Islaparolada district, a factory covering about 400 square meters.
At the entrance hung a proper-looking sign: "Mexico's New Generation Hope Technical School."
It was already autumn in October, but Ryan still wore short sleeves, holding a megaphone and yelling at over twenty skinny half-grown boys lying on the ground, "Push up! Push up! What are you doing? Humping the ground?"
As he spoke, he stepped on a nearby boy's butt with one foot. The other immediately collapsed to the ground, both arms trembling.
"If you want to make money, you have to suffer. Even whores have to wear out bedsheets every day. Since you don't have that condition, you can only suffer more. Let me tell you, if you don't pass in 3 weeks, all of you get lost."
This technical school was just selling dog meat under a sheep's head. Holder and his crew took megaphones to advertise in the district - meals and lodging provided, good grades guaranteed job placement, minimum monthly salary of 600 pesos.
With treatment like this, I'd do it even if you asked me to kill people!
Many parents sent their children over. Looking at it - well, it seemed a bit improper indeed.
But as mentioned, Mexico had many poor people, and families had many children. Ordinary families simply couldn't afford to raise them.
Having a place for free meals - who cared!
The first day they actually brought over 100 children, but Ryan selected 30 from them, including 8 girls, average age 18.
Don't underestimate women...
Perhaps gender disadvantages made them "looked down upon" in many industries, but this very advantage made them more likely to approach targets and complete missions.
Moreover, when women got ruthless, even "Jesus would have to eat vegetarian meals."
Not to mention Colombia's "Black Widow" Blanco - when she was dealing drugs, Pablo was still reselling appliances. Later when he couldn't make it, he joined Blanco, having the big sister lead him into the business.
Unexpected, right? Blanco was Pablo's leader. She also invented motorcycle assassination, where two people worked as a team - one driving, one sitting behind shooting people. Common in many films and TV shows.
Besides her, there were others like "Pacific Queen" Sandra, Los Zetas' new queen Claudia Ochoa Félix... many more.
Why are firearms called the great equalizer?
Because they transcend gaps of gender, ability, money, and power.
Clang clang clang~
Squad leaders Sergio and Juan pushed two tricycles inside, steaming with delicious aromas. The trainees lying on the ground, already starving, couldn't help but look up and stare.
Mexican burritos, chicken corn red and white soup, tortilla chips.
Just food alone cost about $30 per day.
Well, $30 to feed 30 people...
Capitalists' scalps were tingling.
Ryan looked at his watch, hands behind his back, nodding, "Get up, all line up."
After training for several days, there were some small achievements. No one was making noise - basic discipline was established. What could you train in 3 weeks?
At least better fighters than African "militias."
"Ryan!" Holder walked out from a room in the factory, beckoning to him. When the other came over, he asked, "Finished collecting rent? Go buy some goods from Best."
Rent meant protection money.
Of course they had to collect protection money after taking down Islaparolada district. Holder provided them help - wasn't this earned income?
Fortunately this wasn't America, or you'd have to pay taxes even for robbing banks.
All "Mexico's New Generation" gunmen were under Ryan's management. Keep 50% for organizational use, take the rest to buy weapons.
"Collected it - 87,475 pesos total. I'll go buy some bullets this afternoon," Ryan said.
This one street's protection money alone was over $40,000, not including high temperature subsidies, winter allowances, and other miscellaneous fees.
Did you think gangs did charity?
Without money, who the hell would risk their lives?
Medieval popes sold "indulgences" - without money, what would Jesus eat? Drink? How would priests find little boys?
In 1989, protection money alone could bring in $400,000 annually. No wonder many uneducated heroes got rich.
But precisely because they were uneducated, they didn't understand reverence. Study too much? You'd just remember your place.
Holder!
Damn, didn't even graduate elementary school.
"Boss."
Someone ran in from the entrance, looking fierce, waist bulging, "Police are here."
Police? What for? Handing out flyers?
Holder's eyebrow jumped. He saw seventeen or eighteen police officers walk through the entrance, wearing uniforms, led by a Subinspector.
Having mixed in police forces, Holder understood what this level meant. This was already high-ranking police personnel, several levels above Victor.
"Police inspection! Federal Preventive Police Violent Crime Investigation Unit, Danilo Sanborn." The lead subinspector held up his ID.
"What can I do for you, officer?" Holder limped forward, followed by Ryan and his men.
