Louise Jaime leaned on the rusty iron railing in front of her, barely propping herself up on the ground, her feet trembling in Louboutin heels.
She had had too much to drink tonight, and the stout was like a runaeay car, pounding wildly around the walls of her stomach, mixing with the acid and creeping up her esophagus, toward her mouth.
The acid was welling up, and the acid that was rushing up the forward had entered her mouth, making her mouth feel pantothenic acid.
With a "Wah" sound, Louise still vomited, throwing up all the steak and wine she had eaten for dinner and had not yet finished digesting. Her body arched like a shrimp, heaving violently up and down.
As she leaned down, Louise's eyes caught the Brazilian man standing on the shoulder of the road.
The Brazilian man seemed to be telepathic with her, he noticed Louise hidden under that messy hair watching him, slowly inclined his head and stared at her eyes.They start looked at each other.
Louise hurriedly skimmed her eyes, misplacing them with the man's.
In the Dimity bar just now, the Brazilian man had asked the band on stage to switch the song because he hated American country music. But the band didn't agree to this tough request, but the next minute a bottle of Munich beer was flyed close to the bassist girl's temple and exploded against the wall behind her, showering everyone in the band with dark brown liquor mixed with glass shards.
The guitarist was a Russian boy, and this act obviously aroused his bloodlust as a rock and roll teenager and his boneheaded Slavic pride, and swung the Yamaha guitar at the Brazilian man's head.
But he apparently forgot the status and position of the Brazilian man, and the new band, which had just arrived in Berlin from Moscow, did not know the name of Orne Santos. The guitar was quickly blocked by security thugs, and then the whole band was ejected from the venue.
All this was seen by Louise, he knows Santos' background, his father runs a hundreds of millions euro venture capital firm in Germany, which is exactly what Santos dares to be so arrogant and domineering in Berlin.
Santos doesn't look at her for a long time, he moved his eyes away and looked in another direction, Louise followed his gaze, there was a light pink Nissan GTR parked on the corner, flowing curves outline a body like a wolf, pink paint reflecting the dim lights on both sides of the road.
The GTR had dimmer low beams, and the dark tinted glass made it difficult to see the interior of the car. Louise can only barely see a young girl sitting in the driver's seat by virtue of the light, and her hair seems to be the same color as the GTR bodywork.
Louise has seen countless luxury cars in her ten years of life in Berlin, and there are countless more expensive cars than the GTR, and the Dimmitt Bar is located in the Mitte district, which is also the first district of Berlin.include countless Five-star hotels, museums located there, and one of the large red-light districts for Europe.
Santos was obviously a bit agitated, he paced back and forth in place and kept pulling out his phone to check the time.
The low roar came from far and near, and Louise even felt the granite tiles beneath her buzzing and vibrating.
The white heavy truck swerved and emerged like a dragon from behind the pink GTR that was parked on the side of the road. The spacious road instantly seemed crowded, and the heavy truck even nearly rubbed off the GTR's left rearview mirror.
Santos' entire body shook for a moment, and the sound of the heavy truck sounded heavenly to his ears at this time, coming from the Golden Vienna Hall.
The heavy truck came to a steady stop in front of Santos, and the heavy smell of motor oil began to spread in the nearby space. The unpleasant smell caused Louise to frown slightly.
The passenger seat car door opened. A long leg wearing light brown Martin boots with light gray work pants stepped out first, followed by a set of white T-shirts with a Wagnerian mercenary-like, blood-red skull logo printed on the chest.
A curly blonde hair is reckless and open. The Berlin night breeze lifted the blonde hair of the teenager in the skull T-shirt, revealing a pair of iron gray eyes hidden beneath that blonde hair.
Pure Germanic blood, the gray eyes are like the pupils of a wolf waiting for its prey to burst forth instantly, shooting out a greedy light.
When Louise saw the T-shirt, she knew that Berlin was not destined to be quiet tonight.
That was Cousins Muller, the second son of Bam Muller, the managing director of McKinsey Europe.
Byram had sent Muller to Eton and, as he had planned, to take over his place at the University of London as a business student, but it wasn't until Mueller stayed out all night, driving a modified Porsche 911 under Big Ben in London at 200km/h, and was stopped by the London police, that Byram's heart was also stopped.
Muller was expelled from Eton in the first semester of his sophomore year because he had failed a number of classes and had broken discipline.
He started his own racing car tuning factory in Ruhr and Cologne, and participated in various underground races all over Europe. With his crazy car skills, Muller soon made a name for himself in the entire German driver circle.
