7. Blackjack

I don't want to take any risks. I want to be in control. On my spiPhone, I find the most reliable website to prepare myself for what's coming: www.foreshadowyourfutureforaquarter.com gives me my daily horoscope with a 99,9% of probability and a money-back guarantee.

[Sunday, 21-1-2018 (Cancer): You are confused, and information reaching you isn't specific or clear enough. Start accepting circumstances beyond your control.]

My horoscope confuses me. The information isn't very specific and certainly not clear enough. But if I won't accept that things will run out of hand today, I'll lose my invested quarter, and I don't want to take that risk.

I don't want to take any risks. In the pocket of my tuxedo, I have almost 5.000 euros in cash. It took me two full months of work, 350 hours of salty sweat and bitter tears, to earn it, and it took me a lot more time to save it. I don't want to take any risk of losing everything in one night. We only visit this casino to find a man with a remarkable voice who, according to all logic, will not be there.

Slot machines aren't a good place to start our investigation: they grant a 40% profit of inserted coins to the owner and they offer me a 100% chance to lose money. Statistics of the gambling dice at the craps table aren't much better: 7 out of 11 throws pay out to the casino while only 6 out of 11 pay out to me. The roulette tables give a 36:37 chance to keep the money I invest and a 1:37 chance that the casino makes a nice profit. During my mission in Brest, at the European Games, I learnt one lesson: the only one who makes money with bets is the one who organizes the show, the casino itself. I'm not here to make them rich. I have better things to do.

If there would be a poker table, I would take a seat there. Poker has nothing to do with luck. Poker is a skill and a sport. Trained professionals like Daniel Craig and I profit from the ignorance of the amateur players who don't have our poker faces. Shirley agreed: she played a lot of strip poker in her days, and never lost even one golden earring. But, according to Frans, poker is not available at The Ace of Spades. Of course not. Casinos have to make money. They can't afford to lose. All they lose are clients, after the clients have lost everything to the casino.

My best chances are at the Blackjack table. I can bet high when the statistics are in my favour, and lose low when the chances turn. Also, the Higher Powers hinted with the (black) Ace of Swords and the knight (jack) of the Tarot where a (wheel of) fortune waits for me. Sanni read the lines in my hand and foresaw me winning lots of money. My horoscope for today mentioned nothing about my upcoming bankruptcy. All the odds are in my favour. Nothing can go wrong.

We don't want to look suspicious by just walking around. It's best to do what all the others do: play games, order drinks, and act like we're enjoying ourselves. Shirley and I are a team. I concentrate on the game and Shirley concentrates on the gamblers. I'll do the playing and she'll do the praying.

Our first steps on the red carpet in front of the door are welcomed by a voluptuous lady in a red dress who offers us a free drink. My suspicion sparkles like the bubbles in the glasses on the tray she's holding: "Free drinks?"

Her radiant smile is authentic: she's not here to drug 'n' drunk us; she's the Casino Royale hostess who wants us to be happy: "This is Austria, Sir. We go directly for your g-spot, in fact, for the triple-g: Gastfreundshaft, Gemutlichkeit und Gastritis. Hospitality and making our guests feel at home is rule number one in the Austrian constitution. Would you like a glass of champagne? Or do you prefer our exciting Austrian white wine?"

I take my time to study her full-blood bosom, but only for professional reasons: she has a tag there with her name, Michaela, on it, and it's polite to use her correct name when you speak to a lady.

"I'm born under the sign of Cancer, Michaela, and my friend Shirley is Pisces. We feel better with water. It helps us to think clearly when we're betting our money."

"Oh, I understand. As a Libra, I also like to keep my balance under every circumstance. Would you like a non-alcoholic drink? You'll be surprised how nice our fruit cocktails are. My personal favourite is Cherry Blossom, but you should also try a Heisse Liebe («Hot Love» made with fresh strawberries and passion fruits). Do you know what? I offer you one of each, so you can try both. Isn't that exciting?"

