Wine and Gun

Rather, he was always ready to escape, but he did not expect to meet Albarino one day when he had to use the safe house. This means that even if he takes care of himself carefully, he can only stand in front of each other dressed like a convenience store who just got off the night shift.

This made him feel a subtle indifference, although, he would definitely, never admit this insubordination.

And Albarino didn't seem to care, he kissed Herstal frizzily, dropping many kisses on the corners of his mouth and the surrounding skin, like some small animal sniffing its own land. Finally he straightened up and said with a smile, "Come with me."

"Stride is in the trunk," Herstal pointed out.

That's what happens when your kidnapped person breaks his lumbar spine and gets a bullet pierced through his brain: Stryder stays safe in the trunk, neither screaming nor struggling frantically, even if He probably wanted to do both.

"The trunk part can be given to me later," Albarino replied happily, and he squeezed Herstal's palm with his fingertips, "Now let's go to a warmer place - your hands are good cold."

But, unlike Herstal, Albarino did not take him into the church right away, but into an ear room on the side of the church: this small room in the shape of a Latin cross. In the short "horizontal" corner of the church, the small door is squeezed on the side of the side door of the church, and you can reach here directly without entering the interior of the church.

It might have been a clergy's prayer room in the past, but now it's almost empty, with the only things that seem to have been put in recently.

It was probably Albarino's handwriting: in the corner of the room was an old, clean table with a soft-looking armchair; on the table was a mug and an apparently warm coffee pot. In addition, there is a coat rack in the room, on which hangs a white suit with a dust bag that looks absolutely custom-made, and of course there are matching clothes such as shirts and vests.

"The other things are in the drawer." Albarino said in the same brisk tone as before.

Herstal gave him a suspicious look, then pulled open the drawer of the table—with a soft clatter, the little silver clips of collar pins, cufflinks, and shirt clips scrawled around the bottom of the drawer.

Herstal looked at the at least five different pairs of gemstone cufflinks for a while, then looked up at the very calm expression on Albarino's face, and then asked shyly, "Don't you think this is really too contrived? Yet?"

"I understand what you're thinking, but there's a dress code tonight," Albarino replied with a smile, "I'm sure you'd be willing to indulge me a little."

Herstal knew there was no point in arguing over such minutiae now—if he had never compromised on some detail, he would not be here now. Maybe Pfister's philosophy of life didn't actually suit him, but in the end he came.

"Okay," Albarino said softly, his voice too low, as low as a gust of cold wind swirling in the room. He pressed his lips to Herstal's ear as he highlighted the words, kissing his cheekbones and earlobes. Then he continued: "Then wait for me a moment, and let me deal with the... guest, who is left in the trunk, and I'm going to use him to complete the last part of what I'm going to present."

He took a step back and pointed casually to the coat rack.

"You can prepare a little, or warm yourself up with some hot coffee." Albarino then gave a smile that looked almost restrained; but Herstal could still see through his essence - the smile that came from his Under the human skin mask, he struggled ferociously, and there was something in his eyes full of pleasure and bloodthirsty. That kind of expression should never appear in anyone's eyes.

"After all, you know it's going to be a very long night."

Albarino returned after twenty-five minutes, and it was about ten forty at this time, which was the moment when the joyous atmosphere of Christmas Eve was strong. The Church of Our Lady of the Rosary is like a puzzle piece abandoned in the corner by the prosperous Westland, a drop of tar falling in a milk bucket, surrounded by bright lights, dark and silent.

Hestal was sitting in the soft armchair when he pushed open the door to the small prayer room—he had already changed into the suit, the white fabric dazzling in the light, the shirt , vest and suit jacket are all flawless pure white, and the dark red tie looks like a bloodstain that stretches across his chest.

Or the robin, Albarino thought, with the red breast, the red feathers said to be the bloodstains on the crown of thorns when Jesus was crucified.

Albarino could think of how he had put it on, Herstal always had a meticulous attitude towards it, or maybe it was because of his obsessive-compulsive plot. When he buttoned those buttons, his head dropped slightly, his expression was very serious, and when he was tying the tie, his fingers were wrapped in blood, as if he was holding a noose.

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