Chegalle. Bisandi sent several people, a real estate agent with a good track record of ten years, an experienced lawyer, a slick and sharp public relations consultant, an emergency contact, and two assistants, all of whom were from Poseidon Island, or who had married a sister or daughter from Poseidon Island. ◆ Enlightenment ^ Mongolia ~ Book ^ Net.◆

The two assistants were carrying Beretta 380 automatic guns, the kind that could hold 11 rounds, and they lived in a house in the small town of Grande, and Amp knew them well, and they respected Beelzebub very much, and they liked to stand next to Beelzebub. Hopkins.

"They think you're a smart guy." Beelzebub said.

The easy-to-understand narrative of what they knew was like homework, such as photographic ppt and spreadsheets, column charts and graphs, was much better than a dizzying jumble of numbers, names, and technical terms—you know, Poseidon Island also had a high school and a university, but what kind of education could even a mentally retarded pig provide to its students? Twenty years ago, people could have settled, but twenty years later, the people of Poseidon Island, who were shifting their economic focus to legitimate business, had to face the troubles caused by their previous negligence. It is true that they can hire college students, graduate students, PhDs, but they will never be able to gain the trust of the people of Poseidon Island, and after a few years of reluctant cooperation, the poor employee either has an accident or is sent to the dock.

Anthony. Hopkins received a lot of half-truths and compliments,

"Shit!" "The reason they were talking so sweetly was because the lawyers had found a new idea in that report, and they redrafted the contract, and Poseidon Island made a two-percentage point profit increase as a result," Chegar told him.

"Abby will be thundering."

"Whatever." Chegalle said nonchalantly.

"Abby was furious," the lawyer said, "and he refused to put our guys in his gym."

"No way," said Beelzebub, "tell him." The government is having a headache with unemployment, and we let out the restaurants, factories, and laundry rooms, and the people who work in them are federal citizens, and if we can't solve the job for them. Things are going to get a lot of trouble going on. ”

"I've already told him that," said the lawyer, who unbuttoned his suit before sitting down, carrying a police holster with the handle of the pistol against his ribs.

"Abby's attitude is strange," Sasha said, pulling out a bottle of pale pink fresh brew that the Great Hopkins mail-ordered. He poured a glass for everyone present: "If he really wasn't happy with the contract, he shouldn't have signed it before."

"I have an informant who works in a restaurant, and he called me half an hour ago to tell me that he saw Abby coming to dinner with two strangers and asked for a lot of hard liquor. A garland of thorns is tattooed on a man's forehead. There are also tattoos under the eyes, and on the fingers, "said Amp, who sat next to an assistant or more correctly, a thug, who was young and had a red and black face. The cheekbones are high, the jaw is square, and the body is strong, and it is not smiling, like a frozen steak.

"People from the North," the emergency contact said with disgust, "Abby is walking a tightrope." He contacted the Clovin family himself, and then contacted us through Judas, wanting to use this trick, he wanted to use the Clovin family to press us, and wait for the Clovin family to cross the line. He'll come and lick our butts again. ”

"Let us find out the two northerners," said Beelzebub, "to see if they are new or old." He placed the empty cup on the small marble coffee table: "It's new, let them disappear."

Rain.

It's January, the temperature in Grande is around five degrees Celsius, it's damp, icy, the streets are sparsely populated, Sasha and Beelzebub are sitting in a black feint, this is Pepi's second car, he likes LM008, but that car is too conspicuous.

"The chef and owner of this restaurant is from the North." Amp sat in the passenger seat and looked out, the rapid rain had coated the windows with a thick film, he could only see a vague outline, and a milky white halo, although it was daytime, but the sky was dark, and the lights had to be turned on indoors: "Each family eats its own meal, the old rule." Most of the Poseidon Island people will also go to the restaurant opened by the Poseidon Island people to dine outside, which is safe and tasteful.

"The people of the Clovin family come every day?"

"They're cautious," Amp licked his thick lips, "Abby put them in a high-end apartment, which was full of surveillance probes, and also equipped them with two bodyguards, who were fighters in his gym, and they brought people with themselves, only one of them came often, the time was uncertain, and there would be one or two people around each time."

