Wine and Gun

Albarino's eyes widened, he didn't look surprised, just smiled at him.

"Is it all just a competition in your eyes? Two serial killers leave a string of corpses for each other along the way, in order to compete for the crown of a pervert murderer we don't know about?" Herstal used the usual coldness pointed out to him in a tone of voice.

"That's a superficial description, Herstal. Why don't you look at it from a more comical perspective?" Albarino whispered, his voice as low as Herstal in the somewhat noisy bar He could only barely hear what he was saying. "Or is this how lawyers see things: what's in court is just competition or war, and the death penalty and life imprisonment are negotiable spoils?"

Herstal narrowed his eyes: "Are you aware of your words? Làng man?"

"Why don't you think so?" Albarino smiled almost innocently. "Can it be anything you expect it to be? Or is it not enough to inspire the imagination?—you know, 'creation' What the creator is looking for is a companion, not a corpse, not a flock, not a believer, but a co-creator who is looking for a co-creator who will write new values ​​on new monuments'".

Herstal looked directly at him: "What about you? What are you looking for?"

"A good night?" Albarino laughed. "You know well, warm, wet—a long night."

Those few adjectives were rolled on the tip of his tongue, and they were spit out softly and sticky, as low as a babble.

Herstal stared at Albarino, the unsmiling lawyer who seemed to want to frown or sigh, but he didn't gān either. He still put one hand on the bar, and without warning, leaned over and kissed Albarino on the lips.

"Kissing" is a very inappropriate description, it is nothing more than the touch of the lips and skin, and Albarino seems to be able to taste a little fresh sweetness of the wine, but that's all. In the next second, Herstal straightened up a little, although their distance was still too close, almost impolite in the society.

"Wow," Albarino sighed exaggeratedly, exhaling hot air tickling the skin of Herstal's chin, he probably did it on purpose, "Mr. —Can Twelve-proof wine really make you drunk?”

"No surprise," Herstal whispered. "Perhaps, you started a game, and now I've decided to join it."

Albarino looked at him for a long time, then gave a thoughtful expression that bordered on a smile: "Should I say 'I'm honored'?"

"Better. Because unless you can enjoy the moment, the here and now, you'll never be able to enjoy anything anywhere." Herstal looked down at him, pulled the corner of his mouth, and revealed a cold, sharp smile. "Because the next moment will be born from this moment... Mr. Bucks."

He could see a slightly confused look flashing across Albarino's face, but before he could ask any questions, Herstal backed away. The man slowly walked back to his seat and sat down, while Albarino saw a seductive lady in a red dress looking in this direction angrily at the position that was blocked by Herstal's figure just now.

"Go and deal with your dear Minta, dude." Herstal sneered—apparently long ago, at least before he touched Albarino's lips, he saw the lady stare angrily. in this direction.

"Oh god," Albarino winced, "don't."

——But it seems to be too late, because the next second, the beautiful lady has already squeezed through the crowd angrily, killed the edge of the bar, and then punched Albarino fiercely in the face.

Meanwhile, Herstal was holding up his third glass of wine without raising his head. He needs a lot of alcohol to get through the night.

"Albarino Bacchus!" the lady screamed, her voice so sharp as if she was scratching her fingernails through the glass, "you bastard!!!"

So, when Olga finally finished her call and escaped the editor's claws and returned to the bar near the bar, she saw such a scene:

Herstal sat still and drank in his seat, the bar stool between him and Albarino seemed like an insurmountable gulf. And Albarino, the chief forensic officer of the Westland City Forensic Medicine Bureau, was bleeding from his nose and looked at Herstal reproachfully while covering his nose with a tissue.

"You're so childish, you know that?" he said.

"Wow," Olga exclaimed, "did I miss something good?"

Herstal gave her a cool look: "It's nothing, except that Albarino's girlfriend rushed over to beat him just now—if you had come in four minutes earlier, you would have seen her being asked out by the security guard."

"Girlfriend? That brown-haired nurse?" Olga recalled for two seconds, obviously a string of various female images flashed through her mind.

"That was the last one, and this one is a pretty dark-skinned beauty named Sarah; although I think that's also the past tense. But, technically not lovers—they're not lovers." Albarino Carefully removed the tissue from his nose a little, then with a low groan, he pressed it back again. "It's foolish to develop that kind of intimacy without making up your mind to get married. I prefer to call it a 'stable partner'."

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