"Be careful, don't bump the screen."
Casare opened the dormitory door, directing two prison guards to put a television in Victor's room.
Now that he was finally making money, he had to add some things for himself. Otherwise, what was the point of making money? Wasn't it all for fucking enjoyment?
He'd even made an appointment to install air conditioning.
Originally he thought about living outside, but thinking about it, he now had too many enemies. The possibility of getting shot in the back when going out had increased to 150%, because as expected after the "exercise incident" two days ago, Victor was put on Blood Alliance's bounty list for 2,000 pesos.
You never know - you might meet a woman on the road, just want to go up and chat her up, and she'd turn you into a sieve.
Don't underestimate drug lords' psychology of revenge.
How does that saying go?
In America, the Mafia eliminates witnesses so they can't testify in court. In Mexico, drug dealers eliminate the entire court.
Victor knew well that only those who respect and fear live longer.
After the guards helped set up the TV, Casare personally escorted them out. When leaving, he even pulled out two 50-peso bills and stuffed them into their uniform pockets.
"Buddy, no need, no need." The guards politely declined.
"Early happy Sunday to you. Take it, you can have a drink tonight." Casare patted their shoulders.
The two guards didn't refuse. Who wouldn't be happy to see money?
Closing the door, Casare saw Victor changing TV channels and joked, "Hey Victor, adult programs need to be activated at the TV station."
"I'm just watching the news." Victor nodded slightly.
Casare saw a blonde, blue-eyed female reporter on TV. She looked quite good with a nice figure. "Looks good, but seems a bit old - look, her breasts are sagging."
"The older, the more flavorful, buddy."
Both men laughed.
"Behind me in the Tepito district, violent conflict occurred last night. An unidentified group armed with AK-47s stormed into a bar and opened fire randomly, causing 116 deaths and 78 injuries..." The female reporter's expression was grave. In the corner of the TV appeared a black and white video showing two cars stopping at the bar entrance at 11 PM last night.
Then over ten people got out, wearing black hoods, shooting right at the entrance. A couple who had been kissing were directly shot down, and this group of vicious criminals rushed inside...
"Clearly, these criminals had very fierce firepower. Officer Sanborn, what has the police discovered about this?"
The camera pulled back, revealing a man with police insignia on his chest, looking very serious. Hearing the reporter's question, he looked at the camera, "Police are tracking the perpetrators. We've found leads but it's not convenient to disclose them publicly."
"Then where did these people's weapons come from? Does this indicate there's a very serious arms trading market within Mexico City?"
Faced with the reporter's pressing questions, Sanborn could only say with a dark face that he had no comment.
"Do you think it was your cousin's group?" Victor turned to ask Casare.
"Very likely. Should I call and ask him?"
"Of course not. What customers do with our weapons has absolutely nothing to do with us. We're just suppliers. When you sell condoms, do you ask customers which hole they went into?"
Victor picked up his teacup, saw the water was a bit cold, opened the window and poured it out, then continued, "Don't you think this is great advertising?"
Drug lords were much better informed than police.
Whatever you shipped through customs, police were the third to know. First was the party involved, second was drug lords.
This was practically a live advertisement. Drug lords would definitely inquire where this batch of goods came from. Buying from American black markets was too risky and couldn't satisfy all of Mexico's demand.
Victor's eyes were already "$" "$".
As for the bar victims who were shot dead?
Mama said children who don't come home at eleven or twelve at night aren't good children. But of course there would be national mourning, after all this death toll was too high - this was a very serious incident even for Mexico.
I'll just pray a couple extra sentences for you at night.
You want me to send flowers? Doesn't that cost money?
Just as Victor was planning to continue profiting from this incident, the brick phone on the table rang. He'd bought this before selling arms - you always needed a contact number.
Big shots using landlines was too LOW.
Casare answered and heard Best's excited voice on the other end.
The other was very excited, "Hey hey hey, I contacted Holder and we've made a deal."
...
The Ximaxucan slum sprawled across Mexico City.
The chaos inside was countless!
A strange woman walked in and the next day lost two cup sizes. Of course, she died too.
Nearly 1.9 million people lived below the poverty line - the kind where you eat one meal and go hungry for the next. Naturally, public security couldn't be high.
Vroom~ Vroom~
Roaring sounds echoed through the Islaparolada district. Surrounding residents looked up to see an old Le Mans company-produced Moto Guzzi 850, pure silver body, really fucking flashy.
