Conan: Begins to collaborate with Miss Bayonetta and become famous

Chapter 793 Helper Vermouth

The man's temple was instantly pierced by a bullet!

The gun slipped out of his hand.

Baijiu reacted like lightning, kneeling on one knee, leaning forward, gripping the butt of the gun tightly, and pointing the muzzle straight at the source of the gunshot like a poisonous snake.

His eyes were fierce and he exuded a cold alertness.

The ground beside him was littered with broken tiles and fragments of partitions.

The man in the gray suit had already been lying straight in a pool of blood, without a sound.

Baijiu was panting, but his tense nerves suddenly relaxed and an expression of disbelief appeared on his face.

He shrugged slightly and slowly lowered the muzzle of the gun.

The person standing in front of me was none other than Vermouth.

She was wearing a dark brown suit jacket with a white shirt underneath. She held the gun in both hands with her arms extended forward, and the muzzle of the gun was originally aimed steadily at the liquor.

Seeing him put down the gun, the corners of her tense mouth rose slightly, and she glanced coldly at the corpse on the ground.

Baijiu staggered to his feet, stepping on the broken glass on the floor. The gunshots also woke up Mojito, who leaned out from behind the side pillar of the sink.

Vermouth's gentle eyes instantly became as sharp as ice, the muzzle of the gun instantly turned towards Mojito, two fingers firmly on the trigger, slightly tilting her head, as if silently asking for instructions from Baijiu.

Seeing this, Mojito immediately raised his hands, placed them on the edge of the compartment, squatted down, looked at Vermouth with pitiful eyes, and shook his head repeatedly in grievance.

"This is one of us." Baijiu said calmly, with a barely perceptible hint of fatigue in his voice.

After saying that, he quickly walked towards the man on the ground.

The wariness in Vermouth's eyes had not completely disappeared, and she was still staring at Mojito.

She neatly tied her long dark brown hair into a high ponytail, with a cool beauty in her movements.

Then, she walked naturally to Baijiu and stood side by side with him, with an intimate posture, as if there was an invisible tacit bond between the two of them.

Mojito covered his aching abdomen and moved closer to Baijiu.

The three of them looked down at the bloody corpse on the ground.

"Can you still make masks?" Mojito poked the liquor and asked.

Baijiu responded calmly: "You need to have a good face to do it."

"I'm sorry," Vermouth said coldly, looking down at the muzzle of her gun. "I was aiming at his chest."

There seemed to be a subtle hint of annoyance in her tone.

Baijiu looked up at Vermouth, and his mind, which had been a little dizzy after being hit hard by the man, gradually became clear.

He asked softly, his tone mixed with the joy of reunion and a hint of barely perceptible questioning: "What are you doing here?"

Vermouth met his gaze, and her deep eyes were filled with tenderness and affection that was only for him.

The corners of her mouth curled up into a faint smile, and the cold and hard lines on her face softened a little.

The surprise in Baijiu's eyes had not yet completely faded, and Vermouth's hand had already gently covered the back of his hand that was covering his throat.

The slender, ivory-white fingers, with a familiar warmth, slowly and firmly clenched, with a slight force on the fingertips, as if to knead the time of separation into this grip, conveying silent concern.

"Wait... wait a minute." Mojito interrupted untimely, his brows knitted into a knot. "I'm confused. Excuse me, who are you...?"

He looked at the almost sweet atmosphere between their eyes and couldn't help but get goose bumps all over his body.

Baijiu glared at him fiercely, snatched the windbreaker from Mojito's hand unhappily, and said perfunctorily: "An old friend of mine."

Then he quickly unfolded his windbreaker and covered the man's mutilated face.

Then, Baijiu and Mojito each held up the corpse's arms and dragged it into the compartment with great effort.

A shocking bloodstain was left on the ground.

Vermouth stood outside the door, on guard.

She smoothed her cuffs, her posture straight and her lines neat.

Her long legs, wrapped in trousers, outline a slender yet powerful silhouette, and the fitted suit further highlights her slim waist.

Mojito tiptoed out of the narrow cubicle and secretly vowed never to fight in an enclosed space again in his life.

Thinking of this, severe pain in the abdomen and neck came at the same time.

