was carrying almost every dime I had.

Hell, I wasn't going to be no tourist and

carry American Express.

I'm not writing my novel yet.

I know, I know, how can a guy who read nothing but Cliff Notes

in school fancy himself a writer,

but, it's what I want to do, and Cliff Notes can be very

inspiring in their way.

Still, you must find me pathetic.

Well, maybe not, because, you'll never know what I've become.

You'll never get this letter because,

just like the novel, there is no letter.

It wasn't really you I was leaving, Lucy.

It's beautiful here at night.

Except for the stars I can't see a damn thing.

Always can tell when someone's watching, huh?

Who are you?

Louis Graves.

Great to meet you.

Yeah, but, what do you want?

Well, this isn't exactly a tourist town.

That's why I came.

You're the first American I've seen in weeks.

You know, I like to exercise my English,

plus despite the fact you could use a Clorox bath,

you seem like a pretty swell guy.

Ah, look, don't get offended,

but I'm not that chatty nowadays.

Let me the chatty one.

Think of me as the evening's entertainment,

like you've gone to your local playhouse to see Pippin.

Hey, believe it or not, I understand.

I used to be right smack where you are now,

two years straight.

All I needed was a break.

I got it, now look at me.

A regular people person.

Yes, exactly.

A people person.

Thank you.

Understand I'm chatty because I listen.

A man who does not listen is man with nothing to say.

You like that?

It's an epigram.

I wrote it.

I mean that's what I do.

I'm an epigram writer.

For a living?

Yeah, well, I wish.

You know, I send them into Reader's Digest every now and

then but they won't publish me because I don't have the juice

behind me, you know?

I mean you gotta be a name like Ben Franklin or Euripides.

Louis?

Yeah?

Go away.

You don't want to talk to me.

I'm what these Mexicans call a pendejo.

No.

Yes.

No.

Yes.

No man is a pendejo if he has but

even one he can call amigo.

Are you hungry, amigo?

I'm always hungry.

Manuel?

And I don't even know his name...

Walter Pool.

Senor Walter Pool.

Senor.

I mean, I don't do drugs.

Only a handful of people that I know down here do drugs,

but everybody in the States does drugs.

Do you know Walter, that Americans spent four billion

dollars last year to keep drugs out of their

fucking precious fortress?

Walter - Lot of money.

Yeah.

I mean you reduce the demand and you don't

have to worry about the supply.

Mm-hmm.

But Americans aren't very

inward looking, Walter.

I mean, not when they can just point the finger at the poor

brown folk down south, you know, who are just trying to feed

themselves any way they can.

Listen to me, I mean, I say I am a listener and not just a

talker, but all I've been doing is talking.

Mm-hmm.

So Walter.

Hmm?

Tell me, what brings you to Santiago?

I'm hiding.

Really?

Mm-hmm.

Why?

I killed a man.

Really?

Mm-hmm.

And, uh, how did that feel?

Good.

Good.

I killed a man.

"So, how did that feel?"

Felt good, yeah, felt good.

What an idiot.

She's perfect.

A woman where you need a woman,

and a girl where you need a girl.

The kind who will take of you even while she's letting think

you're taking care of her.

Are you following me?

Yeah.

It's not the first time either.

I know you've stood here many nights.

You know one day I'm going to go up to her and

well, say something.

What will it be?

I don't know.

Whatever it is it's going to be perfect.

Don't you worry that she might see you in the

street looking the way you do?

First impression goes astray, she may not look another day.

No.

When I approach her she won't even know it's the same guy.

She's not going to see this bum but the real me,

and she's going to love me for just that.

What if she doesn't?

I'll blind her with my wealth.

I don't like being followed.

Why do you do it?

I'll tell you, but before I do please understand

that what I have to say does not mean I was playing games before.

I do think of you as my amigo.

Thanks.

Christ, I was worried.

You say you killed a man.

Uh-huh.

You say it felt good.

Uh-huh.

Then perhaps you might kill another.

Even before I spoke to you I knew you were a man with a

killer inside him.

Really?

Yeah.

It's in the eyes.

Really?

Let's get down to business, Walter.

I'm talking about a job, the kind that pays 1,000 clean

and crisp 100 dollar bills.

This is your break, Walter, the chance to be the man

you always wanted to be.

