Wine and Gun

He exerted force on his hand, and slowly cut his abdomen with the butterfly knife that was not very easy to use and pierced deeply into Elliott's flesh and blood. .

Eliot's body shuddered violently, an unbelievable whimper was coming from his throat, but only blood gushed from his lips.

Herstal raised his head to look at each other. He was still kneeling, because the rope on his ankle had not been cut, and he probably couldn't stand up at all because of the numbness of his limbs. But his eyes were terribly bright, his pupils dilated with excitement, squeezing the bright blue of his iris into a narrow ring—and a grim smile twisted at the corners of his mouth.

"Unfortunately," he whispered, "I'm afraid I'm better at this art than you are."

When Albarino walked to Elliott's house, he was soaked in the rain.

He didn't intend to go through the steps of opening the door at all, and kicked the door directly - with the crisp sound of the inferior door bolt breaking, the forensic doctor invaded other people's mansion, this should not be what he should experience in his line of business of.

The room still smelled of dust and cigarettes, the air was unpleasantly choking, and Albarino drew his pistol from the holster over his shoulder: it was a Colt M2000. Although he prefers the feel of a knife in his hand to a firearm, he never refuses to increase the speed of his work, nor does he want to leave too much for an FBI special agent while he is still in Westland handle.

He quickly passed through the living room, which was extremely dim because the lights were not on, and as soon as he walked down the stairs leading to the basement, there was a bloody smell. Albarino raised the corner of his mouth slightly, and slowly pushed open the door of the basement that was hidden.

Then, he saw Herstal Amalet lying half-prone to the floor in the center of the basement, blood pooling in a river beneath him. Lying in front of him was the corpse of Elliot Evans, his empty eyes staring at the ceiling in disbelief, and his entire upper body was covered in messy bloodstains - there is no doubt that the Westland pianist took this body Cut to pieces, many not-lethal but deep and painful wounds added together were enough to make him bleed from his veins.

Hestal stood up slowly, slowly, with messy hair, dilated pupils, a long splattered bloodstain on his cheek, and a bit of unstained blood all over his lower lip. His shirt had been ripped out of his belt in a mess, three or four buttons were open under the collar, and all this—the expensive black-and-white fabric of the suit and the shirt, the shiny skin, all blood-stained and messy It dizzy and spread from the fabric.

The butterfly knife in his hand was still dripping blood, and the design without the handguard really caused his fingers to be scratched, causing the blood on his index finger to slide down the metal and silently drip into the pool of blood under his feet. .

Herstal looked at Albarino—that's it, it was the moment of monsters and monsters, their innocent shattered prey lying at their feet. Herstal was still breathing heavily, his hoarse voice pierced through the rumbling thunder, itchingly brushing Albarino's bloody fingers.

And Albarino praised happily and sincerely—

“Verweile doch, du bist so sch?n.”

(German: Please stop, you are so beautiful)

Chapter 28 Rain Rain Go Away 07

Herstal stared at Albariño, the look a predator would show on the eve of tearing his prey, Albariño had seen a similar look in the eyes of that suburban láng, a man and a woman. Irrational animals are so similar in these moments.

When Herstal spoke, there was a rough hoarseness in his voice, and he slowly stood up from the pool of blood, staggering slightly because of the numbness of his limbs. The voice floated from between his lips, like the breath of death: "Are you satisfied now?"

"Wouldn't it be even more disappointing for me to feel satisfied so easily? You can think of me as a blind Phineus, always coveting the feast I can't get under the claws of women and birds. ' Albarino retorted.

"Then I'll ask another way," Herstal said almost calmly, in a tone that sounded insincere as he held a bloody knife in his hand, "you are being attacked by me. Does what you do please?"

The smile at the corner of Albarino's mouth seemed to widen a little, and he replied, "From a purely sensual point of view, I do seem to be pleased. But no, Herstal, I want more than that."

"Or maybe you just like to see people dancing under your suspenders, watching them run into a wall and have to fight with blood. Sometimes I suspect you have a feeling for Olga Molozer and Officer Hardy. The same emotion — an attitude-playing emotion," Herstal pointed out.

Herstal took a step forward, stepping into the thick pool of blood. Then he bent down and picked up the knife that Elliott had dropped on the ground earlier, and he looked at it with a stern expression.

"Are you accusing me of having fun by teasing you?" Albarino snorted, and he winked happily, "No, let me be honest: I want to touch more of your heart—and Instead of this fake mask covering your face, I want to see your Dionysian passion."

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