Wine and Gun

"But Olga doesn't have that kind of trouble." Albarino looked directly at him. "Because she's so...comfortable, you start to question the importance of her work at BAU."

McCard raised an eyebrow at him and asked calmly, "Shouldn't I?"

"People are not born to be attracted by the quagmire of sin and eventually fall into the abyss." Albarino winked at him and laughed, "Some people are deep in the swamp from the beginning, and some people don't care how far away they are. It won't be swallowed up by it, I think, you have to see what kind of person Olga is."

McCard's lips quivered, as if trying to say something he already knew. And Albarino didn't expect to be able to reawaken his confidence in Olga Molozze in a few words. If he was such a good talker, Olga would not have left BAU three years ago. Or, it was precisely because he couldn't understand her in the end that he could only choose to stay away from her - Olga was still brooding about the book that was not published in the end, but they didn't care about one thing at all.

They finally chose to remain silent, turning and turning down the winding alley, squinting at the rusted house number nailed to the wall. Elliott Evans lived at the end of the street, and the door was half blocked behind the trash can where the feral cat lived, and when McCard knocked on the door, the feral cat meowed protestingly from the iron bucket, the fur on his back. All stood up, what part of the scene made Albarino feel a little funny.

After a while, the door opened: the gloomy young man they had seen in the photo was standing at the door, still stubbornly avoiding eye contact when facing them. McArd reported himself as usual, it was nothing more than that I was an FBI agent and wanted to ask you some questions because of a case, and Elliott looked behind McArd, revealing a strange surprise or joy. expression.

He said, "Al?"

- It started with a dinner.

Elliott himself was not sure who was responsible for the accident that destroyed the pants of two people. And apparently, Dr. Bucks felt that he was responsible for the little accident; perhaps he felt that the little money for the beer was just enough to appease Elliott's boss, not enough to comfort Elliott from being scolded unnecessarily mind after.

Anyway, they went to dinner.

Elliott knew that all doctors must earn a lot of money. If Albarino picked a store that only formal clothes could enter, Elliott would definitely run away. But somehow they ended up sitting in a small, warm fast-food restaurant that Albarino insists had the best cheeseburgers he'd ever had.

The cheeseburger was really good, and Elliott was rarely too fidgety, generally speaking, spending so much time with someone almost killed him. Maybe it's because Albarino Bacchus is filled with a rare affinity, or—

"I need to get away from that life, at least temporarily," the other said frankly. "Almost all of my friends are in this system—the system that just put me in prison—and I need to give myself to myself during the holidays. Change the environment."

"What's that feeling?" Elliott asked at the time, staring at the plate as he said that because he didn't want to look up in the eyes.

"Arrested?" Albarino asked with interest.

Elliott was silent for a while, and one of curiosity and caution prevailed. Then he asked, "No, going through a failed relationship? TV says she's your ex-girlfriend."

"I don't think that's a failure," Albarino said after thinking for a moment, "you know—a lesson to look at your previous actions, and then finally find the right direction under the guidance of this event. "

He paused, his smile almost warm.

"Then, we will finally find the lover that suits us best."

For McCard, who prefers to keep his personal belongings organized, Elliott Evans' rental apartment is shockingly messy.

The dust accumulated on the floor may not have been dealt with since Elliott moved in not long ago. The evenly dusty ground was covered with messy footprints. Obviously, he had never thought of mopping the floor. The room was filled with a pungent smell of wet musty and smoke, but other than that, there was no other smell—at least not blood.

McCard made a note in his mind: If the person in front of him was the murderer, then at least this is not the scene of the crime, and there is no way that this porch is bloodless after almost looking down a person's head.

Elliott let them into the room carefully, his eyes wandering, and finally he chose to fall on Albarino's shoulder. He seemed overly nervous, McArd chose to let Albarino speak, so Albarino asked softly, "Elliott, do you remember my lawyer, I mentioned to you?"

Elliott stammered, then asked in a low voice wanderingly, "Is it... Mr. Armalite?"

"Yes, it's him, he's missing," said Albarino, with a reassuring smile at the nervous Elliot, "Can you tell us what you were there between eight and ten yesterday morning. place?"

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