Working as a police officer in Mexico

"Riot at Plateau Prison! 17 inmates and 3 jail guards dead"

"Mexico's security department head confirms: Plateau Prison riot has resulted in 21 deaths, 17 injuries, 7 missing."

Thud!

"Bunch of bullshit."

Victor threw the newspaper onto the table with a curse, turned to Best beside him, and said, "These tabloids just love to spew nonsense. They can't even get the numbers straight, and they even talk about missing people. Do these idiots think they've been eaten by me or what?"

However, these Mexican tabloids had surprisingly sensitive news channels.

Jingle jingle jingle~

The telephone on the desk rang, as if rushing him to his fate. Victor, who was about to take a drink, had no choice but to put down his cup and answer the call, "Hello?"

It was Alejandro calling.

"Victor, is your work going smoothly?"

"Very smoothly, Chief!"

On the other end, Alejandro grunted, "I've heard that the prison has been rife with trouble recently. Webster has come to me to vent. He says that you don't treat the inmates like humans, that you are extremely harsh, and he thinks you have a mental issue."

Victor laughed upon hearing this, leaned back into his leather chair, and said, "Chief, you must know what kind of person I am. If the people in prison don't behave, I have to discipline them. Some have poor health and die from illness on their own, and I've got the doctor's records right here."

"That old codger Webster, I think his brain must have short-circuited. Don't worry, I will go and ask him later if he's been having it too easy recently."

Victor spoke very calmly, as if he were the Warden himself.

Alejandro rubbed his nose bridge in resignation, "Victor, the higher-ups will be meeting with me in a few days, and I hope you don't cause any trouble at this time."

"You can rest assured; your promotion benefits me too, doesn't it?"

I am the man even more concerned about your future than your father.

Once he climbed up the ranks, Victor planned to covet the Director's position. In the prison, he could only strut around on this little patch of land. To put it bluntly, power did not extend outward.

What was the use of being a big shot cornered in a nook?

Inside the prison, one managed these inmates, but the external, real power of the Director managed tens of thousands of people. Could they compare?

The difference between a horse groom and a ranch manager.

Victor slammed the receiver down emphatically, narrowed his eyes, and looked at Best, "That old bastard is really getting on my nerves! I didn't pick a fight with him, and now he's telling on me."

"Shall we teach him a lesson? Knock him off early so you can move up faster," Best said bluntly.

Victor thought carefully. Keeping the old turtle around was bothersome, and he was about to agree when there came a knock at the door.

Casare entered, looking somber, "Boss, there's been trouble."

...

The prison yard.

A crowd of jail guards surrounded the area, murmuring quietly, accompanied by harrowing cries.

"Make way, make way! What's all this crowding about? Chief Inspector Victor is here." Casare shouted, and the watching jail guards automatically made a path.

Victor frowned and saw two women's bodies tied up, their faces twisted, wounds covered in blood, even their eyeballs gouged out. One of the women, who was slightly older, had her fingers chopped off.

And the younger woman's mouth was half-open, her tongue gone!

Naked, her skin was marred with burns from some unidentifiable liquid.

It was clear she had suffered considerable torture before death.

"A van came by this morning and dumped the bodies at the prison gates, these two are Franz's wife and mother," Casare pointed to a Police Corporal kneeling at his side, who looked very young, pale as a ghost, completely deflated.

"He and his wife had been married less than a month."

"This is retaliation," Best said, looking at Victor, "definitely aimed at us."

"Boss, if we don't handle this well, I'm afraid..." Casare stood beside him and whispered softly, Victor's eyes swept over the jail guards who were looking on, their eyes dodging.

They had friends and families.

The method was too cruel.

Honestly, they were afraid.

The methods of Mexican drug traffickers were such; if they kill you, they start with your entire family.

In January 1981, the new mayor of Ensenada, Baja California, took office, and his first task was to declare a drug ban; 8 hours later, his body was found by the coast, shot multiple times, and during his funeral, the local criminal organization, Tequila, raided the site, leaving 17 people dead.

In February of the same year, the Director of Security in Morelia, capital of Michoacán, Jacobo Junior, vanished with his wife and daughter while at an amusement park.

Seven hours later, their body parts were discovered in the amusement park's restrooms.

He had been a member of a Drug Enforcement Organization.

Mexican drug traffickers used very "conspicuous" methods to agitate the nerves of law enforcement, as if constantly "warning" them to stay calm in Mexico and not to mess with their business.

Victor looked at the jail guards surrounding him, "I have nothing to say, I just know, you kill, you pay with your life!"

"Call the emergency squad to the auditorium, I have something to tell them."

Casare nodded, hurrying off to summon them.

Victor glanced at the corpses on the ground, turned around with a dark expression, and Best could feel the rage building up inside him.

When he reached the auditorium, the emergency squad had already arrived, all standing quietly. Victor mounted the platform, above him hung the emblem of Mexico, and he banged his hands heavily on the table, "Those bastard mutts have pissed me off, I'm not happy, so let's all go down together!"

"The best way to deal with criminals is always to shut them up for good."

"1000 Pesos per person, 500 for the dead! Who's willing to do it?"

Victor planned to use the "bounty" method to throw Mexico City into chaos directly!

You like chaos, huh?

So let's see, damn it, who's more ruthless!

If you retreat one step, Mexican traffickers will brazenly blow up the last bit of territory you have.

