Hannibal Rising Page #2

- Is that all Madame?

- Yes.

Hey, Japonese, tell me the truth...

...does your p*ssy run crossways?

With a puff of straight hairs

like a little explosion?

Hannibal!

Don't move.

If you've pissed in my fuel tank,

I'll twist your head off.

Paul Momund, the butcher.

You owe a certain lady an apology.

Apologize to La Japonaise?

Boy, you must be crazy to come here,

I'll throw you in the river...

...or maybe I'll slit your pants

and give you something you don't want

...where you don't want it.

You inquired about her... p*ssy.

You speculated it ran which way?

Jap p*ssy runs crossways...

You should f*** that little Jap

and see for yourself, huh?

Crossways like that?

Or more tangential to the spine?

Do you see how your mouth

stains the air?

I should add that to my drawing.

Would you like to see it?

Yum!

Wait for me.

This wound was made

with a single blow.

Ah, Inspector Popil,

I'm very happy you could come.

You won't remember me but

I was with the...

Of course,

you delivered De Rais to Nuremberg...

- ...and sat behind him.

- I saw you bring the evidence.

It's an honor, sir.

- What do we have here?

- Paul Momund, or most of him.

You have his dossier.

Yes. Fat and ugly.

He shipped Jews from Marseille.

He fought recently.

And often.

Last Saturday night in a bar fight.

He had many enemies.

A list, please.

His recent opponents.

- You've done nothing to this body?

- Oh, no, no, no, Monsieur.

- The Chief specifically...

- The odor it er...

it's not of anything you use here?

It smells like that toothache remedy.

Yes, oil of cloves.

Let's see the pharmacist.

Look.

The most exquisite bits of the fish

are the cheeks.

This is true for many creatures.

When carving at the table

you give one cheek to Madame...

- the other to the guest of honor.

- Did you hear?

They haven't found

the butcher's damned ugly head yet.

Good evening, my lady.

I hope you don't mind.

I would have used a butcher's knife,

but the sword seemed so appropriate.

Not a nick in the blade,

I promise you.

The butcher was like butter.

You didn't need to do this for me.

Rudeness is epidemic, my Lady.

Police.

They will call it murder.

At worst, a crime of passion.

Wash your hands, quickly. Go!

- Inspector Pop-il?

- Popil, Madame.

Hannibal Lecter?

Good evening.

You fought with the butcher

Paul Momund in the market.

Now he is dead.

I must ask you to come

along with me.

Is your name Hannibal Lecter?

Yes.

Do you have any guilty knowledge

of the death of Paul Momund?

- Guilty knowledge?

- Limit your responses to yes or no.

No.

It's vanilla.

He reacts to nothing.

It's monstrous.

The butcher had been fishing.

There was blood and scales on his knife,

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