Wine and Gun

Her voice fell, and the young man opposite was quiet. In fact, the confused expression just now disappeared from his face like running water seeping into the soil. He stared at the woman in front of him for a while, and then suddenly showed a lazy smile.

"I didn't expect to hear Miss Morgenstern's name here," he said slowly.

Just imagine this situation: two serial killers who smuggled out of the United States have lived in Spain for more than a year, and have a set of almost real and fake documents, which was sponsored by the famous and restless Miss Morgenstern. ; but when they landed in Hoxton, a man pointed out their true identities.

In this case, we generally first suspect that there is a flaw in the fake document.

But the man who provided them with the documents—the generous and dangerous red-haired woman from a foreign country—couldn't have made such a mistake. What's more, if someone can tell on the spot who provided these documents, the situation is even more interesting.

Gabriel Morgenstern is not a good character in every sense, nor is she likely to take something as trivial as "I helped two serial killers escape the country" to her. The chatter after dinner is all over the place... In this case, the origin of the woman who appeared in front of them seems to be self-evident.

Although she inexplicably expressed disgust in her voice when she mentioned the name "Gabriel", it could still be inferred that she probably had a close relationship with that Miss Morgenstern.

Of course, the two men present could easily infer this conclusion, and the older gentleman's eyes were obviously more sullen. The young girl glanced at him, and seemed to be indifferent to the aggressive look, she shrugged her shoulders, and gave a smile that was so casual that it looked a little rude.

"Now, would you like to take some time to talk to me?" she asked.

The car-to-car airport was obviously not a good place to talk, and Albarino and Herstal followed the mysterious and menacing woman for a longer walk, following her nimbly through the buildings near the airport. We walked through things (most of them were hotels, restaurants and souvenir shops), and finally stopped in a completely deserted alley.

The alley is narrow enough, and there is obviously no surveillance. The towering buildings on both sides shroud the narrow aisle in a thick shadow, and the temperature in this place is several degrees lower than other places without the sun for a long time. Rather, this place looked like a good place for robbery or murder, but the girl still chose to stop in this unsafe place.

With two killers—and she knew they were murderers.

This is not a great choice.

Albarino looked at her cautiously, wondering if he was thinking about something like that, and then he asked slowly, "Can I infer that you have no good intentions for us?"

"There's nothing wrong with that inference in general," the other side blinked and smiled happily. "And, I really hate Gabriel Morgenstern."

Albarino nodded and said succinctly, "That's easy."

The other party seemed to realize what he wanted to gān, she raised her eyebrows slightly, and there was a trace of obvious pleasure in her voice: "Are you sure you want to gān like this?"

"It's time to try." Albarino snorted coldly.

Herstal was also clearly aware of what was going to happen. He didn't say anything, just took a step back, as if he was discreetly distanced himself from them, or wanted to stand at a certain angle. In the next second, the lady's standing posture changed completely, and it could be seen that her shoulders were slightly tense, like a leopard charging up.

The distance between her and Albarino is not too far, and the narrowness of the alley leaves little room for them to widen the distance. So in the next second, Albarino rushed forward swiftly, grabbed her throat with his hand, and slammed her into the wall behind him—you could see from that precise and neat movement. Many Sunday gardeners have accumulated experience when they kill their victims with one stroke. Most of the gardener's victims died of throat cutting or strangulation - the other party seemed to have no intention of avoiding it, and was just hit by him. to the wall.

There is a considerable difference in height between them, and Albarino's opponent is much lighter than him, almost so light that he can easily lift it with one hand. But those gray eyes still showed a strange, flame-like smile when their trachea was squeezed by someone's fingers.

This look stings like a needle.

The next moment, she stuck Albarino's wrist with her left hand, and Albarino realized in this brief moment that it was a scarred hand, and all four fingers except the thumb were ugly. The twisted stitches, as if they were once roughly broken by someone, were then scribbled together again. Most people who have suffered such an injury are left with nerve damage that will never heal, but the hand that caught his wrist was so strong that it seemed to crush a human bone.

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