The man she wants you to be.

So please, amigo, follow me.

Please forgive the Uzi's Walter.

They are the vilest of guns, but when you're dealing with this

kind of money in a very poor country...

Sure, I understand.

You may ask questions, of course.

Who you want me to kill?

A bad man.

How bad?

Very, bad.

Good, because I only kill men if they're bad.

I mean very bad.

Three months ago he raped and murdered

a 16 year old boy.

The son of Jose Guerra.

A very brilliant, fun, energetic,

popular, and kind, most importantly kind, boy.

But naïve, lured in my a monster.

Hmm.

Who?

Herberto Ortega, the only man in

town richer than Senor Guerra.

Are you sure this man is guilty?

The night of the murder several witnesses saw him

with the boy at the crime scene only minutes

before the body was found.

Ortega did not know he had been observed.

Everyone knows he's committed several similar crimes in other

cities, other poor countries, but he's officially clear.

I mean, his money and the right friends make him very popular

with the courts and police but detested by all others.

Okay.

Why me?

You're an outsider.

You know what it is to kill.

Mm.

In other words they won't connect me to Guerra.

I don't know.

What is it, amigo?

Shit.

Is Guerra the guy who always wears those Armani suits?

He is building a new cathedral for this town.

Uh-huh.

More importantly he built a hospital and paid

doctors to leave their practices in Mexico City and come here.

He made possible a park for the children.

He supports the poorest families,

and this is only a smidgen of what he has done.

And as for the Armani suits, I have seen Senor Guerra weep

because he feels without them he is not enough of a man.

He once told me "If only I could wear rags and still

hold my head just as high."

And I said to him "It is not the clothes,

but the tears one wears which make the man."

A plaque of those words now hangs over his closet.

Mm.

I don't know.

A rare opportunity, Walter.

A chance to make a lot of money and

make the world a better place.

You must decide.

Okay.

Okay, look.

If Jose Guerra wants me to kill a man

he's got to ask me himself.

I'm that easily bought, amigo.

I don't care what he pays.

You got to make Guerra understand,

I'd be doing him a big favor, because I'm taking a big risk.

You have your pride,

the sort of guy Senor Guerra admires,

but maybe too much for what he asks of you.

You'd have to meet secretly.

You can't be seen together.

As long as we're eyeball to eyeball.

I will talk to Senor Guerra.

If he says yes I will find you in the cantina tomorrow.

If he says no best of luck, amigo.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Shit.

My glasses?

Dear Lucy, I probably blew 100,000 dollars today.

I lied you see, and now I got to decide.

If he comes tomorrow, that is.

I hope he doesn't but if he does,

I hope he does.

Oh, shit.

Ohhh, shit.

Uhh.

Follow me.

♪

It's my job.

You got to do what you got to do.

All right.

Senor Guerra will make his decision,

and then so will you.

Good luck amigo.

Those are bloodstains on your shirt.

Cleanest one I have.

Yes.

I see your point.

Looking at you Senor Pool, I take it you never had a son.

You do not have the look of a father,

at least one who has devoted himself heart and soul to...

No, I must not take it upon myself to judge

or disparage your character.

How could I do so when I consider using your very

character for my own ends?

Really, we are more the same than different.

It's only a matter of degrees and appearances.

However, where I am one to cling to those degrees and

appearances, you seem to spite them,

to say they do not matter.

We both take such stances to sustain identities for

ourselves, and in doing so, we are both essentially dishonest.

I don't know about any of that stuff.

I don't think, I just kill.

Very good answer Senor Pool,

for it is the answer which brings you closer to acquiring

100,000 American dollars and the life you believe you seek.

I don't think I understand you.

Oh, yes you do.

You see, I've been, my compadres I should say,

have been watching you for the past few weeks and they've been

reporting back to me.

We determined that you were desperate,

so much so that it was almost animal.

You were a stranger, spoke to no one in the entire town.

I'm a very private guy.

Exactly.

You seem to be the perfect candidate for my purposes,

and when you told Louis that you had already killed,

and you liked it, well, you see, I had prayed for a

man like you to cross my path.

You can imagine the kind of anticipation your presence

created in me, but then last night Louis tells me that you

are too proud to just take the money.

You wanted to speak to me personally,

and your whole body shook.

