Stepan Blancard?
Using bombs was indeed very much in Medellín's style.
He looked at Anna, just staring at her like this, then disappointedly shook his head, "It seems that in your view, I'm still too kind."
He raised his hand and swung it forcefully. Best raised his axe.
Seeing her brother about to lose two more fingers, Anna screamed, "Don't, don't, I'll talk, I'll talk."
"It's the warden. He had me blow you up, then blame it on Stepan."
Webster Ashbourne!
This all made sense now.
No wonder that guy's eyes flickered when he saw Victor wasn't blown up. Moreover, this guy was his real mortal enemy - his predecessor's father was killed by him, hiring gang organizations to take his life.
For him, Victor being alive was more like a kind of torment.
However, wasn't Webster afraid of being held accountable for an explosion in the prison?
If something happened in the prison, wouldn't he also be hard to escape blame?
Or perhaps he planned to use this incident for some shady business?
Don't think Victor only grew fat. Coming out to mix in society, what use was just fighting and killing? You had to learn to use your brain. He looked at Anna, who was lying on the ground, her shoulders shaking from fear and sobbing.
"Let me go, please."
"Don't be silly, I keep my word..." Victor crouched down, supporting her shoulders with both hands. In Anna's tearful and terrified gaze, he used his thumb to wipe away the shoe print on her face, leaning close to her ear and saying, "Don't cry, your makeup is running."
Anna helped the drug lords in prison deal drugs, while her brother was a small leader outside. Neither were good people.
Bang, bang, bang.
Victor held a Colt against her abdomen and fired several shots, then stood up looking at Anna convulsing on the ground with wide eyes, raised his hand, and put one more bullet in her forehead.
Then he turned around, expression cold, and said, "Send him to see Jesus. Hope he can purify drug dealers!"
Don't be a drug dealer in your next life!
Best nodded, raised the axe, and used the back side to smash directly down on Anna's brother's head. After a few hits, he couldn't be any more dead.
Duke saw Victor holding a cigarette and quickly pulled out a lighter to light it for him.
The latter smiled and patted his shoulder, "Take those two cars as organizational vehicles. Find someone to sell the pistols inside and divide the money among yourselves."
"Boss Victor, aren't we using them ourselves?"
"Come out to play and use police pistols? How LOW is that? Following us, we use long guns. What era is this, still playing with such outdated stuff?"
But actually the Astra 357 police revolver was also a product of the 1980s.
But seeing those AKs, he just looked down on these things.
He turned and said, "Best, whoever wants to mess with our business, let them go talk to Jesus. As long as Jesus agrees, I'll agree."
Good lord, if the people at the Vatican heard this sentence...
They would protest!
But how many divisions does the Pope have?
Victor got into the car Best and the others had driven, with Casare starting the ignition. He opened the passenger window, "I have one requirement: establish our business firmly in Mexico."
"I understand." Best nodded.
Casare stepped on the gas and shot out, kicking up layers of dust in this desert.
Best watched the car drive away before coming back to his senses, "Let's go."
"What about these bodies?" Duke asked.
"Police will come collect the bodies tomorrow."
...
The car drove through the wilderness. Duke glanced at Best from the corner of his eye, his Adam's apple bobbing several times.
"What? Do I have flowers on my face?" The latter turned his head and asked with a smile.
The other quickly shook his head, looking at the road ahead, "It's just that I found you've become..."
He didn't know how to describe it, frowning and stammering.
"Cruel? Vicious? Or inhuman?" Best asked back.
Duke didn't speak directly, "Haven't seen you in a long time. You've changed a lot."
Best's gaze looked toward the distant morning star, "When my father died, I followed my mother. Her legs weren't good. She told me my father was a good man who defended justice, so I followed him to become a police officer. But when I grew up, I understood many things. Having ideals is right, but when my mother was hospitalized, I couldn't even come up with a single peso. But I couldn't do anything, had nothing. That's when I understood how important money was."
"When that fire killed my whole family and I survived, I didn't feel lucky. I felt anger and helplessness."
"This world is very cruel. We're like walking beasts. If you don't eat others, you'll starve to death. You'll be eaten by higher-level creatures. Being vicious is just for survival."
