Working as a police officer in Mexico

Stepan Blanquart?

Using a bomb is certainly in keeping with the Medellin style.

He looked at Anna, just staring at her, and shook his head in disappointment, "It seems that in your eyes, I am still too kind."

He raised his hand and, with a forceful flick, Best raised his axe.

Watching her brother about to lose two fingers again, Anna screamed, "No, no, I'll talk, I'll talk!"

"It was the Warden, he told me to blow you up and then pin it on Stepan."

Webster Ashburn!

It all made sense now.

No wonder that guy blinked when he saw he hadn't been blown up, and, moreover, this guy and I are mortal enemies, my predecessor father was killed by him, hiring gangs to take my life.

My survival is more like a torment to him.

But with an explosion taking place in the prison, is Webster not afraid of being held accountable?

If something happens in the prison, can he really dismiss his involvement?

Or does he plan to use this incident for some shady deals?

Don't think Victor is just all fat, you have to use your brain to get by in society; sure, fighting and killing are fine, but you have to be smarter than that. He looked at Anna, who was crouching on the ground, her shoulders trembling with fear and sobbing.

"Let me go, please," she begged.

"Don't be silly, my word is my bond..." Victor squatted down, his hands on her shoulders, and as Anna looked at him with tear-stained, frightened eyes, he wiped the shoe print off her face with his thumb, whispering, "Don't cry, your makeup is running."

Anna assisted the drug lords of the prison in trafficking drugs, and her brother was a minor gang leader on the outside – none of them were decent folks.

Pop, pop, pop.

Victor, holding the Colt, fired several shots into her abdomen, stood up looking at Anna who lay twitching on the ground with bulging eyes, raised his hand and fired another shot into her forehead.

Then he turned and said indifferently, "Send him to meet Jesus, I hope he can cleanse the drug trafficker!"

In your next life, don't be a drug trafficker!

Best nodded, raised the axe, and with the blunt side, struck Anna's brother's head several times until he was dead, beyond any doubt.

Duke saw Victor with a cigarette in his mouth and hurriedly pulled out a lighter to light it for him.

The latter laughed and patted him on the shoulder, "Take those two cars for organizational use; sell the pistols inside to someone. You guys can split the money."

"Boss Victor, aren't we going to use them ourselves?"

"Out and about, using police pistols? How low end is that? With us, we use rifles; what era are you in, still playing with such outdated stuff?"

But actually, the Astra 357 police revolver is also a product of the 80s.

Yet, with those AKs in sight, he couldn't care less for the other stuff.

He turned his head and said, "Best, if anyone touches our business, send them to talk to Jesus. If Jesus agrees, then I agree."

Goodness, if people at the Vatican heard that...

They would protest!

But how many divisions does the Pope's mother have?

Victor got into the car brought by Best's people, Casare ignited the engine, and Victor, taking the front passenger seat, rolled down the window, "I have only one request, to secure our business foothold in Mexico."

"I understand," Best nodded.

Casare pressed the accelerator and shot out, kicking up layers of dust in the desert.

Best watched the car disappear into the distance before he came back to his senses, "Let's go."

"What about these bodies?" Duke asked.

"The police will come to collect them tomorrow."

...

The car drove through the wilderness, and Duke couldn't help but glance at Best, swallowing a few times.

"What? Is there something on my face?" Best turned and asked with a smile.

The other quickly shook his head, focusing on the road ahead, "It's just that I've noticed you've become..."

He didn't know how to describe it, frowning and stammering.

"Cruel? Vicious? Or utterly inhumane?" Best retorted.

Duke didn't express it directly, "It's just that you've changed a lot since we last met."

Best's gaze drifted to the Morning Star in the distance, "When my father died, I followed my mother who was not very mobile. She told me that my father was a good man, that he defended justice, so I followed him and became a cop. But as I grew up, I realized many things. Having ideals is right, but when my mother was in the hospital, I couldn't even spare a penny.

I realized how important money was when I couldn't do anything and had nothing."

"When the fire killed my entire family and I barely survived, I didn't feel lucky; I felt anger, helplessness."

"This world is cruel; we are like wandering beasts. If you don't eat others, you will starve to death; you will be eaten by those higher on the food chain. Being vicious is just for survival."

"When you get more, you won't care whether the means are cruel or not. We have to learn to adapt to this society, that's just how Mexico is. I can't escape this place, and neither can you. We can't change it."

