Taking advantage of the short ventilation time after dinner, he finally walked to the door of cell 1316.
Timothy was sitting on the edge of the bed frame, playing cards with two big white guys on the floor. "You blocked the light, get out." He said without looking up.
"I'll talk to you about something," he said, "alone."
Timothy raised his dark gray-blue eyes and examined him for a few seconds. "You better not waste my time, newcomer." He said, motioning the other two to go out.
He walked in, resting his back against the edge of the long table nailed to the wall, with his hands in his trouser pockets, and stood in front of him. "I saw Malvo's men coming out of your room just now because of the impending war?"
"You're pretty straightforward." Timothy held the playing cards in his left hand, and slid the tip of his right finger across the cards one by one, as if he was about to pick the one that was about to be discarded, with an unpredictable look on his face. Wolves sent you to be a lobbyist? It seems that he really trusts you, or is... pampering? Now everyone in the district knows that he has a new favorite, and I can't wait to tie it to the waist of his pants every minute."
"I and him are not the kind of relationship you imagine." Daqing answered calmly.
"Whether it is or not, I have no interest in it. What I am interested in is how you did it, one person brought down the other nine-don't try to deny it," Timothy raised an index finger and looked in his eyes. Cut through the flesh and blood like a scalpel, dragging out the secret hidden in the opponent's body bloody, "Someone saw you being taken into that room by the prison guard and then left alone. Don't forget that this is a prison, with eyes everywhere. I'm curious. Yes, since you can easily handle the Malvot gang, why commit yourself to a wolf club? What are you trying to get into the blood gang?"
He stared at him, and the corner of his mouth slowly provokes a small smile: "It's really the'Godfather', I can't hide anything from you. Actually, I came to you today not for a stupid battle between red and blue—who Care about the winning or losing of the two groups of niggers?"
This is what Timothy said: Who cares if the two groups of niggers win or lose? What he pursues is only his own interests, real interests, and it has always been the case.
"Then what are you drawing?"
"Benefits, I'm a pragmatist." He leaned down, drew a chain from his neckline, and handed the square metal plaque hanging from the end to him, "You recognize this thing, don't you."
"... Old Vogan's blood card?" Timothy narrowed his eyes. "I thought they would have been in the soil with that ridiculous old man. I heard that he gave one to each of his seven adopted sons, and he followed the dog's leash. It seemed that he wanted them to be appendages from body to mind-by the way, he was cut off by one of his adopted sons, just like what the idiom says,'raising a tiger is a disaster'."
"This is the opinion of outsiders. In fact, this thing is not only a dog chain, but also a key."
"key?"
"The key to opening the bloody empire. Old Wogan has been scheming all his life, but he doesn't even have a blood-related offspring. He deliberately chooses an heir from the seven adopted children and continues to lead the blood gang after his death. He gave it to seven. The adopted sons assigned tasks and set the time for completion, and wanted to pick the best of them. The lucky one was Rafael Stoker. But he was not the final winner, because he and the other five brothers all obeyed According to the rules of the game, there is only one guy who ignores the rules and disrupts the order, cuts off the throat of the adoptive father and boss, and finally gets that position. Until now, the winner and his family still firmly occupy the West Coast. Compared with him, the wolf club is nothing. He is an incompetent little leader among the many branches of the blood gang. Farrar was hunted down to hide in jail, and would rather stay in jail for a lifetime than fall into his hands. And I, I am another adopted son Sean from Old Wogan. ·Sevilla’s son, Shanier got this blood card in his hand."
Timothy listened patiently to the secret history of the blood gang, and said sarcastically: "What about the benefits? I don't seem to hear this word in a large piece of nonsense."
"It's on the brand, but it's not me. Do you know that the usurper has been searching for his secret vault after he killed the old Vogan? Even if inflation is included, there is a full 500 million dollars. Think about it. Well, who would the old Vogan, who had cut off his children and grandchildren, leave this money to?"
Timothy's eyes lit up suddenly, as if casting a blazing sun on the hazy sea: "Rafael Stock? Is the inheritance related to his blood card? Doesn't he know it?"
"I think so. Old Vogan died so suddenly that he didn't have time to tell him. Now that you know why I want to join the blood gang, I will take this opportunity to get close to Rafael and drop the two blood cards. Carefully study the secrets about the inheritance. Unfortunately, I thought Rafael was in the fifth district, but I haven't heard the slightest news about him these days. I think only the wolf club knows where he is."
"Five hundred million dollars. You told me so generously, it made me doubt your true intentions. Elvis, what do you want from me?" Timothy got up, his face showing grace And a dangerous smile, quietly leaning the empty hand behind him.
"One seat."
"So simple?"
"It's that simple." Qing Qing shrugged, "Believe it or not, I can't swallow this money anyway. If I don't want to live under the chase of the blood gang for the rest of my life, I must find myself strong enough and enough. Reliable backstage. That's you, Mr.'Godfather'."
"Our seats are precious, and we can't waste it on an outsider who has no contribution value and can't prove loyalty. And you also need an introducer with sufficient weight." Timothy said.
