Wine and Gun

The three-month stepping was absolutely fruitful. Richard's deputy was always passing by outside the alley at about nine o'clock, a little drunk, with the smell of alcohol and marijuana. Albarino lurks in the dark, listening to the man shuffling past, just timing it—

He rushed out of his hiding place at the entrance of the alley, strangled the man by the neck and dragged him into the alley, there was a vague noise between the man's strangled throat, and he was dragging him into the alley. At the same time, he removed one of his shoulders and slammed him against the wall.

Albarino's day-to-day job is much simpler than this: because the dead on the dissection table don't hurt people, and he prefers to cut his prey's throat with a knife.

He tightly covered the man's mouth with one hand, and with the other hand he drew the knife from the lower back, pressed the man with the strength of his own body, and cut the quadriceps tendon of one of his legs with one knife.

The pain caused a vague whimper from the man's throat, and the air slapped wetly in his leather-gloved palms, unpleasantly. But at least that way, the leg that wasn't stuck by him wouldn't be kicked around. He heard the sound of blood dripping down the leg of the other's jeans and slamming into the sour water on the ground.

Albarino slowly wiped the blood from the blade on the man's shoulders, then slowly pressed the blade into his throat, sinking into those fragile skins. There was a low hiss in the other's throat, and his eyes looked at him in horror under the dim light of the main road in the distance.

Albarino smiled at him, perhaps showing part of his teeth, with a terrifying face. In any case, when he removed the hand covering the other's mouth, the guy screamed in horror: "You were the one at the police station that day—?!"

Yes, he was standing outside the window of the interrogation room the whole time, and many people should have seen him.

"I just wanted to ask you a few questions," he said to the terrified fellow, smiling. "Just answer yes or no, okay?"

Of course things can't be smooth sailing, even if you're just facing a coward who has passed the buck to someone else.

When Herstal received the call from the kidnapper, he was almost at the designated location. He was driving, so he could only answer the phone with a bluetooth headset, the kidnapper's voice was close to his ear, and Martin Jones's voice was nervously trembling.

"The way of changing things has changed," said the father, who had lost his beloved daughter. "I will give you the new address and follow my instructions."

——Okay, this shows that the kidnappers still have a certain anti-reconnaissance ability. At least the team of police officers Hardy arranged at the original agreed location was paid by làng. Herstal curved the corners of his mouth grimly in the darkness, feeling the boiling itching of the fingertips holding the steering wheel.

"Can I ask?" he said quietly. "Is the girl still alive?"

"Now is not the time for you to negotiate terms with me!" The other party roared emotionally over the phone, "Throw away the tracker that the police station gave you, and follow my instructions!"

"Sounds like you're pretty sure there are trackers?" Herstal asked calmly.

"I know what those scribbles are trying to figure out," Jones said hoarsely. "Do as I say, or every word of your bullshit will be reflected in that little girl."

"Okay. Okay," Herstal replied nonchalantly. "I'm here."

Although I don't know whether the threat of the other party is real, it is better not to take risks. If the other party insists on searching after he arrives, it will be impossible to find a tracker on him. Holding the steering wheel with one hand, Herstal took a gadget out of his suit pocket and threw it out the window.

He didn't hear the little metal thing falling to the ground, and he wasn't worried.

The guy Albarino put the knife to his throat said creatively: "Who the fuck did you send—?"

Albarino gān stabbed him between the ribs with a crisp stab, which effectively silenced the other party.

He really doesn't enjoy the process of torturing each other, but if there's a way to shorten his hours, he'd love to try it. After all, this is a rare kind of guy who can play a certain role before death, and most of the people Albarino has seen are worth much more after death than when they were alive.

But he made sure that he didn't cut any exaggerated arteries. The last thing he needed was some arterial blood spraying him enthusiastically. Fortunately, the autumn clothes on the other side prevented the blood from splashing around.

He repeated it with a good temper: "Do you understand?"

The other party's face was pale in pain, and he nodded like a chaff. The knife on his neck made his head not dare to turn.

"Okay," Albarino continued to smile amiably, "your recently tragically deceased boss, Richard Norman, was jealous of his younger brother, right?"

Although he had no idea why he asked this question, the pale-faced guy nodded.

This answer is not unexpected, after all, Herstal said it himself at the time. Albarino nodded and continued to ask: "I know you were with your boss almost every day when he was alive, tell me, did he arrange for someone to murder his brother?"

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