My Beauty Variety: Starting from Banshee Town

Wrapped in silver, there is a vast expanse of white everywhere.

Lowering the window, fresh cold air suddenly poured into the car, refreshing my mind.

No need to clock in to work.

No longer having to deal with inhumane murders, this feeling of freedom seems to be quite good.

Ethan happily turned on the stereo and revved the engine faster.

Soon I saw an old tavern on the roadside.

Just like its owner.

Turning the steering wheel violently, the $600,000 Dodge Challenger rushed down the curb, its run-flat tires crushed the gravel road, and then stopped sharply.

Unexpectedly, the snow here was cleared early.

It seemed like that person must have gotten up too.

When the car door closed, there was already a wine box in his hand.

Ethan walked up the steps and opened the wooden door with a creak. The fireplace was burning inside the old tavern, and the chairs on the tables were placed upside down.

There was a trace of water stains on the ground, it looked like the floor had just been mopped.

The air is filled with the faint aroma of burning wood and the indescribable smell of an old-fashioned tavern.

Broken, old.

But it has a unique charm.

This kind of country pub sometimes gives people a feeling that cannot be compared with a nightclub.

Listening to the sound of a vintage record player, lying on the pulpy bar and listening to the old bartender bragging, and taking a sip or two of whiskey from time to time, the kind of mental relaxation is even more comfortable.

Inside the bar.

An old man wearing a bucket hat is wiping the wine rack with a towel.

The movement is slow.

It seems that he is also enjoying the peaceful morning.

"Feel sorry."

The old bartender didn't look back and said calmly: "In case you didn't see the sign hanging outside, it's not business hours yet."

"Can't I make an exception?"

Ethan smiled and strode over with a bottle of wine.

Candy's whole body trembled, as if he couldn't believe the sound he heard. Then he slowly turned around, and when he saw the person in front of him, a glimmer of light shone in his cloudy eyes.

"Jesus."

He pressed his chest with his palms, shook his head slowly and said, "I hope this is not a dream."

"That's old Fitzgerald 11 years old?"

“Nearly seven hundred dollars in bourbon!”

"Fakeyu."

Ethan raised his middle finger and put the wine box on the bar: "Between me and the wine, you can only see the whiskey, right?"

to be honest.

Candy was a little too happy and didn't know what to say for a while.

He looked at Ethan intently, and his eyes couldn't help but become moist when he thought of all the things they had done together, such as burying corpses, robberies, blowing up independent factories, and fighting with Eastern European gangs.

Open the wine box and take out the bottle.

Ethan sat down on the high stool and slowly unscrewed the bottle cap.

There was no one idle at the bar either.

Taking out two glasses, Candy pulled up a chair and sat down, watching the amber liquid trickle into the glasses.

"boom."

The glasses collided and they were all drank in one gulp.

Feeling the long aftertaste, both of them exhaled heavily.

"Almost two years."

Candy looked at Ethan with emotion, his gray beard trembling: "You, Jabber, and Hood have been gone for almost two years, and I am the only old man left here. I feel like my bones are about to rot."

"Was it that long?"

Ethan was stunned for a moment and continued to pour the wine.

"Please trust a bartender's memory." Candy pointed to his head, shook his head and smiled: "Even though I am old, I still have no problem remembering time."

"Are you coming back temporarily?"

"No."

Ethan sipped the whiskey carefully and shrugged: "You shouldn't leave in a short time. Besides, I don't think you are old."

"No bartender who is decades old would fight with others."

The two looked at each other and laughed.

"damn it."

Candy rubbed his head and reluctantly took off his fisherman hat: "You already know this, there is nothing you can do about it, this can be considered an occupational risk."

The head was wrapped in several circles of bandages.

It looked much more serious than Siobhan said.

"Didn't you get punched?"

Wrinkling his eyebrows, Ethan lit up his cigarette: "It looks like he was hit by a car. What happened?"

It's a punch for sure.

But after receiving a punch, Candy fell down and hit the chair behind him.

This resulted in head injury.

But after more than a week of rest, I feel almost better.

After telling the story, Ethan finally knew what happened, and shook his head again and clinked the glasses with the other party.

"Do you have anything to do when you come back?" After taking a sip of wine, Candy unceremoniously picked up the cigarette case that Ethan dropped on the bar: "I can't think of anything better than Chicago in this shabby place. ."

"uh-huh."

Ethan nodded and knocked on the glossy bar: "If I don't come back, are you going to fight with that old double-barreled shotgun?"

"Are we going to see dealers everywhere on the street?"

"My two old friends are also in the hospital. You should know this kind of thing, right?"

"What do you mean?" Candy was moved, but his expression was a little solemn: "You want to deal with people from the Aryan Brotherhood?"

"certainly."

Ethan smiled, shrugged and said: "When we were here, those were just rats in the sewer. Unexpectedly, they popped out now. I think it is necessary to stuff them back."

"No no no."

Putting down the wine glass he was holding, Candy shook his head: "Those people are not as simple as you think. In the past, they were just suppressed by Proctor, and they were more cooperative at that time."

"It doesn't mean that they don't have the strength."

"These guys are very organized and capable of action. They can be said to be a small army."

"What's more, it is said that their power extends beyond Banshee Town."

Of course Ethan knows these things.

People like Borden were beaten all the way and fled, but he was not invulnerable. Even if he was hit with dozens of guns, he would still have to run away.

"Decapitation operation?"

He raised his head and said inquiringly: "I heard that their leader is called Watts!"

"I just said it."

Candy grabbed the rag and wiped it subconsciously: "Their gang is very organized. If Watts is killed, a second person will come forward and act even crazier."

"If you want to deal with them, you have to be systematic."

"One piece after another, disintegrate the power of those people." The old bartender thought of something and nodded silently: "Just like what we did with Proctor."

"Start with their business."

"And if you kill people aimlessly, how long do you think you can last without being targeted by federal agencies?"

This made sense, and Ethan nodded repeatedly.

However, I can consider myself a federal department, but the CIA's brand name is not easy to use in a rural town.

Even the CIA cannot kill people indiscriminately within the country.

Things got serious, and Matt couldn't save him.

"correct."

Candy's eyes were bright and his voice was a little excited: "Why don't you take the same path as Proctor?" (End of Chapter)