Yeah, well, I get excited.

Nonsense.

So now I meet you as you requested to decide if you are

capable of the job.

A true mercenary who can kill efficiently,

take the money without remorse, keep forever silent.

So to find this out, I intend to penetrate

to the core of who you are.

There's no penetrating me, Guerra.

Do you mean to say that you are impenetrable,

or that there is nothing to penetrate?

There's nothing to penetrate here, pal.

That's your first mistake, Senor Pool.

A man who is a simple honest killer is I believe,

an essentially shallow creature with little or nothing to

penetrate, just what you claim you are.

But the right answer was to say "I'm impenetrable.",

because no person with the strength of pride you

demonstrated to Louis last night would ever think of himself of

having little or nothing to penetrate.

So, by answering in such a way as you did,

you revealed yourself to be a man of some perception and

depth, who is conscious of wanting to be seen as a shallow

and merciless killer, so much so that he quite obviously

contradicts his true nature which he has already clearly and

impulsively demonstrated.

Therefore, you cannot in my opinion be truly mercenary.

It's been a pleasure meeting you though.

I feel sorry for you that you did not work out.

Wait!

What do you mean by that?

By what?

By being sorry for me?

I meant it's a shame.

A shame?

Wait, look, look, look, look.

Look, I know about your plan to kill Herberto Ortega.

Now to keep me quiet you're going to have to

send someone after me, too.

You can't let me live.

All of a sudden I got to beg for my own goddamn life, don't I?

Don't I?

If you knew what it is to lose your only son,

defiled in such a manner, and then to watch Maria,

my beloved wife, who I knew since childhood,

watch her die within only months after of nothing but grief...

I'm sorry.

If you could know what I feel,

you would forgive me.

Oh, I forgive you.

I'm sorry Senor Pool,

it's only an unfortunate circumstance that

it did not work out.

Look, just hear me out.

If it's a matter of life or death how could you expect me

not to kill Herberto Ortega?

Don't you see?

Now I got to kill him.

See, once I've got blood on my hands I won't talk.

Don't you see?

I cannot be certain.

My own survival instinct guarantees it.

I mean, just look at me.

If I didn't have a hell of a survival instinct I would have

killed myself probably a long time ago.

Let us test that instinct.

And to think that you came in here pretending to

be on equal footing with me.

What?

Take your hands off me and get on your hands and

knees, my gringo cucaracha.

Do it, or I'll walk out the door.

Put you face on the floor.

I'm not doing that.

I will not say it again.

Now, Louis says that you told him that

you were doing ME a favor.

Not only do I offer you an immense amount of money,

but now I also spare your life.

So tell me, my cucaracha, who is doing who a favor?

You are.

What?

You are.

You may live.

You know, when I think of my son's confirmation into the

church, the pride and hopefulness in his eyes,

and then an instant later, I cannot help but remember how he

was, uh... I cannot stand to see a man lose his dignity.

It makes me sick!

Yes, you've convinced me of giving you the job and you shall

live, but my estimation of you is little.

Louis will give you the details.

My prayers are with you.

Fuck your prayers.

Very good, Senor Pool.

Already you are coming back among the living.

I am pleased.

Once the job is finished

there's no need to contact us.

We will know.

I will meet you in the cave shortly after midnight tomorrow.

You'll be paid all your money and then you must make yourself

disappear very far from Santiago.

Ortega lives in the hills just outside of town.

Jesus, Walter.

You can't do that Walter.

I didn't mean to.

All alone.

No servants, not even body guards.

This we do not understand.

♪

I'm lost.

I was exploring the woods.

Uh, sorry if I bothered you.

Who are you?

Name's... just Joe.

I'm from New Jersey.

Uh, it's my first time visiting Mexico.

Have a seat, Joe.

Enjoy the fire.

My name is Herberto Ortega.

Please, I've been up here alone for many days now.

I welcome the company.

Okay.

Uh, thank you.

: I mean, uh, sure.

Ooo, that is a nice fire.

So you like 'em?

What?

Fires?

Yes, very much.

If you were worth the money they paid you,

I would have been dead minutes ago.

What?

Please.

I am unarmed, my hands are visible.

Please do what you came for.

You shouldn't have done what you did to that kid.

You mean Jose Guerra Junior?