Duke opened his mouth but ultimately agreed.

He had actually seen even bloodier scenes than today's, but he just couldn't understand why a police officer, who originally loved his job and was full of justice, could become like this?

Become smooth and sinister.

Maybe...

Being a cop in Mexico means you have to be more cunning than drug traffickers.

"Don't think too much, let's go have some fun. Tonight, I'll make sure you have enough fun," Best laughed as he patted Duke on the back of his head.

With a forced smile, Duke replied, "Then tonight I will have to find 3!"

"You're in heat every day, you're nothing but a stud hound!"

Duke was actually proud, "That's what being a man is all about – live for sex, die for sex, strive for sex all your life."

This sophistry took Best by surprise, but then he laughed out loud, praising him as a talented man.

The accelerator was floored, indeed, having motivation made all the difference.

...

Because the office was bombed, even the nearby ones were unlucky, and the Warden's office had walls blasted through. Luckily, at that time Kona Belask was not there, otherwise, he would have definitely been offline.

On the ground floor, in a temporary office, Victor found him. After knocking on the door, the person inside, who was writing something, looked up when he heard the knock, and his expression visibly dropped when he saw Victor.

"What is it?"

"Sir, where is my new office?"

"You're now assigned to the surveillance room. From now on, you're responsible only for that area. I'll assign someone else to patrol."

Was this a power grab?

Victor raised an eyebrow, about to speak when Kona Belask gestured with his hand, "These are the Warden's orders. He thinks you've been dealing with too many things recently and wants you to relax a bit."

"If you don't want it, you can go talk to him. I'm just passing along the message."

After thinking it over, Victor saluted, "Thank you for your concern, sir. I assure you I will work well in the surveillance room."

"Just don't cause any trouble for me." The other man waved his hand dismissively, and just then, the telephone on the desk rang. He picked it up with a frown. Two steps out the door, Victor heard him raise his voice a half-tone.

"What! Anna is dead?"

Perhaps realizing he had raised his voice too much, he looked outside, catching Victor's gaze, and swiftly came up to close the door, continuing his call in privacy.

See, even though Mexicans are ruthless, there are still good people to "collect the bodies". Just one phone call and the "next of kin" are informed.

Being relegated to monitor surveillance, Victor was not upset; in fact, he had already started planning some benefits for himself.

You see, before the invention of surveillance, human instincts were fully unleashed. With the advent of surveillance, civilization emerged.

If the surveillance were turned off, does that mean there would be time and opportunity to "do as one pleases"?

It's not impossible, but it would need careful planning.

Strong people never complain about their circumstances; they look for ways to survive within the environment.

The surveillance room was on the second floor. When he walked in, there was a Jail Guard dozing off. Hearing footsteps, the guard looked up, saw Victor, and immediately stood up, "Deputy Warden."

"It's fine, it's fine, take a rest if you're tired. I'll be working here from now on."

Upon hearing this, the Jail Guard's face darkened – working in the same office as the boss meant no slacking off.

Victor ignored the guard's expression and plopped down in front of the surveillance screens. There were about forty screens, facing corridors, toilets, and other places, including the interiors of many cells. These were people who hadn't paid for privacy.

You don't want surveillance watching over you, after all, many drug lords have activities at night. Who would want a live broadcast of their deeds?

So they would pay money to have the surveillance turned off, but it's not permanently off. If you want to see, you can still see.

"Where is Gallardo's surveillance?" he asked, turning his head.

The guard was flustered, pressed a button, and the Godfather appeared on the screen. But at this time, he was... sharpening something?

Victor leaned in to see. It looked like a toothbrush?

Toothbrushes in prison could be very versatile - for instance, sharpened and thrust into a neck, certain death. But was Gallardo so bored?

This seemed more like a vulnerable person looking for a way to protect himself.

In Mexico, there are two places where the mortality rate for drug lords is the highest. One is their own compounds, where most are killed, and the other is in prison – enemies killing, Protection Umbrella silencing, and so on.

Later, Hector of the Mexican Drug Cartel Beltran Leyva brothers, the second eldest, died in prison, declared externally to have succumbed to a sudden heart attack.

Such a convenient excuse.

Interesting, it seems he knows someone wants to kill him. He is seeking to save his own life.

Even a sick tiger is an eyesore to some.

...