Wine and Gun

The other party's face was almost terrified: "How do you—"

Albarino pressed the blade deeper into the opponent's neck, and his voice was as low as the breath: "I just need the answer, and try to make it as simple as possible."

"Yes! He arranged it!" The other party's voice was a bit harsh because he was too nervous. "In a failed attempt, I bought a gangster and wanted to shoot Thomas in the back, but when Thomas found out, the gangster died. No one will..."

"Okay, okay, enough." Albarino said with a smile, the other party stopped tremblingly, and Albarino waited for his breath to finish, and continued to ask: "Who else is there? Know about this?"

The man trembled and replied: "Almost no one! If anyone knew about this kind of thing, the gang would fight... I helped the boss arrange this, and then the guy who was bribed was caught, my boss didn't know Thomas would I didn't know how to take legal action against him, so I contacted his lawyer, and no one else—"

Albarino heard the answer he wanted to hear, so the next step of the plan became clear.

"How many people in Thomas Norman know about it?" Albarino asked with interest.

"No one!" The man replied quickly, "He didn't have time to ask the truth. Anyway, Thomas's men beat the little bastard. I didn't expect the guy to have a heart attack. They attacked too hard. He died before he confessed to my boss!"

Albarino can almost imagine the scene at that time: Richard Norman hired someone to murder his brother, and after the incident was revealed, Hestal Armalite hurriedly sought out a countermeasure to prevent His brother was going to put him in jail after that bastard confessed; his brother Thomas was right, he was reckless and cowardly.

Did Richard Norman feel relieved when that bastard died of a sudden illness? Does he think it's a gift to him that he needs to face less trouble, so that he can maintain a semblance of peace with his brother?

In any case, it might have been a boon to the Westland pianist.

The pianist caught a glimpse of inspiration in this event, and most importantly, it was safe. Only three people knew: the pianist himself, who kept silent; Richard Norman himself, who died; and the idiot in front of him who would never associate what the pianist did with the murder of his blood brothers , and obviously will not confess in front of the police that his boss once tried to murder his own younger brother.

There is not even any known evidence for that matter. Even if the police reacted to it later and interrogated them again, no one would admit it. The gangsters in Westland City have already learned to play dead. Unaccounted for the charm.

Sure, when you put a knife to someone's neck, they'll admit it, but that's another story.

"So," Albarino laughed, his voice almost soft when he spoke again, "you and Lawyer Armalite are the only ones who know about that murder now, right?"

The other party was struggling to answer something, or anticipated something from his question, but in short, his face was terribly gray. Hissing pleas came out of his throat, and Albarino just smiled, smiled, laughed enough to drown the living.

He grabbed him by the throat again, stuck him, and turned his back to him so that blood wouldn't splatter on him.

Then he slashes the other's throat, severing the trachea and arteries, the pain is brief, and then it's over - surrendering to the inevitable black sleep. Blood oozes out on those cheap clothes and fabrics like no money, and gurgling sticky on the ground.

Then Albarino let go and let the man fall to the ground, where he stood until he heard the strange gurgling of blood bubbling from the other's throat fade away in the cold night.

He'd put the man in his car, with plastic sheeting in the trunk for the situation; he'd have blood-stained gloves, a sweater splattered with blood, and a blood-soaked knife to be processed.

He would clean his knives with bleach, and burn his clothes and gloves to ashes and bury the remnants in the acres of wilderness around his suburban home. The corpse is also treated in the same way. The unwanted meat and organs are dismembered, chopped and sprinkled on the ground. The suburban láng and birds in the wilderness can even eat the minced meat completely in one night. The charred bones were crushed with hard objects, and the powder was buried under the wildflowers and lettuce he grew in his backyard. Most of the remains that he did not use in his creations were disposed of in such a way that people could not even find a complete bone in the soil afterwards.

And now this dress is not the one he wore when he went to the bar, and Olga and Herstal didn't have to know that his car was parked in a dark alley now, and he actually drove away from the bar: follow you You're really nothing compared to killing someone in this shitty place.

——In other words, all this is just the daily work of a murderer.

Albarino continued to make his daily work plan in his mind, making the long list with no end in sight. At the same time, standing in front of the gradually cold body, he took out his mobile phone and made a call.

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