Ah, so you admit it.

I admit nothing,

but please don't let that keep you from pulling the trigger.

What do you mean, you admit nothing?

I mean I neither murdered nor

raped Jose Guerra Junior.

Yeah, well with the people I talked to there seems

to be no question about it.

There's a witness who saw you with the kid,

and I hear you've done this before, like other places.

They're liars.

Uh-huh.

Well you're the guy with the gun in your face.

I think you have a little more reason to lie,

so put your hands in the air.

Fact is, I don't care who killed the kid,

so just close your eyes, and we'll get this over with.

Come on, close your eyes.

If I wait for you to shoot I'm

more likely to starve to death.

What nonsense.

What did they pay you to do this, two pesos?

Shut up.

You want to know who killed the boy?

No.

Shut up.

The man who hired you.

That's bullshit.

I mean, I don't like the guy, but I could

tell he loved his son.

He loved what he dreamed his son would be,

however he ended up grieving the boy before he was even dead.

Don't expect me to buy any of that.

Poor Senor Guerra.

He had the horrifying discovery that his only son was a maricon.

A what?

A faggot.

A faggot?

So that's why you raped him?

I would not call it a rape.

The night it happened a friend of Guerra's said he saw the boy

and I in a very compromising position.

I left the boy, and soon after Guerra arrived and said

he found his son strangled.

When I left minutes before, young Jose was very much alive.

I believe Guerra was watching us.

It was then that his suspicions about his son were confirmed.

You disgust me.

That kid was 16 years old and you-

And if it was a 16 year old girl,

you and most of your kind would be slapping me on the back.

So then why'd you buy off

the courts and the police, huh?

To get a fair investigation.

In this country you need money for such a thing.

I don't believe a word you're saying.

I suppose my various passions have led me

down immoral paths but somehow I do not feel I did wrong.

Perhaps Guerra doesn't feel he did wrong either.

He loved his son too much, really himself too much,

to believe that his son was truly a maricon.

The boy was better saved in death than to be

disgraced and destroyed in life.

The poor man.

The pride of watching his son follow in his footsteps

was his whole raison d'etre.

His what?

Reason to be.

Most never find it though.

Their attempts at alchemy, ultimately fail.

They yearn for something simple and certain that they can cling

to, yet their lives are grey and ambiguous and just unravel and

unravel until they cannot control how or do not even

notice it happening until it is too late.

Then they are filled with regret,

for something, they do not even know what...

I have tried many things, Joe.

Tried to remain open to all the possibilities of my nature.

Hoping for gold, but finding mostly empty indulgence.

I thought I had found it, but now I do not think so.

Perhaps the boy, who I led away from his fear...

and to his death.

I should have known.

But you, Joe.

Uh, Walter.

Walter?

Tell me, Walter, what is yours?

My raison blech?

Yes.

I don't know.

I just sort of ran away.

From what?

A regular life.

Oh.

Are you like so many?

You run away from a regular life and then yearn for it?

Yearn for what they do not want.

Yearn for what I do not want.

Yeah.

I just had to get away.

Maybe write.

I don't know.

It's kind of vague I guess, huh?

I just wanted to test myself.

By killing?

Look, Herberto, if I don't kill you

I'm most likely a dead man.

So you want to write?

Did you hear what I just said?

Yes, I hear you.

So you want to write?

Yes.

Novels?

Yeah.

Why come here to do that?

I don't know.

The romantic thing, I guess.

You know, Hemingway, Malcolm Lowry, Graham Greene.

Graham Greene?

Yeah, you like his stuff?

I knew him.

No.

He used to play poker with my father.

You knew Graham Greene?

Yeah, quite well.

He would come here and we would play cards and talk-

Ah!

Ho!

I did not know Graham Greene, Walter.

Ho.

Get up.

Don't, don't, don't, don't shoot me.

I would never have killed you.

I'm just a claims adjuster from New Jersey, man.

Silencio.

Now, if I may please have you turn away so I can

have these moments to myself.

There are many reasons for this Walter,

more than you could know.

But I am tired of waiting.

Oh, man.

Why is everybody so nuts?

Walter!

Over here!

Now listen up.

I want you to walk no more than 30 feet,

and throw that case of money in the direction of my voice,

then walk away.

Then when I've verified it's all there,

you guys drive away.

