Beast

That was the first time Kunka saw fighting beasts. Their strong physiques, alert eyes, and shyness and politeness that did not match their status made him curious but did not dare to approach them.

He knew that every muscle on their bodies was money, and even the sweat they shed smelled like banknotes and blood.

Cuenka and his workers took advantage of the darkness to move the cage onto the car, while Cuenka was sweating all the time.His heart was pounding, not because of nervousness, but because of extreme excitement.His hands were trembling on the steering wheel, and he was stunned for a while before he thought of starting the car.

On the way, he asked his workers how much it was.

The worker said, you are indispensable, just transport it with peace of mind.Those who can afford to buy fighting beasts are people who don't care about money. You are afraid that what people say doesn't count.

Kunka shook his head, "I mean them, how much does it cost for one...one end?"

The worker friend glanced at him with a smile, that look seemed to say no, boy, do you still expect to be able to buy one in this life?

But the worker still held the cigarette in his mouth and slapped him.

"Five thousand rabbis?" This is not a small amount, it is enough for half a year's wages.

The worker laughed, and puffed out a puff of smoke, "Add a zero."

Cuenca took a deep breath and almost drove the car into a ditch.His heart was beating more violently, and he suddenly turned his head to look at the worker—"[-]...[-] rabbis?"

"Usually this is the price. The better ones are of course more expensive, and the worse ones are cheaper," the worker said, adding, "I'm referring to a week's expenses."

Kunka swore at that moment that he must have a fighting beast in his life, no matter what method he used to get it, because it had nothing to do with his own safety, it was about face and identity.

It is a symbol of wealth.

It now appears that Cuenca has realized his dream.

Whatever he did, at least he did buy fighting beasts, and more than one, from things that brought pleasure and pleasure or energy and excitement.

In the process, he became more and more familiar with the Beast Market.

He saw with his own eyes that there was only one beast fighting black market in the country, and now there is one in the largest city in every province.From 20 rabbis per month, it has almost risen to 50 now.

This kind of development is impressive, and he believes that this industry will only get better and better, and its prospects will become more and more open. There is no possibility of shrinking or saturation within 50 years.

After all, as long as the country does not abolish private armed forces, there will be a place for training beasts.At the moment when the economy is developing rapidly, domestic law and order cannot keep up, so what do the rich need?Wellness and health, of course.

Fighting Beast is this guarantee, which is much more effective than buying a bunch of insurance.

What the insurance guarantees is after an accident, but the promise given by Dou Beast is to prevent problems before they happen.

He and the poet got to know each other in the process of washing the sand with big waves.

The poet is much more inconspicuous than the lover. He always wears a yellow-washed shirt and a frayed denim jacket. He never shaves clean or combs his hair. With confused eyes, he muttered to himself as if he had drunk too much.

The only thing that is the same is that the poet was also huddled in the darkest corner of the fighting beast market at that time, and there was also the smell of wine in the cage, a pile of wine bottles lying crookedly, and a scripture soaked in alcohol.

Eyes are really important. When Cuenca bought the poet, he never thought that this purchase, which was almost like helping the poor, could drag him back before the gate of hell several times.

The poet is not good at physical skills, but he is good at using guns, eavesdropping and tracking, and urban combat.

He is just a shadow in the streets and alleys, lost in the crowd and cannot be found.

This is a fatal flaw for a man in his early thirties who has been single for more than 30 years.

But for the identity of a killer, this is a rare talent.

At present, Pero is also like him, very curious about the No.1 fighting beast he owns.

They have already greeted all the people under their command, and the Lover—you don't need to think about it, he successfully got the owner's first bottle of wine.At the moment, he and Perrault are having a happy drink with Perrault by the living room window-you draw and I guess.

"Need to tell Perrault?" The poet pointed to the stack of photos.

"Do you have any clues about Yushan's old house?" Kunka asked.

"No, it's not easy to find," the poet replied, but he found something else—"I took advantage of you to retreat last night, and I still sent people to stay behind to observe the situation after the war. Smart people will leave a way for themselves, That’s called a margin of survival. Stupid people leave a way out for themselves, that’s called cheating and tricks, I think the people in Yushan belong to the latter, those stupid—”

"What news do you have?" Kunka interrupted him. When talking with poets, one must be good at interrupting and grasping the key points.

"The address of a kitchen." The poet was very disappointed, as uncomfortable as being blocked in the middle of a yawn.

Cuenca smiled, he knew the poet would not let him down.

Cuenca stared at Pero who was sitting by the window, and sniffed lightly. He seemed to be able to smell the scent of pomade and mousse from the wind blowing through Pero's hair. He was his heart. .

He would tell Perot the news, and he knew that with Perot's vengeful temperament, he would definitely do something.

This is an opportunity for Perot to vent his anger, and of course it is also a good opportunity for Love Saint to test his skills.

As Cuenca expected, when Perrault saw the photos and heard the poet's nonsense, he grasped the outline from it, and slammed a puff of mist, and extinguished the smoke in the ashtray vigorously.

Cuenca actually likes to see Perot angry. After all, Perot is very restrained. Although he has a bad temper, he seldom gets angry.This is especially true when there is nothing to do in the past, and there is always a gentle and friendly expression on his face.

Cuenca still remembers that when he first met Perot, he couldn't believe that Perot was in this business at all.