Michaela does a good job in making us feel welcome, and she's right about the fruit cocktails too; both are delicious. I almost feel embarrassed for my earlier suspicion, but I'm a spy, suspicion is my middle name, and in other countries, it's not normal when people are as friendly as Austrians (okay, Der Kommissar was the exception that confirmed the rule).

Michaela is delighted about our compliments on the cocktails. She takes the time to show us around: "You can leave your coats here. Over there, you can buy your chips. If there's anything else you need to know, don't hesitate to ask me. I wish you all the luck at the tables."

We start with a quick scan of this Theatre of Dreams, but find only the usual suspects on the scene: businessmen with more time than money on their hands, pretty ladies looking for a winner, and several lower members of the high society, all of them balancing on the thin red line between loving life and being greedy for it.

Luck seems to be on my side when I take a seat at the Blackjack table; it's a man, dressed in black. Until I have more detailed info, I baptise him Jack. Black Jack doesn't say a word. Perhaps he's the silent type, or perhaps he has a remarkable voice to hide. I bet it's the second reason. I feel lucky. My suspicion convinces me to find out.

Jack bets 50 euros on a seven and a three, hits a queen, sees how I pass on seventeen and how the bank decides that his eighteen and my loss of 100 euros is enough to pay Jack his win. To win back my loss, I bet 200 euros on the next round. I get a four and a jack, but I hit a nine and see my money disappear. Jack bets 100 euros and passes. The bank turns a seven and a six, hits a jack, and pays Jack from my chips.

It can't go on like this. My statistics have to turn now. I sit down with two tens, bet 1.000 euros, and have a little fun. The dealer hits sixteen with a five, just enough to make twenty-one, and smiles at me: "How unlucky can one man be?"

I don't want the dealer to talk to me like that. I want Jack to say something, so I can hear if he has a remarkable voice. Jack doesn't say anything. He bets fifties and hundreds, wins some and loses some, but keeps on the profit side of the table. My side of the table shows three chips of 50 euros and one of 100. The rest of my 5.000 euro capital has disappeared mysteriously.

So far, Black Jack hasn't said one word. It's time to change my tactics, to let go of my indirect role as an observer and switch to the good old trick of initiative. I try a friendly face and ask him: "You seem to know how to play this game. Don't you have any advice for me?"

Jack frowns briefly at me, concentrates on his cards again and grumbles: "Yeah. Stop playing. Go home and get yourself an alcohol addiction. It's much cheaper. Or go and play Pick-Up52."

I'm flabbergasted. Jack has a deep voice, but nothing remarkable. I've lost all that money for nothing and get another enigma in return: "Pick-Up52? What's that?"

Without wasting another word, Jack makes a gesture at the dealer, who hands him a brand-new deck of cards. Without looking at me, Jack takes the cards, shuffles them, takes the deck in his right hand, with his thumb on one side and his fingers on the other side, puts his index finger under the centre of the pack, points it at me and pfrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt, all the cards fly into my face until the whole deck is on the ground. Jack explains the rules: "Pick up 52."

I've heard of Catch-22, which is funny, but this is ridiculous. I came here to observe, not to be looked at. It's Sunday night and I'm in the spot. All the other guests are laughing at me, grinning behind their cards, or smiling behind their cocktails. The dealer repeats the rules: "Pick up 52.", and signals two gorillas in dark suits to watch if I play by the rules. Like an authentic floorman, I collect my winnings. I put the cards back on the Black Jack table, in the correct following order, to show the dealer nothing is missing (or hidden in my sleeves), put my final four chips in my pocket, and leave with dignity for the bar.

"That went well, didn't it?", Shirley asks.

"Would you like a Caribbean Kiss?", Michaela asks: "It's the most exciting cocktail you've ever tasted. It has coconut, pineapple, mint, and a straw of dark chocolate."

She places the brightly coloured glass in front of me on the bar, but I push it away: "I'm sorry, Michaela. Tonight, I'm not in the mood for kisses. After losing so many of my closest friends at the Blackjack table, I'm suffering love pangs…"

Michaela never loses her good mood: "You shouldn't worry. There's sunshine after rain. Always look on the bright side of life. The cocktail is on the house; you're our best client tonight. Isn't that exciting?"

