All language subtitles for [SubtitleTools.com]The.Assignment.2016.1080p.BluRay.AVC.DTS-HD.MA.5.1-FGT

I killed a lot of guys.

They were
worthless pieces of shit,

but I killed 'em,

and you're not supposed
to kill people.

So what happened to me?

I guess maybe in the end...

it was a lot better
than what I deserved.

But it takes a long time
to work that out.

In the meantime,
you just want to get even.

Hello, Dr. Jane.
I'm Dr. Galen.

As you know, I'm here to conduct
an interview on your status,

see how you're doing.

Dr. Ralph Galen.

I only recently
found out my case

is under your supervision.

Correct.

A chair, please, Hector.

I'll probably be here
about a week.

All for me?

All for you.

As a professional courtesy,

I will refer to you
as doctor even though--

Even though I've lost
my medical license.

I suppose I should thank you
for... your good manners.

Well, shall we get started?

Nearly two years ago,
on the night of November 22nd,

the SFPD received
an anonymous call

which lead them to investigate

what proved to be
multiple murder,

four dead bodies,
and you unconscious--

Yes, yes, yes.

We all know about my condition.

Unconscious
on an operating table.

It turned out that you
had set up an illegal

off-the-books surgical clinic,
where you performed--

Illegal,
off-the-books operations

on those unfortunates

who wanted and needed
medical help

but couldn't afford
the outrageous costs.

An empty gun
was found in the hand

of your surgical assistant,
Albert Becker--

The gun belonged
to Frank Kitchen.

And the, uh, ballistics evidence

from Becker's gun

matched the bullets
taken from the dead bodies,

as well as the bullet
in your chest.

You were arrested,
charged with multiple crimes,

and at a hearing you were found
mentally unfit for trial.

Absolute bullshit.

The presiding judge
stipulated that you were

to be periodically
evaluated and that,

at the point,
if and when you were judged

to have fully regained
your faculties,

you would be returned
to the remand

of the District Attorney,
City of San Francisco,

and bound over for prosecution.

Do you feel relieved,

now that you've gotten
all that off your shoulders?

Well, first,
I'm especially interested

in your relationship
and involvement

with your brother,
uh, Sebastian.

We were close.

He was a very special person.

♪ La la la ♪

Yo. Whitney.

You-- your money's
on the table.

Go home.

And by the way,
you failed miserably

at your chosen vocation.

There wasn't a shred
of stimulation.

Get the fuck out!

I have a copy
of the NYPD's complete file

on your brother's case.

I-- I doubt you've
had access to it.

You'll have to turn the pages
for me, won't you?

Ah.

Thanks to your ridiculous
security requirements.

Yeah.

Unless, in the name of mercy,
you could untie the bindings.

I'd still be in your
medieval straightjacket,

but at least I'd have
some degree of control

over the movement of my arms.

Mmm.

Ha. Oh. Mm-hmm.

♪ La la la ♪

♪ I just wanna
la la la la la ♪

♪ La la la ♪

Hey, maybe you don't get it.

Or maybe your bosses don't.

You kill me, you never
get that money back. Never!

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

As you can see, the proper
authorities conducted

a full investigation.

The murder of your brother
Sebastian was obviously

a professional job.

I paid a lot of money
to discover

the killer's identity.

He's a lifetime criminal
who goes by the name

of Frank Kitchen.

Mm-hmm.

There were rumors that some form

of street justice
may have been handed out,

but the death of Sebastian Jane

remains an unsolved murder.

It's now a cold case.

I'm guessing that's been...
troubling for you?

Assuming there is such a person,

I want to talk a bit more
about this Frank Kitchen.

Why would you think
there's no Frank Kitchen?

I mean, don't be an idiot.

You actually think
I made him up?

I need a room.

If I need maid service,
I'll let you know.

Yeah?

Yeah, I just checked in.

Yeah.

Uh, room 308.

Let's talk for a minute

about Honest John Baconian.

You obviously found him useful.

"Honest" John Baconian?

"Good king, great king,
and yet not greatly good."

Do you read Shakespeare?

Of course not.

Why do I even ask?

Richard II, Act IV.

Honest John Baconian,

was there ever a man
with a more disingenuous name?

Such a Darwinian creature.

Right. According
to your initial statements

to the police,

in the past, this Honest John
supplied you with

impoverished homeless people
against their will,

so that you could perform

deviant medical experiments
on them--

I did conduct experiments
to further human knowledge

in areas most fear to go.

And I harmed no one
of any value.

You should change
your line of questioning.

It's good to see ya, Frankie.

It's been a while.

It's two years
since we've done business.

But you're stayin' in a dump.

Frankie does great work.

Just flew in from Miami.

I called him, and he came in
as fast as he could.

I appreciate that
because it shows respect.

You fucking backstabbing
motherfucking chinky.

I don't trust you,
but I love you.

Now I come all the way
down here from my office

to your shitty room to impress
on you how important this is,

how important this is to me.

