Listen, fellas, I don’t mean no disrespect here. I owe Don Alfredo my life. I would never ever, under any circumstances, even if coerced by the FBI, make any moves against the Fettucine Family. Ever.

It’s just that, when I first accepted my employment package, I assumed that one of the job’s many perks was the potential to tap into my skill and my passion for rhetorical oratory… I mean to say, all while performing the duties of the role. I was only looking forward to monologuing here and there on the side, capiche?

Don’t get me wrong, I love cracking skulls and taking names like the rest of yous. It’s just that, when sending a man to meet his maker I would enjoy lecturing him on the moral nature of good and evil. Or, on the ethics of murder and its implications for the soul. Or even more interestingly, on the blurred boundaries that exist between justice and crime in the American legal system.

Y’know, nothing crazy.

You all did see my resume, right? I double majored in Philosophy and Theater at Fordham. Ah Madon! You sound just like my parents. I’ll admit it’s a niche field of study but it’s rough for new grads in every industry, just ask the computer science goombahs. I was a bit lost after graduation. Where would I be able to find a position that combines performance art, intellectual rumination, and the ability to make some serious clams.

I was so excited when applying to your job posting on LinkedIn and I was ecstatic making my bones giving Det. Caruso the ol’ Sicilian Goodbye. I guess I should have taken a hint when I used him to practice my seminar on Kant’s Categorical Imperative. I didn’t appreciate it when guys told me to shut my yap and I still hold that the concept is of vital inquiry for anyone looking to be dirty cop.

Where’s the Drama? The Theatrics? The Spectacle?

When anyone does whack someone, they do it so business-like. Just bam! No story, no poetry, no nothin’. I have yet to see any higher-ups stop to recount a realist, allegorical tale from their childhood before they paint the room with some guys brains. Y’know, a story that is pointed enough to have relevance to the situation at hand but open ended enough to leave room for artistic interpretation.

Believe me when I tell you, it’s just all so sterile. If I wanted a corporate job, I would have taken the marketing offer I got from Deloitte.

I did just happen to do my senior thesis on “childhood and the immigrant experience” and would be more than happy to perform an interpretive dance to that effect. I have to say, seeing you guys in action, the inversion of the American Dream is probably a more compelling theme than I give credit for in my Letterboxd reviews.

I guess I shouldn’t really direct my anger towards you. Hollywood makes it seem like every wiseguy is an extremely articulate, well read philosopher alongside being a cold-blooded, cold-hearted son of a bitch. The dichotomy is interesting, but it always did seem a bit of a stretch.

Woah, look at this imagery of a crucifix next to some obscene act of violence! Oh!

I’m starting to get the sense that, in addition to being born into poverty, you are also being used as props to cope with the creative class’s inability to understand crime as a complex socioeconomic phenomenon.

Woah, woah, woah, whaddya mean I’m doing the same thing now? Alright, you caught me, I’m monologuing.

I don’t mean anything by it, okay. Just tryin’ to get my artistic kicks when the bosses ain’t lookin’. Guys, forget I said anything.

Now, you grab the head and I’ll grab the legs. We still have the four other bodies to dump and all this introspection is starting to tucker me out.

Still, gotta admit, murder and drugs and all, this job still beats working service.