The beautiful daily life of Black Light Salted Fish

"Hehehe, look at your expression!" A group of Slavic men gathered in the living room, the air was filled with the aroma of wine. Beltway had the loudest voice. He chewed two slices of pickled cucumber and poured Watson another full glass of vodka: "I'm not going to die tomorrow. Don't you know me? Drink as long as you can. Come on! For your health! Cheers!"

“For your health!”

A group of men nearby raised their glasses and drank them all.

Watson sat among these Slavic men, feeling the scrutiny of their faces from time to time. He was used to it. Speaking of toasts, there is a very strange custom in Slavic culture. Before a toast, you must say something like "for friendship, for health, for tomorrow". It sounds awkward at first.

But after listening for a long time, you can feel this unique atmosphere. Watson himself certainly won't start a toast. When everyone says cheers, he will follow suit. He drank more than half a bottle by himself, which made the eyes of these men change - in a place like this, how much alcohol a man can drink is closely related to his ability to a certain extent.

This scene obviously happens all the time.

So Watson didn't even plan to ask the ghost to persuade Beltway.

After a meal of wine and meat until late at night, Beltway sat up among the half-asleep and half-dazed men. Ghost was already drunk and staggering. He simply waved at Watson: "Hey! Pretty boy! Help this guy out!"

"Row."

Putting down the barbecue plate, Watson walked over to help Beltway.

He didn't dare to use too much force.

I was afraid of hurting this slightly skinny arm.

"No, no! I can walk by myself!" Beltway staggered and pushed the door open, turned left in two steps and headed straight for the corner of the courtyard, then knelt down and vomited. But he was too weak, and his leg was broken, so his coordination and strength were not enough for this action, so he fell forward to the ground.

Watson had no choice but to walk over and help Beltway, who was still vomiting, up. He found that the guy had vomited all over his chest, and his coat was filthy. The man stood up on his knees and wanted to say something, but suddenly he bent forward and vomited again. It took him nearly five minutes to recover.

I thought he would say something stubborn, but Beltway's first words made Watson frown: "Let's go! Go drive the car! Just the two of us! Hey, hey, I'll take you to find some girls!"

"Do you want to hear what you said?"

Watson's patience with drunk people was limited to a few people, such as his girlfriend. Beltway was completely out of his tolerance range. However, considering that the other party was terminally ill, he did not want to further stimulate negative emotions: "Are you saying that you are going to have a second round?"

"It's round two!"

Beltway raised his thumbs crookedly: "I can do it! Do you believe it?"

"Believe me, believe me, you are fine."

After saying that, Watson walked back: "I'll go see where the key is."

"Go ahead, pretty boy. I'll change my clothes first." After a round of vomiting, Beltway sobered up a bit and was able to follow Watson into the house. The two walked into the living room, and Watson went straight to the man lying on the sofa humming a song: "Ghost, where are the jeep keys? Our good brother wants to play a second round."

"What second round?" The ghost was stunned for a moment, then reacted: "Oh! Ha! Here, take the key. Beltway knows the way, you just need to take him there. The fat man has an old acquaintance there, don't worry! If you don't want to stay, you can drive back directly and ignore him. Oh, by the way, the girls there are pretty good, completely different from those girls in Amsterdam, you should try it, hehe..."

He suddenly stopped: "Bertha didn't come with you?"

"No, I just told you that."

Watson selectively ignored the second half of the man's words, took the car keys and went to get his gun.

Soon, the jeep carrying Beltway, who had changed his clothes, drove out of the courtyard and into the snow-covered dirt road. The village called Valazig was not small, and a considerable number of its residents came from nearby mercenary bases, or were simply the families of those vendors and guards.

With a large number of young and middle-aged men and migrant workers, and the fact that most of their jobs are illegal, it is normal for the accompanying hotel business and flesh trade to derive - not to mention these two, there are people doing boxing business. The Slavs don't have so many twists and turns in this regard. They just set up a venue, place a bet, go in, defeat their opponent and get the money.

Of course, instead of having the energy to fight to the death on the battlefield, more mercenaries would rather spend their time on women, because at least they can relax.

"Hey! There it is!"

Beltway, who was chattering in the passenger seat, suddenly shouted, "Stop on the right! Stop on the right!"

"...This place doesn't look like it...Are you sure it's the right place?" Watson endured the fat man's nagging, but he didn't want to go to the wrong place. However, when he thought that this was a village, it was normal for the houses to be ordinary. He turned the steering wheel, and before the jeep stopped, Beltway opened the door and got out: "Ha! Sweet home!"

A young man with his hands in his pockets and wearing a cotton hat stood at the door of the house. He saw Beltway approaching but did not stop him. He glanced at him and then moved away. However, a bald and fat man squatted opposite the house. His figure was very similar to Beltway before he lost weight, but his eyes were not very friendly.

After locking the car door, Watson checked his weapon and stepped forward.

"$10."

The boy looked Watson in the eyes and spoke something in English with a heavy Russian accent.

Okay, you don’t even accept rubles, right?