This man, Benny Hong Lee,

the one we brought you here
to take care of,

this fuckin' Chinaman
stole my money,

and now he's trying
to steal my entire operation,

this business that I worked
my entire life to build.

He wants to take it away
just like that.

But we got a problem.

He left town for a week, Vegas.

I promised my friends

that I wouldn't do my laundry
in their backyard,

and I always keep my promise.

That's why they call me
Honest John, right?

So we wait.

Give him the bag.

That's $25,000.

You sit, you wait a week,
you do the work.

No mistakes.

You ever wanna
get together again,

this is how you get ahold of me.

Just give me a call.

My name is Johnnie,
in case you forgot.

Where you from, Johnnie?

A long way from here.

That's it, no more questions.

Yeah, well... I'm gonna
leave town real soon.

Don't worry about it.
It's no big deal.

I had forgotten
about her Shakespeare obsession.

First thing she did
after she got here

was send for the complete works.

You got
a little blast of it, huh?

Yes, my inability to recognize
a quote from Richard II

was held to be
an unforgivable fault.

She's constantly reminding me

she's probably
the most clever woman

who ever drew a breath.

Just this morning I got
a nice little lecture on Poe.

Poe?

As in Edgar Allan?

Oh, God, is there another?

Do you read Poe?

Of course not.

You don't read Shakespeare,
so why would you read

one of our country's greatest
and most influential authors?

Well, when I was a kid,

I always liked
the Vincent Price movies...

What-- what's the point?

Poe once wrote an essay called
"The Philosophy of Composition."

In it, he develops
his theories about proper art

being indifferent to moral
and political considerations,

that real art
was about its own dynamic

inner relationships

able to stand on style alone.

You should read it.

I guess
I have to ask this again.

What's the point?

The point, Dr. Galen, is that,

in addition to being
a medical doctor,

I am an artist.

Frankie, baby, good to see you.

Hey, listen.
We've got a problem.

It doesn't involve
Mr. Benny Hong Lee.

And I really hate
to say this, Frankie,

'cause I like you,
but you made some enemies.

Some bad ones.

Now, I did
a little renegotiating,

and I got a better deal.

I'm now satisfied
that the conditions

are correct and in place.

Frankie, you should
take it easy on yourself.

Do what I tell ya.

What the fuck?

No, no.

No, no.

No.

No!

No!

No!

Hey!

Who the shit are you?

You're some kind of
laid up hooker, right'?

You on dope?

Somebody work you over?

I kinda like that look of yours.

Get out.

I got a right
being in this room, okay?

I own and operate this joint.

And your screamin'...

somebody wandering
around in here,

I thought maybe
there might be trouble.

Where'd you come from, huh?

The guys registered in this room
didn't tell me nothin'.

You know, you might wanna be
takin' it six or so blocks

out to here, where all
the weirdos hang out?

Probably pull in a lot more
business down there.

Just bein' friendly.

You keep it down
in here, hey, babe?

Hello, Frank.

You can call me The Doctor.

I'm the one who operated on you.

And the reason why is simple.

A year and a half ago,

you killed a man
very close to me.

In the handbag
I've left a photograph of him

as a small reminder
of the terrible thing you did.

You should think positive,

maybe even thank me.

You have a new life now.

You get to start over.

And this time you're a woman.

In many ways, it's often said,

the most splendid
of God's creatures.

I have liberated you
from the macho prison

you've been living in.

I'm an excellent surgeon,

and I'm quite proud of the work
I've done on you.

Your face and body have been
carefully sculpted,

with no visible scars
to the casual observer.

People pay small fortunes
for work that's less good

than what's been done on you.

But I'm afraid
you'll have to sustain

your new femininity
with hormones.

You'll find everything you need
in the package I've sent.

You should begin
with a Premarin immediately,

at first, two per day.

After one week, add the Prevera.

Two per day.

I've also left you
some feminine clothing

and $100 for sundries
while you convalesce.

I understand
your current accommodations

are less than ideal.

Several of my employees
paid the rent.

Your room is taken care of
for the next two weeks.

We left word
to leave you undisturbed.

My generosity allows you
to recuperate at your own pace.

A quote from Hamlet that you
might find inspirational:

"God has given you one face,

and you make
yourselves another."

Good luck, Frank.

You've been a very bad man.

This is your opportunity
for redemption.

♪ I was a boy ♪

♪ Devoid of an emotion ♪

♪ Undefined and confused ♪

♪ I was a boy, no idle ♪

♪ Conversation ♪

♪ Left me broken in two ♪

♪ Terrible sun
burned in my eyes ♪

♪ Blinded
in awkward disguise ♪

♪ Brutal and torn
in the wake of a knife ♪

♪ Pushing
and pulling my strife ♪

♪ Blood in, blood out ♪

♪ Blood in, blood out ♪

♪ Fight and die ♪

♪ I was a boy ♪

Oh, no, honey,
you picked the wrong guy

to try to rip off.

