Within Renard’s usually solitary mind a great debate raged, leaving him stupefied and silent on the outside.

“You fool! What have you gotten yourself into? This woman is mad.”

“But she’s hot!”

“Mad!”

“Hot!”

“Gun!”

“Acceptable counter measures for a desperate situation.”

“Oh, the judge will love that line, I’m sure. You know what happens to guys like me in prison.”

“But you also know what happens to the hero at the end of the story…with the damsel in distress. You know.”

“Oh brilliant justification. Since when do we think below the belt?”

“Since when have we not?”

“She’ll chew you up and spit you out before you know what happened.”

“Yeah, but it’ll sure be fun.”

“Put the gun down and leave.”

“Keep it. Save the girl. Be the man. Save the day.”

Izzy waved her hand and gave an impatient look, shaking Renard from his self vs. self argument, “Eh Bonito, we’re going, agora. Foda y…” She went on to mumble something else, and Renard was left to stuff the debated gun in his pocket and follow.