Abandoned warehouse.
Police tape had been put up, with quite a few officers standing around.
A Mercedes stopped outside the police line. Cona Velasquez got out with a grave expression, immediately seeing Anna lying on the ground and another male corpse not far away.
"Sanborn." He ducked under the police tape, saw a plainclothes detective standing by Anna's body, and patted his shoulder.
Anywhere that plainclothes could come to a scene, they fucking had a certain level.
"You came."
Sanborn's expression was grave as he pointed at the body on the ground, "This is your person, right?"
Cona Velasquez looked at her tragic condition, pursed his lips, and nodded.
"Four gunshots to the abdomen, three to the head. We've also identified that corpse - Torsten Shipley, Anna's brother. Died from skull fractures caused by blunt force trauma to the head. He was tortured before death and had rope marks on his body."
"Has she offended anyone recently?"
This was clearly targeted at her.
Cona Velasquez thought about it. What enemies could a whore in prison have?
Just as he was pondering, he heard roaring sounds. Turning his head, he saw over ten motorcycles roaring up, very arrogantly "surrounding" the police by the warehouse.
This behavior scared the officers so much they didn't dare move.
Shooting at police in broad daylight happened too often - it all depended on the drug dealers' mood.
"Juárez people. A few of their guys died at the warehouse entrance." Sanborn said quietly to Cona Velasquez beside him, obviously recognizing the leader. He put his hands on his hips and shouted, "Walker, what are you here for?"
Anyone who dared take this attitude toward drug lords in Mexico was either dealing drugs themselves or had very powerful backing. But considering that even Camarena, backed by the DEA, was tortured and killed, you could understand that this Sanborn had a very complex background.
The criminal leader didn't look like a good person - thick eyebrows, big eyes, thin lips pressed tight, cruel eyes that made people's hearts race with fear. The surrounding police didn't even dare look at him.
"Is there anywhere in Mexico we don't dare come?" Walker rudely tore through the police tape, leading his people into the scene. He looked down at Anna, flicked his tongue against his teeth, and said to his subordinates behind him, "Go look inside."
"We've taken over here." Sanborn said with a frown.
Walker turned to look at him, "Are you serious?"
He directly grabbed his neck and pulled out a pistol, pressing it to his forehead, "You think I won't shoot? Your cheap stepfather has already been killed. You still think it's 1978?"
Sanborn's mother was a top prostitute in the red-light district who met a man and later married him as his third wife. He was only 5 years old then.
That man was called Pedro Avilés.
Although he was dead, his influence remained. Among the hundreds of drug trafficking organizations across Mexico's 1.9644 million square kilometers, leaders or high-ranking members had all mixed under his banner. This bit of old friendship was enough to let Sanborn live "peacefully."
The prerequisite was that you had to keep a low profile.
Don't think drug lords were that afraid of you. What remaining power could a dead old guy have? Just scattered "underworld honor."
It was also funny that drug dealers who destroyed social order were sometimes the most particular about "rules." When Colombia's Escobar was besieged and destroyed by the Cali Group, DEA, and government forces from three sides, the Cali Group didn't make things difficult for his wife and children, didn't exterminate them completely.
Instead, they had them sign a guarantee not to participate in drug dealing again, then sent them abroad without touching his assets.
That was giving Escobar dignity and showing other organization leaders - we can kill each other, it doesn't matter if family members die during conflicts, but if "I" die, don't make things difficult for the remaining family.
But bottom-level drug dealers exterminating each other's entire families happened from time to time.
This "unwritten rule" was maintained well until before the millennium, until the post-warlord era when "Los Zetas" and "Jalisco New Generation" appeared, then everything changed completely.
Young people didn't follow martial ethics!
Seeing Walker was serious, Cona Velasquez quickly reached out to appease, "Calm down, calm down, let's handle the matter first."
Walker glanced at him, looked at Sanborn again, pushed him away, and pointed at the latter, "Don't get in our way. Give him some money and let these cops go have afternoon tea."
A subordinate behind him took out a stack of dollars and threw them on the ground. A police superintendent, high-ranking police personnel, being treated like this in public - even if he usually loved money, Sanborn felt humiliated!
He didn't even look at the dollars on the ground, left with a dark face without even greeting Cona Velasquez.
Looking at his retreating figure, Cona shook his head lightly. What dignity did you want as a police officer in Mexico?
He didn't have the guts to fight Walker. If he went to fight him desperately with a gun now, Cona Velasquez would admire him as a hero.
He planned to stay away from Sanborn. With that personality, he might die an unnatural death someday - too stupid!