That look of yours,
I kinda like.

I just gotta check out
what you got down there.

Come on, hustle.

- Hey! You remember me?

Look, room 3-- room 308.

I need my keys, now.

Fuck!

Oh, yes.

Yeah.

Oh, yeah.

All right.

All right.

Okay.

Your medical setup...

the equipment, the nurses,

your private bodyguards...

the costs must have
been enormous.

Say it.

"How'd I get
so goddamn rich?"

Okay.

How did you get so goddamn rich?

My father did well enough
to send me to good schools.

When he died, I received
a reasonable inheritance,

which, unlike my brother,
I prudently invested.

Then I went to work.

I was very good
at my profession,

and my practice turned out
to be quite lucrative.

If you're a plastic surgeon,
the sky is the limit.

Then there were issues
with your peers

at Mother of Mercy?

I had enemies.

Political enemies
within the medical community.

My manner has always
caused me problems

with those... less equipped
to keep up.

I was a better surgeon
than any of them.

They hated that.

And I was a woman.

That made it worse.

All right, yes.

When I lost my medical license,
I set up an illegal clinic.

Before, I often did...
plastic surgery for idiots

who wanted a smaller nose,

larger breasts,

sometimes a larger penis--

More to the point,
you then became interested in...

Gender change operations, yes.

After I could no longer
officially practice,

I discovered a huge black market

for that kind of surgery.

Most people who want it
don't want to go through

the endless waiting period,
and, in addition,

many times they can't afford
the enormous costs.

And you took advantage.

I was doing beneficial things,

making people happy,

giving them the medical
attention they wanted.

And it had the added benefit
of financing

my independent research.

In school, I was always
at the top of my class.

At the hospital, I was always
the best surgeon on staff.

I was always
the one who figured out

a new technique,

a better way
of getting things done.

But all it ever got me
was envy, jealousy,

and now disgrace.

So... I became a rogue.

A rogue on the medical frontier.

And it's lonely
out there, Ralph.

Quite lonely.

Yeah?

Hi, is-- is Johnnie there?

Yeah, this is Johnnie.

It's me, Frank.

Frank.

Yeah.

Midnight coffee date Frank.

Hey, you remember me, huh?

Yeah, I remember.

Um... you wanna meet
for a coffee?

Sure.

Tonight?

Yeah.

How 'bout we meet
at that place near you?

Uh, the same place as before?

Hey, listen.

I, uh...
I don't look the same.

I shaved,
and some other stuff. I, um...

Hey, I gotta get back to work.

I'm working a double,
so I'll meet you on my break.

Say, ten o'clock?

Yeah, I'll--
I'll see you tonight.

Frank?

Yeah, it's me.

I look a little different, huh?

You are different.

A lot different.

I... I don't know what to say.

So you're a nurse.

Yeah, I guess
I forgot to mention it.

You had plastic surgery, huh?

Just like some gangster guy
out of an old movie?

You're some kind
of criminal, right?

I had that figured.

I can still tell
it's you, though.

It's okay.
You look all right.

I got into some real bad shit
with some real bad guys.

I was hoping I could
stay over at your house

for a couple of days.

I promise to stay
out of your way.

I'll even pay you for it.

No. I don't want your money.

We're friends.

Fuck buddies.

Yeah, it's pretty basic here.

I'm not a lot
on fixing places up.

I don't even got a TV.

I like to keep things
to a minimum, you know?

I just need a place
to clear my head.

Figure out what I'm gonna do.

This is fine.

Stay as long as you want.

I'll let you know
if you wear out your welcome.

Hey, one thing.

I, um, I started to tell you that
at the diner.

I got problems.

Hey, no pressure.

Suit yourself.

But since it's my place,
I keep the bed.

You sleep on the sofa.

I'll get you a blanket
and a sheet.

I keep an extra pillow
in the closet.

It's all clean,
so you don't have to worry

about catching some disease.

Mi casa es su casa, right?

Anyway, I always trust
my instinct,

do you know what I mean?

I'm not sure why, but I feel
kinda connected to you.

People always tell me
I'm a little crazy.

I got that for Halloween
a couple years ago.

It's weird, huh?

You-- you thought your life
was in danger?

Clearly there was
that possibility.

Criminal organizations
sometimes try to pass

an unpaid debt along

to other members
of the victim's family.

The men who hired Frank Kitchen

to kill my brother

might have
turned him loose on me.

You hired bodyguards?

I did. Three of them.

I even insisted on a dress code.

I'm sorry, a dress code?

Yeah. Dark suit,
white shirt, and tie.

I, of course, had to buy
their wardrobe for them.

They were all
but one ex-policemen.

But in the end,

all three of them
turned out to be worthless.

Question: If you're rich,

and you loved
your brother so much,

and he's in all this trouble
with all the wrong people,

why didn't you just
give him the money he owed?

I did. All of it.

And he went out
and bought paintings

and drugs and pinball machines.

