Working as a police officer in Mexico

"Be careful not to bump the screen."

Casare unscrewed the dormitory door, directing two jail guards as they placed a television into Victor's room.

Now that he was finally making money, he ought to treat himself to something, or what else was the point of earning money? It's all for fucking enjoyment.

He had even scheduled the installation of an air conditioner.

Originally, he thought about living outside, but then he considered that he now had too many enemies, and the likelihood of being shot in a sneak attack had risen to 150% because, as expected, following the "leaking of information" incident a few days ago, Victor was offered a bounty of 2000 Pesos by the Blood Oath.

You never knew if you'd run into a woman on the street, try to hit on her, and end up riddled with bullets.

Never underestimate a drug lord's desire for revenge.

What's the saying?

In the United States, the Mafia kills witnesses so they can't testify in court. In Mexico, drug traffickers kill the whole courtroom.

Victor knew well that only those who live in fear and respect live longer.

After the jail guards had set up the television, Casare personally escorted them out, and when leaving, he even pulled out two 50-Peso notes and stuffed them into their uniform pockets.

"Buddy, no need, no need," the jail guards declined politely.

"Happy Sunday in advance to you guys. Take it, have a drink tonight," Casare said, patting their shoulders.

The two jail guards didn't refuse any longer—who wouldn't be happy to see money?

After closing the door, Casare saw Victor flipping through TV channels and joked, "Hey Victor, you need to subscribe to adult programs at the television station."

"I'm just looking at the news," Victor responded, his chin tilting slightly.

Casare saw a blonde, blue-eyed female reporter on the TV; she was pretty attractive, and she had a nice figure, "She looks good, but seems a bit old; you can see her breasts sagging."

"The older they are, the better the flavor, buddy."

The two of them laughed.

"Violence erupted last night in the Tepito District behind me. A group of unidentified gunmen wielding AK-47s stormed into a bar and opened fire indiscriminately, resulting in 116 deaths and 78 injuries..." The female reporter looked quite solemn, and a black-and-white video appeared in the corner of the TV, showing the previous night at 11 PM, with two cars stopping in front of the bar.

Then you see a dozen people get out, heads covered in black hoods, firing guns at the entrance, a man and woman biting each other suddenly falling to the ground, as the extremely vicious group stormed in...

"Obviously, these criminals had extraordinarily fierce firepower. Officer Samboerne, what has the police discovered so far?"

The camera zoomed out to reveal a man with a badge on his chest, looking very serious. Upon hearing the reporter's question, he looked into the camera, "The police are tracking the killers, and we've discovered some clues, but it's not convenient to disclose them to the public."

"Where did these people get their weapons from? Does it imply a very serious arms trafficking market in Mexico City?" the reporter pressed.

Faced with the reporter's persistent questioning, all Samboerne could do was respond with a stony-faced 'no comment'.

"Do you think it was your cousin's gang?" Victor asked Casare, turning his head.

"Does it look like it? Do you want me to call and ask him?"

"Of course not. What the customers do with our weapons is none of our business. We're just the suppliers. If you sell condoms, do you ask the customers which eye they put it in?"

Victor picked up his teacup, saw the water had gotten a bit cold, opened the window, and poured it out, then continued, "Don't you think this is a great advertisement?"

Drug lords always have much more informed sources than the police.

What you smuggle through customs, the cops are the third to know. The first is the one involved, and the second is the drug lords.

This is basically a live advertisement. The drug lords will definitely inquire where these goods came from. Buying from the American Black Market is too risky, and the supply can't meet Mexico's entire demand.

Victor's eyes were already seeing "$" "$".

As for the bar victims who were killed?

Mom said that kids who aren't home by eleven or twelve at night aren't good kids. But then, the whole country will probably hold a moment of silence since the death toll is so high. This is a rather serious violent incident, even for Mexico.

I at most will pray a few more times for you at night.

Do you want me to send flowers? Are they free?

Just as Victor was planning to profit from this incident, his brick phone on the table rang. He had bought it before getting into the arms trade; he had to have a contact number, right?

It's low to use a landline as a bigshot.

Casare answered, and heard Best's excited voice.

"Hehehe, I've got in touch with Holder, struck a good deal."

...

The Chimalhuacán slums sprawl across Mexico City.

The chaos within was endless!

A strange woman comes in, next day she's missing two cup sizes—of course, she's also dead.

Nearly 1.9 million people live below the poverty line, the kind that go hungry after a meal, so naturally, security isn't high.

Roar~ Roar~

A series of roars echoed through the Islaparolada neighborhood as residents looked up to see an old Le Mans Company-made Moto Guzzi 850 with a pure silver body—a real sight to behold.