Any deviation from that plan, and I start shooting.

Come on Walter.

This is no way to treat your amigo.

Amigo my ass.

You just do what I say.

Okay.

I'll do what you ask.

Okay, you can go.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Wow!

Even if we made Ortega look like

an accident or a suicide-

It was a suicide!

Even so, there are people, powerful people,

who would ask what really happened to Herberto?

But there's no one to ask what really happened to Walter?

Or even where is Walter?

Mm-mmm.

I know I said I was your amigo,

and now you know I shouldn't have.

But I do feel shame Walter.

I could have one of these guys pull the trigger,

but I'm going to do it myself so you can look in my eyes and see

that it is done with a sad heart.

It's a first time for both of us.

Mine to kill, and more significantly, yours to die.

So please, Walter, spit in my face.

I lied to you and said I was your friend,

now please, spit in my face.

Then that is how it is.

Louis, Louis please listen.

Louis, I did not kill Ortega, he shot himself.

I swear.

If it's any consolation,

this money will instead be used to build a pediatric

ward at Santiago Hospital.

Now, I ask you, Walter, how is that money better spent?

On little ones who've not been given even one chance in life,

or on a tired killer, who's been given many?

Well.

Though I just met you, I will miss you.

I have an epigram for the occasion.

I know you'd probably rather not hear it considering I wrote it

but, it could be some comfort.

"Where there is no ground, there is no bottom."

You understand that?

Yeah.

It's stupid.

Hopefully in death,

you'll never have to hit bottom again.

Oh, no.

Por favor.

Por favor.

Cervesa, por favor.

No, no tenemos cerveza.

No somos cantina.

Agua.

Agua: Si tenemos.

Por favor.

Muy chistoso por un gringo, eh?

Por favor : Donde esta yo?

En el hospital.

Por favor, por favor doctor.

El doctor esta ocupado.

Tu no eres el unico patiente aqui, eh?

Que pasa?

No comprendo.

Que pasa?

Alguien te pego con uno balazo.

: Que?

: La pistola, umm.

El, el balazo.

Bang!

I'm not dead.

: Como?

: Um, you no muerto.

: No, no estas muerto.

Pero pues, no puedes caminar.

: Que?

: Tus piernas.

Un balazo te pego en la espina.

Y lo quebro.

Estas paralizado.

Las piernas... ya no trabaja.

: Pobre cito,

pobre cito, pobre cito...

No, no, no, no...

Mmm.

Fucking cockroach.

Fucking most vile, useless creature on the

face of the fucking planet.

But that's okay.

That's okay, because you're older than every

fucking living everything.

Goddamn dinosaurs had nothing on you.

You're so harmless too, but, still people

hate you and stomp on you.

But we're not exactly the same me and you,

cause you got legs.

Lots of 'em.

But what are they good for but a lifetime of crawling?

Fuck.

Who needs legs?

Who needs 'em?

I got hands, I got arms, I got eyes and finally

I got a goddamn raison blech.

Fuck, I know.

I got it.

My faith, my religion, Guerra.

Hell, I ate your poison and it made me stronger.

Como estas, Walter.

How much longer till I've paid off my Porsche?

Como?

Uh,

cuantos mas semanas?

: Doce.

Doce semanas.

Patiente, Walter.

Tu tiempo voy llegar, ok?

Hey,: Sabes quien te hizo esto?

Como.

Do you know who did this to you

Banditos.

I never saw their faces.

Okay.

Tu tiempo llego, Walter.

Un momento.

Donde esto Santiago?

Santiago?

Si, donde esta?

Cincuenta kilometers.

De aqui.

Mas o menos.

Que direction?

Por alla.

Gracias.

♪

Hey!

Come on, whoa, whoa, whoa.

Whoa now!

Look out!

Hey, hey!

Hey, stop, stop!

Stop the truccccccck!

AHHHHH!

Gracias.

♪

: Oye, gringo!

Como te gusta la fiesta, eh?!

Para ti. Amigo.

: Para ti, amigo.

Treinta pesos.

Oh, no, this is the first floor.

Primora.

No bueno Tres, por favor.

No, senor.

No, yes, Senorita, I want the third floor.

No, no, I want the...

Look, look,

I want to be up high where I can see,

is-

You know, I know, yeah, call the police.