Gambled and partied,
squandered every penny.

Then he came back,
said he was sorry,

and asked me for more money.

As a matter of principle,
I said no.

It was a mistake.

So you feel guilty
about his death?

No. Not for a moment.

My brother was a fool,
but he was also a unique,

eccentric, and talented man.

He just never seemed
to find his place

in the grand scheme of things.

How's it going?

Uh, she's gotten very chatty.

But evasive.

Keeps a lot of it theoretical.

Right from the get-go,
as soon as she got here,

she was the most anti-social
pissant on campus.

No communication, no jokes.

Just death stares
and a wall of ice.

Ladies and gentlemen,
let's give it up

for Dr. Rachel Jane.

Phi Beta Kappa.
Three degrees with honors.

Never married,
no children, thank God.

Let's see what happens tomorrow
if I turn the heat up a little.

Hello, Doctor.

How are we feeling this morning?

You can release
the arms, Hector.

Thank you.

If you'd indulge me here
for a moment,

I'd like to go back and review
the facts of this case

as they pertain
to your criminal involvement.

You're sounding
very serious, Ralph.

I thought we were
becoming friends.

Your brother, Sebastian Jane,

the semi-celebrity playboy
socialite art collector,

pinball wizard,
occasional art critic,

drug addict, alcoholic,
etc., etc.

A little respect.
He had world-famous collections.

It is believed
that Sebastian Jane was murdered

by certain mob interests
to whom he owed money,

a lot of money,

and then,
according to the police,

there were several rumors
in the criminal world

that you had hired
local racketeers

to find out who the person was
that killed your brother.

This "killer,"
which, according to you,

is a professional hitman
named Frank Kitchen--

- Now this is getting tedious.
- Help me, Doctor.

We have a lot of dead bodies,

but none of them are traceable

to your Frank Kitchen.

Are you really saying
that because my brother

wasn't a very nice person,

that he deserves
to be brutally murdered

by this street trash?

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Wait, wait,
you're creating a straw man.

That is not what I'm saying,
and you know it.

What are you saying, Ralph?

You're becoming
such a tiresome bore

and such a confused person

that I find it difficult
to follow your thoughts.

I'm asking you if all this
wasn't really some sort

of classical
psychological transference

of your own
personal inadequacies.

This man you keep talking about,
this Frank Kitchen,

doesn't even seem to exist.

That again?

- I mean, really?
- Yes, that again.

Doctor, I had the FBI
do a run on the name.

Nothing.
No Frank Kitchen,

no professional hitman
or anything even close.

No criminal record,
no fingerprints,

no record in the armed services,

no driver's license,
no taxes paid.

No passports, nothing.

Dr. Jane.

Was all this because you had
a nonexistent sex life?

You were a kind
of medical wallflower.

The female equivalent
of some guy who was impotent.

Couldn't get it up.

This is just silly.

I've had sex when I wanted
and with whom I wanted

for my entire adult life.

And did you have sex
with your surgical assistant,

Albert Becker?

Yes, quite often.
Any time I wanted.

Oh. It was part of his job?

He seemed to enjoy it.

I've never concerned myself
with my partner's pleasure.

Just knock one off
and back to your real work.

Yeah, exactly.

I see.

To summarize,

in addition to your academic
and medical achievements,

your personal sex life
has been quite wonderful.

I guess I'll just have to take
your word for it.

Yes, you'll just have to take
my word for it.

Admit it.
Your lover, Albert Becker,

turned out to be
a murderous lunatic,

and there is
no Frank Kitchen--

I'm sick of this bullshit!

Don't you dare play
psychiatrist with me,

goddamn it!

- There is a Frank Kitchen!

There is a Frank Kitchen!

Do you think that you're
some fucking detective?

You're nothing
more than a cheap,

second-rate bureaucrat!

My name's Frank Kitchen.

It's not my real name,

but it's the one
I use for my work.

I'm making this account
of what happened to me.

- I don't know.

Consider it a therapy session
for someone that, uh,

never liked talking much.

When I'm done
tellin' this story,

I'm gonna send it out
to my lawyer in Miami,

and he's gonna put it on ice,

in case after I'm dead
somebody wants to know

what really happened
to Frank Kitchen.

I got hired to do the job
by a mob rep in Miami.

I did good work.

Why the hell
would they be pissed?

And if they were pissed,

why not just give me a push
instead of this butcher job?

And who was this doctor?

And how was Honest John
connected to her?

I had to get back to the street.

I had to get to Honest John.

But I wasn't ready
to go straight to him.

I had to make sure I could
still make my old moves.

It's hard to go back
to being Frank Kitchen

when you look like a chick.

I had to tape my swollen tits.

I had to sit down
to take a piss.

And the goddamn hormones
were making me soft.

If there was anything left
of Frank Kitchen...

it was his point-blank aim,

and I couldn't wait to use it.

First guy on the list:
Earl Hawkins.