"Tell those bastards, they want my life, right? Come and take it!"

"I'll count to three; those unwilling can leave."

"One!"

The emergency squad's jail guards looked at each other; many faces showed hesitation.

"Two!"

A short person in the front row scrammed straight away, setting off a domino effect, with others following him out.

Instantly, more than half were gone.

"Three!"

By the time the numbers were finally called out, fewer than 40 people remained.

You couldn't demand that everyone be fearless; the first emotion humans naturally learn, is fear.

"Good, later you will go to Casare to get weapons, and tomorrow come to me with your ears open. The better you perform, the higher the chance I'll promote you to be the Warden!"

Those who stayed were the brave ones; talking to them about dedication or revenge was pointless. After all, it wasn't their families who were dying, you needed to talk to them about interests.

There would always be those who were willing to take risks.

Mexicans were the most realistic.

By 1993, when the government bankrupted the entire country because of the Food Act, there were even people willing to do it for 500 Pesos. Oh right, back then, the exchange rate was about 1 US Dollar to 17 Pesos.

"Dismissed!"

After everyone had followed Casare to receive their weapons, the auditorium was suddenly empty.

Do we have a way to find out who did it?

Best rubbed his brow, shaking his head, "I don't know, but I can ask around."

"Find them!"

"I want Jesus to enlighten them!!"

...

The nights in Mexico got a bit cooler.

It was almost winter...

Even the dogs in heat had moved their activities into cars.

In a secluded spot on Calle Calamar, a black Santana was rocking back and forth, so much so that one could even hear faint, heavy breathing.

Obviously...

Something indecent was happening.

A motorcycle rode up slowly with two men on board, stopping when they passed the Santana.

The car window rolled down to reveal a man bare-chested, who cursed at the two, "What are you looking at? Haven't you seen people fuck? Go watch your mom and dad!"

The woman wrapped in a blanket next to him also laughed.

The man sitting behind on the motorcycle raised his hand, holding a grenade. With a subtle flick of his thumb, he pulled the pin and threw it into the car amid the horrified gazes of the two inside.

The motorcycle sped away.

Boom!

The roof of the car was blown away.

The car was engulfed in roaring flames in an instant.

The two inside met their end without so much as a scream.

This wasn't an isolated incident.

In the span of one hour after dark, there were over 20 explosions in the northern districts of Mexico!

The police station's phones were ringing off the hook.

But in the middle of the night, which cop would dare to come out? It was taken for granted as a gang vendetta.

In Mexico's nights, even Jesus would need to wear a bulletproof vest.

...

Los Insurgentes Bar.

Located in the Polanco District, this area is relatively affluent and known as a gambling den. Many foreign tourists also enjoy coming here, so the place is bustling at night.

Victor, accompanied by Best, Casare, and three jail guards in plain clothes, entered and immediately spotted an adult performance on the central stage.

Beneath the stage, men were reveling and women were screaming.

Quite a decadent scene.

Casare had always been lecherous, his gaze lingered for several moments, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he understood they were here on serious business.

"Are you sure the person we're looking for is here?" Casare asked.

"Wilbert loves to drink. If he's not here, there are only two places he could be: a bar or a mortuary."

Best moved past a drunk and continued addressing the group, "The most important thing is that he's bisexual. He's into men and women, so it's best to stay away from him."

"He's got more information than me, he's got more contacts. Some gangs like to ask him for intelligence. Apparently, he has a list with the addresses of all the friends and relatives of the government's higher-ups."

When they arrived at booth number 203, Best stood at the glass entrance, glanced inside, and immediately saw Wilbert surrounded by people left and right. He stationed two jail guards at the door and then pushed his way in.

The sudden intrusion startled Wilbert who was in the midst of revelry. After recognizing the newcomers, his eyes lit up, focusing on Victor, "Hey! Best, long time no see, I thought you were killed."

"My life is surely longer than yours." Best glanced at Casare and then said to Wilbert, "I need to ask you something."

"Not today, I have to sing with my darlings," Wilbert said as he kissed the women on either side of him.

"I know your rules."

Best pulled out some US Dollars from his pocket and handed them to him. Wilbert's eyes gleamed at the sight of money, but he didn't reach out; he sized up Best, "Looks like you've been doing well for yourself lately."

"That's none of your concern. Isn't it money you look at when doing business, not the background?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Who was behind the body dumped at Plateau Prison this morning."

At this question, Wilbert looked at him in surprise, then as if realizing something, his gaze fixed on Victor.

"I know who you are!"

"Wilbert!" Best suddenly interrupted, warning him, "You better not say it out loud, it's against the rules."

Wilbert laughed, "Fine! I'm a man of principles. For 10,000 US Dollars, I guarantee I won't say your name and I'll tell you who the killer is."

"10,000 US Dollars!? Are you stuffed with dog shit in your mouth? How dare you?" Casare cursed.

Ignoring him, Wilbert kept his eyes on Victor, "I think you'll meet my demands, right? Otherwise, if I shout, it might be hard for you to leave this place."

Victor looked at him and laughed.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Not really, it's just a condition... Ahhhhh!!!!!"

Before Wilbert could finish his sentence, Victor grabbed a bottle from the table and smashed it on his head.

"Damn it! 10,000 US Dollars? You ask for my money, I'll take your life!"

...

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