Wine and Gun

"For some people?" Herstal raised his eyebrows and caught the key word.

Olga glanced at him, then shrugged: "I'm a very patient person."

There's nothing worse than kidnapping someone on a bào snowy night, then holding a gun to that person and making him walk to your evil lair.

In the process of passing through the long and endless snowstorm, Albarino felt that he had completely lost his sense of direction until finally the other party stopped. They were already standing in front of a glass door, and the woman behind her said in a low voice, "Open the door."

The lock around the handle of the glass door had been cut first, and Albarino pushed open the door according to his words, only to find out where they were now—they were in a shop next door to WLPD , this used to be a clothing store, the area is vast, and the entire two floors used to be its storefront.

But this clothing store has closed its doors more than half a year ago, and the store has never been successfully rented out. Now the store is full of garbage that the previous owner had not cleaned up: abandoned metal hangers, full-length mirrors with cracks on the glass, and There are a large number of cheap plastic mannequins, a few of them are standing, most of them have long been lying in the dust and construction waste, almost all of them lack arms and legs as if they had just been dug up from ancient Greek ruins, in the light of the flashlight. It looks eerie under the light.

Rather, Albarino has seen so many crime scenes, but he has rarely seen one that resembles a crime scene like the place where he is standing now.

And the woman behind him ordered him to keep walking forward, following the stairs to the second floor of the store. On the second floor are more full-length mirrors, metal hangers and mutilated plastic dummies. The wallpaper on one wall had peeled off, and a row of radiators stood in the corner. These houses are all independently heated. Of course, the row of metal that no one cares about is shockingly cold. The other party pushed him to the corner of the house, motioned him to turn around, and then used metal handcuffs to lean him against the radiator in the corner.

Albariño took the time to reflect on his morning at Herstal's house—everyone seemed to like to hang him on the wall.

But now, he was finally able to turn around and look at the woman who had been pointing the gun at him before—a tall, dark-skinned woman who looked at most in her thirties and looked strangely familiar. Albarino recalled for a while, then asked uncertainly, "...Your name is Blanca, isn't it? I've seen you in the police station a few times before."

The woman - Branca - had a very surprised expression, and it was clear that Albarino was right. That's what annoys the lovers he calls him before: he's so easy to be sweet and cute in little details like this, and yes, he's the kind of guy who really remembers how many times he's seen it. The next cleaner's name and look, and who else remembers the cleaner? Most people can't see the cleaners as if they can't see the air.

This kind of quality is undoubtedly very useful to the parties, but when your lover treats everyone like this, you will naturally not feel good in your heart.

Blanca, on the other hand, only seemed wary, saying, "Doctor Bacchus, you have a better memory than I thought...and a lot calmer than I thought."

"Of course, I can't see that you are going to kill me." Albarino shrugged his shoulders as much as he could with his hands cuffed behind his back, and said in a relaxed tone, "Your first two dead are dead. It's very neat and neat, if you do that to me, I'll die in front of the power distribution room. What I care more about is: why didn't you kill me?"

Blanca looked at him for a moment, then said slowly: "You're close to Olga Molozze, aren't you?"

"It's not the kind of closeness you think." Albarino replied softly, as if talking to a frightened little animal. And for the sake of who had the gun in his hand, it wasn't necessary at all.

"It's not important, that's enough." Blanca answered crisply and calmly.

"So you did this for revenge," Albarino tilted his head and said thoughtfully, "Kill the first two people, create panic, and create a feeling that the murderer is elusive, by the way, tell them that you are indeed there Play really... Then kidnap someone close to them, and they confront you. At least from the beginning, you almost won in terms of momentum. But what's this for? For George Robb?"

"I love him," the woman replied.

"'Love', what a cheesy story - the wisest madness, the bitterness that chokes the throat, the honey that refreshes the tongue." Albarino snorted.

"Don't you?" Blanca asked rhetorically.

"It's hard for me to imagine that I would do something like that," Albarino replied politely, "and that's what you did for him: are you honoring him in his way? By cutting people off neck and draw stars on the wall?"

Albarino has never been a fan of imitators, and for a criminal, every detail of his layout has a meaning, even if George Robb really only painted a rough star on the wall. But copycats are just meaningless copies that neither touch the soul nor create beauty.

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