She's just trying to be nice to me. I guess she's right. It's just money. I'm young and fit, I'm having the time of my life, and sometimes one or two or five thousand little misfortunes happen. Miss Fortune on the other side of the bar has nothing to do with my bad luck. All she wants is to cheer me up. All I can do is appreciate her kindness. I give her a weary smile: "Thank you for cheering me up, and thank you for the free cocktail. It looks delicious."

Shirley looks ambitious: "We didn't come here for the drinks. We have a higher goal. Perhaps you can help us, dear. You seem to know everyone here. We're looking for someone vicious."

Michaela looks malicious: "Are you… police officers?"

Shirley looks judicious: "Of course not. The police aren't interested in conspiracies to destroy the world."

Michaela looks auspicious: "Are you… Are you…" She looks around if nobody pays attention to us, comes closer and whispers: "Are you members of the Sieben Gänge gang? Like me?"

I have no idea what this is about, but Shirley nods reassuring, and Michaela reacts overjoyed: "How exciting! I've never before met anyone else from our gang. I'm thrilled. This is wonderful. Let me guess. You (she means me) must be Fish Dish. And you (that's Shirley) are Easy Meat. Am I right? And I'm Aperitif, of course. That wasn't too difficult. Oh, I'm so excited to meet you. We have so many things to talk about… But… we shouldn't talk here. Not now… It's too risky. You never know who'd overhear us."

She glances at her wrist: "If you like, we can go somewhere after my shift ends, in about three hours, when the casino closes. Shall we meet at the entrance at 04:00 AM?"

Shirley gives Michaela a smile and a hug: "That would be lovely, my dear. We have so many questions for you. My first question is: how do you give such a smooth and sparkling taste to this Caribbean Kiss cocktail? I would like to make it at home."

I'm more interested in how we're going to spend three more hours in this casino with the four chips I take out of my pocket. I ask Michaela: "According to my statistics, this will keep me busy for three more minutes at the Blackjack table. Can you lend me a quarter, so I can entertain myself for the remaining two hours and fifty-seven minutes?"

Michaela whispers in my ear: "Don't play Blackjack; they make you lose all your money. Go to roulette table number seven, take the seat on the left side of the croupier, in front of number seven. Bet ten chips of 10 euros each: seven chips on number seven and one chip on each of the three left choices of the 50/50-values; pick 1-18 from high-low, even from pair-impair and red from rouge-noir. Then you say aloud «Lucky Seven» and keep placing the same bets at every next round until you have 50.000 euros of profit. Good luck…"

She drops a handful of 10-euro chips on top of the remains of my treasure, gives me a wink and a smile, and goes back to her work.

Shirley nods with confidence: "Left and seven were your choices that led us to the Ace of Spades. The Tarot showed the Wheel of Fortune, the cups and the coins. The Higher Powers gave us all the correct hints, but we failed to recognise them."

What can I do? The casino always wins, even without cheating, but if they have ways to make the odds more even, I have to take the risk. We have to wait until 04:00 AM, anyway. I go to roulette table seven, sit down, place my bets, say the magic words and…

50.000 euros of profit later, it's 04:00 AM. Time to leave…

As promised, Michaela waits for us outside: "Where are we going? Are there any clubs open at this hour? I'm up for an exciting party."

I smile mysteriously: "Not here in Velden, but we know a place in Villach…"

We take a taxi. Twenty minutes of chitchat later, we stop in front of the Twilight Zone. All the lights are on. When we enter, we're surrounded by fifteen dancing ghosts. While I was playing roulette, Shirley made some phone calls…

Michaela claps her hands and laughs: "Oh, how exciting. A masked horror party. Do they have a costume for me too?"

