10. Bad Boys

The life of a spy isn't so bad; after last night's gala (a late-night show, thanks to all the celebrations) and after sleeping late, the Phoenix Hotel Malta serves our transcontinental breakfast in the Royal Suite: coffee from Colombia, tea from China, pancakes from the U.S.A. with maple syrup from Canada, toast from London with smoked ham from Spain, chorizo from Italy and Camembert from France, kiwis from New Zealand, pineapple from Hawaii, and orange juice from Israel; the delicious advantages of a multi-cultural society.

We eat in silence. Malik stares at his Maltese Cross and I think about the hornet's nest we're in.

This story gets stranger with every detail I discover. I'm a spy, trained to save the world from evil governments, the only organizations with enough power to destroy the planet. Although I've completed the course «The Godfather» by Mario Puzo, and I have some members of the New York Gambino family in my network, I'm not an expert in organized crime. For me, fighting the mafia is a hobby, not work. What happens when the mafia starts planning nuclear attacks on major cities?

The task of the LSD is to protect the innocent against the violent. Our biggest worry isn't terrorism. Terrorists can't destroy the world. Only governments can do that. Realistic danger is a President's finger, pushing a button. Spies concentrate on political leaders, not on criminals or terrorists.

Nobody can stop terrorism. We can't stop robbery, violation or murder either, simply because we can't control the behaviour of every individual on our planet. Nobody wants a Big Brother to control us. Therefore, we'll have to accept that some people harm others. We might take away reasons for crime and terrorism, by closing the gap between rich and poor, by broadcasting education instead of commercials, by sending help instead of armed conflicts, but all that isn't the work of a spy.

Nuclear power is 'democratic'. The majority of the citizens of each country gave their leader the power to destroy. For me, that's a reassuring idea. Since 6 and 9 August 1945 (Hiroshima and Nagasaki), citizens control their leaders, which results in 75 years of relative peace.

Now, one individual terrorist has joined the atomic elite. It completely changes the safety procedures. Governments are colossal, democratic, transparent, bottom-up organisms, but criminal organizations are small, dictatorial, hidden, top-down structures. Puppeteer Khalid pulls all the strings. He can't handle many marionettes. If Khalid had an army… we could easily find him.

It's an idea…

I share my thoughts with Malik: "Khalid doesn't work alone. He has people who do his dirty work. If we find his army, we'll find Khalid."

Malik shakes his head: "Obviously, you don't know Khalid. You don't know how he works. To understand evil, you have to think evil. It's all about motivation. You work for money. Would you switch teams when another boss pays you more?"

"No, I wouldn't. I'm loyal to my job, more loyal to my country, and most loyal to serve the morals of Good and Bad."

"Imagine your boss orders you to kill somebody who's Good. Are your moral standards strong enough to ignore the order?"

"Yes. It depends on the situation, but the job and the morals I believe in would never order me to kill anyone. If The Boss orders me to kill you, for instance, I would tell him to find someone else to pull the trigger."

"Discipline-like, you'd be worthless as a soldier, Sami. If soldiers thought about their orders, they would be shot for high treason."

"If soldiers thought about their orders, world peace would be the result, but violent leaders can always find silly killers to let them do their dirty work."

"Hierarchically, if Khalid were your boss, he'd command you to kill your parents and you would execute his orders."

"Why? You can't force other people to act against their will. You have always a choice. What would Khalid do if I refused to obey him? Would he kill me? I can live with that. Let him try. My love for my parents is stronger than his hate. I might not survive my rebellion, but I would never allow Khalid to win without a good fight. The life of my parents is worth fighting for."

"Basically, you're making three mistakes. Primarily, your parents are already dead; Khalid would not waste time: the moment you refused, he'd give the order to somebody else. Secondly, you can't fight a ghost; you don't know who Khalid is until it's too late. And finally: what's stronger than the love a man feels for his parents? It's the love a woman feels for her children. Khalid uses love as a weapon, like your boss uses your loyalty for what you consider Good to make you the most dedicated spy in the world."