Long time
on Honest John's payroll.

Earl runs the pimps
that run the hookers.

Next came two Nicaraguans.

MS-Trece guys.

They did a lot of heavy lifting
for Honest John

over in the East Bay.

Joe Caddigan.

Miami said Joe was
Honest John's main dope guy.

He imported smack,
and a lot of it.

Nobody was gonna miss him.

Hey, Joe.

Vladimir Gorsky.

This guy was some kind
of Russian mafia reject.

He was in charge of collections
on short-term loans

that Honest John made
at sky-high rates.

Gorsky's sideline
was raising dogs for fights.

But if a dog don't win,

then he and his trainer
kill the dogs.

You're the one who called
about buying a dog.

Yeah, that's me.

Where did you get my number?

I got it
from Honest John's boys.

Hmm.

What's his name?

We call him Poncho.

It'll cost you $2,000.

He's in very good shape.

He's ready to fight.

You show Vladimir money, huh?

A dog is the only thing
I ever trusted.

A dog doesn't care
if you're rich or poor,

if you're famous or some bum.

Only thing a dog wants
is to be your buddy.

It's funny how things work out.

It wasn't part of my plan,
but now I had a dog.

Poncho had some scars
from where they made him fight,

but he was really
just a sweet guy.

Me and Poncho were buddies
in no time.

It was the most domestic
I've ever been in my life,

and for some reason...

-...it was okay.

Oh, hey.
How's it goin'?

You having a good day?

Mine was okay, despite the head
fucking nurse in C Ward

who's got it in for me.

Always on my ass
about somethin'.

Oh, there's this one patient,
this old guy, Jerry.

Every time I try
and change his IV,

he always grabs my ass.

I don't mind.

He's sweet,
and he's on his way out, so...

Oh, here's a blast of good news.

No more double-shifts,
so I got more free time,

if you wanna hang out more.

I mean, that's if you want to.

You wanna take off your clothes?

Okay.

I mean, I'll--
I'll do what I can.

You'll do fine.

Last guy on the list.

They told me his name
was Jin Tao.

Sometimes you get to say hello
to old friends.

You knock off a guy who you
think is gonna be all alone,

you use the silencer.

You wanna make
as little noise as possible.

But if you figure you're gonna
take on resistance,

then, leave
the silencer at home.

You wanna let
the sound of the .45

scare the shit out of 'em.

Throws off their aim.

How you been?

Hello, Doctor.

Hello, Ralph.

Good of you to come.

I know you'll doubt this,

but I actually miss
our little sessions together.

You asked to see me.

I did, but first
I'd like to apologize

for my fit of temper
at our last meeting.

I momentarily lost my composure.

Apology accepted.

I want to make
a legal deposition

to be filed
with the District Attorney's office.

I'd like to confess.

And for which crimes
you've committed

are you willing
to make these confessions?

All of them, Ralph.

Every single one
that I'm responsible for.

I'm afraid I've been
a very naughty lady.

Would you like to tell me
what you hope to accomplish

- with this deposition?
- Certainly.

The authorities will clearly see

that I've made great progress
here at the hospital,

but most important,

when I confess,
it will cleanse my soul.

I will be born again.

- Home phone?
- None.

Insurance carrier?

I don't have one,
but I can pay cash.

Referring physician?

Uh, I found out
about this place from a friend.

And you're here
for a diagnostic consultation?

Yeah. I need to speak
to a real surgery doctor.

You know, a guy who is--
does major surgery.

Are you in any pain?

It's all still a bit sore.

I, uh, I think I popped
a couple of stitches.

Who was your surgeon?

I can't remember right now.

Well, he seems
to have done a fine job,

so why aren't you talking
to him about this?

Well, I can't afford
the plane fare, for one.

Where? Colorado?
The clinic there in Denver?

They do wonderful work.

Yeah, that's right.

The transgender programs
that I'm aware of

all have very thorough
screening processes.

How long have you been
living as a transsexual?

For a few months.

Ordinarily, there's
a requirement of functioning

for at least a year
in the transgender role

before an actual surgery
is performed.

Did they not insist upon that?

Yeah, well, that's--
that's the thing.

Um... I um... I thought
I wanted it, so I...

You know, I told them what
I knew they wanted to hear.

You should never let
embarrassment prevent you

from taking the best possible
care you can of your body.

It's your obligation
to yourself.

Now, I'd like you to call
a counselor that I know.

She's part
of a very good therapy group.

You can use my name
as a referral.

I don't want a counselor.
I don't need group therapy.

Can the operation be reversed?

And if that's not
possible... then...

can I get off
with whatever this is?

It usually takes
six months to a year

to develop sensation again.

Look, I just want to know
if I can go back to being a guy.

Medically, other than
the breast implants,

it's too soon to even
consider another procedure.

I'd be irresponsible
in advising you otherwise,

and no reputable physician
will operate on you again

without at least six months
of intensive therapy.

Can I go back to being a guy?