He smiled: "Oh, it just so happens that I have all of these. If I get the money, I only need one-fifth, and the other all belong to the gang, is it enough to contribute? As for the introducer, his name is Alessio. Alessi O Berardi."
For a moment, the dim light flashing in Timothy's eyes was chilling, but it quickly disappeared without a trace, as if the coldness of that second was just an illusion. "My brother, what do you have to do with him?" He said softly, with a trace of unspeakable anger in his voice.
"We are friends, the kind that is more intimate than ordinary friends-'close friends.'" Qing Qing replied with a tone of "you know that some things can't be put on the table", "We lived in the same room at MCC."
"Then you should know that there is an old scar on both of his knees."
"Do you mean the ankles on both sides?"
"That was left from a street fight when he was eighteen."
"I think it should be earlier, fifteen years old, and it is not as simple as a street fight. He suffered so much that his spirit was almost collapsed for a while, but I am very fortunate that he survived and took those who hurt him. People threw the meat grinder into the meat grinder. He told me that he never got rid of the scar, just to remind himself: If you get hurt by someone, it’s easy to get rid of him. He did it. He is better than he seems. It's much stronger, isn't it?" The finale still smiles, but behind the dizzying smile, a sorrow full of love and compassion is slowly released. This emotion is forbearing and strong, so much that it seems that the whole body is in full bloom. No less, had to overflow.
Timothy tensed his body like an expressionless sculpture. After a while, he said: "I didn't expect him to tell you this story. Although he looked gentle, he never had a relationship with anyone, maybe When we were young, he would tell me everything, but now..." He didn't say any more. After just a few seconds, his expression returned to the same as before, appearing stern and arrogant. The previous warmth was like the ripples of the same breeze blowing across the lake, short and nothing.
"I can make a place for you. It's not the kind of marginal errands, but a real family member. But this promise will not take effect until you hand in the four-fifths of the contribution value." Moxi said flatly, "Now, tell me, how do you plan to let the wolf club tell the whereabouts of Rafael?"
He stretched out his right hand, and slid his fingertips across the back of the row of playing cards in the opponent's hand. He gently drew a card from it, sandwiched it with two fingers, it was the biggest ghost card: "That has to rely on your power,'Godfather'."
Timothy grabbed the metal chain card under the opponent's neck and pulled himself closer. The two snorted each other, so close they seemed to be able to smell the sweet smell from the depths of each other's souls. He is familiar with this taste-it is an extreme desire for money and power, no matter which skin it is wrapped in, their essence is the same. "Do you know what behavior I hate the most? Deception, betrayal. If I find that you lied to me, there will be Alessio," the Mafia leader whispered in his ears, softly like a couple, "You will die. Very slow and very painful, I promise."
"Did you get him? You mean, it's not'stand by', but'form an alliance'?" The wolf stick increased the volume in disbelief, "how did you do it?"
"To be precise, it was an'unstable temporary alliance'. I had a good talk with the'Godfather' and made him understand that we can get him more benefits than Malvo. Promise, no matter what benefit the lame help him, we can give him 10% more-is that okay, boss?" He looked at the wolf stick, and a little nervousness appeared in the inquiry eyes.
The wolf club rubbed his hair vigorously: "Of course. If we win this war, our reputation will rise, and the benefits will be more than these. In fact, I have sent someone to talk to Timothy, but he always He looks lacking in interest. I really want to know, what did you use to impress him?"
He shrugged his shoulders: "Personal charm? I think so."
The wolf stick grinned his thick lips and smiled a row of white teeth: "Maybe I shouldn't let you touch him anymore, baby, I'm worried now that the Italian is not as straight as he looks."
He replied indifferently: "I don't want to be aware of the serrated knife he puts on his back when talking to him face-to-face. He will talk to you personally about related matters. I guess except for the terms we agreed, he I will ask for additional benefits. If it is too much, think about it again."
"You don't need to worry about this," said the wolf stick. "I will pull the Italian aboard and kick the fat man in the ass."
In the afternoon, inmates play ball, chat, play with fitness equipment, or lazily sunbathe on the playground.
The men of the killer and the wolf club are playing checkers. He has become familiar with this group of people, forcing his opponent to use a wheel fight, and then ruthlessly won two packs of cigarettes, a box of chocolate beans and a homemade knife.
Prison guard Simon walked over and said, "Elvis, someone visits the prison, come with me."
After the time for the group visit, he guessed it was the good-talking prison guard who opened the back door for him and gave him a grateful smile: "Thank you, sir."
Simon nodded at him, led him across the playground and into the open visitation room.
The visitors were quite unexpected. He thought it was the lawyer Canning. Although he has pleaded guilty and sentenced, Canning is still in charge of some related legal documents, as well as acting as a window of dialogue between him and the publishing house and the media.
But it was not Canning who came to visit the prison today.
The man is a tall man, with well-kept short golden brown hair, dark green eyes, narrow and deep, high nose, and thin lips, but on the whole, he is still handsome and charming. man.
