Wine and Gun

"Would you?" Hestal asked, reaching out and rubbing his eyebrows slowly, "You are a hunter, you should have the instinct to know that you shouldn't fight the unknown against your own strength."

The question doesn't make sense because Herstal didn't just pick that bounty hunter randomly. He chose a guy who is known in the industry for being cautious - that's a good thing to say, a bad thing is that some of his peers would say he lacks courage, after all he's never been involved in a gang in his years as a bounty hunter affairs, although many of the high-bail suspects who absconded have gang backgrounds.

For a bounty hunter, that's a voluntarily forgoing a lot of income.

In the same way, Todd also has a high probability that he will not rashly challenge a perverted murderer, which is simply a deep-rooted instinct. Herstal felt that this could be determined from the tone of the other party's call back.

"But you'll be caught eventually," the other said in a low voice, as if he wasn't sure.

And Herstal didn't want to waste any more time on this topic. He pressed his sneer to the bottom of his heart and replied, "Maybe. But nonetheless, with the remuneration I paid you, I think from now on After that at least we won't see each other again."

In the things he needs to face in the future, there is a high probability that Alan Todd will never be used again.

It was at this moment that Albarino poked his head out of the kitchen - he was wearing the shirt from last night, which had been washed and dried, and he was obviously using Herstal's appliances very well. smoothly. Over the shirt was a grey-and-white striped apron, and Herstal couldn't remember when he'd ever bought it.

And most strikingly, there was a distinct red mark on the collar of the shirt that Albarino never buttoned properly: the slender wound left by the blade was red and swollen, and the surrounding sucking marks appeared on the skin Extraordinarily conspicuous. These colors made Herstal's blood tingle and his fingertips itch, and he really yearned for the moment when he really pinched his hand on the opponent's neck.

He knew he would have that opportunity sooner or later, so he might wait.

"Good morning, Murderer." Albarino smiled at him, unsurprisingly getting a humorless stare. "Breakfast and coffee are ready, can I pour you a cup?"

Herstal thought about it—mainly gauging his own self-esteem and the level of his headache—and then gān replied gān yes.

Albarino looked unsurprised and shrank back into the kitchen.

"Goodbye, Mr. Todd," he said perfunctorily to the man on the phone, ignoring his nervous, trembling breathing. "It looks like it's time for my breakfast."

——Then he hung up the phone neatly and started to take apart the phone and break the calling card inside. Although he himself suspects that Alan Todd's next move is likely to be drinking a lot of alcohol, trying to make himself forget everything that happened this morning.

Whatever Albarino thought about the pile of wrecked phones on the table when he came out of the kitchen again, he didn't say much.

He just put what he had in front of Herstal: coffee, a rather spectacular pile of fried eggs, bacon and toast on a plate. These all looked like they were taken out of Herstal's refrigerator, but Herstal remembered that the bag of bacon was on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator, and I don't know how it was turned out.

"Let's make do," Albarino pointed at the plate, and there was a hint of dissatisfaction on his face, "I wanted to make scrambled eggs or eggs Benedict, but your refrigerator has both No cheese or hollandaise sauce."

"I don't usually have breakfast at home," Herstal gān pointed out bluntly.

This is actually a lie, because he didn't even eat breakfast at all when he was so dizzy he couldn't eat anything.

"To sum up the distance from your apartment to your office, the communication status, and the alarm time you set, are you going out to the fast food restaurant to buy breakfast?" Albarino snorted, "Look at what you had for lunch. Those rubbish: you can't live past fifty-five like this."

"I guess the police in all of Westland would love that," Herstal retorted sharply.

Albarino shrugged and went back to the kitchen, and by the time he came back, the apron was gone, his breakfast in hand. He sat down comfortably beside Herstal, the two of them shrouded in a warm glow from the living room window, the weather finally clearing up again, and it was probably a fine autumn day.

There was an eerily homely vibe to the state of the two of them, and Herstal was distracted with malicious intent. It would be pathetic if Hardy knew that the Westland pianist and the Sunday gardener were now eating breakfast at the same table. Wouldn't the detective faint on the floor of the police station.

Albarino poked the omelette on his plate with a fork, then suddenly asked, "Do you mind if I ask whose number?"

Herstal considered it for a moment, and said in a flat tone, "Bounty hunter."

"Did you use a bounty hunter to find Bob Langdon?" Albarino let out an unbelievable laugh, "Yeah, he's still on bail, for you to forge a court bond should It's not that hard either—so clever, Bart wouldn't have thought of that."

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