Again, the implants,
that's not a problem.

But beyond that,
to the best of my knowledge,

there is no procedure
that will completely restore you

back to your former self.

Cosmetically, yes,
something can be done.

But it won't be functional.

What it sounds like
you're asking for

is currently
medically impossible.

So that was it.

This was the way
it was gonna be.

I was gonna be a chick
except for in my head,

so get used to it.

Two people.

One's a beauty and one's
an I-don't-know what.

I'm still trying to figure
you out, and I don't get it.

But, you know,
look at the bright side.

The cops are never gonna
come looking for you

being a guy,

so maybe being a girl's
the best way

to stay out of prison.

I've been thinking about this.

You could change your name.

Get a fake passport, papers,

go to Mexico
or Costa Rica or Brazil,

some place where people
hide out, you know?

Nobody'd find you.

I'm sure you know somebody
who can get you a fake ID.

What about you?

You want me to go with you?

No.

Haven't I made
enough trouble for you?

All right, let's proceed.

We'll begin
with the formalities.

It's February third,
three o'clock in the afternoon.

I'm Paul Wincott,

Deputy District Attorney
for Alameda County, California.

This hearing will be
visually recorded,

as well as transcribed,

by a duly appointed stenographer
for the Supreme Court

of the State of California
under the jurisdiction

of the Honorable
Judge Thomas VanCleeve.

Doctor, now it's
my understanding

that you'd like to make
an opening statement

before we proceed
with a series of questions

pertaining to your case.

This is a confession.

It has very little to do
with the dead bodies

you found at my clinic.

They were simply
collateral damage.

My confession deals
with the professional killer

Frank Kitchen,
or whatever his real name is.

Contrary to my oath
as a physician

and all civilized
medical standards,

I performed unwanted
and unnecessary radical surgery

on Mr. Kitchen, whom I admit
was a completely unknowing

and unwilling patient.

I did it partially
for deeply personal reasons.

He had murdered someone
very close to me,

and in return,
my first instinct was basic.

I wanted to cause Frank Kitchen

enormous psychic pain.

I want you to understand this,

and the record will bear me out.

I'm hugely sympathetic
to those who want

and choose to participate
in gender reassignment,

but normally that would
never include Frank Kitchen.

He was by all accounts
the type of man who reveled

in murderous activities,
as well as his masculinity.

But, as time went by,

the more I thought
about the situation,

I changed my mind about the man.

He was an abandoned child who
had become a ward of the state,

condemned to live
on the streets at an early age.

I have the traditional
romantic nostalgia for the idea

that everyone should
have a second chance,

but I'm also a doctor,

a scientist...
in a way, an artist.

I decided I wouldn't
and couldn't do

something simply for revenge,

so I also performed the surgery
partially as an experiment.

I wanted to reinforce
the theory that,

if gender is identity,

then even the most extreme
surgical procedure

will fail to alter the essence,
and this proved to be true.

Frank Kitchen is still
very much the man he was

because he believes himself
to be the man he was.

So, you see, my experiment
was a success and a failure.

My sincere hope
for his redemption was naive.

Frank Kitchen
went right back to the gun.

He went right back to killing.

I also want to confess
to the crime of hubris,

to the unforgivable crime
of an overweening estimation

of my own worth.

However, having said that,

I find myself
at a philosophical crossroads.

Whereas I am aware
of my own inadequacy

in the grand scheme of things,

simultaneously, I find myself
the prisoner of lesser minds.

I have dared to defy
conventional morality,

but the true individual
has always had to struggle

with being overwhelmed
by the tribe, and no price,

even this imprisonment
and indignity,

is too high to pay

for the privilege
of owning yourself.

On your terms,
I am sorry for nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

I am proud
of the experimental work

I was doing
for the benefit of every

living human being.

Sometimes harsh methods
have to be used

on the road to progress.

That is my statement.

I will answer no questions.

None of you are worth my time.

Now take me back to my cell.

It wasn't like Honest John

was a hard guy to find.

He kept a crappy
old back alley office

in this dry-goods store.

He even kept regular hours.

He's got bodyguards,
but no security cameras.

Honest John
doesn't want any record

of who comes to see him

or who he's been talking to.

The best thing you can have
going for you

is the element of surprise.

So how do you get that back

when your target already
knows he's being hunted?

11:00 am, broad daylight.

The place where they work.

It's where they feel safe.

It's where you get back
the element of surprise.

Hey, this is
a freight elevator--

Whoa!

Wait, wait, wait,
wait, wait, wait.

Who the fuck are you?

Frank Kitchen.

I stashed Mr. Honest John
in the basement,

cleaned up the bodies,

and then I had
a few questions for him.

I wanna know what happened.

Why'd you turn me over?

How I got like this.

I want details, John,

and I don't have a lot of time.

But I brought this along.

You won't need it.

The doctor pays me 25 grand,

I bring her people
to operate on.