Call the police.

Aw, man.

Gringo, loco!

You like to bang on walls, huh?

Toro mother fucker!

♪

Dinero.

Dinero.

Si, dinero, dinero.

Por Favor!

Shut up!

Shut up!

Please, don't hurt me.

I'll give you anything.

Your words aren't good for anything... Amigo.

Walter?

Louis!

Noooo, Louis!

♪

♪

Hi.

You are feeling more better?

It's you.

Si, but you are feeling more better?

Yeah, sure, just keep looking at me.

I get you food?

Food?

You are hungry?

Where am I?

In the house.

It doesn't seem like a dream,

I'm questioning things too much.

If it was a dream I'd just accept it.

I know you.

I've seen you before on the streets,

and in your apartment.

In my apartment?

Yes.

But I don't see you.

No, I made sure of that.

What's your name?

Lourdes.

I get you food.

Okay.

Gracias, Juanita.

How did I get here?

You eat and I tell you.

I found in the water, in the morning,

and I took you out of the water, and I put you in your... this-

Wheelchair.

Wheelchair?

Mm-hmm.

I put you in your wheelchair and I bring you back

to the house and you can stay here until you feel more better.

It was destiny you saved me.

What that means?

It means like, it was meant to be or

God made it happen.

Ah, si, that God wants you to be living.

Mm, for a reason.

Thanks for saving me.

Who knows I'm here?

What do you mean?

I mean did you tell anybody about me or did

anybody see you bring me here?

No, only my mother.

You opened your eyes before I am to call the doctor.

Good.

I don't need a doctor.

I'm fine, I just need to eat.

It's really good.

You know, I don't need to eat, I need to talk.

Let me see, uh, yo trabajar en la,

uh, oficina, uh y musica-

My English is good.

I understand.

Okay.

Well you see, I used to work in this office

where I had a cubicle.

That's like part of the office and they used to pump in this

muzak and that's like...

What's that like?

It's like elevator music, comprende?

That's like where they take a good song or a bad song

and they make it worse.

Anyway, I never complained because it was all part of the

job, you know, but I wanted more so I thought, well maybe

a hobby, like every other idiot who's bored with his life.

So I tried the internet, hoping to meet more people but the only

person on the internet with anything interesting to say

was this fat girl from Iceland.

I mean, I don't know if she was fat,

she didn't say she was fat, but when I asked her what she looked

like she wouldn't tell me.

In Iceland it's cold, you know, they eat and drink a lot.

Anyway I wanted real human contact,

you know, not just some computer screen spewing out EMF's,

that's electromagnetic fields, and like I said,

I'm on the computer all day so I can't concentrate enough to read

and I hate fucking TV, except for the Discovery Channel.

Shit I'm sorry.

I hope my language doesn't upset you.

Anyway what I wanted to do was write.

Write, write, write, so I thought well,

I'll do the drudge work by day,

and I'll write by night, like Kafka.

And like I said, I'm on the computer all day,

so my fingers hurt and I became exhausted and...

You know to be honest, I never wrote a word

except the claims reports.

And the job, the job just wore me out so I tried vitamins,

I took garlic pills and I worked out for about a week,

and then of course there was Lucy.

She worked in the office with me and we were engaged and she was

very nice, and I guess I loved her,

but you know, I tried to explain to her I was in hell,

and I know she tried to understand.

But then one day I actually... I actually heard her humming along

with the muzak, some beautiful butchered Beatles tune and I

realized she actually liked it, and that's when I knew I had to

go, and I don't mean just like get out of town or change jobs,

break off the relationship or go back to school or get therapy.

But I mean I had to get the fuck out.

Because you know, deep down inside myself...

I mean, I thought... if I was going to be miserable,

it would have to be on my own terms,

by myself but even that, you know, even that...

What a crybaby.

The shit I talk.

I mean, you don't understand half of what I'm saying and

there you were all poor, maybe you hadn't eaten in a week and

I'm talking about muzak.

Well at least now I've got real problems to

match the way that I feel.

I understand.

I know you do.

I feel I've known you, I mean really known

you for a long time now.

Other men say that to me also.

Oh, but, I'm not one of them,

I'm not like them.

I left all that behind, I am not one of 'em.

Please move your hand.

