"Ahh! Ahhhh!!!"
The fighting criminal covered his leg and screamed miserably. This suddenly joining "fierce man" obviously put enormous pressure on both groups.
They glared at each other deadly, as if wanting to devour the other.
Victor blinked and saw their backgrounds clearly. One group was called Blood Alliance, long-term human smuggling business near Mexico, transporting refugees to America.
Their strength was mid-level nationally, but these people were quite dirty in their methods. Many missing foreign tourists were reportedly their doing. Mexican criminal science believed they had strong connections with organ smuggling in Southeast Asia.
The other group was called Texas Syndicate (TS7), a transnational organization mainly composed of Mexican immigrant members who were either serving sentences in American prisons or outside prisons.
This gang formed to protect Mexican immigrants from being killed by other California gangs, including Aryan Brotherhood and Mexican Mafia.
The private grudges between these two groups would take even Judge Bao three days to sort out.
"Officer, is it illegal for us to fight?" One with long hair, a snake head tattooed on his arm, cigarette in his mouth, "What? Do we need to apply?"
He flicked cigarette ash directly onto Victor, pretending to be flustered, "Sorry, sorry." Then kicked a nearby emergency team member in the stomach, making him kneel in pain.
Then very arrogantly pointed at Victor, "You dog cop, you want to meddle, what the fuck are you?"
Other gang members nearby were watching the show.
"I tell you, this prison..."
Bang!
Before he could finish, a bullet hit his head. At such close range, no hope - he collapsed directly to the ground.
The crowd immediately fell silent.
"Get someone civilized, polite, and who brushes their teeth to come talk." Victor pointed his pistol at them, "I'm very reasonable. Anyone with questions, step out and speak to me face to face."
Blood Alliance and Texas Syndicate members looked at each other, nervously pursing their lips.
Perhaps feeling they couldn't be cowardly in front of brothers, Blood Alliance sent someone forward, swallowing saliva, "Officer, don't think we're afraid of you just because you have a gun. You only have 12 bullets max, and we have so many people."
"I know."
Victor smiled, "I just need to kill a few especially jumpy ones."
Criminal organizations worldwide were all the same - bullying the weak and fearing the strong!
Why did Mexican drug dealers dare bully police and kill randomly? That was a political problem - corruption at the top. But if you switched to a tougher government, which gang would dare be so arrogant?
American Mafia godfather Al Capone was awesome, right?
Nicknamed King of Chicago!
Spokesperson for Thompson submachine guns.
Underground emperor.
But when the American government wanted to get you, wasn't it simple? If the FBI didn't dare touch you, the IRS would - investigate your tax evasion, and tanks would be at your door that night.
"I'll say it again - hands on your head and squat down!"
Seeing this cop was serious, Blood Alliance and Texas Syndicate members could only reluctantly comply, but some secretly watched him, as if memorizing him to have him killed.
"Casare, who hit you?"
All prison guards simultaneously looked over, making even thick-skinned Casare feel at a loss. He pointed at a strong man, whose face turned green.
Victor went up and kicked him in the face. The other flew into a rage, wanting to throw a punch, but was stopped by the gun pressed to his face, "Fuck your mother, the whole prison knows Casare is my brother, under my protection. You bastard, hitting him means not giving me face."
"If you're capable, put the gun down and we'll fight one-on-one." The other was tough-boned, speaking defiantly, but his peripheral vision kept watching the pistol, obviously scared inside, just saving face.
"One-on-one? What era is this? I have a gun and you want me to fight one-on-one - did your mom damage your brain when she was pregnant?" Victor elbowed his eye socket, a very fragile spot that would basically crack with one hit.
The other painfully covered his face and crouched on the ground.
Victor seemed not yet vented and went up to kick him hard twice.
"Stop, Victor!"
A voice containing great anger rang out. Webster pushed through watching officers and entered, seeing the corpse inside and the beaten, cowering criminal. His face immediately darkened, facial muscles twitching.
"What are you doing!"
"Who allowed you to shoot inside the prison?"
He fired questions consecutively. Victor didn't speak; Casare beside him spoke first, "Sir, they attacked officers first."
Webster: "So you can kill people?"
"Then arrest me." Victor extended his hands, directly choking the other into wide-eyed shock. The former gestured for Casare to be quiet and unzipped his police uniform, "We are police, they are criminals. When they dare cause trouble, we must fight!"
