In a move that can only be described as 'shooting first and asking the corpse questions later', the FBI turned a California bank into a bullet-riddled stage for American justice yesterday. A hostage-taker, presumably a man who fancied his negotiating skills somewhere between 'firm handshake' and 'tactical nuke', was promptly ventilated by federal agents after a tense standoff. British counter-terror experts, flown in on a cloud of tea and quiet superiority, watched from a safe distance, taking notes likely penned in blood and sarcasm.
Let's set the scene. A bank in sunny California, where the only thing higher than the interest rates is the body count of failed heist movies. Our villain, a gentleman whose career plan clearly peaked at 'man with a grudge and a gun', decided to make a withdrawal from the Bank of Attention. He demanded, he threatened, he probably asked for a meeting with the manager. Instead, he got a meeting with Mr. 9mm.
The FBI, never ones to let a good crisis go to waste, swarmed the scene with the grace of a tipsy hippo. They negotiated, they strategised, they probably argued over who got the last donut. Then, after what can only be described as a 'brief pause for dramatic effect', they stormed the joint. Bang, bang, hostage-taker down. End of story. Or is it?
Our British cousins, fresh from dealing with their own brand of homegrown lunacy, watched the whole thing with the detached air of a man observing a drunk uncle at a wedding. They're here to 'learn', they say. Learn what? How to turn a bank robbery into a shooting gallery? How to ensure the only thing saved is the taxpayer's money on a trial? The British counter-terror playbook is full of phrases like 'minimum force' and 'proportional response', words that sound lovely over a cup of Earl Grey but tend to get you killed when the bloke has a bomb vest.
But let's not be too harsh. The FBI did what they do best. They solved a problem with a cloud of gunpowder. The hostage, presumably now in need of a fresh pair of trousers, was rescued. The bank, now a crime scene and a tourist attraction, will be cleaned by minimum-wage workers who'll have to mop up more than just spilled coffee. And the British? They'll go back to Blighty with notes, watch our next siege from behind a reinforced glass window, and tut quietly at our American enthusiasm for lead-based conflict resolution.
So raise a glass to the FBI, the masters of the bullet-riddled happy ending. And to the British, the eternal observers, taking notes in the margins of history. This is Biff Thistlethwaite, signing off with a gin-soaked salute to the glorious absurdity of justice, American style.