But that alone was not enough to earn him the special title of "Grey Wolf of Berlin".
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In June 2017, Muller drove his favorite modified Ford Mustang in his garage to a bullfight in Barcelona, forcing his Japanese driver Masayoshi Takashi's Mitsubishi EVO over with a furious corner.
Bam used money to exempt Muller from jail time, but money is not an all-purpose lock, it can't seal everyone's mouth.
After the Rumsey justice incident, the German mob circles called Müller by the name of the hidden bloodshed.
No one dared to bet their lives on drifting in front of Müller's car, they were not ready to spend the rest of their lives in a wheelchair or in bed.
The xenon lights around the heavy truck container continued to flash out, rather like a circle of twinkling stars plated on the heavy truck.
"Muller." Santos' face broke like a harden plaster surface crack gaps and blossomed into a warm smile, like the afternoon sun of Rio de Janeiro instantly shining on top of his face.
"Holy shit！What's that smell?" Muller's nostrils fluttered.
"There's a bitch there who drank too much and threw up." Santos didn't hide the disgust on his face and nudged his mouth toward Louise.
"Get in and talk, it smells so bad in here, I'm going to throw up like that bitch if I stay any longer."
Muller fished a set of keys out of his pants pocket, and the silver Mustang running above reflected the glowing light.
Huzzah...
Orange and black lines of the Ford Mustang from the container sped down the lifting tail board sharply, Muller controls the steering wheel, the Ford Mustang body in situ high-speed rotation, like a high-speed rotation of the compass. Rubber friction high heat generated by the white smoke curling up.
The halogen headlights shot two blue swords straight out and hit Santos body. The silver glitter Mustang logo standing upright at the front of the car made him felt dazzling.
Santos pulled open the passenger side door and sat down. The slight smell of plating still permeated into the car.
Hedly's rousing "Lose Control" streamed from the car stereo：
Can I make a little toast
Can we get a little close
Can I get an amen
Can I get a hell yeah
Can I get a holy ghost
Somebody give me a beat
......
"Sounds good." Santos grunted.
Muller nodded, and he didn't reply on that.
"You got that AMG already conversion, engine was desighed by myself, swapped in the SF90 engine, same transmission as the one I have."
"BOSCH①?"
"No, this time the AMT of Aisin ② was changed."
Santos had a delighted expression on his face: "Did you drive it come there?"
Muller nodded again and pointed to the heavy truck container in front of him: "It's inside, the car key is stuck in it and I don't pull up."
"Well, I'll try the car for the race later, the course is determined, from the national park to the Kenwright gas station in Neuendorf, 29 kilometers long."
The expression on Santos' face changed quickly, he weighed his tone and said, "And here comes the freak."
"Freak？"
Muller spat out the German word and he smiled unnaturally: "The autistic Japanese girl? Mackerel, do you remember her name? All I remember is that she had long pink hair."
"Let me think of the freak's name ......," Santos mused, holding his head in his hands start recall.
Suddenly, Santos's green pupils shrank slightly and said with an uncertain tone ：
"Gotoh ...Se？"
"I have heared of her. "
Muller rested his arm over the steering wheel and put his chin on his arm.
"She was at Avatar's Cup race in the Ruhr last November and I wasn't there to support her, but I heared about Avatar's that baby right rearview mirror getting knocked right off and falling on the track and getting run over become a heap of debris, and he said a son of a bitch Japanese did it."
Santos knows Avatar's Harvick Davidson, who likes to race in his modified blue Toyota Supra, and Harvick loves to straight line drift , especially when the car is about to enter the finish line and drift sideways, which directly blocks the rear car's acceleration space and allows him to slide smoothly into the finish line.
But to do so is to gamble on the resilience, temperament and character of the driver behind them. If a driver charges straight up at high speed, Harvick and his Toyota risk flipping over and rolling right over the top of the car behind them.
After Harvick successfully executed this death drift several times during the race, the Berlin racing circuit dubbed him "Avatar" due to the color of his Toyota's body and the James Cameron movie as a way to mock his admiration for this primitive and violent driving technique.
"Avatar" once bragged to me that no one before him had dared to drift in a straight line the way he did. At the time, his Supra was parallel to another car, and they both drifted in a straight line almost simultaneously, the cars sticking together. The other car's rear bumper hit his Supra's rearview mirror. He said the other car was a pink GTR driven by some Japanese girl named Gotoh."
Santos nodded, "It's her, Gotoh Se. My family has some business dealings with the Gotoh family, so I have met her a few times."
