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was a solution that would jive with his rights-driven values. These men didn’t share his values, or anyone’s values. Rules meant nothing. In Andy’s eyes, there was no difference between the traffickers and their hunters. They’d appeased him well enough, promising that all pertinent information would be in his hands immediately. Andy knew very well he would never get anything, and he never did.
    “Did you get a hold of that guy you wouldn’t admit to tracking at the time?” said Guerra.
    “No. He turned up with a slit throat. The Colombians sent me that little news nugget a few weeks after I left.”
    “Too bad. They rarely live long in those working conditions,” said Guerra smoothly.
    “Apparently.”
    “I’m guessing you weren’t enamoured of our methods,” said Danny.
    “You’re not wrong. I thought your techniques were amoral, no better than the ones you were after.”
    “It’s too bad you looked at it that way. In my experience, you have to fight fire wit. You need men you trust with your life, men putting themselves voluntarily in these situations where you know damn well you could come back dead or crippled just as well as you could come back in one piece. You have to look death in the face to understand what we did. You thought we were simple killers. I assure you, there was no resemblance between them and us. You and I, we’re from two different worlds. Our definitions of ‘justice’ clash because, simply, you haven’t seen the shit I’ve seen, you haven’t had to make those decisions. Go wave ‘hello’ to six men armed to the teeth and anxious to kill you. Maybe if you come out alive, you’ll understand what I’m talking about,” Namara spat.  Andy had hit a nerve.
    “A few years ago, I would have told you to go fuck yourself. But today… you caught me on a very, very strange day,” said Andy.
    Andy studied Danny Namara. He’d been in his twenties when they last met; now, he was definitively thirty-ish. He’d aged as well. Danny was athletic looking with a quite small stature. His face, framed by a precise brown “chin-strap” beard that ended in a goatee and moustache, sharpening the angles in his face. His hair was cut into a slight Mowhawk. His tanned skin gave way to piercing brown eyes. His expression was serious, his face hard, no joking whatsoever in his air; but he exuded a certain charisma in his symmetry and intensity.
    “I’m surprised, Andy,” said Namara. “What made you change your mind?”
    “Well... maybe I’ve seen one to many of those fuckers walk free. Or maybe I’m going soft in the head.”
    “I don’t think you’ve gone soft. I think you’re sharpened up. You know, when the Task Force was dismantled and everyone dispersed, James and I continued to take contracts that we considered interesting and worthwhile for good sums. We never had much money until we augmented our numbers, but what I’m getting at, Andy, is that we decided to be our own masters. We chose a side: our own. We’ve all waded through enough shit to deserve enjoyment in our lives. When a client pays well, and if it’s not against our code, well… I think you know the rest,” Namara finished.
    “So now as I hitman... how are you sleeping these days, Danny?” Andy demanded.
    “Better than ever, thank you. Our business is rolling in gold and purging the trash. What more could you want?”
    “Yeah… maybe,” Andy responded noncommittally. “I suppose Victor is another of your targets?”
    “Truth be told, Victor is actually a personal affair, but between you and me, by now I think it’s appropriate to speak of him in the past tense.”
    “That fucker got what he deserved for killing my sister. By the time his bodyguards wise up the old fool will have been dead for ages,” Ming Mei spat.
    “Amen,” added Kamilia Stone.
    “He must be going hard as we speak. Hard as a peanut ,” added Shinsaku with a smirk.
    “As you have probably noticed, we are now a group. Don't