The Mint’s Metaphor 02

On the other hand, Herstal Armalight's day started like this:

Although, uncontroversially, his colleagues would consider him a workaholic, Herstal didn't work overtime everyday. So he was sitting at his desk, drinking his first cup of coffee of the morning when he got that call.

The phone displayed a number he didn't recognize, but given the kinds of situations he often encountered in the course of his work, he picked it up anyway.

"Hi," Albarino Bacchus said over the phone, "good morning."

"How did you get my phone number?" Herstal asked, straight to the point[1].

[1]单刀直入, idiom, lit. using a short knife to stab sth, meaning saying things straightforwardly.

"I asked Bart, and clearly, he was willing to help me when I'm arrested." Albarino replied carelessly, "I needed a lawyer."

Now, Herstal actually frowned, staring ahead as if there were something dirty on his bright, clear and unblemished glass window. "I don't believe you don't have your own lawyer. Besides, you know the charging standards of my firm, don't you?"

"I know," Albarino whistled loudly, sounding a bit frivolous, "but you should also know what you owe me: follow the rules. If you say you've 'decided to join', don't leave it unfinished, okay?"

Herstal listened to him, but he didn't answer, the corners of his mouth taut, forming into a straight line of resentment.

The other's voice was still obnoxiously sweet-sounding, making him want to reach up and massage the place between his eyebrows. In the end, he didn't move, and just hung up the phone silently.

He sat in place for a moment, then once again reached up to straighten his shirt cuffs, standing up.

The police car was parked in a long private driveway. Bates' neck shrank from the cold as he got out, as the outskirts were colder than the city.

A police line was drawn up outside Albarino's house. An officer stood at the door, but it wasn't Hardy. Bates pulled on his collar and as he and a group of colleagues from the crime scene investigation team walked over in a grandiose way, he happened to see Olga also standing in the doorway.

Bates stepped forward quickly, distanced himself a little from his colleagues, tore into[2] Olga and asked, "Is that true? They suspect Al of killing someone?"

[2]劈头盖脸, idiom, lit. splitting the head and covering the face, meaning pelting (rain), also to describe quick momentum.

"They did get into a bit of an argument last night. I've told Bart about it already when he asked." Olga answered with a frown, her consultant's pass clipped to the front of her shirt, so that the officer standing in the doorway didn't even look at her as she ducked past the police line. "But you know how Al is. If you ask me, he definitely didn't take that to heart. Yet, in any case–"

"That fingerprint found on the murder weapon was enough to issue a warrant. No matter what, Bart had to follow procedure." Bates finished, also ducking his head under the police line to enter.

"Seriously, do you think even if Al really wanted to kill a young woman who punched him in the face, he'd be stupid enough to leave a fingerprint on the murder weapon?" Olga asked rhetorically.

It was a good question, and one that Bates, of course, couldn't answer. Yet in any case, they were now standing in the middle of Al's house: the area of Al's house wasn't large, but it was adequate for a single man; it was very well lit, with the early morning sun pouring in through the windows. Even on cloudy days, you could see a pale white light beam there, with dust climbing upwards along it.

"... well, no matter what happens." Bates sighed and slowly began putting on latex gloves, "Just ... be calm, okay? We'll search the house and see if there's any evidence we can extract. Generally speaking, a murderer would always bring some blood back to his headquarters after killing a person that brutally."

He stammered a bit, then finished his sentence.

"I believe no evidence of blood, or anything like that, will be found in Al's house." He said lowly.

Olga glanced at him. She didn't seem terribly troubled, only having a kind of pure curiosity. The expression in her eyes seemed a little strange, but even so, she didn't say anything else.

For the first time, Albarino sat on another side of the interrogation room table, with cold rings cast in the middle of the metal table, which were used to secure the suspect's handcuffs. Regardless of that, Albarino was very glad that at least Officer Hardy hadn't cuffed him – although, as things stood, he really did look like a murderer.

"Al, the situation really isn't looking good for you." Officer Hardy was saying, his brow tightly furrowed. Each day, he appeared more exhausted than the last. "Half of the people in the bar can testify that you two had an argument yesterday, and immediately after that, the girl died in the alley; moreover, your fingerprints are on the knife stuck in her chest. You still can't prove your whereabouts after you separated from Olga and the lot, with no witnesses to testify what time you arrived home too. Had you called a taxi–"

Albarino tried to argue: "I ..."