It's not easy, you know,

finding people like that,

somebody that nobody's gonna
miss when they disappear.

You don't want
the cops coming around

and asking questions, right?

One more time.

Why me?

Tsk.

This is how it came down.

The doctor wanted you.

But to tell you the truth,
I had it in for you, too.

You did a job in Vegas
a year ago.

The guy you pushed
was a cousin of mine.

It was a family thing.

Look, my cousin
is a fuckin' douchebag,

but the family went nuts.

They call me, they think
I'm some kind of big shot.

What am I gonna do about it?

When am I gonna do somethin'?

So I ask around.

I find out you were the guy
that did the push.

I feel bad,
but what am I gonna do?

Then the doctor calls me,
and she tells me what she needs,

so I figure
I can kill two birds.

I hire you,
I'm square with my family,

the doctor gets what she wants,
I get what I want.

Too bad you lose,
but everybody else wins.

I wanna hear more
about this doctor.

She makes her money
doing cut-rate surgery.

Somebody told me
they pulled her license

a couple of years ago.

We're not buddies.

She keeps her distance.

You wanna know about the doctor,

you should ask your girlfriend.

Say that again?

You heard me.

What, you think
you just ran into her

in that bar?

What a fuckin' dumb shit.

I thought you was a smart guy.

But I guess the little head
took over the big head.

Happens all the time.

She followed you from the hotel.

She picks you up,
she gives you a fuck,

she reports in to the doctor.

That way, they can keep
an eye on you down the line.

She's a nurse, right?

Nurses work for doctors.

Yeah, you're right.

Have one.

I think I'm gonna take
a shower first.

I've had kind of a rough day.

Come over here.

Sit down.

I poured you a drink.

I do something wrong?

Yeah, you did.

Cheers.

I had a long talk...
with Honest John.

I did it because I thought
they'd break my arms and legs,

maybe kill me if I didn't.

If I try to tell you
the whole story,

it's just gonna sound
like some pathetic attempt

at an excuse, right?

Fuck it.

Go ahead and do it.

If I were you,
I wouldn't push my luck!

How did you get involved
with these shits?

Oh, God, I met a guy.

He was one of Honest John's
bodyguards.

He's big, mean, and no good.
Just my type.

He went to go work
for the doctor,

and he talked me into making
some extra money.

I provided the drugs.

Anything the doctor couldn't
get without a prescription,

I had plenty of access to
at the hospital.

You'd be amazed how easy
it is for me to grab the stuff.

I really am a nurse.
I want you to get that.

I really needed the money
and they paid a lot and...

I only met the doctor
a few times.

I never did know her real name.

She told me what she was doing
wasn't exactly by the book,

but she said that they would be
making experiments

that would be helping
a lot of people,

and she's a real doctor

and a good talker,
and let's face it,

it was a really
fucked-up period in my life.

I usually got my orders
from Albert.

He's a nurse, but not like me.

He's a surgical nurse.

They're a lot
more skilled, okay?

He's-- Oh, God,
he's a bastard. Real mean.

He did hard time
for some sex charge.

He's got this deal
with the doctor.

He's real hung up on hookers,
and she pays for 'em.

I guess it's a reward
for his good work.

He likes 'em
kinda kinky, you know?

Real exotic.

What about me'?

I'm just supposed
to keep an eye on you.

Albert's called a few times
to check in so far, that's it.

End of story.

The safe thing to do...

...is to kill you.

I didn't kill her,
but it was "Good-bye, Johnnie".

I gave her some dough,

and I put her on a bus to Reno
the next mornin'.

She had some friends there.

I told her to give me
three weeks.

If she didn't hear from me,
she could come back

to her place,
and I'll be long gone.

Poncho.

Gracias, huh?

Bye, Poncho.

When I put Johnnie
on the bus, I told her

to make a phone call
for me from Reno.

She promised
she wouldn't let me down.

I believed her.

Hello, sweetie.

Yeah, they said
you were a hottie.

Just my type.

Whoa, whoa, whoa,
take it easy, take it easy,

nobody's gotta get hurt.

Did you really think
we were gonna fuckin' fall

for that phone call
from Johnnie?

Bring her over here.

All right, hold her still.

Nighty night.

Wow.

It looks like the new model
Frank Kitchen.

Well, Frank,
I hope you got some rest.

Hey, Frank.

If you get thirsty,
you can crawl over here.

Thank you, Albert.
That will be all.

It might interest you to know,
Frank,

that this old hotel was the site

of many, many a sinful party

back around the time
of the big earthquake.

All the rich people

used to dance and romance there.

If these walls could talk...

Much better.

You need a more natural look
to bring out your best features.

I did a good job on you,
didn't I?

You're really quite beautiful

in a waitress/shopgirl
kind of way.

But I don't want to be picky.

You certainly qualify
as a... attractive woman.

But inside your head,

I can see you really
haven't made any progress.

Still a killer.

Still a street animal.

Still a macho man.