We turn up the music and join the dance. Shirley disappears under a Ku-Klux-Klan outfit, made of stained bedsheets (it's a good thing the Twilight Zone doesn't play in the national football league because a clean sheet is impossible here). I get the cape and fangs of Dracula, Prince of Darkness, which fit perfectly with my black tuxedo. Michaela is the centre of attention. One ghost puts a ball-and-chain on her foot. Two others give her a hand with the handcuffs, connected with iron chains to hooks in the ceiling. Someone hangs a chain around her neck. Another one puts snow chains on her feet. We dance in a chain around her. We howl and shout. It gets worse. We can't stop. It's a chain reaction. On Shirley's sign, the ghosts show what they have under their blankets: knives and forks. One of them has a bottle of ketchup. The music stops. We stop dancing. We close the circle. The fun stops. We're serious. Deadly serious. In the Twilight Zone, nobody plays with hor food…

Michaela's smile disappears behind her doubts. Her eyes grow big. The corners of her mouth tense. Her eyes flash around: "Are you yanking my chain? Is this funny?"

"Very.", I grin with my bloodthirsty teeth. All the ghosts produce a burst of hollow laughter.

Michaela yanks her chains, but only makes the chandelier clank: "What do you want from me?"

"Information. We want to hear everything you know about the Sieben Gänge gang: how they are going to destroy the world, when they are going to attack, how they are organized… Everything.", I say.

Michaela is brave. She turns her head away and snaps: "I don't say a word. My lips are sealed."

"I'm glad you want to cooperate. Everyone here hopes you keep your mouth shut for a long time. We haven't had a thrilling torture party for years. Exciting! It ain't over until the fat lady sings, and it's no fun at all to torture someone who sings at first bite. The ketchup is in case you can't stand watching your own blood, and it also gives your meat a delicious taste when we let the proof disappear on the barbecue tomorrow. Are you hungry, ghosts?"

The howling is so scary that Michaela breaks.

The fat lady sings: "I know nothing. All I know is that there are seven of us. Our code names are the dishes of a seven-course dinner: I'm Aperitif, and the others are Antipasti, Fish Dish, Little Bird Told Me, Easy Meat, Snow White and Irish Coffee."

"Where can we find them?"

"I don't know."

"What do they look like?"

"I don't know."

"When and where did they plan their next attack?"

"I don't know."

"What orders do you get?"

"I get instructions on little yellow sticky notes via post mail, usually orders to invent aperitifs; cocktails and drinks like that. I send the recipes by pigeon."

Recipes? Does the gang use poison to destroy the world? Poison is a woman's weapon. It's much more effective for mass destruction than the weapons of mass destruction that caused the latest war in Iraq. It's cheaper too. Perhaps the gang uses the recipes to mask the smell or the taste of the poison?

"How successful are you? What's your death rate?"

Michaela doesn't want to say more. She's afraid of what will happen to her. What will we do to her when she's no longer of any value to us? What will the rest of the gang do to her when they found out she has given away their secrets?

Shirley takes off her KKK cap and looks Michaela in the eye: "We'll give you a choice. We can do this the American way, or we can do this the Austrian way.

» First, I'll explain the American way: we lock you up in a dark cellar with cockroaches, we beat you, we waterboard you, and (worst of all) we put you on a water-and-bread diet. The Austrian way is different: you cooperate and we treat you nicely. You cook and clean and do the laundry for everyone in the Twilight Zone, and you get three meals plus a comfortable room in return.

» Of course, we plant a chip under your skin, so we can track you down and make you feel awful if you break the deal, but that's because you behave badly, not because we suffer some sick sadomasochistic necessity to punish and torture you. We prefer if you show you're sorry, by working hard, to undo the damage you caused. We prefer to see you change into a better person. It depends on you if we give you that chance or not; you'll have to earn it first, by telling us what you know, and by showing us you're worth our mercy. It's your choice. What will it be? Water and bread? Or Apfelstrudel and Wiener Kaffee?"

The ghosts clang their cutlery and shout: "Water and bread! Water and bread! Water and bread!"

I enter the kitchen and return with a fresh cup of Wiener Kaffee and a piece of Apfelstrudel, still warm from the oven. The smells are irresistible. I've been working all day long, all night long, without dinner, without even a tiny snack, and now I'm holding two of the prize-winning products from one of the best kitchens in the world (some say: THE best kitchen in the world) in front of a terrible criminal. Am I going to give her this as a reward for all the evil she's done?