Though it was an antique from 1976, 13 years old by now, the poverty around here was so severe that few even owned bicycles, let alone motorcycles. Middle-aged men stared with indescribable envy while young kids bare-assed chased after it.

"Isn't that Andrea?" someone with sharp eyes said to his neighbor.

"Are you sure? How could he afford a motorcycle?"

"I heard he's into drug trafficking..."

Before he could finish, the neighbor grabbed his arm. In the slums, you don't talk about drug traffickers; they have better ears than dogs.

Andrea reveled in the envious stares, pulling up in front of his house. A woman inside, hearing the commotion, came out, leading a half-grown girl, with a baby strapped to her back, her face weary. At the sight of him, she was taken aback.

"Hi, mom!"

He opened his arms and hugged her. The woman seemed a bit resistant, frowning at the motorcycle, "Where did you steal this one from?"

"I bought it, I'm making money," Andrea said with a smile, openly admitting, "I've found a new boss. He's generous. I earn 600 pesos a month, and I want to send Catherine to school."

He had always believed in the importance of education because he had seen how a lawyer with a briefcase could make more money than a thousand men with AK47s.

"You got mixed up with a gang again? How many times have I told you not to get involved in these criminal activities? Do you want me to pick up your corpse tomorrow?" The woman looked at Andrea, very angry, her eyes brimming with tears.

Many parents in the slums might have histories with gangs, but they definitely don't want their children involved because they know better than anyone how ugly and dark it can be.

Andrea's father worked for a gang and ended up dead.

"But working for them makes money."

Andrea forced a smile, looking at the increasingly emaciated faces of his loved ones, "I've not been educated, and the factory doesn't want me. If I don't kill or set fires, what, I should just die?"

"The boss pays me, I work for him. I want to make money. I want to take you out of this slum. While I'm young, I want to earn more. Mom, the hardest road to take in this world is the straight road. Am I wrong?"

In a filthy world, those who hold onto their integrity are either saints or dead men.

If he couldn't resist it, he could only sink to their level.

Celia, listening to her son's words, didn't know how to argue. She hadn't been educated, was raped by a drug trafficker at 18, married at 19. She only knew how exhausting it was to raise a child.

But with no contraception and abortion too expensive at the hospitals, sometimes giving birth was out of desperate necessity.

"Catherine, your brother got you your favorite candy," Andrea said as he reached into the motorcycle for a bag and shook it at the little girl with a smile.

The girl's eyes lit up; she took the bag and even stuck her head inside it, eagerly unwrapping a candy and putting it in her mouth. She then generously offered one to Celia and her brother.

"Go on, eat, sweetheart~"

Celia patted her on the head and looked at Andrea, "Come inside. We better push the motorcycle in or it'll get stolen."

Andrea nodded. He knew how rough the neighborhood was, but as a young man, he couldn't resist showing off. Isn't the fundamental reason to earn money to show off?

But in Chimalhuacán, even a pile of shit would be fought over.

While the family was eating, four members of the gang that controlled their district, the Mexican beheading gang, stormed in and dragged Andrea out the door.

Andrea wanted to draw his gun and resist, but it was too close, and he was viciously pinned to the ground, his head pressed down.

"Looks like you've found yourself a decent gang," said a man with a hooked nose, toying with his Makarov, exhaling a breath of air.

"Let me go, Marcelo! I've left the gang; I did what you asked!"

The other man laughed coldly, "In Mexico, there's no leaving, only death!"

Local gangs, to keep people loyal, forbade switching sides; many drug trafficking organizations would even kidnap family members of their recruits to force them to work for them.

So, the loyalty was generally very low.

Catherine was terrified by the intruders but covered her mouth, not daring to cry out. Celia tried to intervene and was knocked to the ground, forced to watch helplessly as her son was dragged away.

Andrea didn't want to die and shouted vigorously, "Go to Elvisto Street, find Holder to save me!"

He was thrown into the trunk of a car. Before the men drove off, they cast a cold glance at Celia and left with long strides.

Once they were gone, Celia rushed madly toward Elvisto Street, but after asking many people in the district, no one knew the place. Eventually, she found a local restaurant where Holder's people happened to pick up their food, and word reached his ears.

A member of his own crew being kidnapped by a previous "company" was no small matter.

If he didn't look after him, Andrea was as good as dead, possibly to be beheaded and left on the street as a warning to those who thought about "defecting."

But for his own people, Holder wasn't one to let go easily!

He was in the game to stand up for his crew!

...