I don't understand this «evil thinking». Is love a weapon? Malik is intelligent and educated. He's an expert on a topic I hardly know. I prefer to listen to him before I form my opinion. Is love a weapon of mass destruction? Mother Nature gave us Love, so we won't destroy ourselves with hate and violence during our instinctive Survival of the Fittest. Love is humanity's most valuable asset. How can someone use love as a weapon of mass destruction?

"Let me summarise this, Malik: the love I feel for my parents, my job, and my country is my motivation to do good things. It's impossible that love would motivate me to do the opposite."

Malik flashes a smile: "Philosophically, it's Good itself you should look at."

"You have to be clearer than this. I can't follow you at all."

"Indistinctly, yes, you can. You've just explained your motivation to me: you want to save the world. In other words: you protect Good against the Evil that tries to destroy it. Khalid's Bad Boys do exactly the same. Just like you, they protect Good against Evil, but they stamp «bad» on what you define as «good» and they consider «good» what you call «bad»."

"Killing my parents is good? You are crazy, Malik."

"How interesting is the ignorant who thinks the wise is crazy. Morally, there's no difference between a blind man and a man who refuses to open his eyes for new insight. Khalid doesn't want to kill your parents. He wants to protect his children. He loves them so much, that he's prepared to kill for them.

» I'll tell you the story of a woman I knew. Let's call her Aisha, which means «one who's alive».

» All Aisha had were five children, two parents, and the rags on her body. She was abused and abandoned by her husband, she was abused and abandoned by the Western company that owned everything in her Middle East country, and she was abused and abandoned by the authorities that had sworn to help and protect her. Aisha met a man who called himself Khalid. Khalid invited her to his table. He gave bread and milk to her children. He gave her a house, paid for the school of her kids, and he gave her a job with a decent salary. Khalid gave Aisha a decent life and a future for her offspring. Unfortunately, this isn't a fairy tale. This is real life. In real life, everything has a price.

» Khalid told Aisha his price: «Kill your parents, or I'll kill your kids.» He gave her a gun: a quick death, no suffering. Aisha visited her 70-year-old parents and said: «I must choose between the two things I love most in this world: my parents and my children. My parents have had their lives, and they don't have much future left. My children have no life at all and won't have a future if I don't choose for them. Nobody helps me, except this man, Khalid. When I kill my parents, Khalid will give my children what they need. What should I do?» Her mother took the barrel of the gun, put it between his eyes and ordered Aisha: «Shoot.»"

What can I say? I'm not a father. I can't imagine how a woman, a mother, feels for her children. My mother would probably do the same for me. She would give her life to save the world, not for the world itself, but for the future of her only child. If mothers were leaders of the world, war would be history forever. If every person on this planet listened to his mother, it would end rape, violence, and murder…

"How did the story end?"

Malik looks away: "Dramatically, Aisha pulled the trigger, but she didn't kill her parents. The gun wasn't loaded. Khalid wasn't interested in her parents' death. All he wanted was proof of her loyalty. Loyalty can't be bought with money, only with love. Aisha had paid Khalid's price. In return, Khalid gave her parents a place in a home for elderly people, close to the school of their grandchildren. They thanked Khalid and served him as loyal soldiers for the rest of their lives. Which wasn't a long time, by the way: the home and the school were bombed by the Americans, who called the mission «a success in the war against terrorism». Two days after Aisha told me her story, she died during a suicide mission. That's Khalid's army."

Rostov!

I'm having a serious moral problem here.

I always thought I was on the Good side, but Khalid makes it look like I'm one of the Bad Boys while he's the God of the Good Guys.

We finish our breakfast in silence. When the last crumb has disappeared, I stand up and make a decision: "I'm sick and tired of fighting a war without knowing what I'm fighting for. I'm going to call #1, The Boss, and tell him I want to get out of here. If he throws me in jail for disobeying his orders, it's fine with me, but this stupid mission is a fight we can never win. I surrender. Khalid wins."

Malik raises his hands in despair: "You can't do that! Khalid plans a nuclear attack on a major city in Europe or the United States. You must stop him! He's an evil man."

