Usual Suspects

USUAL SUSPECTS
by Christopher McQuarrie
Verbal Kent


He’s supposed to be Turkish. Some say his father was German. Nobody ever believed he was real. Nobody ever knew him or saw 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. One story the guys told me, the story I believe, was from his days in Turkey. There was a gang of Hungarians that wanted their own mob. They realized that to be in power, you didn’t need guns or money or even numbers. You just needed the will to do what the other guy wouldn’t. After a while, they come into power and then they come after Soze. He was small-time then, just running dope, they say. They come to his home in the afternoon, looking for his business. They find his wife and kids in the house and decide to wait for Soze. He comes home to find his wife raped and children screaming. The Hungarians knew Soze was tough, not to be trifled with, so they let him know they meant business.  They tell him they want his territory, all his business. Soze looks over the faces of his family. Then he showed these men of will what will really was. He tells him he would rather see his family dead than live another day after this. He lets the last Hungarian go, 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, the stores they work in. He kills people that owe them money. And like that, he’s gone. Underground. Nobody’s 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.” But no one ever really believes.  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.

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