When in doubt, use RPG!
One shot and you could even feel the entire arcade shake. The wall was blown open with a hole, directly turning it into a dangerous building.
Partner for violent demolition.
"Charge in!"
Ryan carefully set down the launcher - this was for sale, and if it got knocked around or scratched the paint, the price would drop.
Love employees like this who take care of company property.
Juan charged in with his submachine gun, shouting something excitedly. The arcade was full of dust that stung his eyes when blown in, forcing him to stop and rub his eyes. Just as he was rubbing them, a huge force crashed into him from the side.
A Mexican Beheading Gang member covered in blood mixed with dust, eyes red, hands tightly gripping Juan's neck.
Though momentarily stunned, he came to his senses. After all, he was used to street fights and dirty tactics. Juan forcefully drove his right knee upward.
Direct hit to the vital area.
Feeling the grip on his neck loosen, Juan turned the tables, grabbed the other's head and punched him in the eye, making him scream in pain.
Gunmen following behind came up and pressed him to the ground, his whole face having intimate contact with the floor.
Holder limped over, squatted down and grabbed his hair. The person looked familiar. He pulled out photos for comparison, "Marcello Martinez?"
Mexican Beheading Gang's number three, nicknamed "Mad Dog."
Vicious and cunning in his methods.
But this kind of description applied to almost every Mexican drug dealer. Those who weren't vicious were already buried underground as fertilizer.
"Where is Andrea?" Ryan asked in a low voice.
Marcello was obviously tough-boned. Being pulled by the hair, his whole face was distorted, his eyes swollen like steamed buns. Hearing the question, he made "heh heh" sounds from his throat, "I know who you are."
"Want to save him? I already buried him alive!"
Ryan wore a hood so his expression couldn't be seen, but his eyes were sinister. Without saying anything, he directly punched Marcello's front teeth. With such force, the front teeth broke immediately.
Marcello clutched his mouth in pain.
"Knock out his teeth. I hate tough guys the most!" Ryan said to Juan, who nodded and used the gun butt to smash directly at his mouth.
A row of teeth immediately loosened.
The intense pain made Marcello convulse. Juan had people hold him down and raised the gun butt. Finally fear appeared in the other's eyes.
How many tough guys were there really in the world?
If there were, use their bones as screws.
But Marcello wanted to hold out a bit longer. However, when the second blow came down, he couldn't stand it anymore and confessed directly.
"Andrea is in the restroom inside..."
Ryan nodded to Juan, who ran into the restroom with two gunmen. Soon they came out supporting someone covered in injuries, beaten almost beyond human recognition.
"Kill him!"
A gunman pulled out a knife, grinning wickedly as he pressed down Marcello's head. The latter knew he was going to die and struggled violently, but couldn't escape. A knife pierced his neck, and the light in his eyes instantly dimmed.
He fell to the ground convulsing violently.
Ryan led his men in sweeping the arcade several times, finding other Mexican Beheading Gang leaders. They were less lucky - the RPG had blown them to pieces.
Did you think everyone was Schwarzenegger? Could still run when an RPG came?
Even if you were Iron Man, it would punch a hole through you.
Islaparolada district was now quiet and peaceful.
Everyone had fled.
Ryan led his men out and heard a whistle, then ran to Holder.
Holder turned around, "Hard work. All clean?"
"All dead, I confirmed it." Ryan said.
"Cut off their heads and throw them in the middle of the road. From now on, this street belongs to Mexico's New Generation!"
Even Holder felt somewhat excited. Taking down Islaparolada district marked the organization entering a "sustainable development" phase. From now on, they were the supreme rulers here.
If police wanted to conduct searches, Mexico's New Generation had the right to maintain local security.
"Expand the gunmen to 30 people. Those ideas we discussed before can be implemented now. Find a warehouse to turn into a technical school, recruiting 19-year-old students externally. No salary before graduation, but meals and lodging provided."
This was indeed a dog capitalist, but he was also conscientious - he didn't invent something called "residency training." Imagine if in the future you wanted to join a gang, you'd first pay money to study here for two days, then three years of internship without salary...
See if your subordinates would kill you.
"How long to study?"
"Three weeks. That's enough time for them to learn shooting and firing RPGs."
How long did cannon fodder need training?
Technical school - could you still do "unimportant" subjects like math and English?
"There's one more thing, very important."
Holder turned his head to look at them. Ryan quickly brought his ear over, "Tell them we have a batch of Soviet weapons."
He planned to be a middleman!
"I'll remember." Ryan nodded understandingly.
"I remember the Mexican Beheading Gang still has many relatives here? I'm leaving this matter to you. Victor doesn't like people leaving things until the next day."
"I'll make them shut up forever." Ryan said with fierce intent.
...
The sun rose as usual.
Victor, dining in the restaurant, held a newspaper - this was his hobby.
In a copy of "Chimalhuacán Times" he found an article about the Islaparolada district incident. There was also a photo attached, very blurry, but you could vaguely see a figure holding an Uzi submachine gun, the posture of a fierce bandit emerging naturally.
Looked like this was the buyer Best found?
Gangs were gangs - not elegant at all.
There had been a tabloid reporter on that street at the time.
But the photography wasn't good enough, didn't find the right angle.
"Victor."
Casare jogged over. Having not exercised for a long time, you could even smell some body odor on him.
His face was very excited and animated as he lowered his voice, "Business is here! This morning someone contacted Best asking to buy goods from us. The quantity is quite large - they want 100 AK-47s and 100,000 rounds of ammunition, even specifically requesting 10 RPGs and 20 shells."
Hearing this, Victor couldn't help but look up, "Who wants so many guns? Are they planning to organize a resistance army?"
These weapons could fight a small war.
Even in Afghanistan fighting the Soviets, many small guerrilla units didn't have so many weapons. Victor's first reaction was that it was impossible.
But thinking again, this was the magical Latin American world - what was impossible?
In this place, one sentence summarized it all: "Mines everywhere, wealth depends on guns."
Arms were inherently sensitive. Yesterday's RPG sound carried two kilometers, and you never knew which person in the district was an informant for these major drug lords.
Maybe the drug lords didn't sleep all night last night, just wanting to find out what exactly happened.
"Which organization?"
Casare looked around mysteriously, "Sinaloa."
"Pfft, cough cough cough..."
Victor choked, his face flushing red, "Palma?"
Casare nodded excitedly, "They're reportedly at war with Tijuana. The other side burned down 2 of his plantations. Palma is very angry and wants revenge. Now both sides are fighting to the death."
Oh?
Fighting for territory?
Arms dealers loved nothing more than profiteering from chaos.
Sinaloa was a big enterprise with annual revenue surpassing Fortune 500 companies. Otherwise, why do you think after Palma died and Guzmán took over, he could directly rank on the rich list?
"They sent people and want to meet us in Islaparolada district."
So urgent?
The situation looked very bad indeed.
Victor was cunning, "No rush, let's eat first. Cavanis, get Casare some food."
A prison guard sitting not far away responded.
Though Casare's heart was crawling with ants seeing Victor so calm, he still steadied himself.
Boss Gao was naturally thinking of raising prices.
When else would you raise selling prices if not now?
You wait until people are cremated to sell coffins, wait until people leave to start pouring drinks.
As for whether it would offend them?
Fuck that!
Is your dad Jesus?
Even if Jesus came, he'd have to pay!
"Do you know who's coming?"
"Joaquín Guzmán Loera!"