Verbal [telling Detective Kujan the
story of Keyser Soze]: He
lets the last Hungarian go. He waits until his wife and kids are in the ground
and then he goes after the rest of the mob. He kills their kids, he kills their
wives, he kills their parents and their parents' friends. He burns down the
houses they live in and the stores they work in, he kills people that owe them
money. And like that he was gone. Underground. Nobody has ever seen him since.
He becomes a myth, a spook story that criminals tell their kids at night.
"Rat on your pop, and Keyser Soze will get you." And no one ever
really believes.
Dave Kujan: Do you believe in him, Verbal?
Verbal: Keaton always said, "I don't believe in God, but I'm afraid of
him." Well I believe
in God,
and the only thing that scares me is Keyser Soze.
Verbal: Who is Keyser Soze? He is
supposed to be Turkish. Some say his father was German. Nobody believed he was
real. Nobody ever saw him or knew anybody that ever worked directly for him,
but to hear Kobayashi tell it, anybody could have worked for Soze. You never
knew. That was his power. The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was
convincing the world he didn't exist. And like that, poof. He's gone.
-The Usual
Suspects 1995
I tell my children stories. I try not to embellish but sometimes it is to make a point
and give them a warning. I also try
to make myself or the situation as badass as possible. Having a background in
medicine makes for some cool stories sometimes. But not this time.
Are they fables? No animals involved here. Parables?
Maybe.
All are true.
I think there is a little of Keyser Soze in all of us.
Maybe just on the road.
Maybe just on the road.
I was in the airport picking up my eldest the other
day. She had finished her work in
Ohio and was coming home by herself.
She's a mature 16 year old and I didn’t worry. I hope I have set some kind of precedent in conducting
themselves in any situation.
My middle daughter asked if I had ever lived in Ohio. I was in a talkative mood so I said “No,
not really. But there was almost
the time I had to spend the night in jail there.”
I thought my
daughter would fall off the airport bench.
Her eyes widened then narrowed in expressions of surprise then
suspicion.
“No, Mom, you’re kidding right?”
“No, I am not.”
My lesson in child-rearing: always keep them guessing. And my children have wild
imaginations, thank goodness.
I proceeded to tell the story of having my Dad’s 1978 Buick
Regal for the summer in Chicago and needing to drive it home for the fall. My sister was up in Evanston and we
shared the car, finally realizing it was more trouble than it was
worth. I was living in a campus fraternity
for its cheap housing and became friendly with my fellow students. A fellow student RK was also living
there and he was also from NJ. He
had wanted to drive home to surprise his parents so we made the deal that he
would share both the driving and the gas money.
Driving from Chicago to NJ is not a big deal. You allow yourself an entire day,
plenty of gas, money, pack some food that can fit into a cooler, hopefully some
compatible music on the radio and some good conversation. If Harry and Sally could do it, RK and
I certainly could.
The trip started out fine. Going on I80 in Indiana was quick, painless and RK fell
asleep. No problem. He was a bit of a pain the ass anyway
only I didn’t quite know the extent yet. I found out this easy way that college men could sleep
through anything and despite having the radio at a sizeable decibel, RK still
slept. God only knew what he did
the night before. I really didn’t want to know. Someone that sleepy perhaps
shouldn’t be behind the wheel.
Maybe that was his ploy.
I have a lead foot.
I am a very good driver and can handle speeds. By the time Ohio came, I was anticipating the monotonous
mind-numbing ride through Pennsylvania so I was speeding no doubt.
Well, unfortunately, it caught
the eye of an Ohio State trooper.
No, it was a command to follow
him to the nearest police station.
He said I was going 82. I was really going about 92. I went with his version of the story.
RK slept all though the entire exchange.
We got to the station. I was not the only one stopped that September day. Me, a
truck driver and a father and son team.
What a group. I figured it was as good a time as any
to wake RK up. Talking loudly did
not work. Screaming didn’t
either. I finally had to shake
him. Incoherently he finally awoke
and you can imagine his surprise when I said “Hey, R you need to wake up. We are at a police station.”
I would have preferred a Harry
in the car.
For what seemed an eternity, we all sat on the bench waiting
our respective speeding sentences, Me, RK, the trucker and the father/son team. The trucker went first, grumbled at the
window and was through in about 20 minutes. The father was next and eyed RK as he was whispering very
loudly “Do you know who he is? He’s Senator AD from Illinois.” I never followed politics that closely
in college so RK could have been telling me it was Mr. Green Jeans from Captain
Kangaroo for all I knew. But as a
tribute to his party, the father/senator listened to the spiel, paid his money
and left without incidence.
My turn was next.
The verdict was to pay the $120 dollar fine or stay in jail to appear in
court the next business day. It
was Saturday. I didn’t have all the money. I had about $50 left after paying
for gas. Yikes, two days. My
parents would have a conniption.
How would I ever get into medical school with an arrest record?
I turned to RK who I knew was holding out. It turns out he had
about $100 and seemed overly annoyed to part with it too. We had already recently just stopped
for gas (that I paid for) so we were good until NJ.
“R, I need your money.” RK started to argue but when I told
him (perhaps not true) we would both have to stay in jail, he relented. A day in the car with RK was enough but two days together? I was ready to sell some jewelry if not
more.
We paid. We got back in the car. No bid deal. RK fell asleep again and I drove the majority of the way. He
made a pain in the ass of himself yet again in NJ by not knowing the right way to
his house leading us back into some nasty streets of Philadelphia at 2am.
So ended my story.
I should have added some more badass elements but my daughter got the
overall message.
The problem is that I am not
sure what the message even was.
Perhaps not to ever ride with RK. Don’t speed. Don’t trust adolescent men. Never rely on men
for money. You can do even the most stupid of things and still wind up in jail. Politicians are people too. Your mother is not a saint nor a sinner. Perhaps there is the devil in all of us.
Or maybe the trick was convincing a child the devil never existed.
And like that, poof.
She’s gone.
Drove away, I heard.
In a minivan, no less.
In a minivan, no less.
Speeding as usual.