Wiener Kaffee is the Austrian version of cappuccino, a strong, sugared espresso, covered with milk froth (NOT with whipped cream, that's a Mozart Kaffee) and a dash of ground chocolate or cocoa powder. The Apfelstrudel took two generations of Austrian monarchs to develop the perfect recipe. It's several layers of buttered paper-thin dough, filled with a mix of sliced apples, raisins, walnuts, and buttered breadcrumbs with cinnamon and sugar, rolled up, and baked for half an hour, after which you dust it with confectioner's sugar.

Rostov! Michaela won't get one crumb of this. The coffee doesn't get a chance to turn into Wiener Eiskaffee. Then, I stuff the entire piece of Strudel into my mouth. It's even better than I hoped for. I smack, lick my lips, and suck my fingers, moaning and groaning with delight, like this is some sort of erotic experience. It's not. Shirley's Apfelstrudel is much better than sex…

Michaela starts to cry: "Stop! Don't do this to me! I've told you everything I know. I'm not a bad person. Our Sieben Gänge gang isn't as horrible as you think. We're only small criminals, compared to other organizations. Last year, we've only killed between three and four million people. Cigarette companies cause twice as many mortal victims. The Second World War killed 50 million people in four years; that's three times as many as we do. And when we started, back in the 1980s, we hardly killed a million per year. We're not as horrible as you think…"

Her sobbing is the only sound left in a deadly silence. Three to four million mortal victims per year? And they're doing this for twenty to thirty years already?? And it's not even on the news???

Shirley doesn't seem surprised: "I told you this was big."

"«Big» is an understatement, Shirley. We have to stop these people at all costs. I understand why the Higher Powers try to help us with this mission: we're looking at the end of humanity here, at the end of the world.", I whisper. One by one, the old folks take off their blankets and show their worried faces. What kind of monster did we catch here? Nobody understands so much cruelty.

I turn to Michaela and ask: "You work for an organization that causes millions of deaths per year. Why do you help those people? Are you crazy?"

She looks at the chains, unable to wipe her nose and dry her tears: "Can you, please, get me out of this? I'm sorry. You're right. I've been a horrible person. I did it for the money, of course."

I take off her handcuffs and the other Jeremy Irons. Meanwhile, Michaela explains: "A long time ago, when I was young, I had a dream… a nightmare… In the dream, I looked in a mirror and I saw myself, with short-cut hair, grey as a wolf, a face full of wrinkles, and sad eyes. Those eyes told me my future, a long story of loss: first, you'll lose your beauty and your strength, then you'll lose your job and your wealth, and finally, you'll lose your dignity, your mind and your life. I work at a casino. I hate losing. I'm a winner. I want an exciting life. I want it all, and I want it now. Walking the way of the working class? Or running the road of rogue? Choosing was easy. I joined the gang and had fortune on my side ever since."

"And you were happy with a life full of simple satisfactions: getting drunk, getting stoned, getting laid, getting fat, and laziness to get all that.", Shirley adds.

Michaela makes an ultimate attempt to justify herself: "Crime is hard work."

"You never think about tomorrow."

"There's no tomorrow. I live now."

Shirley doesn't admit cheap excuses: "You don't live at all, love. You have no idea what living is. Look around you and count the wrinkles: each line on each face is a medal of honour, given by Mother Nature, for earning respect while solving problems. All your life, you've been running away from living, by hiding yourself in artificial unconsciousness instead of searching for the real values that make life worth living. Look in this mirror… Tomorrow never dies…"

Shirley takes one of the eldest ladies by the arm and places her in front of Michaela: "This is your Ghost of Christmas Future. When you'll reach her age, you'll have only one worry left: the worry of sorry. You have all your life to make sure that, in the end, you have nothing left to be sorry about. When you look Death in the eye, you have no time left to correct your mistakes. When your twenty-fifth hour comes, your last thoughts will be about who you were and what you've become. Sorry will be too late then. Today you choose, or tomorrow you lose. We offer you a chance to become a woman who loves life by inviting others to share it with her. This lady in front of you needs help. You can give it to her. And in return, she will give meaning to your life."