I almost get emotional: "Who's good and who's evil, Malik? During the last 500 years, the Europeans robbed Latin America of all the gold and silver they could find. They committed genocide on two entire continents, North and South America. They plundered Africa and killed or enslaved the inhabitants to work in mines and on plantations, owned by whites. Large parts of Asia suffered the same treatment. The latest black pearl on the white man's shining chain of capitalistic crimes against humanity is the Middle East. All the poverty on Earth is the result of what the First World calls «being successful». Almost all the exploitation of natural resources and agriculture in the Third World is in the First World's tight fists. Capitalist Western owners force the poor to do all the work for almost nothing. The Europeans and Americans fight wars in the Middle East for oil and power, but when the innocent people from those countries flee their homes, the Western countries close their borders and their inhabitants vote en masse against the consequences of their own economic imperialism. They don't allow poverty to come in and they don't help poverty to work for a better life in their own country either. All they do is make it worse. They fight poverty by killing the beggars. Racism is their marketing strategy.

» Men like Robin Hood, Che Guevara and Khalid el Bullít stand up and fight against the bad boys in our world, against rich capitalist countries. Companies like FIFA earn millions but refuse to protect the stadium builders against financial slavery, forced upon them by the owners of everything. Malta is a society of refugees from everywhere. The members of the Maltese multi-cultural society have one thing in common: they are victims of Western capitalism. They see Khalid el Bullít as a hero who fights for them. Nobody on this island will raise hor hand to hurt Khalid or tell us where he hides. I don't say I'm on their side, but I do have my doubts here."

"Khalid is a criminal. He sells weapons and uses them against innocent people."

"Those 'innocent' people order their presidents to sell weapons and use them against other innocent people. Who are the criminals, Malik? Are it the poor who fight for what's theirs? Or are it the rich who fight to get what doesn't belong to them? Is the hunter who shoots the rabbits so much different from the farmer who eats all the carrots so the rabbits die of hunger? I understand why the Maltese people protect Khalid. I don't like his methods, but I understand his motivation."

"Khalid does lots of things that are against the law."

"Does the law protect the poor and the innocent? Or does the law protect the rich and the powerful who made that law? Anatole France aptly said that the law in its majestic equality forbids the rich as well as the poor from sleeping under bridges, begging in the streets, and stealing bread. The law punishes the working class with a fine, worth a month of work, while it costs the millionaires a minute to pay for the same crime. When the law puts a price on education, it protects the privileges of the rich classes at the cost of the poor. When the law allaws the owners of everything to fire workers at will, so they can hire them back against a lower fee, it's clear that company lobbying has a much stronger vote in democracy than elections. You have a strange way of thinking about good and evil, Malik."

"Khalid sells drugs that kill people."

"Drugs kill 200.000 people each year. Decent capitalist companies produce alcoholic beverages and tobacco that kill 10.000.000 people per year, with the permission of Western governments who get half of the turnover as tax money. If Khalid is a criminal, why do all the others get away with doing worse? And what to say about the consumers of drugs, booze and tobacco? Thanks to their spending, crime pays off. Cuff the dealer and free the buyer? Does money justify everything? You have a strange opinion about good and evil, Malik."

"Your country sent you on a mission: find Khalid El Bullít and kill him."

"My mission is to find the manuscript, not to judge its content or sentence somebody without proof. My country sent our intelligence. My intelligence is not convinced that Khalid deserves to die. There's a difference between write and wrong."

"Khalid will kill me. And he'll kill you too if he finds us."

"He has to come close first. It's two against one. He can't beat us if we stay united. I can trust you, right? You'll protect me like I'll protect you, right?"

"I've never killed anyone."

"Would you kill a bad boy to save your friend? Would you kill a bad boy to save yourself? Would killing a bad boy make you a good guy? You have a lot to think about, Malik, but do it fast, and make sure you're prepared when the moment comes."

Malik doesn't have time. The moment has come. The door of the Royal Suite opens and four Bad Boys come in. The guns in their hands point at our heads. They take position, each one at another wall of the room, putting us in the centre of their interest.