"I can speak Russian." Watson said in Russian from memory: "I brought my friend here, the one who just went in. Does he come here often?"

"......Yeah." The boy continued to look at Watson, and had no intention of continuing to talk. The two stood at the door and stared at each other for more than ten seconds. The door was pushed open by a blonde girl, and a clear and pleasant girl's voice followed: "Is there a guest?"

"I told you not to come out." The boy frowned and turned back to mutter. Seeing that Watson had turned his attention to the blonde girl, he asked again: "How about it? Do you want to do it? 10 dollars per time."

"Sorry, I don't need it." Watson's spider sense had already detected malicious intent, coming from the bald fat man across the house. That guy had just been looking at Beltway, and now he was looking at him: "Who is that guy? Why is he always staring at me and my friend?"

"none of your business?"

The boy crossed his arms, took a half step back and leaned against the door frame: "If you don't want to do it, just walk away and don't block the door."

"Huh? Can you speak Russian?" the blonde girl asked curiously, not intending to shrink back, which immediately attracted the boy's unhappy look.

"Hey! Pretty boy!"

At this moment, Beltway appeared at the door: "Come on! Come in, do you think I will leave you at the door without caring about anything? Look at this girl, I told you they are very good, right? Hey, Dasha, I tell you, if you can seduce my friend, I will give you 50 dollars!"

The blonde named Dasha didn't know whether she understood what he said, or she only understood "50 dollars". She immediately squeezed her chest towards Watson with a shy smile on her face. It must be said that after seeing so many voluptuous girls, this country girl's style even had a fairy-tale flavor. No wonder Beltway remembered her.

And objectively speaking, Slavic women generally have fair skin, good looks, height and long legs. When you put them in front of you, you can't compare to them with short girls.

Although this level is of no use to Watson.

…Unless it’s Miss Watson.

Of course, this doesn't mean he doesn't want to satisfy his curiosity.

"10 dollars?"

He turned and asked the young man with the good-looking face.

"Ah."

Watson pulled out a dollar bill.

After receiving the money and checking it, the boy stopped staring at Watson and made way for him to enter, but he still looked cold and hard. When the two of them passed by, Watson cast his eyes on the other's waist, where there was a bulge, which looked like a pistol hammer.

As soon as they entered the room, Beltway stuffed a few dollars into the girl named Dasha's pocket and winked at Watson: "I won't tell anyone. Hey, enjoy yourself. Look, I've paid for you."

"Go do your thing."

Watson couldn't help but give the other person a middle finger: "I just want to chat."

"I just want to chat~~~" Beltway imitated Watson's tone of voice and walked leisurely to a room on the right side: "You said you want to chat, so let's chat. How many Russian words do you speak? You lied to me. Don't worry, I will never tell anyone. I'm almost dead..."

Fortunately, the disabled man was not very quick. When the door was opened, Watson saw the woman in the room. She was a young woman in her thirties. She looked a bit like Dasha next to him. He was a little unsure if he had not observed carefully enough. But as soon as the door was closed, Dasha said, "That's my mother."

"Huh?" Watson turned around: "What?"

“That’s my mother.”

Dasha shrugged and repeated, "I have another sister upstairs, but she's busy now. If you want to see her, you have to wait a while."

"I'm not really..."

After hesitating for a moment, Watson simply didn't explain and followed Dasha into the room on the left side of the first floor: "Are you saying that your mother and your sister are in this house?"

"Yes."

"Could the guy collecting money at the door be your brother?"

"Yes."

Facing Watson's question, Dasha continued to smile, but her eyes were calm and numb, which made Watson pause for a few seconds: "...Do you know the bald fat man across the street?"

"That's my dad. He only comes in when the guests don't pay. Sometimes my uncle accompanies him. You've already paid, don't worry." Dasha was still very calm. Maybe she had answered this question many times before. The girl took off her coat and lay on the bed. The full outline of her chest was quite tempting: "Can we start now? Or do you want to continue chatting with me? It's okay to chat while we do it."

"Let's just talk. You can continue to lie down if you want." Watson sat in the chair next to him, with no intention of untying the scarf covering his face. "So your whole family is doing this. I thought someone in your family was doing business on the black market."

"My uncle has a stall in the black market."

Dasha adjusted her pillow. “But sometimes you don’t make much money.”

"Business is bad or is there some other reason?"

"I'm not sure. It seems that some people don't allow him to do business there, and the things he sells are not profitable." Dasha thought for a while, then lay on her side facing Watson, with obvious curiosity in her eyes: "Why don't you do it after you paid? Are you shy? You are an adult, right? I think you are about the same age as my brother. Have you never touched a woman before?"

Before Watson could speak, she asked another string of questions: "Why don't you take off your scarf? Don't be shy, it's just you and me here. If you don't know how to do it, I can teach you. Just relax, or... I can return some of your money after we're done, but don't tell my brother... Wow, you have beautiful eyes."

"I'm not going to sleep with you."

Watson shook his head directly: "And I have basically finished asking you what I want to ask you."