Wine and Gun

Perhaps it wasn't just his forensic career that Albarino Bacques wanted to ruin.

"The most important thing is to choose the right time, isn't it?" Albarino replied calmly, "I think now is the right time."

Herstal glared at the other party, guessing that there was an expression on his face that he couldn't understand Albarino at all. Every sensible pervert murderer knows that as long as they don't stop committing crimes, they will be caught one day. Most people actively avoid this tragic ending, but obviously Albarino did not.

"I want to go with you," Albarino explained in a good-natured way--as if the nonsense could really explain anything--and he was almost still smiling; he paused, then added. : "I should be with you."

Today he didn't add that "it's following the Muse's guidance", or Herstal really wanted to open his head with a gun himself.

Herstal lowered his voice slightly because of his anger: "So now you are like a lifeless performance artist, lying on the stage so that any audience can hurt you as they please, and now you are betting on whether someone will take a shot. Your head opens the flower?"

"Why can you choose how you want to die next, but I can't?" Albarino asked bluntly, "What is the reason and what is the meaning?"

Herstal stared at Albarino as if an answer had been automatically generated on his lips, but his lips moved, not saying the simple three-word answer. Export.

He just sighed and said, "I won't grant your request."

"Almost as expected," Albarino nodded, the corners of his mouth raised almost defiantly, "So, how are you going to stop me?"

What happened at the next moment was really unexpected. Herstal suddenly stood up without any warning - as he moved a little too much, a sound of glass breaking suddenly sounded, the wine bottle fell to the ground, and the glass was torn apart. , the wine was spilled out - the next second, Herstal strode on the broken glass on the ground, he pressed Albarino's shoulder, and slammed him on the wall, his body and The hard wall collided with a dull thud, and a picture hanging on the wall was shaken from the nail, and when it landed on the ground, it made an earth-shattering loud noise.

If your lover is a psycho killer, it's hard to tell if he wants to kiss you or kill you when he does something like that. Having said that, the directionality of the previous conversation has been too obvious. Albarino wriggled and struggled deftly, swept his leg towards Herstal's ankle, he succeeded, Herstal stumbled, and the two of them fell to the side together, seemingly knocking over something heavy. thing.

Albarino suddenly realized how similar this scene was to the rainy night almost half a year ago, the night when Herstal killed the "Killer Qiángni" and the other party appeared in his house through the rain. middle.

Herstal also smashed a bottle of wine named after him on the floor that night, and they smelled the rich, fruity aroma of the white wine spreading through the room—because that was necessary, logically, to each other will say so.

On that night, Albarino was at ease, because he knew what Herstal was thinking and what he would do in the end. But tonight was just the opposite. Albarino could perceive the burning anger and despair of the other party, and he knew where this feeling came from, but he didn't know what kind of result such a feeling would lead to.

During the scuffle, his exposed skin was cut by broken glass on the ground, and the tiny wounds were on his wrists and fingers, small and deep, causing pain that was tolerable but unavoidable. Herstal pressed against his waist, fingers slowly tightening on his throat.

"Is this the way you thought of it?" Albarino struggled to squeeze these words out of his teeth as his breathing became more and more difficult. He still wanted to smile, because a smile was such a perfect camouflage to hide his confusion. "Because you can't control my actions, so kill me before McCard can do it himself?"

Herstal stared at him with an expression as if the man wanted to sigh wearily again, but in the end made no sound. Slowly but unhesitatingly, his fingers tightened like a judgment, and he said, "I won't kill you."

——These were the last words that Albarino heard before his eyes fell into darkness due to lack of oxygen.

"That doesn't mean anything," Bart Hardy said gruffly, sitting behind his desk at WLPD, his hands tangled together.

"That says everything to me." McCard shook his head disapprovingly, his voice hard as steel.

The reason he was still in Officer Hardy's office at this time was because he had refunded the ticket back to Quantico, and John Garcia also took the initiative to stay when he knew what he was seeking... although Looking at the look on the police officer's face in front of him, maybe he wished they had gone, or wished the whole world had never existed.

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