"When you get more, you won't care whether the methods are cruel or not. We have to learn to adapt to this society. Mexico is like this. I can't jump out of this place, and neither can you. It can't be changed."
Duke opened his mouth, then finally accepted it.
He had actually seen scenes bloodier than today's, but he just couldn't understand why a police officer who originally loved his work and was full of justice would become like this.
Become smooth and sinister.
Perhaps...
To be a police officer in Mexico, you had to be more cunning than the drug dealers.
"Don't think so much. Come on, let's have fun. Tonight, I'll let you have enough fun." Best patted the back of his head and said with a smile.
Duke forced himself to perk up and smiled, "Then I'll need to find three today!"
"I feel like you're in heat every day. You're just a male dog!"
Duke was even proud, "That's what men are like in this life - born for sex, die for sex, struggle for sex all their lives."
This fallacy stunned Best, but then he laughed out loud, praising him as a talent.
Stepping on the gas, indeed, having motivation made all the difference.
...
Because the office was bombed, even the neighboring ones were unlucky. The warden's office even had its wall blown through. Fortunately, Cona Velasquez wasn't there at the time, or he would definitely be offline.
Victor found him in a temporary office downstairs, knocked on the door. The other was writing something. Hearing the knock, he looked up, and when he saw him, his expression obviously drooped.
"What is it?"
"Sir, where is my new office?"
"You're now transferred to the monitoring room. From now on you're only responsible for there. I'll assign patrols to someone else."
This was seizing power?
Victor raised an eyebrow, about to speak, when Cona Velasquez waved his hand, "These are the warden's orders. He thinks you've had too many incidents lately and wants you to relax."
"If you don't want to, you can go talk to him. I'm just relaying the message."
Victor thought about it, saluted, "Thank you for your concern, sir. I guarantee I'll work well in the monitoring room."
"Just don't cause me any trouble." The other waved his hand. Just then, the landline on his desk rang. He frowned and answered. Victor, who had just walked two steps away, heard him raise his voice half a tone.
"What! Anna is dead?"
Perhaps he realized his voice was too loud, looked outside, met Victor's gaze, quickly came up to close the door, and hid inside to talk on the phone.
See, although people in Mexico were ruthless, there were still good people who "collected bodies." A phone call was directly made to the "family."
Being assigned to watch monitors, Victor had no objections. Instead, he was already thinking about what benefits he could get for himself.
You know, before monitoring was invented, human instincts were completely released. After monitoring came out, civilization appeared.
If the monitors were turned off, wouldn't that mean there was time and opportunity to "do whatever you wanted" inside?
Not impossible, but it needed good planning.
The strong never complain about the environment; they only look for soil to survive in the environment.
The monitoring room was on the second floor. When he went in, a guard was dozing off. Hearing footsteps, he looked up, saw Victor, and immediately stood up, "Deputy Warden."
"It's fine, it's fine. Rest if you're tired. I'll be working here from now on."
The guard's face immediately darkened. How could he slack off with a leader in the same office?
Victor ignored his look and sat down in front of the monitors. There were about 40+ screens facing corridors, toilets, etc., and quite a few prison cell interiors. These were people who hadn't renewed their contracts.
You didn't want monitoring covering you. After all, many drug lords had activities at night. Who liked live broadcasts?
So they would pay money to have people turn off the monitors, but it wasn't that there were none. You could still see if you wanted to look.
"Where is Gallardo's monitor?" He turned to ask.
The guard was confused, found a button and pressed it. The screen showed the godfather, but he was grinding something?
Victor leaned closer to look. That seemed like a toothbrush?
Toothbrushes had many uses in prison. For example, sharpen it and stab it into the neck - definitely fatal. But would Gallardo be bored to this extent?
This was more like an insecure person seeking self-protection.
Mexico had two places with the highest drug lord death rates: one was their own homes - most who were killed died here; the other was prison - enemy killings, protective umbrella silencing, etc.
Later, Héctor, the second of the Mexican drug trafficking Beltrán Leyva brothers, died in prison, officially announced as sudden death from heart attack.
This was simply a universal excuse.
Interesting. It seemed he also knew someone wanted to kill him. This was trying to save his life.
Even sick tigers had people who found them displeasing.