Wine and Gun

He should have understood that Albarino didn't really want to get law enforcement into the game.

Then Olga asked again suddenly: "But there's no point in thinking about what's not going to happen. I'm curious: how did you feel when you got down to the basement? - I mean, watching him covered in blood. when?"

Albarino glanced at her strangely: "Why do I feel this way? I have seen too many corpses in this line of work, and the horror created by our dear lawyer in that basement can't be ranked at all."

Olga smiled secretly, his voice softer: "Because color is a kind of spiritual power, I think it suits red very well."

They were silent for a while, watching the police move in and out of the cordon. The body of Elliot Evans and the remnants of his tragic love were placed in a body bag and carried out on a stretcher by police officers. The red and blue colors of the police lights were reflected in the puddles gathered on the ground, and were torn to shreds by the rain.

After the rain stopped, Qiángni would never go out to play again.

"You're right," Albarino said frankly after a moment, "he's a good fit for red."

Note:

[1] Phineus:

Phineus, the king of Thrace, possessed the power of prophecy, and as a result, he angered Zeus by revealing too many secrets. The gods cursed him to suffer perpetual starvation on a desert island, with plenty of food in front of him but not enough to eat. Whenever Phineus wanted to eat, Harpies (the harpies) flew over to snatch his food.

[2] Regarding Dionysus:

In this article, it refers to "the god of wine" in Nietzsche's philosophy. Nietzsche believed that the god of wine, jīng, symbolized the venting of emotions, and principle was associated with fanaticism, excess, and instability. Dionysian jīng in the early days refers to the tragic intoxication that merges with the noumenon of life in the universe from personal suffering and destruction, and later refers to the tragic intoxication from the absolute meaninglessness of life.

[3] Divine ecstasy: that is, "the endowment of the gods."

This involves Plato's philosophical and aesthetic views: Plato believed that there is an immaterial world of ideas beyond the material world. The ideal world is real (and perfect), while the physical world is unreal, a vague reflection of the ideal world.

Plato believes that the inspiration of artists comes from the state of ecstasy, that is: when poets see the beauty of the world, they recall the real beauty in the world of ideas, so their souls leave the body and fly to heaven, reaching the state of "ecstasy" , thus creating excellent poetry, this ecstasy is the result of divine possession.

[4] Id: In the Freudian set, the id is the natural expression of primordial desire, seeking to relieve excitement and tension and release energy in fulfilling its function.

[5] Scheherazade: The character in "One Thousand and One Nights (Arabian Nights)" married the crippled king who killed a bride every day, and then told the king a story every night to survive the bride .

Chapter 29 Olga's Diary: October 29, 2016

I gotta keep this in mind: don't knock on the door at night as long as that bastard Lavasa McCard is in Westland.

This guy has been in Westland for three days with his behavioral analysis team and has come to my house twice so far without saying hello. It was past eleven when he knocked on the door, the rain had not stopped, and he was wearing a raincoat that he got from nowhere (in fact, it was very likely that Bart found it for him, I didn't really ask) standing The door looked like a perverted murderer.

I asked him, "Shouldn't you be back in Quantico by now?"

"It's raining so hard that the flight has been canceled, and we might have to stay a night longer," McCard said, and I don't think he looked too sorry. "And I wasn't going to go back to Quantico with them in the first place—I wanted to talk to you before going back."

"There are so many opportunities during the day, do you choose to talk now?"

"Privately," he said qiáng, as if taking up my private time was justified.

That's what McCard has been like since I was at the FBI: whizzing down the hallways every day, almost never taking vacations, not only taking them myself, but often stopping me from taking vacations. Because everyone should understand the truth: people have to rest, but cases never stop - but I suspect our beloved Agent McCard doesn't.

I'll never forget that sunny afternoon when I wanted to go on vacation to Italy, McCard stopped me at the airport, what did he say? He said: "Every minute we spend, someone will die."

——He was so certain that it was as if I had killed them.

So when he wrote the e-mail before saying "bad for your health" or something, I knew he was referring to mental health, he didn't care about anyone's physical health, the whole department had deep ulcers anyway the quagmire.

It's because I unfortunately know him too well that I really want to slap the door in his face. And McCard, an activist, immediately jammed the door with his shoe. The look on his face is his generic number five, which means "I know why you're doing this, but I'm really disappointed in you."

Then he said, "I want to talk to you about the Sunday gardener and the Westland pianist."

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