Wine and Gun

He had to admit the fact that he had been walking on the tip of the knife for a long time. He knew that Alan Todd had indirectly been a pawn in the hands of the Westland pianist, he knew that Shana Bacchus was an "angel of death", he knew that Albarino might be a hidden murderer, he knew that The trace of the butcher who was slaughtered from state to state, and now he also knows that Amalet may have known Slade even earlier... Most of the people are those who "won't play truant" in Midalen's mouth , will immediately call the police after knowing these things, and then get out safely, instead of writing a long letter recording what happened to him, or immediately deciding to buy a plane ticket to fly to Kentucky.

—Then he thought of Olga Molozze again.

The latter had driven him to WLPD to inquire about the information related to the butcher, and he remembered the appearance of the other side tapping the steering wheel impatiently with his fingers. At the time, he had said sincerely to the other party: "I thought you would call the police immediately after hearing my speculation."

"Why?" Olga asked back with a smile, she still looked forward intently, "I think your previous investigations and speculations are very reasonable. Following this line of thinking, you may really be able to find out who is the butcher, this is not Is it interesting?"

"The average person wouldn't call a serial killing that killed so many people 'fun,'" Hunter pointed out gruffly at the time.

And Olga just laughed lightly, and the car drove through the intersection with the green light swiftly. Then she said: "Maybe my wording wasn't accurate, but death itself isn't fun, and serial killers aren't always fun—at least, when they're in prison, they lose that sense of Interesting nature. For me, it's interesting to capture their nature, so you can see what drives them to be who they are, and you can predict their future actions based on that."

She paused, and then said thoughtfully: "...Maybe it's like fishing. There is a saying that fishermen who go out to sea can judge the type, size, and direction of swimming by the special ripples on the water surface... Then you can capture them accordingly, and the ocean is no longer mysterious to you, which is interesting."

Hunter thought for a while, and then said slowly, "...The same goes for hunters."

"Yeah," Olga repeated with a snort happily, "so does the hunter."

And when Orion Hunter was already sitting in the waiting hall with his phone in his hand, he thought of this conversation again for no reason. He could still hear Midalen's light breathing on the phone, and then he sighed and said, "That's like a hunter."

"Sorry, what?" Midaren asked curiously.

"Hunter," Hunter explained after moving his neck a little, "the process of capturing prey is exciting enough, and how much profit you can get from these trophies is secondary; in earlier times, European nobles They hunt at the right season, and they certainly don't do it for food, but just for the fun of it."

"Actually, the nobles don't need to hunt to get food because they are super rich." Midalen complained without hesitation.

...Thinking of his unemployment benefits, Hunter suddenly felt a knife in his heart by this heartless little bastard.

But Midalen didn't complain any more. He paused for a moment, and then asked, "So, you're willing to be so concerned about this now because you're already enjoying its exciting process?"

"Yes."

Hunter thought for a while, then continued: "Also, I think I seem to have touched a little bit of the truth."

It was at this time that the boarding announcement sounded. Hunter looked ahead and saw the line marking his flight name jump from one color to another.

So he stood up slowly, packed his backpack, clenched the crutches in his hand, and walked in the same direction with the crowd of people.

It was raining outside at this moment, and he smelled the bitterness of the cháo wetness that was passing through the entrance hall along the wind.

Herstal thought he was awakened by the sound of the rain, but maybe he wasn't.

When he opened his eyes, lightning flashed from time to time outside the window, casting a pale shadow on the single folds like ridges in the room. Albarino didn't know when he had squeezed behind him, a hand wrapped around his shoulder like the root of a plant, and his breath was warm on his neck.

In moments like these, Herstal had three epiphanies:

First, he discovered that without knowing when it started, Albarino had already crossed the invisible boundary in the center of this unnecessarily large pavilion, calmly as if the gap that should exist between them did not exist. ; second, he found that he didn't wake up from a dream when Albarino approached him from behind, and drew the knife under the pillow and stabbed him in the throat.

Third, it wasn't the sound of rain that woke him up, or the dull thunder rolling under the thick clouds from time to time. The phone he had placed on his head cabinet vibrated terribly, sending out a series of indistinct hums in the dark.

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