But what this world lacked least was idiots.
In December 2017, Mexican internet celebrity with millions of followers, Juan Rosales, famous for showing off and being weird, was shot dead in a bar. The reason was that he insulted a drug trafficking group leader on social media.
Insulting drug lords in Mexico - wasn't that like opening a soap factory in America?
Cona Velasquez looked down at Anna, shook his head, and drove away too.
Walker led his subordinates into the warehouse and saw dense bullet holes, with an average of over ten holes in each person.
"Boss, found shell casings." A subordinate handed him a bullet casing. Walker looked - standard 9×19mm bullets. This was too general; many firearms could use them.
"First take the bodies back for examination to know what weapons were used. Find people to ask if any strangers have been here recently. I don't believe we can't find them even if we turn Mexico City upside down!"
Walker forcefully smashed the shell casing on the ground.
...
Outside Altiplano Prison.
Dragan raised his hand to check his watch, looking a bit anxious. He pounded the car roof, having some drug withdrawal, yawned, and nudged his subordinate with his elbow, "Cesar, got any powder?"
"Boss, you're not planning to use it here, are you?"
"What's to be afraid of? It's just a prison. Stop talking nonsense, give it to me quickly."
The subordinate was reluctant too. This stuff was expensive to buy, even internal prices cost money. He hesitated, then from the corner of his eye saw a fat figure dragging a suitcase coming out of the entrance, "Boss, your cousin's out."
Dragan looked up, saw that familiar fat face, and waved.
Casare saw him, adjusted the black backpack on his body, dragged the suitcase over, "Been waiting long?"
Dragan sniffed, "No, no, get in the car."
The subordinate beside them was very observant, helping open the car door and smiling at Casare. He knew this person was now an "important" figure.
Experiencing someone opening doors for him for the first time, Casare felt a bit awkward. Getting in the car, Dragan couldn't wait to ask, "Where's the goods?"
"What's the rush?"
Casare said this but still opened the suitcase, which contained neatly arranged AK-47 components. "Here are 5 AK-47s, 500 rounds of 7.62mm bullets, 10 F-1 hand grenades..."
"Didn't you say on the phone 10 long guns and 10,000 rounds?" Dragan quickly asked.
"Do I look like someone who can carry that much stuff? One AK weighs 4.3 kilograms, not counting the bullets. Do I look like Superman or Batman to you?"
Casare said irritably, pulling out a paper from his pocket, "Here's an address. Go find someone called Holder for the rest of the goods. He'll give them to you."
"That's good, that's good." Dragan leaned over to grab the case but was blocked by Casare's hand, "Money first. AK $1000, bullets $1 for 5 rounds, grenades $40."
"That's..."
Casare frowned, couldn't calculate clearly, and under Dragan and others' confused gazes pulled out a calculator, "$12,400 total. We only want cash, no checks."
"Why did the price go up? Wasn't the AK-47 $800?"
"The Soviets lost in Afghanistan. Getting goods from there got more expensive. The original factory raised prices. We have to make some money too. Don't worry, I might cheat others but never you."
Dragan looked at him suspiciously.
"Cash on delivery. I'll pay you after I get the goods."
Casare just shook his head, "That won't work. That's not according to rules."
Dragan frowned, suggesting splitting payment between here and there, but was also refused. The reason was no finance department there and limited manpower. This made his teeth itch with anger.
"Are you afraid I'll run away? Don't you know where my house is? We arms dealers value credibility. We're not doing one-time business, right? You've tried this merchandise - you know whether it's good or not. Pay money and take it away. Don't pay, and I'll sell to someone else."
"In Mexico, arms are more sought after than virginity."
Dragan stared at Casare, who wasn't panicked. The other had no choice but to say to his subordinate, "Pay!"
"Don't cheat me. I know where your house is."
This threat was very strong. Cousin brothers turning against each other was too common. You know Guzmán, right? He had four cousin brothers who created the famous Beltrán Leyva Group, and both sides became mortal enemies.
You know, those four had partnered with Guzmán in planting business since he was 15, following him into middle age. But even so, when profit disagreements appeared, they fought without hesitation.
Didn't matter who the fuck you were.
Over $10,000, Dragan could really kill Casare's whole family.
Getting the money, Casare didn't care about his threats. He counted it in front of him and said with a smile, "If any customers want weapons, remember to contact me. I can give you commission. Oh, we're called 'New Hope' company."
This was a company registered by Best according to the boss's requirements.
Main business: pork, beef and mutton sales.