Chapter 435

Herstal glanced at Feister: "You didn't join the gang?"

The other party smiled, obviously quite complacent: "No. I'm the 'cute Pfister', I have a few good friends outside who can help me bring in some good things like cigarettes and marijuana leaves. , the bosses in the Eastern District will not come to trouble me."

He paused, then added, "But you don't have to."

"Many media now say you are a Westland pianist, and of course the people in the prison heard the wind." Fiesta told Herstal, but he didn't seem worried at all, still smiling, "Listen well. Now, these guys will pay attention to you first and then send someone to trouble you - because they can't let someone steal their limelight like this, there are still a lot of people in prison who don't join the gang watching, they have to put everyone They are all docile and obedient.”

Jack "Saw" stood in front of him, and the prisoners sitting at several tables next to him were very discerning and hurriedly moved their positions with their plates, and Pfister-he was worthy of being called the beloved Pfister ——He jumped up immediately with his plate, and greeted Jack "Saw" with a smile, "Boss Jack."

"Saw" Jack nodded coldly, ignoring him.

And Herstal didn't even bother to raise his head, just said: "The police don't think that way."

"Why are you telling me this?" Herstal asked suspiciously.

"Because I think you're a Westland pianist," Pfister shrugged nonchalantly. "It's great to be a Westland pianist, unlike me, who gets called to the police for a date with a girl. Spoofing."

Herstal confirmed two points: first, Feist is really lacking in heart, and second, this guy probably doesn't understand the world of serial killers at all.

"But if these gangs really want to trouble me, wouldn't you be in an embarrassing situation?" Herstal asked sharply, "After all, you and I live in the same cell, and now you are taking the initiative to introduce me to it. Given the situation."

Pfister blinked, and then replied: "If they want to trouble you, I will also give up my seat and leave a venue for you to fight. Only people who do nothing and help no one are there. This kind of place can be called 'everyone loves it'."

He paused to make sure Herstal wouldn't rush up to hit him before continuing.

"That's the law of survival in prison."

Now, it was obvious that Pfister had completely fulfilled his previous statement and gave them the position very quickly.

Herstal didn't expect him to help at all, and just continued to eat with his head down: the so-called cereal was really hard to swallow, and he was always nauseated by the side effects of the drug, but Herstal knew that in this The importance of maintaining adequate physical strength somewhere.

"Tiaozi doesn't think so, but I think a lot of people take it seriously," said Jack "Saw", dangling the letters in his hand exaggeratedly, "Amarette, there are still people writing love letters to you."

There was a low burst of laughter among the watching prisoners, and at this time Jack had already pulled a letter out of the envelope: all letters were checked by the prison guards before being sent to the prison, and now the seals of all envelopes were opened. of. Jack unfolded the letter and coughed pretendingly: "This letter is from a gentleman Mr. Lai Shui Me Rotson, he said in the letter-"

He squeezed his throat amid the laughter of the others around him, obviously simulating a voice that he thought was more in line with his impression of a "dead gay", and read strangely: "'Herstal? Amarette, I don't care if you're a pianist or not, you'd better be the fuck! You bitch has a face that looks like a big diǎo, come and strangle me! I watch your fucking every day Jīng masturbating, you stinky bitch!' - Amarette, you won't disappoint this gentleman, right?"

After reading the short letter, he glanced at Herstal again, who was still trying to conquer the cereal with his head down. Seriously, what did Jack "Saw" want to see? Did the other party rush up in anger and try to beat him? That way he had good reason to fight back, and if he was lucky, he wouldn't be put in a solitary cell. Or, does he wish to see the hand holding the stainless steel spoon tremble with anger? But so far there are no such signs.

The lack of response from the other party made Jack feel a little boring. He threw the letter he had read in his hand and picked out another envelope.

"Ah, and this one, Mr. Jacob A.J from Kansas," Jack read with relish, "and this Jacob said, 'I really want to cut your dog's tongue off and wipe me with it The egg! Humph, you must be taught a bit before you know how to poke your ass!'”

"How creative!" someone in the crowd shouted amid a round of laughter.

"Saw" Jack shrugged, crumpled the letter in his hand, and threw it aside. Still apparently not satisfied ("Your provocation is as long as impotent foreplay, Jack!" another Latino yelled at "Saw" Jack from the crowd, who ignored him), and picked up another one. When I saw the letter, I let out a strange smile: "Ah, Amarette, here's a little girl who wrote a love poem for you."

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