I don't need more than one second to judge the situation: aggression and violence are characteristics of primitive people. Narcotically, these four junkies can't tell the difference between chicken nuggets and chicken shit. There's a thin line between courage and stupidity. As long as reason calls the shots, you're safe enough, but when rage takes over…

The black one, who looks like Jules from Pulp Fiction, does the talking: "We have a message from Khalid, motherfucker!"

"Khalid Motherfucker? You must have the wrong address. I don't know any Khalid Motherfucker.", I say, calm as a camel calf.

"You can't hide from Khalid. He knows where to find you, motherfucker."

"Bad news always spreads faster than good news, especially in a small town like Valletta. And when it comes to scandals, life itself stops until we've heard, judged, and enjoyed every detail."

"We're gonna shoot you, motherfucker.", Jules shouts.

"You should vary your profanities a bit. If you use the same one too often, it loses its strength. You might say «asshole», or «jerk», or «idiot», or «moron», or «prick», or—"

Malik, on his knees, with his head between his hands, whispers: "Disrespectfully, stop calling him names, Sami. You're making this worse."

"And what's worse than killing us, Malik? Will he kill us twice now?"

Jules agrees with Malik: "Shut up, motherfucker. Any last words before we send you to the other side?"

How can I say any last words when I have to shut up? I don't say that aloud, of course; they would fusillade me for being a Grammar Nazi. Making fun of them wouldn't solve the problem. These junkies are here to shoot us, and it's not necessary to give them addictional reasons.

"Last words? I have three. The first one is: smile."

The grimace on Jules's face is more a surprise than a friendly smile. His three dope-head friends (the white one, I baptise Vincent Vega and the other two, with Arab features, Dumb and Dumber) are expressionless; astonishment would indicate understanding, which is far beyond their intellectual capacities. Too bad. Smart guys can be outsmarted. These are drug addicts. They are prepared to do anything. According to the pistols they're pointing at me, «anything» means «killing me».

"I said «smile». You're on camera. Your faces are already uploaded on the Internet, and so will every bloody detail of what you're planning to do here. Thanks for doing the Maltese taxpayers a tremendous favour: the police and the judge never had an easier case. No tax money will be wasted on legal hours to get you all in jail, trialled and executed. Whatcha gonna do when Sheriff John Brown comes for you?"

Some intelligence flashes behind the four sets of eyes that are scanning the environment for hidden cameras. I solve the riddle for them: "There are three video cameras. One hangs over there, the other one is up here, and I'm not giving away the third one; you'll have to figure that out by yourself.

» I told you I have three words to say. The second word is: crossfire. Did you guys ever watch a war film? Members of firing squads usually stand next to each other. If they shot from four different sides, like you, and shooting their victim in the head, all at the same time, four bullets go through the brain tissue of the one in the middle, and end up on the other end in the head of your friend, who's aiming at you right now."

Slowly, Jules's surprise turns into confusion. The other three are not that quick. They glance at Jules for an answer, that will not be available as long as I keep talking. I must act fast.

"My third word is a question: where did you get those Indumil Córdova handguns? A Colombian pistol? Really? Did you see the statistics about that weapon? Your gun is more dangerous for the shooter than for the one he's aiming at. It has 25 centimetres of insecurity on a 10-metre distance and over 10% chance that the bullet doesn't come out at all. When it explodes inside the gun, it takes your hand off. Who gave you that piece of shit? This, on the other hand…"

I take out the Beretta I tucked on my back behind my belt, under my T-shirt: "This is my friend, Tony Beretta, with his nine big lead balls and his 4,7 inches long dick. This Italian-made quality gun is four times as expensive as your Córdovas, but a professional shooter like me can put four bullets in the eye of the one aiming at me…"

I aim the Beretta at Jules, assuming he named himself the leader of these bad boys, cover the five metres distance to Jules with an angry pace while I switch Dorsa's harmless handgun to my left hand, and say: "… before he can even get the safety off. The Córdova comes with two versions: one for right-handed shooters and one for a flaming idiot like you who holds it in his left hand. The difference is in the safety: you can't get it off with your thumb when it's on the other side."