"Who gave them the nerve to hit police in prison? The law or Jesus?"
"Sir, I Victor can't stand it. I can't stand them hitting my brother and colleagues. This is an insult to me. If you don't dare manage it, then let me. I will definitely manage such things. Being police also has dignity."
He was almost yelling at Webster by the end.
Casare saw Victor's hidden hand move slightly, immediately understood, and chimed in, "Yes sir, every exercise time there are problems, but you just don't care. But we suffer, our work is very difficult. We get beaten every time - I might as well become a drug dealer."
This hit right at surrounding colleagues' hearts.
Many of them were fed up. Although drug dealers in Altiplano prison would send tribute, they would beat and scold at will. Even if they killed someone, Webster wouldn't care. They lived as police without security.
Watching guards' expressions became very complex.
Victor saw this scene, deliberately stirring emotions in front of Webster. A non-acting superior was very hateful - the prison had long had opinions about him.
During that last football match, besides Victor's injury, 3 officers were killed.
But in the end, there weren't even death benefits.
Victor's purpose was simple - finding "partners" in prison. Webster in his view definitely had to die. Either he died or Victor perished - the two couldn't coexist.
He would choose external assignment, but the "power" in Altiplano prison couldn't just be abandoned - who knew when it might be useful?
He dared confront the other without backing down because Webster might have power to transfer him around in prison, but absolutely no power to fire him.
A police sergeant needed upper-level approval - did you think eating government rice meant firing at will? Of course, Webster could also find people above to solve the "trouble" of Victor, but if you couldn't even control the prison internally, how would superiors view you?
Victor wanted to use this opportunity to "rise up."
If you wanted promotion and wealth, you tell me you won't fight for it - you think it falls from the sky?
Daydreaming!
Just like many people buying 2-yuan incense, then taking a stack of scratch cards to the wealth god temple door asking for blessings to get rich.
Stop joking - you bring a bucket of oil to the director for hundreds of millions in business?
Whoever makes you rich is an idiot.
"You're very good." Webster pointed at both, so angry his nose was crooked.
"I'm just protecting my colleagues, sir! I absolutely won't allow them to lose dignity while defending justice."
Words spoken with conviction!
Others listened with boiling blood.
But the filth inside was all fucking business.
Webster gritted his teeth, pointed at both with his finger, turned and left with vicious eyes.
"Lock all these people in one cell. From now on, give them one bowl of rice daily for seven days. Let's see if they'll fight over food." Victor ordered the emergency team.
The originally leaderless team hesitated briefly, then all stood at attention and saluted, "Yes sir."
They pressed down those gang members who'd been group fighting. Anyone disobedient got batons - obviously they hadn't vented their anger from earlier. Other guards locked exercise prisoners back up, but many prisoners looked at Victor very strangely when returning.
"Victor, giving those criminals one bowl of rice daily - won't that kill people?" Casare said, "Don't make things too big."
"You think today's matter was small? Tonight maybe my head will be on those gangs' bounty list." Victor spoke very casually, not afraid at all.
When you get on America's bounty list, then you should be nervous.
"Isn't death better? Then you find some media, publicize Altiplano prison's chaotic management, Webster's inaction, describe him as a corrupt cop who abuses prisoners. I don't believe anyone will still support him then."
Public opinion could kill!
Reasonably using public opinion, enjoying unethical life.
"Then find a few prostitutes to tell tabloids he likes playing exciting games. True or false doesn't matter - once this spreads, it becomes true."
Casare felt Victor was completely scheming, even his saliva might carry sinister intent. If they really followed his route, Webster's name would definitely resound throughout Mexico City.
"You saw the prison's emergency team, right?"
Casare nodded.
"Find ways to build good relationships with them. I'll find ways to get your police rank promoted so you can lead them."
"You have methods?"
"Send money - give superiors money!"
"What if he doesn't accept?"
Victor stopped walking, looked at him, thought carefully, "Then have Holder find people to follow his family. Either accept money or the whole family dies - let him choose."
"Do you have money now?" Casare always liked asking.
This question made him very unhappy.
"Then try to find more buyers this month. If not, put ads in newspapers."
"Got goods?"
"Soviet warehouse bullets could fill the entire Pacific Ocean. What I need now are buyers! Buyers! Buyers!"