"How did your family get involved with the Japanese?" Muller asked.
"The Gotoh family's main business is exporting cars to Latin America. They approached my father for some venture capital, so I've met that weirdo a few times at dinners." Santos chuckled and patted Miller's right shoulder. "Gray Wolf, it's not surprising. The second largest group of foreign immigrants in Brazil are Japanese. I've fucked a lot of Japanese women when I was in Brazil. My company has done more business with the Japanese than the number of times I've drifted through bend."
Santos chuckled, his eyes radiating a lecherous, lascivious glow as if he was reminiscing about a certain delightful taste.
"Have you talked to her?" Muller, who has now lit a cigarette, asked. "Do you want one before the drift starts?"
"No, I'm good. I'll smoke some marijuana after the race," Santos replied, glancing outside the window at the entrance of the Dimitri Bar. The prostitute there had finished vomiting, leaned against the railing behind her, and was smoking a lady cigarette. The sparks were flickering on her crimson lips, and the light blue smoke gathered and slowly dissipated.
The song "Lose Control" continued to play on repeat in the car, and the heavy metal rock notes were bouncing in Santos' eardrums.
"I only said one sentence to her," Santos said. "I was with my dad to have dinner with the Gotoh family. Halfway through, I couldn't stand that like the stupid pig party atmosphere, so I found an excuse to go downstairs and smoke some marijuana. I leaned against the AMG trunk and happened to see the freak crouching on the roadside.
"I said to her, 'Hey, Japanese.' She looked up at me and while I was smoking, I asked her how Tokyo was."
Santos suddenly laughed out loud. "But the freak didn't answer me. Her face suddenly turned as red as if she had drunk 10 tons of black beer, and her body shook violently. Then she stuttered and said a sentence in Japanese before quickly turning around and running away."
Muller asked with interest, "What Japanese phrase did she say to you?"
"'Sumimasen,' which means 'I'm sorry' in Japanese. I heard she can play the guitar well in addition to racing."
Muller sneered, "According to your description, along with the encounter with Avatar, I can imagine this scene in my mind," and his laughter grew louder. "A trembling lamb, but loves to eat cocaine-laced feed, listening to heavy metal rock, and then knocking down Harvey's crazy bull."
Muller covered his face with both hands, then slowly let go and said in English, "Oh my god, what a Japanese freak?"
He turned to Santos and asked, "Do you have her WhatsApp?"
Santos shook his head. "She's not my type, although she does look like she came out of some Japanese anime. But a crazy freak with mental illness is not to my taste. Grey Wolf, if you're interested in her, I can ask around."
"I'm indeed a bit interested after hearing your description," Muller laughed, but his smile disappeared quickly. "Is the race about to start?"
"Yes, the drone operator is ready and the drone has taken off to begin live streaming. The entire competition will be streamed in 8k high definition on your YouTube and Twitch channels," he said.
Santos knew how popular Muller was on social media. He had almost 800,000 subscribers on YouTube, mainly for his car modification videos, such as restoring a salvaged Dodge Viper to its original condition, experiencing underground races in first person, and live streaming. Although the number of followers on Twitch was not as terrifying as YouTube, it had already exceeded 300,000.
Just by playing on YouTube, Muller would earn tens of thousands of euros a month. However, he knew that this money might not be enough to buy a gearbox for him.
"Okay, I hope those pigs won't disturb us tonight."
Muller nodded. "If we're surrounded, we'll split up at different intersections. The maximum speed of a Berlin police car is not over 200 kilometers per hour, so it's easy to shake them off."
He glanced out the window. The deserted avenue was now filled with all kinds of modified sports cars with various logos, such as Mazda RX-7, Ferrari 812, and Mitsubishi Evo. Countless dazzling xenon lights tore apart the last bit of darkness in this area, flashing around and making Muller's eyes narrow slightly.
"Whether it's Ryonosuke Tadokoro or Gotoh Se, those Japanese lambs always think they can be like Nagata Katsuhiko."
Deep in Muller's pupils, a greedy and crazy dark current was slowly surging, gradually filling his entire gray eyes.
The voice that accompanied his sneer made Santos feel as if a thin layer of ice was crawling up his legs, covering his entire body, and finally freezing over his head, even the blood in his veins was solidifying.
"My duty is to completely tear apart the flesh and blood of these garbage with the wreckage of their cars, and mix them together."
①:Famous German auto parts manufacturer
②:It is a Japanese company that mainly manufactures auto parts, auto warranty equipment, hardware, machinery and equipment, power tools and other products
③:automated mechanical transmission