Who am I? My name is Arnie. I own a soap shop downtown. You know, the one with the big pink flowers outside, you can't miss it. And my little daughter, Anne, ain't she adorable?--She works the till and gives a how-de-doo to the custom'rs. She's only sixteen, but I told her if she wanted, she could help the family business and earn a little for her hobbies. She's a painter. One day I'd like to see our shop walls adorned with her work. And if I get that next deal selling soap to the Pilligree Hotel up on the ridge, I think I may even buy some more land.
But truly, don't go looking, cause my shop--it doesn't exist. You won't find it. Not even the pink flowers. Those were just to make me sound genuine. But Arnie's not even my real name. I really go by Jonathan.
And try this, I don't work at no sissy soap shop. And hell man, I don't even have a daughter. I can't afford one, and could ya see a guy like me holdin' some little baby--getting spit on my jacket? Not gonna happen. You thought you knew me? You got it wrong. It's real straight, see? I'm lyin' to you. Look me in the eye. Yeah. I'm lying to you. Do you see a flicker in my eye? Do you? Cause I can do this all fucking day. It's what I do. I lie. And don't tell me to stop. I can't. I tried. It's that question that gets me. Who are ya, they ask. So what do I do? I respond.
My name is Edward, and I am in the business of selling shares in a company by the name of Terral Industries. We are a company specializing in privatized landscaping equipment. We have deals with some of the world's leading corporations in agricultural technology, heavy-machinary mining, and waterway distribution system analysis. We are currently opening our doors to a new selection of developing businesses for the benefit of all parties. If you would sign here and here, I will take your money and screw you over before vanishing into the crowd of humanity under a very different name and behind a very different mask.
And now what? You had to ask, right? Who am I now? There's the damn question that keeps this going. I guess I've never found a character I've truly enjoyed. It's either that or every character becomes corrupt, and I am forced to move on. I can tell you right now, the police in seventeen states, four provinces, and eighteen countries would be happy to know that their accumulated list of twenty-three criminals is just one guy.
Or would they? I'd be rather intimidated by such an idea.
Or would I? Fuck, I can never know. I haven't been myself lately. Could you tell?
Now, if you'd excuse me, I have a night on the town to get started. I'm thinking of starting off with a british accent. I'm hoping to attract some female attention. And that's the only clue I'll give you about my whereabouts. Yeah. It's not in Britain.
So, Detective Clayton, I bid you goodnight.