noise wakes me up and watch the clock on the nightstand. Has been heard on the ground floor. So I grab my flashlight and the K-Bar knife-American marine memories of Disneyland-and down stairs trying to be calm and take accountability. Many are high or low, domestic or import, armed or not. If I were in a normal country, this burden would be on. Would fall with a shotgun and once down would pumba, pumba, without saying good night. Kosovo Albanians to heaven. Or whatever they are. But I'm in the mountains of Madrid, Spain. I do not like hunting and I have no gun. Only a Kalashnikov-another reminder of Disneyland " that no longer fires. On the other hand, a shotgun would not serve anything. I'm in Spain, leader of the West, again. Here the procedure varies. While under the stairs of my house, I insist, with knife in hand, what I is doing calculations. Wondering if you mess up the bird, if I'm not looking to put Triana and esparramar lucky if I have some bad, as they'll tell you after the Civil Guard and the judge. Having eggs. First, to see how I find out how many. Because if I find a thief and I have just fortunate to snuggle up and throw a trip, before I set the parameters. Imagine discovering one stealing the films of John Wayne, I give him a wet dark, and it turns out the guy is alone and does not carry weapons, or carrying a screwdriver, while I was the Endino with a blade span and peak. Total ruin. Violence must be provided, eye. And it is, I make sure before bringing the turkey. And their intentions. It is not the same as a dark lump that sneaks into your house at dawn intends to steal the Rio Grande that raping your wife, your mother, your children and the maid. All that has to be established before the proper dialogue. What exactly is you, my good man? What are your intentions? Where is it? How do you spend your free time? ... And if the other does not fluent in English, using to an alternative. Do not add, by God, the xenophobia aggravated arrogance. But it does not end there. Even if I set openly and accurate mobile phones and weapons from the bad, a judge, it depends on the touch-me can be spotted at night to decide that at home, even armed as equals, not a sufficient reason for the fascist act to hit a knife. We also have to prove that you faced, that's another. And I will not say if instead of giving a flat tire in the heat of the fray you hit three or four. There you go. Cruelty and treachery, at least. In any case, unnecessary violence, as in the recent episode of the kidnapped with his wife, to escape from his captors, he took the knife and stabbed him six endin one of them. Cabreadillo would, I suppose, or the other will not let them. Nothing. Ten years in prison, reduced to five by the Supreme Court. Normal. By pimp. But imagine that instead of a knife, which tonight takes the trouble is a real gun. And in a display of foresight and incredible filly warn you in the dark, I lunged heroic about the evil, disarming, and struggled. And bam. I hit a shot. Utter ruin, hear. It's cheaper to let him hit me for me, because until they can sue the family of the deceased. Another thing would be that evil was company. In this case, our legislation is comprehensive. I have only vigorously pounce on him, snatch the fusco, calculate how many astute overview of evil in the house, what weapons are and what are the intentions of each, and shoot, not to take iron bar, knife spliced , baseball bat or gun-darling simulated the latter, need to come and check it before, but the one that loads of pistol or submachine gun up. All this, assuring good, despite the darkness and the predictable uproar, that at the time the guy is not taking place and on the run, because in such cases, fucked, Burlancaster. As to the baseball bat, the procedure is simple: leave the gun, I'm looking for another bat, stick or umbrella of similar size and I face him, while marred his conduct and asked if he only meant to take away the family jewels or your intentions also include break my asshole. Then do the same with the knife. And so on. The fact is that when I get to the bottom of the stairs, eating the jar and more aware of the explanations that I will tomorrow if I get off this, that what can be found below, I see that it has been two or three times the light , and that the noise was deuvedé and TV when turned on. And I think by this time I saved. In jail, I say. Has brought more let me steal.
Author: Arturo Perez-Reverte
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