Did Perot kill someone?Set fire?Is the moon dark and the wind high?It shouldn't be, a person like him should be a little pet who follows the big boss - although this little pet may have gotten a little fat in recent years - but his hair is combed meticulously, and he is also wearing a suitable perfume .The shirt was as clean as if it had just been washed, and the part that was drenched in sweat was slightly flesh-colored.

It was so clean, so clean that Cuenka wanted to get him dirty.

But then he knew that Perrault didn't need him to get dirty because his hands were never clean.Even when Cuenca was still moving bricks at the construction site, Perrault was already driving a small car, taking turns delivering envelopes and gift boxes to customs and police stations.

Cuenca met Perot in the summer, and Perot was also wearing a linen shirt that day.Under the effect of sweat, the fragrance became more comfortable, and Kunka almost gnawed on his neck when he hugged each other.

But Cuenca held back, he just kissed Perot's left cheek politely, kissed him on the cheek again, then hugged Perot again, and squeezed Perot's hand greedily.

Pero couldn't feel anything, of course, Cuenca never thought that he would like a man before meeting Pero.

In the past 30 years, he was probably the same as the love saint. He liked the ones with protruding backs and long hair. They looked delicious, but they were actually very delicious and even a little greasy.

But when he saw Perot, he realized that men can also be delicious.

This delicacy is different from a woman with big breasts, fat buttocks and protruding back. It is a kind of beauty that makes people very comfortable, likes, and wants to get close to, even if it doesn't need to be played with.

Especially when he heard that Perot really liked men, the little happiness was like waves hitting the rocks, crashing, breaking the happiness into many, many pieces, and then scattered around.

But obviously this is useless, Pero likes men does not mean he likes Cuenca.

Cuenca pushed Pero's arm, let Pero sit over a little, and forced him to squeeze on a sofa.

Perrault took out a photo and pointed it at the poet—"The kitchen you mentioned, will these people be here tonight?"

The poet shook his head, "They are the guards of the old house, probably not here."

Perot frowned, regretting that he couldn't kill the murderer who personally swept up his villa on Nansha Street.

Although generally not furious, once the warning value is exceeded, the blood vessels on his forehead will burst, and his eyes will no longer be as gentle as usual.

He put down the photo, thought for a moment, and said, "It's okay, the kitchen is a treasury, and the value will not be lower than my villa in Nansha. It's not a loss."

After all, he snapped his fingers and asked the former security director to come over.

But as soon as he raised his hand, Kunka grabbed his wrist.

"What are you going to do?" Kunka asked, not willing to let go of the hand he was holding.

Fortunately, Perot didn't notice it, he just froze for a moment, and asked back—"Clean his kitchen tonight, what's the matter?"

"Are you going too?" Kunka asked again, holding the opponent's fingers together.

"Why don't you go? It's a great opportunity to cheer people up. How can I feel the joy when I'm not there?" Perot replied.

Kunka nodded, and translated to Love Saint in a language he didn't understand.

After finishing speaking, the love saint replied with a bunch of pronunciations in a babble, looking at Perot from time to time, and curling his lips from time to time.

After the 1-minute exchange, Cuenca turned his head back and said to Perrault—"Don't go tonight, you might as well let Love Saint come over, he is not willing to let you be there in person. He said that if you are worried, He brought back the head of the person in charge of the kitchen for you to see."

Perot raised an eyebrow.

After weighing for a moment, Perot looked at the poet.

The poet said that this is indeed the case. How can every fighting beast prove that he is worth the price without showing his hands.

So Perot hesitated for a few more seconds, and finally accepted Cuenca's proposal.

Unknowingly, he drew his hand back, lit a cigarette and took two puffs, glanced at his watch, and finally gave the official order—"Okay, then you go, be careful, how many people and what weapons do you want, you Order yourself."

Cuenca painstakingly translated it.

I thought that the lover would pick a few people to accompany him, and find some good weapons, but unexpectedly, he just grinned, cleared the bottom of the wine bottle, then stood up simply, and gave the address under Kunka's translation. After thinking about it for a while, he walked towards the door in such a swaggering manner.

Perrault thought he was drinking too much, which was why he thought he could single-handedly overthrow a house.

Where he thought he was going, it was Yushan's drug cooking room, and there were quite a lot of firepower and troops stationed there.This is not the right time to pretend, and you will lose your life.

But just when Perot was about to stop Love Saint, Cuenca grabbed his hand again and pulled him back to the sofa.

"This is a fighting beast," Kunka smiled. "Just stay at home and have a drink with me and wait. The big price is not for nothing."

Perot had a complicated expression.Of course he knew that it was bought at a high price, so he was even more reluctant to treat it as a disposable item.But he didn't know the strength of fighting beasts, so he had no better idea than to listen to Kunka.

However, it is not only Perot who thinks that the love saint is pretending, but also the poet.

Looking at the lover who had already walked to the door, the poet was slightly dissatisfied with the other wine bottle dangling in his hand, and couldn't help saying—"Do I need to remind him that he shouldn't drink while working?"

"It's all right, that's what a lover is," Cuenca said. "He can't work without drinking."

After finishing speaking, Cuenca winked at the poet and asked the poet to follow behind the lover secretly.Not only to see how he pretends to be aggressive, but also to clean up the mess in case he fails to pretend.