Wine and Gun

Eleven fifty-two.

Hunter Sr. called 911, but was unsuccessful in borrowing an ice pack. Now he's standing stupidly in front of that damn expensive Rolls Royce with a bag of frozen peas and a towel, and he's sure he's the dumbest looking person standing in front of a Rolls Royce one.

It was at this time that the explosion sounded loudly.

He saw flames spew out from the basement of a house, and the window panes splattered; the flash of light stabbed people to open their eyes, the alarm systems of cars all over the street were beeping, and people were chaotic. into a group.

—And that house was where Albarino and Herstal were heading.

Old Hunt stared blankly in that direction for three seconds, then suddenly cursed, threw frozen peas and towels on the roof of the Rolls-Royce, grabbed his crutches, and limped. to the place where the explosion occurred.

Eleven fifty-three.

Hardy stormed out of the second building panting.

Time passed too fast, even if the building was not in use, most floors were inaccessible, and it took him a tremendous amount of time to inspect the first two buildings. And the third building has no power supply because it has not been fully completed - he thought that the murderer would not choose the third building, which means that he has to take the kidnapped Hua Lisi to climb this building, right?

Hardy plunged headlong into the stairwell.

He must hurry, seven minutes left.

Eleven fifty-five.

Albarino leaned against Herstal and staggered to his feet. He sincerely hoped that the explosion just now didn't leave him with any concussions, in short, he didn't feel sick yet.

Clara remained unresponsive, unconscious, breathing weakly. When a moderately poisoned person is lying in front of you, you can no longer comfort yourself with "It's okay to breathe."

Herstal held Albarino with one hand and Clara with the other, and as they walked up the stairs, Albarino dripped a long trail of blood along the way. And as soon as they walked up the steps, Herstal knew that the bad luck wasn't over.

Because a young dark-haired man—Jerome McAdam, I guess—stands frantically at the entrance to the basement, pointing a pistol straight at them, the muzzle bobbing dangerously up and down.

"Who are you?!" His voice was hoarse, his voice trembling wildly, "Why are you here?"

Herstal grabbed Albarino's elbow.

Eleven fifty-nine.

Bart Hardy dashed up to the top of the building, and the dazzling midday sun brought tears to his eyes.

Then, he saw his wife, Wallis, who was suspended by a rope on a temporary platform constructed by a wooden board on the roof. The rope was tied to the edge of the board, and Wallis' entire body was suspended in the air The wind swayed, his mouth was stuffed with a towel, and tears were streaming down his face.

The problem was that there was still a person lying on the platform, with black hair flying wildly with the strong wind on the roof.

"Olga!" Hardy couldn't help shouting.

"You picked the wrong roof before, Bart," Olga said while trying to pull Wallis up slowly, "You don't think a murderer like this would like to watch you climb the stairs in a hurry but still can't catch up. Scenario? His bad taste is very low-level - don't come, I don't think this platform can hold the weight of three people."

Hardy looked at the crumbling wood and had to admit that Olga was right. He stood restlessly on the edge of the rooftop, watching Olga finally pull Wallis up from under the platform with great effort, and took the towel out of her mouth.

Wallis didn't cry or scream, but couldn't help but let out a low sob. Then she asked hoarsely, "Bart, Clara she—"

But what else could Hardy say? He didn't know what was going on on the other side either. Albarino was the victim of the pianist, a suspect who had to be taken seriously in the William Brown and Anthony Sharp case, and Wallis, the prosecutor, has always been against Herstal Armalite didn't like it. Where did his belief that these two people could save his daughter came from?

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, a huge sound rang out - not far from the angle, there is the iconic building of Westland's financial center: Westland The Lan Securities Exchange was built at the end of the nineteenth century, with a tall clock tower standing on the top of the building.

And at this moment, the bell at noon rang loudly, and when the first low and distant bell rang, a few stars of flames suddenly spewed from the wooden platform: calculators, gunpowder and simple hammers. A simple home-made bomb can be made with a fire device. And in terms of what the butcher wants to achieve, he doesn't even need much gunpowder.

- The explosion was extremely small, not even large enough to injure people. But the wooden platform collapsed almost immediately after a critical component was damaged. At this moment, Olga pushed Wallis, who had not yet been fully untied, in the direction of Hardy. Hardy subconsciously reached out and grabbed Wallis' waist, pushing her body that had started to fall downward. He was dragged up from the fallen platform.

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