"Are those two people following closely?"

"Follow, and they never eat in the halls." Amp said.

"How far is it from their residence?" Sasha asked.

"Four miles."

"Then they won't be happy to come over."

"They always drive."

"I have an idea," Sasha said, "maybe I can try."

He asked Amp to call his informant and ask the newcomer to the Clovin family what he had eaten last few times.

Lev smelled a smell that made him feel hungry at once - it was the smell of rich red soup, good beef chopped and boiled, the boiled meat was rotten, the soup was thick, cabbage, beets, potatoes, carrots, onions, tomatoes, and finally a large piece of butter was put in and served directly in the pot, topped with a little frothy sour cream and dill coriander, served with hot bread sprinkled with salt.

He sat up from the bed, he looked for it, opened the window, the rain was still falling, only a little lighter, the fragrance became stronger, he tried to find its source, but he saw only the dark woods.

"It's time for dinner." He said to himself.

He asked his companion, who would prefer to have some wine in his room, and Lev promised to bring him a finished dinner.

Lev left with two people, one Abby's fighter and one of his own. They went straight down to the garage and a dark gray Bugatti drove out.

They were separated from the restaurant by three blocks, and at the second street, they were stopped by a police car, and the policeman in a black waterproof police uniform leaned down to look at the people in the car and showed his ID.

"What's wrong!?" Lev shouted impatiently, feeling like he was going to eat his stomach hungry.

The boxer, who acted as the driver, turned his head awkwardly: "They asked us to get out of the car, sir, a vicious case, everyone is to be examined."

Lev looked maliciously at the policeman waiting outside the car, twenty years ago he could pull out a gun and shoot him in the head, but unfortunately that kind of good situation is no longer seen, whether it is north or south, cowards who survive under the strict state apparatus of the Union.

Even with his waterproof hood, the policeman's ginger hair was soaked from the beating, and besides them, there was another unlucky man who was being inspected, his car was a worthless old Ford, and another policeman was taking his papers from him.

The police car was parked in front of a café, the lights of the police car were turned off, the café was closed, but the parasols were confiscated, the rain wet Lev's back and head, he ran with his own people under the nearest umbrella, the fighter looked at his block, walked under another umbrella and waited.

The inspection over there was over, and the police and the hapless man walked briskly over here.

When they walked up to the fighter, they pulled the gun out of their clothes, and the fighter saw it, and he wanted to scream, but the unlucky man's bullet pierced his forehead.

Lev's hand was still in his coat pocket, and Turmeric Hair opened a folding knife in his hand, which stabbed through his jaw and cut horizontally to the right, slicing his right carotid artery.

His bodyguard died almost at the same time as him, and another policeman shot him in the back of the head.

The silenced gunfire was soft, no louder than the rain hitting the awning, blood was washed into the sewage well, and the bodies of Lev and two others were carried onto the Bugatti. Turmeric hair sat in the driver's seat, and the three cars quickly disappeared into the rain.

Belongs to Chegalle. At a garage in Bissandi, workers were busy peeling off the black feints of the police car badges, which had been improvised and pasted, and two young men took off their police uniforms and documents and handed them to Pkins, who was waiting aside.

"How did you get this thing?" Pepi picked up a police ID and flipped through it.

"I made it myself, a prop for the drama club." Sasha said, dipping a sponge in cleansing oil.

"The same is the police uniform?"

"That's right."

The thug took off Turmeric's wig and wiped his face clean, and he now looked like a Poseidon Island man again.

"There's one more."

"Amp went to take care of him." Beelzebub said, "That guy is much easier to deal with." A homosexual who hides himself in order to avoid being ridiculed and slighted by his accomplices, they hooked up with a beautiful male prostitute two days earlier, and as soon as Lev went out, he immediately slipped out alone.

Beelzebub gave the emergency contact a note with his name and address.

"And these." He said gently, "Take men and maim them, without eyes, ears, hands, or feet, and do not move the deadly places."

"Who are these people?"

"Abby's old bastard's five most beloved fighters." Beelzebub said.

((One second to remember)