I grab Jules's gun with my right hand, turn it with so much force to the outside that Jules lets go with a cry of pain, followed by some serious curses when my right knee hits him full in the stomach, while I take his gun in my right hand, take the safety off with my thumb, and step behind him. With the barrel of the Córdova under his chin, I gently push him up so he can form a shield to protect me from any stupidity from his three friends. I point the Beretta in my left hand at Vincent Vega, who seems to be more nervous than the other two. They are not as stupid as they look, as they haven't done anything stupid so far, not even said a word.

I keep talking. It's polite to start a conversation with some strangers I've just met. We haven't even been properly introduced: "My name is Bond. James Bond. I also have a message, not for Khalid Motherfucker, but for Khalid El Bullít, the coward who sent you to do his dirty work because he's afraid to show himself. Why do you act so mean, Khalid? Did you forget you're a human being, born from a mother, with the love of a father?

» But first, before you run off to tell him about my opinion, I have a question for you. When the captain orders the soldier to shoot an unarmed prisoner, who is guilty of murder? It's purely hypothetical, of course, not something that will happen in the real world, and it's just professional curiosity from my side, but I don't meet armed killers every day, so I hope you don't mind if I use the opportunity to ask for your opinion.

» Imagine. Four hired killers are accused of murder. There's no doubt they did it, the jury saw the recordings on video, so they go to jail for the rest of their lives. The killers have a right to defend themselves. They blame their boss, the one who ordered them to shoot the victim. Let's call this boss Khalid, just a name, one that comes up first, probably because he's in the front row of my memory right now.

» The killers tell the judge that Khalid put pressure on them. He used the carrot of a reward (money or drugs or whatever) and he used the stick of punishment if they refused: they would lose their jobs, their income, their house, probably followed by a divorce… you know how it is when you depend on a monthly income when you lose your job in times like these with the highest unemployment statistics of the last century.

» The killers defend themselves with the incompetence of the juridical system. There was only a slight chance of being caught by the authorities, while Khalid's reward and punishment were 100% guaranteed. They depended on Khalid, who gave them what they needed to survive, as long as they executed his orders. The killers didn't really have a choice. When the captain orders the soldier to shoot the prisoner, the soldier gets the nightmares, and the captain gets the medals? It might be justice, but it's not just.

» The jury is not fully convinced, so the killers clarify their point of view with a comparison. The rich and famous of this world, the elite that owns everything, they order us to do our job. This job might be something bad, like cutting all the trees of the rainforest, or cheating customers on dating sites, or mixing milk powder with melamine, or putting innocent people into gas chambers, or whatever bosses and employers ask from their staff. If we refuse to follow these orders, we'll be punished, we'll be fired and out of work, we'll lose our income, our house, and our medical insurance, we'll starve, and we'll probably suffer a divorce too, 100% guaranteed. If we just do our jobs, there's only a tiny chance that the incompetent juridical system will catch us and judge us for harming other people or the environment. The Boss who gave the order never stands trial. Making money is never against any law.

» Are you still paying attention, Jules?"

I poke the barrel around in the soft spot of flesh under Jules's lower jaw until I hear a faint: "Yes."

"What «yes»? I try to teach you an important lesson here. Pay a little respect to your drill sergeant. Are you still paying attention?"

"Yes, SIR!"

"That's better. Where was I? Oh, yes. The jury sentenced the four killers to the death penalty, but the real question was: what would they do with the responsible Boss, who gave the order and paid for all the evil his bad boys did in his name? What would the jury do with Khalid? That's what I like to hear from you. What do you think, Jules? You're the jury here. What do you decide? If you get the electric chair for murdering Malik and me, what about Khalid El Bullít?"

Jules needs a little moral support. I cock the hammer of the Córdova. My jury shouldn't take too much precious tax-paid time in debating moral issues.

"Khalid should hang.", Jules says.

I wiggle the barrel of the toy Beretta in my left hand: "We're at a jury trial here, Vincent. We want to hear the opinion of every member. If we don't agree, we'll have a hanging jury. I hope you know what that means."

"Khalid should hang.", Vincent agrees.

"Yes. He should hang."

"I agree. Khalid should hang."

"Well. That's surprising indeed. Bad Boys have a moral sense of justice too.