Baijiu placed the body on the toilet lid and took out a black mobile phone with a cracked screen and broken glass from his arms.

He pressed the power button repeatedly, trying to turn it on.

Mojito's voice came from the back: "Cancel the evacuation team, the target is dead. Send the cleanup crew over, the location is in the north men's restroom."

After Baijiu tried without success, he put his phone aside.

He grasped the man's wrist, pushed up his cuff, pulled out the black bracelet hanging on his wrist, and put it in his pocket.

He turned to look at Vermouth with a probing look in his eyes: "You haven't answered my question yet. What are you doing here? Did Macallan reveal my location to you?"

Vermouth opened her lips slightly and was about to answer.

At this moment, the toilet door was suddenly pushed open, and a group of men talking and laughing rushed in.

Just as Baijiu was thinking about a countermeasure, Vermouth turned around lightly, held Baijiu's cheeks with both hands, and forced him to raise his head slightly.

Her tone was calm and soothing: "Okay, don't be nervous."

Her fingertips were cool, but they miraculously soothed the anxiety of the liquor.

The expressions of the men who came in froze instantly.

First, they were stunned by the strange posture of Vermouth and Baijiu, and then they noticed the pool of undried blood on the ground, and they were all stunned.

Baijiu nodded as he was told and turned his back to the toilet door.

Vermouth's fingertips formed a semi-arc shape, gently pressing on his throat, and continued in that calm voice: "Yes, that's it, keep your head tilted back until the bleeding stops."

Her movements seemed professional, but her eyes were fixed on the liquor, with a barely perceptible hint of heartache.

Mojito was no fool and immediately cooperated with the performance.

He opened his arms and walked towards the group of men, deliberately raising his voice: "What's the matter, huh? You want to try this ritual too?"

"No... no need!" The men were frightened by the weird atmosphere and fled.

As soon as the person left, Baijiu immediately insisted on the previous topic: "It's not a coincidence that you are here. Who sent you here?" His eyes were fixed on Vermouth.

"I can't tell you." Vermouth touched the tip of her nose and avoided his gaze. "Don't worry, it wasn't Macallan who told me. He's much tighter-lipped this time than before."

There was a hint of teasing towards McAllen in her words.

"That's right." Baijiu couldn't help but smile and put the black bracelet on his wrist. "So what do you want to do?"

There was helplessness and a hint of indulgence in his tone.

Vermouth simply responded with a mysterious smile, glancing back at the back, as if silently hinting something to Baijiu.

Seeing that Belmode was silent, Baijiu added, "I have to meet a woman named White Widow later."

He lowered his voice, with a barely perceptible worry: "No matter what, don't make me worry." This sentence sounded more like a reminder between lovers.

Vermouth sneered, but her eyes softened: "Shouldn't I be the one saying this to you? Otherwise I wouldn't—"

She didn't finish her words, but her concern was self-evident.

Mojito interrupted again at an inopportune moment, pointing his thumb towards the compartment behind him: "Wait...it was clearly that man who met the White Widow just now, but you don't look like him at all!" He looked confused.

Vermouth nodded in agreement, her tone tinged with sarcasm: "One looks like an ordinary person, and the other looks like a male model. There's no comparison at all."

Mojito looked at Vermouth with a complicated expression, his lips slightly opened: "You...are you..." The word "lover" almost came out of his mouth.

Baijiu interrupted him forcefully, looking at Vermouth straight in the eye, his tone filled with helplessness, a bitter smile on his cheeks: "Now we can only hope that they have never met." He chose to ignore Mojito's question.

"Hey! Wait!" Mojito shouted excitedly, unable to understand. "Hope is not a strategy!" He felt that these two people were crazy.

Vermouth's heart didn't waver when she heard this; instead, her frown relaxed. She was used to this and calmly said to Mojito, "It's obvious you're meeting him for the first time." Baijiu had already taken this risk in Dubai.

"I have no choice." Baijiu took a deep breath and turned to the mirror to straighten his messy clothes. His eyes were firm. "The White Widow is our only clue." He explained to himself in the mirror, as if to Vermouth, "I have to pretend to be this guy for five minutes."