Although it was a 1976 antique, 13 years old now, the surrounding people were too poor - they barely had bicycles, let alone motorcycles. Middle-aged men stared intently with indescribable envy in their eyes, while naked young children chased after it.
"That looks like Andrea?" someone sharp-eyed said to a neighbor.
"Are you sure? How could he afford a motorcycle?"
"I heard he's dealing drugs..."
Before finishing, his neighbor grabbed his arm. In the slum you couldn't mention drug dealers - their ears were sharper than dogs'.
Andrea enjoyed the envious gazes, drove to his front door where a woman came out hearing the commotion, leading a half-grown little girl and carrying a baby on her back, looking exhausted. She was stunned seeing him.
"Hi, mama!"
He spread his arms and hugged her. The woman seemed somewhat resistant, frowning as she looked at the motorcycle, "Where did you steal this from now?"
"I bought this, I made money." Andrea said with a smile, even saying without hesitation, "I found a new boss who's very generous - 600 pesos a month. I want to send Catherine to school."
He always had the belief that education was important, because he'd witnessed how a lawyer with a briefcase could make more money than a thousand men with AK-47s.
"You joined a gang again? I've told you how many times not to participate in these criminal activities. Do you want me to collect your corpse tomorrow?" The woman looked at Andrea, very angry, so angry tears came out.
Slum parents might have mixed with gangs themselves, but they absolutely didn't want their children to go, because they knew better than anyone how ugly and dark it was inside.
Andrea's father had worked for a gang and ended up dead.
"But working for them makes money."
Andrea forced a smile, looking at his increasingly thin family members, "I haven't studied, factories won't take me. If I don't kill and burn, should I just die?"
"The boss gives me money, I work for him. I want to make money, I want to take you away from this slum. While I'm young I should earn more. Mama, the hardest path to walk in this world is the right path. Am I wrong?"
In a filthy world, those who maintain their true hearts are either great people or dead people.
He couldn't bear it, so he could only go with the flow.
Listening to her son's words, Celia didn't know how to refute. She hadn't studied, was raped by drug dealers at 18, married at 19. She only knew that raising a child was really exhausting.
But without contraception, hospital abortions were expensive. Sometimes giving birth was forced by circumstances.
"Catherine, brother bought you your favorite candy." Andrea took a bag from the motorcycle, shook it and smiled at the little girl.
The little girl's eyes lit up as she took it, even stuck her little head into the bag, impatiently opened a candy and put it in her mouth, then very generously took one out to give to Celia and her brother.
"You eat it, sweetheart~"
Celia touched her head, looked at Andrea, "Come in. Push this motorcycle inside - it'll get stolen if left outside."
Andrea nodded. He also knew how chaotic this place was, but young people couldn't help showing off. Wasn't the fundamental point of making money to show off?
But in Ximaxucan, even a piece of shit would have people fighting over it.
While the family was eating, four members of the Mexican Beheading Gang that controlled their street burst in and dragged Andrea outside.
Andrea wanted to draw his gun in resistance, but they were too close. Several people viciously pressed him to the ground, pushing down his head.
"Looks like you found a good gang." Among the four, a hawk-nosed man played with the Makarov in his hand, exhaling as he spoke.
"Let me go, Marcello! I already left the gang, I did what you asked me to do!"
The other smiled coldly, "In Mexico there's no leaving, only death!"
Local gangs didn't allow transfers to retain people. Many drug trafficking organizations would even kidnap opponents' family members to force them to work for their organization, just for fresh blood.
So loyalty was generally very low.
Catherine was terrified by the sudden intruders but covered her mouth, not daring to cry out. Celia was pushed to the ground and could only watch helplessly as he was dragged away.
Not wanting to die, Andrea shouted desperately, "Go to Elvisto Street and find Holder to save me!"
After being thrown into the car trunk, the others gave Celia a cold look before driving away.
After they left, Celia frantically ran to Elvisto Street, but after asking many people on the street, no one recognized the name. Finally she found a local restaurant where Holder's group happened to get their meals, and word reached his ears.
Having his own subordinate kidnapped by a former "company" was no small matter.
If he didn't care, Andrea would definitely die - maybe beheaded and thrown in the street to intimidate organization members thinking of "defecting."
But Holder wasn't one to just let go of his own people!
When he came out to mix, he had to stand up for his subordinates!