I’d intended to jury-rig us a meal, but the sorry state of my foodstuffs called for total abandonment of that idea. Accordingly, I’d brought out the decent bottle of pepper vodka, the one I kept in my freezer for the rare times when a friend visited. A comforting sight, the bottle in its block of ice. What was needed to ease one’s descent into the abyss. Madonna, after a few sturdy sips, continued to berate me for my cowardly ways.

“What, I’m a coward because I didn’t make like Gary Cooper and give my enemies a clean shot?”

“Nasty, in the past few hours you’ve killed at least ten people by my count, maybe more, depending on how many were in the van. And you blind-sided every last one of them. I saw what you did to the guys in my apartment. All the stab wounds were in the back, except for the guy who you nearly cut his head off. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“I had technique. They didn’t.”

“Technique? What does that have to do with what I just said?”

“Technique is directed towards the small things which mean so much. For example, I am not covered in the blood of my enemies because I was positioned carefully away from the splatter and spray of it. It’s a matter of position and know-how. O.J. had no technique and he trailed blood everywhere, even to his upstairs bedroom. His lawyer pal had to cart out an entire bagful of bloody clothing. But in my case, I trailed blood nowhere. And as for the men we encountered today, in my opinion, they killed themselves. In much the same manner as a man commits suicide by running out in front of a truck.”

“That’s why you scare me. You’re ... so cold. You’re barely human. Killing another human being means nothing to you.”

“Excuse me. But aren’t you the one attempting the sale of the high-tech wholesale Jew-killing device to Arafat? And as for the men in your apartment ... they were going to cut your guts out. And they were going to keep you conscious while they did it. Did you know they burn the guts when they’re ready for you to die screaming? Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Did that entitle them to a fair fight? Must I now assume the burden of their fate?”