"How the fuck is this not your fault!" Hardy slammed onto the table, the booming sound startling Albarino, "If you don't have the mindset that 'after drinking, it's fine to drive back home in the suburbs' and always drink and drive, at least the taxi driver could become your witness! We can also eliminate you from the time of crime!"

It was at this moment that the door to the interrogation room was opened.

"Are you intimidating my client, Officer Hardy?" Herstal asked, standing in the doorway.

Hardy violently turned his head, so quickly that even his cervical spine made an unpleasant creaking sound. He stared at Herstal and said dryly, "Damn, really?"

"Yes," Herstal nodded calmly, pushed open the door and entered, not even sparing a condescending gaze on Albarino "Please step outside for a moment. I may need to speak to Mr. Bacchus alone."

Given that under the law, an arrested suspect has the right to be visited by a lawyer without being wiretapped, without being inspected and in complete confidentiality, Hardy of course did not refuse Herstal's request – although he clearly was in disbelief as to why Herstal was here.

Shortly after Hardy went out, the red light above the interrogation room camera that kept flashing was turned off. Before Hardy left, he turned on the light in the corridor outside the interrogation room. The one-way mirror, under the change in light, showed clearly that there was no one monitoring them outside.

Herstal did not sit down; instead he put the briefcase on the seat where Hardy had sat, then walked up to Albarino. Albarino looked up at him without any worry in his eyes, and Herstal calmly asked, "What do you think I owe you?"

Albarino narrowed his eyes and grinned.

Herstal could see the sharp gleam of his teeth when he smiled, an expression that seemed like something a predator would show; it sent a shiver down his back without reason. The next second, the chair was pushed back violently, its legs scraping the floor with an ear-piercing sound. Albarino abruptly stood up, reaching out his hand to grab Herstal's elbow, suddenly slamming him down onto the table.

Herstal's waist hit the metal table with a very loud thud. He was not expecting Albarino to do such a thing in such a place, so he was caught off guard. He propped himself up with his elbows on the surface of the table, the metal rings on the table pressing uncomfortably on the side of his waist, restricting part of his movement.

And Albarino used his hand to restrict his waist and his left wrist, forcefully squeezing his body in between his legs.

"Mr. Bacchus." Herstal just maintained that position and looked at him calmly.

"What you did yesterday was pretty childish, you know?" Albarino uncaringly put on his sharp smile, looking down at him in a very oppressive manner in this position.

Herstal's eyebrows twitched, barely noticeably: "Are you talking about that kiss? If I hadn't had those drinks, perhaps things would be a bit better."

"I'm talking about the part where you set me up using my fingerprints," Albarino said, "Actually, I didn't hate some parts of that kiss– although I don't think that was a kiss at all. "

"You're making quite the impressive accusation against me." Herstal replied calmly.

Herstal had gotten that fingerprint from Albarino's glass tupperware lunchbox on the day the Martin Jones shooting incident occurred.

Because of the gunman who burst into the A&H law firm and shot the ceiling, and all those following events, it was completely accidental that Albarino would leave that glass box in Herstal's office, And glass, unfortunately, was a good vehicle for fingerprints.

Herstal extracted the fingerprint before returning the glass tupperware box to Albarino, which was easily done with a little dark colored powder and a rat tail brush. After settling the Jones thing, he went to a "friend", entered the fingerprint into the computer, and then created a model of it.

When you become a mob lawyer, you always know all kinds of "friends" who are in illegal business; these friends won't ask you what you're going to do with a 3D printed model of a fingerprint. Anyway, within a week, Herstal received the finished product: the fingerprints were reprinted on a soft material Herstal couldn't name, sewn onto a pair of leather gloves.

At the time, he hadn't thought about what he was going to do with that thing, but he had always been a man who would be prepared, just in case.

"I think someone who brings my fingerprint around is probably a little more impressive. I'm really flattered[3]." Albarino said sarcastically[4] in return.

[3]受宠若惊, idiom, overwhelmed by favor from someone superior.

[4]反唇相讥, idiom, meaning replying sarcastically or to criticize someone in return.

Herstal looked very calm, totally like he was not being restrained. Revealing his signature sneer, he retorted harshly, "Unless you think I killed her?"