» The killers confess they're guilty of murder, but they did it because they were victims themselves. According to the judge, the jury, and the law, the killers had a choice. They should have resisted Khalid, and when Khalid killed them, the law would investigate, arrest, trial and judge Khalid… perhaps… not 100% guaranteed… Legal justice was no option for the killers. The killers didn't act of free will. Their choice was fictional, not realistic.

» Khalid, on the other hand, did have the freedom to choose how he spent his life, and he chose to have power over other people. Nobody forced him to do that. He did it all of his own free will. He chose not to do anything against the law, so he forced others to do that for him, like the special agents from the CIA who are not allowed to torture their prisoners, so they send them to other countries that don't have this annoying restriction of rules. Khalid didn't kill anyone, but he benefited from the killing, ordered it, paid for it, and forced others, who depended on him, to act against the law. The law has nothing against Khalid, though.

» What's going on here? The law all-laws the Boss to get away with murder. If violence against others is a crime, so is setting up to violence, provoking violence, and making violence the only choice available. Shooting someone is a crime, but that crime would never have happened if it wouldn't have been made possible for the gun salesman, the gun manufacturer, the president whose law permits owning guns, the media that sends out armies of journalists with the order to report every sign of violence in the world, the people who pay attention to all that violence on TV, the advertisers who pay for it, and finally the employers who fire people who depend on the job and the income, leaving them with the choice between dying of hunger or stealing to survive. All those people have free will to do something else, but they decide to support the violence of others. They even call themselves 'good people'. The law guarantees they get away with their criminal behaviour. The hunter who shoots the rabbits is guilty of murder, but the landowner who eats all the carrots is 'successful', even if the rabbits starve. Nobody disagrees with the hanging of the killers, but even the killers themselves agree on punishing the Boss who gives the orders.

» According to the law, there's no proof that Khalid broke the rules, so he's not guilty of anything. According to the sense of justice of the killers, that law needs revision.

» So this jury here thinks Khalid should hang… Why don't you just visit Khalid and shoot him yourself? You're four against one. Or, if you're a bunch of cowards, why don't you hire a jury and a judge to do your dirty work for you? I'm an armed professional. Tell me where I can find Khalid and I'll fix your problem for you."

The killer jury claims their right to remain silent. They probably don't want to be declared guilty of ordering a murder too. I continue: "So Khalid made you depend on him. How? He sold you drugs?"

The nods of Vincent and Dumber confirm I'm right.

"Khalid makes money by selling drugs. For Khalid, this is business. For me, this is personal. Remember, you don't depend on Khalid, and you don't depend on drugs. You have a choice. Khalid gave you the addiction. I offer you an escape route. You're shooting the wrong man.

» You haven't done anything wrong yet. Walk away from this. You still have a choice, a real choice this time: I can arrange for you all a place in a clinic where they can get that poison out of your system. They'll teach you how to pick up your lives again, they'll give you a job, a house and, if you behave as you should, you might even find a nice wife and have kids, or you can join the national football team, or win the Eurovision Song Contest.

» Khalid gives you a future where you have the choice of killing others, and finally kill yourself when you can't handle your drug habit anymore. I agree with your jury verdict: Khalid should hang, but even the four of you are not brave enough to point your useless Colombian guns at him and pull the trigger. Because you are not brave enough to think for yourselves. If you're afraid, we have a bottle of Scottish bravery and half a pint of Irish courage for you in the mini-bar.

» Here's the deal: tell me where I can find Khalid. In return, I will kill him and give you a secure place in a clinic. You can get out of this shit and get a real life. I give you a real choice. Khalid doesn't. All you have to do is tell me where I can find him, put your guns on the floor, and walk away. When you return here, tonight, at 21:00, you'll find a friend of mine waiting for you. He's a medic and specialist in cleaning up addictions from drugs and alcohol. Khalid will never know about our deal. Or we can turn the pool on the terrace outside into a pool of blood. What will it be…?"

Vincent, Dumb, and Dumber look at each other, and then look at Jules as if he should decide for all of them.

I have to make this easy for them. This is not a TV commercial. This is real life.

