Working as a police officer in Mexico

```

Checking the time, the Gulf War should be about to start, right?

Should we advise Cuauhtémoc to also send some people to help out?

All Big Brother needs is your attitude.

But you are the Big Brother now, not necessarily for life, there will always be a time of downfall.

What Victor needs to do now is continue to grow his own power, waiting for the moment to call to arms.

"Casare."

"I'm here, boss," Fat Casare hurriedly responded.

Victor pointed into the distance, "Our Mexico is waiting for its Emperor!"

...

July 26, 1990.

Colombia, Santa Fe de Bogota. Inside Pablo's "manor".

"Aaahhh!!!"

The screaming accompanied by choking sounds, two lions were mauling a man, who was rolling over, but how could his strength be a match for the animals, with one swipe he was smacked to the ground.

The man was pounding on the glass wall, his face covered in blood, loudly begging for mercy, his voice hollowly echoing, "Spare me! Spare me, I won't dare again!"

On the opposite side was a row of sofas, seated were Pablo, the Four Godfathers of the Cali Cartel, as well as Abrego, Guzman, and Aguilar from Juarez.

These few big shots were all quietly watching the scene.

In front of Pablo was also a bloodstained steak; his personal doctor advised him this remedy, eat one piece daily to ensure a man's virility.

The man's screams became weaker until they finally ceased altogether.

"I thought a traitor's life was tough, but it turns out, that's all there is to it," Pablo scoffed, grabbing a stack of US Dollars beside him, wiped the corner of his mouth, then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the trash can.

Colombians have always been extravagant and wasteful.

But who could say anything to him?

Who would dare to say anything to him.

Even his own mother would have to endure a couple of big slaps from him.

"Take out all his family members, make them understand that betraying me, Pablo, is far more severe than betraying God."

The underling standing at the door nodded.

No wonder Pablo was angry, one of his subordinates had been secretly contacting a bunch of "unknown personnel" behind his back, with much of the conversation relating to the internal affairs of the Medellin Cartel.

Even over the phone, the subordinate called him "Clown," which made Pablo very unhappy.

But what's most crucial is...

The traitor was providing information to the "arch-enemy" Cali Cartel.

Being fed to the lions was, in Pablo's view, an act of mercy on his part.

"I really appreciate it, Gilbert!" He leaned back, looked at the boss of the Cali Cartel beside him, smiled, and said, "Otherwise, I would have been kept in the dark."

Gilbert was clean-cut, yes, clean.

Like a middle school teacher, lost in the crowd on the street, just like an ordinary person, but his brother Miguel looked rather intimidating.

A pair of upside-down triangular eyes, as if he were always thinking about slaughtering people, skin wrinkled, looking like he had mixed in for a long time.

In fact, before this, the two brothers were only thieves who dug tunnels to rob banks.

Gilbert didn't hear gratitude in Pablo's tone, but a sovereign's anger at being violated. He patted Miguel, who was next to him, then calmly looked at him, "This is just one of the benefits of our cooperation."

He was the one pushing for the establishment of the "North American Drug Syndicate," so he was very active; he possessed foresight and understood that dealing in dark business would inevitably end in death.

But being powerful and battle-ready is always better than being crushed like an ant when weak.

Pablo's face darkened, "Have you investigated the person he was in contact with clearly?"

"Of course, a DEA employee in Colombia, Javier Dominguez, of Honduran descent." Gilbert handed over the prepared dossier, "This is all his information."

When Pablo opened it, he saw a photo on the right, a shaggy middle-aged man, and unconsciously frowned at that head of hair.

A DEA employee sports the same hairstyle as mine?

F*cking hell!

Did you even ask me while in Colombia?

The report was very detailed, including when Javier Dominguez and his family went to the United States, where he went to school at what age.

When he joined the DEA, what he did before that?

Where his wife works.

Where his children go to school.

```

This is practically a "personal encyclopedia".

"The Cali KGB" can be that fucking awesome?

"Did you guys compile all this?"

Gilbert laughed, "Contacts and capabilities."

Gathering intelligence was their group's forte, having helped him escape from the jaws of death several times; of course, he didn't want to admit it.

Seeing how dismissive Pablo was, Pablo didn't care to ask further and handed it over to Guzman, "Take him out!"

Guzman's eyebrows twitched.

"Didn't you blow up the CIA's headquarters in North America? Take care of this too while you're at it, oh, and kill his wife and kids too."

"I didn't do it!" Guzman, clenching his teeth, seemed to realize he couldn't wash himself clean of the accusation even if he jumped into the RB Sea.

The two "bosses" from Colombia didn't care, but Abrego and Aguilar had expressed their dissatisfaction several times.

Why the hell did you provoke the CIA?

Did you eat too much shit?

Then go fuck women, damn it! Play with women when you're bored!

"Anyway, it's all over the outside that you did it, and Sinaloa won't mind the extra notoriety," said Pablo.

Guzman took a deep breath and was about to reach out when Abrego stopped him, "Have you forgotten about Camarena?"

"Gallardo is still in prison!"

"Gallardo? Oh, he's dead," said Miguel of the Cali Cartel, "Torn to pieces by that Mexican Police officer, Victor, with a Hummer."

"What!!"

The big drug traffickers of Mexico exclaimed in unison.

After all, they had been under Gallardo's wing; there was a bond there.

He was their boss!!!

"You didn't know?" asked Miguel with a strange expression.

"Victor's counterintelligence methods are numerous; we simply were not aware of this," said Abrego, putting on a brave face.

Talking about it publicly would be embarrassing.

"A cop scares you guys like this," Miguel taunted, legs crossed arrogantly, "Here's another piece of news for you, the steel factory in Sonora State was raided by the police, over two thousand drug traffickers died, and Guzman, it seems like your cousin died too."

Cousin?

Which cousin?

Guzman was stunned and then his expression drastically changed!

Fuck!

Another one of my cousins is dead?

Alfredo?!

Two of the Four Kings are gone?

Guzman's usually cold demeanor couldn't hide his shock.

"How's that possible! How could 'Emmisi Steel Factory' fall?" Aguilar asked, furrowing his brow.

He had been there; it was defended by two thousand drug traffickers. To take it down in a short time?

The difficulty was akin to beating Contra with just one life.

Miguel spread his hands, "Perhaps, you have a traitor among you?"

With that statement…

Gilbert had a bad feeling; everything about his brother was good except that he had a big mouth and liked to cause trouble. His favorite pastime was mocking Pablo.

Calling him a car thief from Medellin.

You're emphasizing a traitor, isn't that like slapping him across the face?

Gilbert glanced at Pablo.

And indeed…

He was green with rage!

Greener than TMD stocks!

"Speak less!" He pulled at Miguel's wrist and stood up to defuse the situation, frowning, "Maybe Victor used some disgraceful tactics."

"Police are never the good guys."

...