"... Obviously not." Albarino's voice was very low, like in some moments of the previous night. Not caring in the slightest, he pressed his knees onto the table, his whole body climbing onto it, pressing his weight against Herstal's waist. His right hand was emptily suspended in mid air as if he were grasping something in it; his other hand slowly pressed down on Herstal's neck.

Herstal shrank slightly in discomfort, his pulse pounding wildly between Albarino's fingers. As he moved, Albarino saw him slowly tilting his head. On his throat, there was a small white old scar, its shape resembling a bite mark.

"I know it wasn't you," Albarino said slowly, looking him in the eye, "Bart showed me the photos of the crime scene. It was obvious – the way the blood flowed, the signs of struggle left in the sludge on the ground ... That killer pounced on Sarah, straddling her waist like this, one hand clutching her neck–"

Slowly, slowly, he tightened his fingers. He heard the soft scraping sound of air being exhaled with difficulty by the other, whose fingers were pressed tightly against the table, knuckles white but unmoving. Albarino looked down at those light blue eyes, his hand continuing to exert force, his fingers sinking into the soft skin of the other's throat until he felt the other man's breathing sound completely stop.

Albarino understood this process: the obstruction of breathing causing all the organs to lack oxygen; in just a minute, the human heart would stop beating.

In such an instant, how easy it was to kill a person.

–He suddenly released his grasp, hearing Herstal shuddering, intaking a large breath.

Albarino's fingers were still loosely wrapped around Herstal's neck. His right hand, which had been held up high before, fell on top of his chest, pressing against the junction of his vest and tie, where his heart was beating rapidly beneath those fabrics.

"Just like this, he pinned her to the ground," Albarino said slowly, slightly pressing his hand against Herstal's chest, in the same spot where a spring of mint leaves, dripping with blood, lay on Sarah's chest. "Stabbed her several times in the chest – with his right hand; it should be noted that using a knife to stab a victim repeatedly is a method full of sexual implication. But I know it wasn't you. You use your left hand to hold a knife, right?"

Herstal stared intensely at Albarino, his pupils slightly dilated. Then he suddenly smiled; that was a provocative, cold smile.

He said, lowly and slowly, "I invoke my rights under the Fifth Amendment."

Albarino, naturally, was willing to treat this as a small victory for himself. He moved his hand away from the other man's neck, propping it on the table surface just above his shoulder. He straightened up a little, then suddenly, without warning, he grinded against the other man's crotch with a skillful twist in his waist.

– He heard an exasperated[5] groan between Herstal's lips.

[5]气急败坏, idiom, lit. losing composure, out of breath, meaning flustered and exasperated

"La petite mort, not particularly out of my expectations." Albarino said in a cheerful tone which nearly seemed malicious, feeling the heat rising up beneath the fabric of the other's clothes. "You really are the type to get hard in the middle of being suffocated, Mr. Armalight."

"At a time like this, I really don't know if I should defend you or sue you for sexual harassment." Herstal sneered coldly.

Albarino let out a laugh, sliding off the table to sit in his original seat, completely ignoring the bulge that had risen in the middle of Herstal's trousers. Beaming, he replied, "If we learn to enjoy ourselves better, then we forget best how to hurt others and plot hurt for them – if you don't want to face this embarrassing situation like now, you shouldn't even have done those things you did yesterday."

"Did you have to say 'you asked for it' in such a roundabout way?" Herstal asked with a frown. He slid off the desk and began to straighten the creases in his suit which had formed as if nothing had happened.

"I think I'm being merciful," Albarino shrugged, "Considering that you must have been stalking Sarah yesterday, happened to witness her being murdered, and then not only did you not call the police, but you framed me for it in passing– tell me, why were you stalking her? If, coincidentally, she weren't killed, did you also intend to kill her yourself, just because it would have been better to frame me for her death?"

Herstal looked at him quietly.

"Forget it, I know you won't admit it." Albarino waved his hand dismissively.

Herstal heard a scream; very small, as if it had been forced down. He was familiar with sounds like that, the choking sound of the throat due to heavy pressure, the sound of fresh blood gurgling and flowing out through the veins. When he stood in the shadow of the alley and looked over in that direction, he happened to see the flash of a knife.