"—Yo, Shanier." He clasped his arms around his chest, leaned against the back of the chair, and greeted with a smile.
At the moment when Shanier really saw the finale, he made a physical excitement. The experience of being exhausted on an isolated island and being teased by this crazy killer left a so deep impression in his memory that he later met with those handsome-looking Asian lovers (yes, he just deliberately When he went to bed, he would sometimes imagine that a sharp blade had cut his throat silently from below, causing a cold sweat.
Are you a masochist? of course not! Shanier said to himself that at that time you had no money, no power, and had to be controlled by others, but now it is different. Time Yishiyi, you are a successful person with status and status, but he has become a prisoner of the ranks. Why can't you do anything you want
Thinking about this, there was a hypocritical, condescending smile on his face, and every strand of hair exuded a sense of superiority: "It's been a long time since I've seen it, kill. Is it still used to living in the'grave'? Oh, maybe It was difficult at the beginning. Every prison has one thing in common. It loves to bully newcomers. After all, here are murderers, drug dealers, and gangsters. Being a serial killer is not that outstanding, right?"
He calmly replied with a calm expression: "It is true that I am not used to it. But compared to the rebellious and impoverished outdated people who have squatted here for seven years and four months, I think I'm still alive and well. Moisturizing."
His mouth is still sharp, and Shanier is itching with hatred. He leaned forward and sent threatening messages to the opponent from body to language: "This is different from the past. I have money now. I am washing the dirty boots with the enemy's blood-the traitor informer. It's the first one. He is so dead that he can't even recognize his mother. Then there will be the ungrateful villains, and the shameless thieves who have stolen my position and power..."
"You can kill as much as you can. What does it have to do with me." He stretched his waist lazily, almost putting his feet under his nose on the tabletop, "In my eyes, you are always the bluff and bad luck. A terrific little wolf dog."
Shanil choked. He couldn't bear it and grabbed the lap of the other party's clothes: "Can you keep holding on to that little mess in the past! I'm no longer the loser who can't even pay for prostitution, I'm back! You! You can't treat me with this attitude!"
"What's the problem?" The goalkeeper standing by the door pressed his baton and walked over guardingly.
He raised his hand to stop him: "It's okay, sir, he's just a little hysterical, especially in an environment that can't bear to look back."
"Let go, or the meeting will end here." Simon glanced at the visitor as if warning, turned and walked away.
Shanier let go of his hand in grief and murmured: "This guard is a newcomer. If the old man here would never dare to speak to me in this tone..."
"Come on, my little wolf dog." He crossed his fingers, holding his chin on the back of his hand, smiling sexy and dangerous. "Let's talk about what the hell are you doing, after taking the frisbee back to find the bone biscuits I want to reward?"
Shanier had almost given up his original plan of returning home, and said helplessly: "I want to get my necklace back."
The slender fingers were pressed between the collarbone and slowly slid down the fabric on the chest: "You mean this, the'souvenir' you gave me?"
The last word emphasized by the other party's accent made Shanier's heart guilty and his face warmed. Of course he didn’t want to do such a shameful thing, but he thought of the huge benefits hidden in that blood card (if he had known it sooner)-even if he still had some kind of mixed feelings of fear and desire for killing (it’s sad, He thought), that would not be able to compete with this interest. He made up his mind and said shamelessly: "Yes, I regret it now and want to come back."
He burst into laughter, and Shanier had never seen him laugh so wanton, almost as happy as he could. "Oh, oh, you are really superb, Shanier." With a smile, he bent his middle finger and thumb and flicked each other's eyebrows, as if not harshly berating a puppy who bit his owner: "I don't It will be returned to you, so if you have the ability to grab it yourself-or you can come in again, how about?"
Shanil gritted his teeth and said, "You think I can't do anything else? I just flew over from Los Angeles a few hours ago. Guess who I saw at the airport? That's right, you. The FBI’s concubine, alone, hurriedly walking. Do you think if a muzzle is pointed at him in the dark, will he have a sixth sense to help him avoid the bullet that was shot out of unknown time?"
Los Angeles? A secret string in the bottom of his heart was plucked, and there was a soft sour sound that had been covered in dust for a long time. He replied calmly: "Because he sent you to jail, you want to take revenge? Very well, report me this too. But don't expect me to thank you, I will wait. Report this news and reduce your sentence, and then you can come in happily and be a cellmate with me."
Shanier felt that he would be humiliated by staying any longer, and turned away angrily. He won't just give up, anyway, he is locked up in jail, he has time and means to get back the blood card that belongs to him.
"He's a little nervous." Simon walked over, preparing to send him back to prison. Although he could not hear the content of the conversation between the two, he was impressed by the manner in which the visitor spoke.
"Indeed, but it's quite boring, isn't it?" Qingqing replied with a grin.
Beside him, the young prison guard deliberately slowed down, and the warm winter sun shining in from outside the iron gate at the other end of the corridor, they walked side by side like this, stepping step by step in the sunny grid. This is also very good, very good, Simon thought, for some things, let it come a little bit slower.