Why do bad people good things?

He is present, but we avoid him as someone who had a failed facelift on his nose in Thailand. We stand together around John's impressive charcoal grill (award winning design, control panel, porcelain enamel lid & bowl). We carefully take sips of our non-alcoholic beer, we talk about football and politics. Our friends and wives stand further up in the tent. According to the latest weather reports, a splash of rain may fall this summer evening.

Although we talk about football and politics, in our minds there is only one thing that concerns us. And that's Leandro. How is it possible that he dares to show himself up here? Here in this decent neighborhood with its friendly houses, measured gardens, safe streets with the narrow columned oaks and rosehip bushes?

In our street, the Real Estate Agents, the Accountants, the Teachers, the Engineers, Financial advisors, and the Entrepreneurs live happily together. There is even a Spiritual Counselor who everyone treats very amiable. In this neighborhood we greet each other sincerely. Our children have fun together in the playground (which has been built and is maintained by the residents). We have a very actual Neighborhood App ('an unsavory type has been spotted on the corner of Tulipstreet and the Lily alley'). And once a year a barbecue is organized. And that is taken place tonight.

Leondro came to live in our street six months ago. This was also the moment that the Neighborhood App exploded. That much became clear. Leandro is a notorious criminal. He has been convicted several times. Murder, robbery, rape. Before he settled with us on the Daffodil road, he spent twenty years in prison. The question that was of course asked through the Neighborhood App: how was he able to pay for the house? But the more important observation is: what business does such a criminal have in such a neat, familiar, beautiful, well-organized, decent area?

Why doesn't he go back to his friends in the Big City? Or even more specific: why doesn't he return to the Poor Country on the Adriatic coast where he originally comes from? What business do the scum and riff raff have in our orderly town?

There have been several meetings with local residents at the Engineers. A small, thin man with bright eyes and greasy hair. In his spare time he runs marathons. And he is active for the Liberal Party. But when it comes to Leandro, he is certainly not open-minded. Together with a small group of experts, he has investigated the legal options to prevent the delinquent from coming to live in our peaceful neighborhood. It turned out not to be so easy to get a restraining order. After a person has served a prison sentence, has shown remorse and good behavior, the law cannot successfully prevent an ex-felon from purchasing a home.

There was only one tenant who stood up for the villain. But no one takes Lilah seriously. She is an easy-going, divorced woman of around seventy years old who – upon request – makes paintings of deceased pets. She is a pacifist, owns a 1973 VW diesel van, wears clothes made from nettles. And she likes curling.

Her plea was and is that every person deserves a second chance. What did we know about Leandro other than what was written about him in the media? Had any of us ever spoken to him? Did we know if he changed since his conviction? Maybe he has a wife by now. Or a friend. Maybe he wants to come to stay with us to build a new life? When we had all finished laughing, Lilah shaked her head and muttered that we were no better than taunting kids.

After Leandro finally came to live in our lovely neighborhood, all his movements were followed through the Neighborhood App. Did he go to the store? The garage? The townhall? The library? Did he receive visits from friends? Was he smoking a cigarette in his backyard? Which parcels did he receive (drugs? Money? plastic explosives?). We knew it. Every step he took outside his home was closely watched. It gave us a bit of a feeling of security.

This evening is the first time we see him in person. In all those previous months he has been observed, criticized, and analyzed. But no one thought it worth addressing him. That is why he now stands alone about a few meters from the charcoal grill. Beer bottle in one hand (non-alcoholic), other hand in pocket (tracksuit).

If you did not know he was a notorious criminal, you would think he was a somewhat shy, good-natured local resident. With his soft, sad eyes, dull gray curls, and pale skin color. Every now and then he picks up his phone and is checking messages.

Then Lilah breaks away from the group of women in the tent. Armed with a glass of white wine and a purple headband, she seems to approach the lone bandit without a care in the world. As a result - the male group – shuffle a little further away from the couple. We have no intention to be associated with the two of them.

In addition to the middle-of-the-road music that sounds from the Bluetooth speakers (borrowed from the Accountant), we occasionally hear the shrill voices of the children playing. A handful of them enthusiastically ride their tricycles, go-karts and bicycles around the tent and the expensive charcoal grill.

Every now and then the toddlers are reminded to pay close attention. They must stay on the grass and sidewalk. A road runs through the neighborhood on which cars, vans, scooters, trucks and motorcycles generally drive way too fast. For hyperactive toddlers and children, the asphalt road is a very attractive extension of their play world. So, parents and caretakers must be vigilant.

Before Leandro came to live in our street, the rash behavior of road users was the topic of our daily conversations. Petitions were written and presented to the mayor and council members. Articles were published in local newspapers explaining in detail how dangerous the situation was. But despite all the measures taken - warning signs, information evenings - residents continue to worry when their offspring come too close to the 'race circuit'. Too often they observe that a car, truck or van is fully on the brakes.

Just when John indicates that the hamburgers, chicken wings, salmon, red onions, and fish fingers are ready for consumption, we see - from the corner of our eyes - Leandro sprinting away. What is the matter? Has Lilah suggested to make a painting of him?

Then we hear the ominous sound of screeching brakes. Followed by a loud thud, wild screams, children's cries. Without thinking, all local residents dash to the road. What we find. A pickup truck ('Xanidu Cleaning Service') has crashed into a column oak. A red children’s bicycle is lying in the rosehip bushes. The front wheel is still turning. A crying toddler sits on the open asphalt. A few foots away from the child lies the inanimate, massive body of Leandro.

A little later - when the sirens are heard, and the driver of the pickup truck is standing next to his vehicle covered in blood - the parents are comforting the kid. The other adults are staring dumbly at each other. It dawns on us what must have happened.

While we looked hungrily at the snacks on John’s grill and wondered what that criminal was doing at our party, Leandro saw the real danger. He must have seen the pickup truck approaching, at far too high a speed. At the same time, he noticed the girl playing, cycling unsuspectingly onto the road. Risking his own life, he was able to push the child away from the bumper of the truck. As a result, he himself was hit by the braking and skidding lorry.

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Once the paramedics have carried Leandro into the ambulance as cautious as possible, the police officers have drawn up a detailed report (it turns out that no one saw the accident happen), the toddler in question has been put to bed, we are strolling back to the impressive charcoal grill and the empty white tent.

The sausages, salmon, vegetables, and fish fingers are charred. The salads are covered in flies and ants. The baguette is soft. ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ sounds from the speaker. For the first time in 6 months, no messages are appearing on the Neighborhood App.