Wine and Gun

Bart let out a genuine moan, then warned me not to stuff that horrible guess into his head.

"After two serial killers like them met, would they choose to help each other? I suspect that even if they knew each other, they would only want to kill each other." Herstal commented.

"Why not?" I asked him. "Is there a conflict between wanting to kill someone and making sure they don't get caught?"

And he said: "Isn't that a contradiction that already exists when gardeners decorate parts of human corpses with flowers as gifts on Sundays?"

"Most people would say there's no contradiction between the words 'death' and 'love', and I'm sure the Sunday gardener thought the same thing about what that gift represented. And as you know:' What distinguishes all living things from dead ones is that their very essence contains the principle of contradiction.'" I replied.

So Herstal squinted at me, the expression an animal would show before it gnaws at something. He said in an unpleasant tone: "Faust. Miss Encyclopedia."

I don't feel unpleasant, but I really hate being called "Miss Encyclopedia". He must have heard my nickname from Alna, and Albarino's mouth is so loose in this respect.

"So you have to watch out for Mephisto's call from hell, Mr. Armalette." I reminded him, of course, in retaliation.

And Herstal is such an annoying guy, he asks in that tried-and-true sarcastic tone: "You think I need to be careful about classical music?"

I really wanted to roll my eyes at him, and I still don't know if I had resisted the urge in the end.

"Unless you expect the Sunday gardener and the Westland pianist to be fighting each other, and the gardener will leave you behind in the process," I told him. "Otherwise, he'll definitely come back."

I don't know if he'll follow this advice, my gut tells me it's hanging. All in all, he just had a meaningful smile on his face.

In the end, of course the transcript didn't record anything, Bart might be counting on Herstal to recall whether he had actually hired a Sunday gardener himself recently, and Herstal certainly doesn't think anyone he knows is a Sunday gardener. .

I guess Bart himself had no hope that the case would be solved just like that.

That's the truth anyway: I don't know why the Sunday gardener molested Herstal, and the evidence wasn't conclusive enough that Bart would blatantly send police officers to protect him. If Bart were to explain to his superiors that "from the perspective of the gardener's intention to set up the crime scene, he metaphysically slapped Mr. Armalette's ass", then one of us would definitely be sent to the hospital.

In short, that's all that happened today.

Because of the delay in visiting the scene, Al had to go back to the forensic bureau to work overtime, and Herstal refused my dinner invitation, because maybe when a pervert murderer left a bunch of flowers on your table, you Not very appetizing for dinner. And I really don't want to just hang out with Bates, he's a nice guy, but he's really not a good conversation partner.

That's why I write miserably in my diary while drinking whisky miserably, maybe I'm writing a little too much, there's a little bit in the middle that goes beyond the scope of my nondisclosure agreement with WLPT, maybe I'll erase it when I wake up tomorrow part.

Or maybe I'm going to die of a hangover tomorrow, and I might actually be drinking a little too much.

Note:

[1] "The reason why all living things distinguish dead things is because their essence contains the principle of contradiction."

- Goethe's Faust

[2] "Mephistopheles' Call from Hell" is also the name of a waltz by Johann Strauss Jr.

Chapter 13 The Metaphor of Mint 01

"Hi," Olga began her bar night with these words, "nice to see you alive."

"I think you might be happy to see me turned into a corpse full of flowers," Herstal replied bitterly.

Olga just smiled at him with a calm expression: "Don't say that, you know that curiosity and happiness are not the same thing."

FRIDAY — Twelve days after the Sunday gardener inappropriately placed a white bouquet on Herstal Armalite’s table, the shooting death toll in Westerland remains high, but There are no new serial killers visiting the city.

When Herstal sat down at the old seat near the bar, the soothing music was playing in the "I'm Resigning" bar as always, but it was eerily matched with flashing neon lights, creating a kind of split It was no wonder that although Olga swore that this store had the best jingle in the entire city of Westland, there were not too many people in the store.

Albarino sat on Olga's side as usual, playing with the small umbrella adorned on top of a glass of Hawaiian-style wine. I don't know if anyone had reminded him that when he drank it, he seemed to have a problem with his taste. Appears to be sexually oriented.

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