Michaela looks away. She takes a deep breath. Shirley doesn't allow her to take a break: "Look at her. Look at me. I'm not your enemy. I'm here to help you. Think of me as your last chance. You've done horrible things. You deserve to burn in hell, and if you don't change, you will. I offer you an alternative: from now on, for the rest of your life, you'll serve and protect the residents of the Twilight Zone. Undo the damage you've caused by doing as much good work as you can. That's your punishment. Do you accept it?"

Michaela bows her head: "I accept. I promise to try."

"Try isn't good enough. Promise to give it your best. Promise to do everything you can."

"I promise to give it my best. Seven days a week, I'll do everything I can."

Finally, Shirley is satisfied: "Okay. You can start right now. You're going to shake your spectacular Caribbean Kiss cocktail for all of us. All the ingredients are in the kitchen. Here in the Twilight Zone, we'll need a lot of kissing. And we want a piece of Apfelstrudel too, before my dear Watson eats everything."

The music starts again, the ghosts continue the dance, using the forks and knives now to empty the plates of pastry, and the Twilight Zone Masked Horror Party goes on like there's no tomorrow. According to a just-invented tradition, the Caribbean Kiss cocktail is served with a kiss, on the cheek or the forehead, with bright red lipstick, so you can easily see how many drinks everyone has had. When there's no more space on your face for further kissing, it's time you go to bed. Breakfast at lunchtime.

Shirley and I escape the party and find ourselves a quiet corner in the kitchen. I'm worried: "We've found a terrible conspiracy. This might be too much for us. Three million victims each year… A complete gang…"

Shirley lifts her shoulders: "We're working on it, aren't we? As long as we're looking for solutions, instead of complaining about the problems, we're doing the best we can. According to Michaela, there are six more killers. Today is Sunday. If we catch one each day, we've solved the case next Saturday, one day before the planned terrorist attack. We can do this, my dear Watson. Nobody said it would be easy to save the world. That's why it's so much fun, and that's why it will give so much satisfaction when we succeed."

Shirley's right, as always. There's one thing I don't understand: "I'm not sure about Michaela. We should turn her into Alice in Chains again, and lock her up in the basement for the rest of her life."

"Why?"

"Well… That's what punishment is about. She has to suffer."

"Who's suffering now? She's running around with cocktails, and we're all having a good time. Imagine we lock her up in the basement: we must feed her, take care of her, pay for everything, while she's just sitting there and doing nothing. Who's suffering then?"

There's no logical argument I can think of. Shirley's right again. Experience in life is a wonderful thing. There's so much I can learn from her…

"Why did she accept the punishment you offered her?"

Shirley smiles: "Respect. I treated her with respect, like a human being. If you want others to respect you, give them your respect first. Michaela believed that the first offer was also the best. Most people believe that «good» is what they're born with. Only intelligent people realise how much they can learn from others. Nobody is born educated, but we're all born with the gift to learn. For bad behaviour, ignorance is never an excuse and always a reason. To take away that reason, we can offer other people a second chance, the chance to learn. Did you ever think about why anyone would want to destroy the world?"

"I have a theory. When you do it together, the club organizes great entertainment, like sex orgies and brain-blowing drugs experiences. Someone has invented that it's entertaining to hurt others and yourself, while it's boring to love and help each other. Personally, I suspect TV, films, and books to spread those silly ideas. Fiction writers are the source of all evil in the world. Criminals are just victims, easily influenced by those writers who plant crazy ideas of fiction in their heads. The guys behind 9/11 confessed they got the idea after watching a film… We should prohibit fiction, worldwide. It might give us a chance…"

Shirley has another theory: "You've read too much fiction, my dear Watson. Evil and Good have the same goal: a better life. Evil thinks that a better life consists of more money, more power, more sex 'n' drugs 'n' rock 'n' roll, more for themselves. More is a form of quantity, of possession, of what you have. Better is a matter of quality, of action, of what you do. Evil hunts the wrong rabbit. Good understands quality. A better life consists of giving meaning to what you do, and there's no better meaning than the pleasure of doing important things for others, things like saving the world…

