Sharp

The dawn took him by surprise, as well as the armed men that proceded to shout offensive words and strange questions. In a corner of his mind there were some thoughts of anger, specially about the latter; he had renounced everything to stay away of this kind of questions.
Under normal circumstances, he would speak his mind, but with a gun against his head he was more busy looking for a relatively safe way to get rid of the intruders. Was the cheap knife on his kitchen sharp enough to be used a second time once he had ended the life or one of them? No, it wasn't. A less experienced person wouldn't have even managed to really hurt one of the men. With how difficult life out here was, he had been delaying that sort of maintenance tasks for over a year, and now every tool in the small department was too dull to be considered weapons.
The attackers were to experienced to let themselves to be robbed from their arms, but maybe...
"Wait, what was that? Did you just asked about the vault's combination? You have the address, then?," he asked
"Obviously."
His mind, the faster when circumstances demanded, provided a way out of this predicament and maybe the more permanent one. "I'll write you the code, then. And if you don't mind, I would like to show you the best way in... and out. And if there happens to be something that you can't or won't take, I will help myself with it. What do you think?"
When they were caught a year later, the robbers said that they had took the deal, but neither the cops nor the clan assassins know where he is. Maybe they are lying. Maybe he's somewhere, under some random name, sharpening his tools with diamonds or relaxing in the beach.

My original thought was:

Under normal circumstances, he would have spoken his mind, but with a gun against his head he didn't had enough time.
He had a sharp tongue but not the sharp mind to consider how volatile his frienemy was.

It felt too short for an article.