I'm sorry.

I just felt I could do that and it would be okay.

You eat the food.

Who owns this place?

The man that I will marry.

Who is he?

I mean, who could be rich enough...

Never mind.

I don't want to know.

So you eat and I will go,

and you can ask Juanita if you need for her to help you.

She's the maid.

I'll come back tomorrow and you can stay here

until you get more better.

Maybe some days, is okay.

You're doing it for the money, aren't you?

What?

Marrying this guy.

You don't know me and you say this to me?

I'm sorry.

I don't marry any man for money.

Bullshit.

♪

Quien eres?

Oh, you are the American guest.

Don't I know you?

Not a sound.

Who are you?

An avenging angel.

They can't see you in the dark.

Senor Pool?

That's right Guerra.

You remembered.

I'm flattered.

I would have remembered you immediately-

Except you thought I was dead.

I told you I have a hell of a survival instinct.

Now tell me, what didn't you tell her tonight?

Who?

Lourdes.

When you were naked.

You saw?

Yeah.

Were you going to tell her you killed your son?

Nobody else knows, huh?

Just me.

Yes, please, see that

I'm in hell for what I've done.

Let me live, let me live so that I can suffer and confront it.

You're confronting it right now.

Understand, I'm not buying this "let me live

and I shall suffer" bullshit.

Of course not.

You know that I'm a dishonest man, one that is even

more inclined to lie under the present circumstance.

There you have it!

You deserve to die.

Ahhhh...

Okay.

You have a choice.

You can probably save your life if you bolt now,

and you'll look great with an eye patch.

Today, you may find life impossible unless

you have your vengeance, but tomorrow, you might

be glad to live without it.

I'll live happily ever after with it.

Perhaps, except that you shall not live at all.

It's four o'clock in the morning.

In one hour the sun shall rise and my body guards shall see my

corpse and they shall hunt you down.

How far do you expect you can go?

God, I hate the sun.

The wisest course would be to let me go.

Take the chance that I shall honor my word when

I say I shall not retaliate.

I'm calling the shots now.

I have the power, not you.

The kind of power that's motivated

only by the lack of power.

That was stupid, Guerra.

That's a small but critical vein I'm touching now.

I'm only speaking honestly,

so that you will know that you can believe me when I say that

if you allow me to live, I shall do the same for you.

What does causing your own annihilation solve?

It solves life.

You don't want die.

You'd rather live in your own misery than die.

In that we are the same.

Do not harm her.

Because of her I can change, Walter.

Only a month ago I found myself at the church,

ready to confess all my crimes to the padre, but I did not.

I looked at this man I ruled with my altruism,

and I did not know him, or trust him.

I escaped from my body guards and I went to the plaza and I

sat on the bench, feeling more alone than I've ever felt.

I don't know how long I sat there,

but suddenly I felt compelled to look up and I saw

those two eyes looking at me.

A stranger's eyes, but yet they understood,

felt everything that I was feeling and I realized this was

no stranger, though I'd never seen her before that moment.

Yeah, but you're afraid of her.

If you told her all you've done you could lose her.

Yes.

So call her over.

Why?

Do it.

Lourdes.

Vente.

Jose?

Si, vente.

What are you going to do?

Not me, you.

You're going to get it all off your chest.

All your crimes.

Please I cannot.

It's your only choice.

You tell her in English so I can understand.

One sound and he dies.

I'm sorry, but you'll understand once you

hear what he has to say.

Get down, put your ear against his mouth.

I promise I won't hurt you.

I killed my son.

Que?

I killed my son.

I killed him with my own hands.

Everything!

This man, on my orders, was shot,

so now he cannot walk.

You're carrying his second child.

Think he won't do it again?

It's up to you.

Do I let him go, or do I kill him?

Let him go.

You love me.

Walter, you are an angel, but not an avenging one.

I don't believe this shit.

No!

Si, goddamn it, si!

No.

♪

Dear Lucy, Lucy, shit whatever happened to you?

You seem so long ago.

Guess what?

I'm not writing my novel yet.

You know, I don't think I want to be a writer after all.

All I know is the asshole was right.

I want to live no matter what.

If you ever see me again, Lucy, you'll probably

feel sorry for me, but don't.

I'm going to be okay.

Till then, Walter.

♪