» Did you see what the old folks gave Michaela back for what she did? Her face is full of lipstick kisses. Working with these people is a lovely job. Do you prefer a 20-euro tip from a gambler in a casino? Or do you prefer 20 kisses from Traudi Klammer? Money doesn't bring happiness, my dear Watson. You have to be old and wise like me to understand values, or you learn that lesson while you're still young, so you have more time to enjoy it. Did you already forget about your dream of last night? An attacking shark is a stupid animal that acts on instinct, but we should give a hostile human the opportunity to show she's intelligent enough to learn and change."

"And Michaela learnt that lesson tonight?"

"Michaela is a Libra. She's indecisive by nature. I gave her an offer she couldn't refuse: the most exciting horror party of the year. Libras are intelligent people, capable of listening to others, and capable of changing when they see a better option. Only stupid people are convinced that the first thing they learn is also the best for them. Michaela isn't stupid. She realised that she can't run away from her future, that she has to grow and accept life like it is. She learnt. It was easy, a piece of Apfelstrudel. When you know people, you know how to motivate them to do the right thing."

I take a sip of my Villacher beer and confess: "You motivate me to do the right thing, that's one thing for sure. I walked away from the duties of my job to follow you and your premonition of an upcoming disaster. Tonight, we've discovered that this disaster is even bigger than we could imagine. I'm glad I did the right thing. And on top of that, I've won 50.000 euros, more money than the LSD pays me in a year."

Shirley puts her hand on top of mine, looks me in the eye, and says: "Thank you, my dear Watson, for believing in me. It means a lot to me. I'd like to tie up one last loose end, though: you told Michaela you're a Cancer and I'm a Pisces. I already knew you were a Cancer, but… what makes you think I'm a Pisces?"

I answer with a mysterious smile: "Was I wrong?"

"You had a 1:12 chance to guess right. I want to know why you're so sure."

"I'm a spy, Shirley. I'm good at this game of discovering secrets. My spiPhone records every spoken word and automatically sends a text file of every 15 minutes of conversation to my secret backup space in the cloud. And there is the Internet, with almost unlimited information about any topic.

» That night after you ALMOST guessed my birthday (you were wrong one day), I thought about tools. I use every tool I can get to save the world: weapons, skills, knowledge, you name it and I train it. The other night, I realised there's this tool of the Zodiac, a tool I never gave a second thought. Until now. The Zodiac deserves a little investigation and training. I believe in science. With the scientific approach of the Zodiac, I checked your list of characteristics of each sign against your personality, as far as I know you in hardly any time.

» Being helpful is your strongest quality. You're modest and introvert. You're not a leader, but a dedicated team player. Patient and emphatic, you put duty over pleasure. You're also a dreamer who doesn't hesitate to put all her energy into something most other people would consider impossible. You're emotional and loyal, mysterious and gentle, tolerant, and perhaps overly trusting. All those are qualities of Pisces. I also had my doubts: Pisces are fearful and passive pessimists. You're an optimist, you're active, and you're brave as an Aries, a Capricorn or a Sagittarius. But you're not reckless and tactless like a Sagittarius, not the short-tempered leader that dominates Aries, and you're not an unforgiving, unreliable loner like Capricorn either. The odds tell me you are Pisces. Only a romantic Cancer and a romantic Pisces can dream about saving the world together. That's why we're such a perfect team. Am I wrong?"

"Science is never wrong. You've learnt that the Zodiac is pure science. Lovely. My birthday is on the first of March. I'm indeed a Pisces. And, as a Water-sign and a woman, I'm also curious as a Scorpio: what are you going to do with all that money?"

"Finance our little operation, and pay for the future of the Twilight Zone, of course. We can't save the world alone, Shirley. We must pay the troops that help us."

The troops enter the kitchen, dancing in a chain, convincing us that the party isn't over until the fat lady sings. Back in the dining room, Michaela climbs on the table to sing «Unchain My Heart» at the top of her voice. Before the song is over, the table collapses under her weight. It's time to go to bed.