"Lovely sweet dear. Voice call to Doc at Guernsey Addiction Treatments Ltd."

Three seconds later, a familiar voice answers: "Hi Bugs. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Doc, but four friends of mine are pretty bad. They need your help. Can you take a flight to Malta and pick them up, here, at the Royal Suite of the Phoenix Hotel Malta, tonight at 09:00 PM?"

"No problem. We have this famous film star around. She's so happy we cured her of her drug habits that she allows us to use her private jet whenever we want. You can count on me."

I push the barrel a little harder into Jules's chin: "Can I count on you too, Jules?"

"Khalid hides in Malta Castle. But I warn you: he's protected by an army of armed men, between fifteen and twenty, and the castle is a fortress; you'll never get in and you'll never get out.", Jules mutters.

"That's my problem. I'm a professional, as you've already found out. And I'm not going in alone. I have my friend Malik here to help me. Anyone of you wants to join us?"

"No, Sir…"

"Anyone of you wants me to shoot you?"

"No, Sir…"

"Well? Don't expect me to waste my expensive bullets on warning shots. Put those guns on the ground and walk away."

Jules, the president of the jury, adds his agreement to the verdict: "Put the guns down. We accept the offer. At least, I do. I'll be here, tonight, at nine PM, and those three dickheads will come with me. We've been through much together and we can handle this too. We're not cowards, you know."

"I know. You have to be brave to do this. It takes courage to say «no» to drugs and fight your addiction. Now, walk away, slowly… and hide until tonight. We don't want anyone to see you and warn Khalid, do we?"

When the four killers are out of sight, I pick up the guns and check them: all have a clip with 9+1 bullets, all have the safety on, and all are in a bad shape. I take out the bullets and flush them through the toilet. Some vital parts of the guns follow the same route and the rest goes into my pocket, to disappear into the first garbage container I run into.

Malik comes out of the shadows: "Hysterically, I was mortally afraid. Sodom and Gomorrah! You handled that well. Thank you for saving my life. Were you serious about the doctor helping them?"

"What do you think? That I'm a kind of Khalid myself? Those men need help, Malik. They are in serious trouble and if nobody helps them, they can cause serious trouble to others. I work for a government. It's my job to help people. That's what good people do: help those who need help. Bad boys cause problems. Good guys help. What do you think?"

"I think you have a long way to go when you think all those others are guilty too, the ones who sell guns, and the ones who put the violence on TV, and the ones who watch it, and the ones who fire people…"

"I know, Malik, but that's what I do: I work to save the world, to make it a better place, a place without violence. It costs a lot of effort and tax money to help people who do bad things, and it also costs a lot of tax money to punish them instead of solving the problems. Taxpayers complain that their government only supports the bad boys and does nothing for the good guys who lose their jobs, but those good guys have a part in the responsibility themselves. They lose their job because they buy from companies that underpay, that exploit children or poor workers in Third World countries. Taxpayers suffer from consumers who don't care about how goods are produced because they want nothing but the lowest price. That gun law is there because people vote for it and people vote for it because they believe the lie of the manufacturers of those guns that you need a gun to feel safe. In Europe, nobody has a gun and everybody feels a lot safer. Why do we have so much violence on TV? Because we're watching it. We're not interested in reading about solutions. We want to read about problems. That's in our DNA: every living organism is trained in looking around, searching for trouble, so she can walk away or fight it. Our DNA is not prepared for a world with TV, newspapers and social media, capable of producing so many problems that we can't ignore it anymore: depression and stress are the results. We do this to ourselves, Malik, and I took the job of fighting it. I can handle four guys with loaded guns, but I can't fight a world full of people, eager to see blood. I need help, just like I'll need help to enter that castle, shoot Khalid's twenty men, and finally kill Khalid. Violence is never an answer, but if the sheriff is not open to reason, he pays the price of his stupidity. We're going in, Malik. We're going to finish this."

"But… I'm a writer. I've never shot a sheriff."

"Are you my friend? Friends stand behind each other, in good times and in bad times. I helped you out, but now it's time you help me. And we'll need some more help. I have to make a phone call…"