I gave you a new chance in life,

and you wasted that opportunity.

I realize you don't understand
what this is all about.

Such a complicated series
of events and misfortunes.

I'm just wasting words with you.

Surgery at 10:00 tonight.

Hello, Frank.

Get him undressed
while I get set up.

I got three injections
to give him.

I don't wanna check his
blood pressure until he's out.

You're lucky to have
such a good surgeon, Frank.

I'm sure she'll do
an excellent job on your arm.

Oh, I spoiled the surprise.

She's gonna take your right arm
off at the shoulder

and give you
a nice little flipper.

Just like a seal.

Fuck, I can do it!

Won't be holding a gun
with that hand anymore.

Doctor seems to think
that's a good thing.

Makes the world a safer place.

I'm a cold guy.

You make a living the way I do,

you learn to keep
a hold of yourself.

You panic, you make mistakes,
you're dead.

Nice tits, huh?

She did a good job.

Why don't you take
a look at this?

Bet you haven't seen
one of these

that you didn't have to pay for
in a long time.

I think you're out of bullets.

So, what do we do now?

I think I'm actually
a bit of a coward

when it comes
to life-and-death situations.

I assume the men
who work for me are...

Dead.

I have an idea.

I think we should call it quits.

You walk away into the night,

I'll pull a disappearing act
of my own,

and, sad to say, we'll never
see each other again.

- Over.

Quits.

I don't think so.

You see, you never know

when you're gonna need
one of these.

I can't believe it.

Everything's coming apart.

All my work.

Falling to pieces.

Do you like
my little humidifier?

It's uh... 150 years old.

Made in Edinburgh.

Still runs like a charm.

Don't shoot me, Frank.

I never beg,

but so much of what I do
is for the good.

After I wiped my prints,

there was just one more thing
I had to do.

I called the cops from a phone

in the back of the bar
about a block away.

I told them to send
an ambulance over

to take care of the doctor.

There wasn't any trial.

It wasn't even too big
a story in the paper

or on the news.

They just sent the doctor
off to the nut house.

Hello, Ralph.

Doctor.

You've come to say good-bye.

Yes, yes, I have.

Before we say
sweet sentimental things

to each other,

I have to ask what you thought
of yesterday's hearing.

I thought it was cheap theatrics

by someone desperate
for attention.

And, finally, I thought it was
a performance of no consequence.

What I see is simply a doctor
who broke her oath,

a doctor who was found
in a building

with four dead bodies--

I killed none of the four.

No, your surrogate
Albert Becker did,

but you built the theater

where the tragedy
could play out.

Bullshit.

Albert was no angel,
but he never killed anyone.

You invented Frank Kitchen

to protect the memory
of Albert Becker.

I tried to help Frank Kitchen,

but the fact remains
he killed all four,

then he shot me,

and proceeded to do
other vile things.

You're completely wrong.

It makes me so angry and sad.

Good-bye, Ralph.

I see. I see.

You show me once again
how very clever you are,

and then-- then it's
adios muchacho.

Mm. No, not that easy.

I wanna know what you've
been trying to pull off

from the get-go.

What's your agenda?

And I'm just gonna stand here...

...until I get an answer.

All right.

It took me a long time
to recover from my wounds,

but after two years
in this hellhole,

I decided to put up a fight.

If you could be
manipulated properly,

maybe I'd get out
of this miserable facility

and rightly end up
in front of a judge and jury.

I'd hire myself
some hotshot lawyers

and hope for 12 men
and women, good and true,

who would appreciate my vision
of a better world.

I buy the plan.

But you blew it in the hearing.

After I lost my temper
and attacked you,

I knew it was game over.

A trial would be one long misery

with a predictable end,

resulting in an even
greater humiliation.

So I decided to accept my fate,

but I wanted there to be
a statement of the truth.

I wanted it to be on the record,

in case anyone ever cares
to look for the facts.

Now I'll return to my books
and my private thoughts.

Good-bye to out there
and all that.

Good night, room.

Good night, moon.

Go fuck yourself, Ralph.

Adios muchacho,
and be on your way.

I still feel bad about Johnnie.

Although she screwed me over,
I really liked her.

She stayed working in Reno.

I think it was
the best thing for her.

A new city, new place to live,
a fresh start.

Yeah, I think it worked out
for the best.

One more thing.

The doctor.

I used to be a guy.

A real bad guy.

Then things changed.

Now I look at the cards
I got dealt in a different way.

One thing's for sure.

Change is gonna come.

♪ I was a boy ♪

♪ Devoid of an emotion ♪

♪ Undefined and confused ♪

♪ I was a boy, no idle ♪

♪ Conversation ♪

♪ Left me broken in two ♪

♪ Blood in through the race
of the machine ♪

♪ Blood out to the praise
of a vanishing dream ♪

♪ Blood in through the pipe
hitting fear and pain ♪

♪ Blood out to the sea ♪

♪ For the stolen fate ♪

♪ I was a boy ♪