Sarah, the woman – whom he seemingly procatively called "Mintha", Hades' lover, just for those little inside[6] jokes between him and the Sunday Gardener. Mutual provocation out of boredom, gradually stepping into the abyss; he knew it was irrational, but on the other hand, Albarino Bacchus's mint green eyes were flashing somewhere in the depths of his memory.

[6]心照不宣, mutual understanding without being spoken.

He saw that roughly gasping man hurriedly scrambling away from the alley. The beautiful woman was lying on the ground, hysterically staring ahead with a gaze begging for help, her dress a blood-like passionate red. Herstal emerged from the darkness, fingers touching the pair of soft gloves which had been in his bag.

Before him, obviously, was an opportunity.

"So, let's talk about the predicament you're in right now." Herstal leaned forward on that table and said, like it was no big deal[7].

[7]轻描淡写, idiom, lit. using light colors to gently sketch a painting, meaning to downplay something.

"I'd like to hear a professional opinion." Albarino pointed out.

"You two were witnessed having a dispute. Then, your fingerprint appeared on the murder weapon on the victim's chest, and you also don't have an alibi for that period of time. If there is no evidence that can point to other suspects–" Herstal slowly smiled; of course the police could not find any, since he did tidy up the body before leaving the fingerprint. "From the judge's perspective, you would be the most suspicious without a doubt."

Albarino crossed his arms and stared at him, his gaze calm as if the other was not talking about things related to him.

"In this case, the prosecutor is most likely to charge you with second-degree murder, given the previous altercation you had." Herstal's words were extremely deliberate, his gaze quietly focusing somewhere around Albarino's shoulders. His suit was smoothed out by himself, and the skin near his throat was almost completely concealed inside the collar of his shirt, but Albarino knew that place would slowly swell and redden.

"And then?" Albarino prompted.

"And then, we'll get a group of witnesses to prove that you didn't care much about the relationship and wouldn't kill in the heat of the moment just because you were humiliated by her. We'll also prove that you didn't carry a sharp blade when you were at the bar, completely without a murder weapon. The lack of blood on the clothes you wore yesterday, and lack of any mud from that alley on your shoes will also be convincing evidence. " Herstal said smoothly, "If no bloody clothes or other evidence could be found at your place, the jury might believe that you were framed; but your fingerprints are on the murder weapon after all, so they might still find you guilty... you could be facing imprisonment for more than 15 years. Fortunately, you can be paroled."

Albarino sized him up and said slowly, "... From how you phrased it, I think you're not particularly worried that I'll actually be found guilty."

"The evidence is not quite sufficient, with many holes." Herstal replied, "But I don't usually give my clients any guarantees like this."

Albarino gave a light chuckle, then asked pointedly, "So, after tormenting yourself through all this, what do you want?"

Herstal finally shifted his gaze from his shoulder to his face, meeting his gaze. A mischievous smile flashed in the lawyer's eyes.

He simply said, "I want to know what the crime scene investigation team discovered in your home."

Author's Notes

1. The rights of the Fifth Amendment of the Constitution:

Here, Herstal is referring to "[the suspect] nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself".

The rights of the Fifth Amendment is also explicitly expressed in the famous "Miranda warning" that the police officers give to suspects when they arrest them, i.e. "You have the right to remain silent. If you don't, then everything you say can be used as evidence in court."

When Herstal says this, basically he is indirectly admitting to Albarino that he uses his left hand to wield a knife (same as the Westland Pianist).

2. La petite mort: (T/N: the author wrongly put it as Le petit mort instead of the feminine form)

French for "the little death", a term which pretty much has the same meaning as asphyxiophilia or sexual asphyxia.

Sexual asphyxia is a perverted act performed by people with paraphilia, Criminal psychologists in Westland City generally consider the Westland Pianist to have paraphilia.

3. "And if we learn to enjoy ourselves better, then we forget best how to hurt others and plot hurt for them."

This quote is also from Nietzsche's "Thus Spoke Zarathustra".

4. Second-degree murder:

A person who commits murder with the intent to kill (in this case, the perpetrator has knowledge on the act of killing, rather than the usual so-called "want to kill" that kind of intent), but the act is not premeditated, and is not motivated by righteous indignation. The cause of death is due to the perpetrator's dangerous actions, and the perpetrator was obviously negligent of their dangerous actions.