Sanborn looked him up and down, "I received information that you're selling arms here and have major connections to the Tepito district shooting case. I need to search."
???
Holder thought he'd misheard, smiling, "Officer, are you joking? This is a technical school. Ryan, bring 2,000 pesos over for the officers' afternoon tea."
"Bang!"
Who knew Sanborn would raise his gun and fire at the ceiling.
The entire factory immediately fell silent, then "Mexico's New Generation" gunmen went crazy. Police dared act arrogant on their own turf?
Being kicked by peers was your own incompetence, but if you got intimidated by police, what was the point of coming out to play? Go home and sell corn.
Juan and others drew weapons. The atmosphere immediately became tense. Police behind Sanborn also instantly tensed up, both sides confronting each other.
"Technical schools have guns too?" Sanborn asked with a frown.
Holder looked at him, frowning, "Sir, if technical students don't learn shooting, what do they learn? This is Islaparolada street, my territory. You want to cause trouble here with that antique in your hand? Are you fucking high?"
"Watch your mouth. I have the authority to question you!"
"Sorry, I don't cooperate. Show the police what firepower means," Holder said to Ryan.
The latter pulled out a box from under a nearby table, took out an AK-47, click - magazine locked in, pulled the bolt back, and rat-a-tat-tatted a burst at the ceiling.
"Sir, you don't even have my firepower, and you're managing my business? Is your medical insurance enough to cover this? A few hundred a month - why are you being so serious?"
"I'm charging you with illegal gun possession now!" Sanborn's eyes lit up seeing this AK-47. It was identical to weapons from the previous Tepito district shooting case. Soviet goods were rare in Mexico - definitely connected to these people.
He told a nearby officer, "Cuff him!"
"You want to arrest me? Where's the evidence? Tell him what this is?" Holder pointed at the officer next to Sanborn. Ryan's gun muzzle immediately swung toward him.
The other swallowed, nervous.
They hadn't really wanted to handle the Tepito district shooting case. Those people's firepower was fiercer than the entire police station. What was the point of going up there? Seeking death?
But this newly appointed superior insisted on making a name for himself. He'd found an "informant" from somewhere saying people here sold arms, then brought his men over.
Simply adorably stupid!
Did you think they wouldn't resist?
"Speak up! What is this?" Ryan shouted loudly, scaring the officer into trembling. He glanced at Sanborn's very ugly expression, "Fire... fire poker."
"Hear that, sir? This is a fire poker, not an AK-47. You got the wrong place. If you have the ability, don't bring police next time - bring the army, come with tanks."
Holder walked over unceremoniously and patted Sanborn's face, "Are you brain-damaged? This is Mexico, not America. Subinspector? Heh." He spat on Sanborn's insignia.
Now he couldn't stand it anymore and directly slapped Holder.
Seeing this, Ryan kicked Sanborn to the ground and smashed his head with the gun butt. Juan and others directly opened fire on those police. One unlucky guy got shoulder injuries and cried out, while the rest quickly fled in panic.
Mexican police were just this useless.
Bigger drug lords even had them guard gates. Like later "Lord of the Skies" Amado - his mansion had police as doormen.
Combat effectiveness was very, very, very poor...
Sanborn was beaten bloody. Ryan still wasn't satisfied and raised his gun to pull the trigger, but Holder pressed down the upper cover, "Don't kill him here."
After all, he was high-ranking police personnel.
Not a small fry.
Even Guzmán had to kill police secretly.
"Throw him out."
Holder saw Sanborn lying on the ground mumbling something. Squatting down and listening closely, "I will definitely catch you."
Damn, he's crazy!
Was it worth it...
Sanborn's head tilted and he fainted.
He saw his childhood.
Back then in 5th grade, his tutor asked him and his cousin what they wanted to be when they grew up.
Cousin: "I want to be a bandit and make lots and lots of money."
Sanborn: "I want to be a police officer. I want to be Mexico's most righteous police officer."
Then, the teacher gave him a candy. He still remembered - that candy was very sweet. Growing up, he rose quickly through connections, but wherever he went he was rigid in his work, old-fashioned as a person. Colleagues couldn't wait for him to leave.
He wasn't unaware of the exclusion, didn't feel the loneliness, hadn't experienced helplessness.
But he still remembered that candy was very sweet.
He also remembered the teacher telling him this path was very dangerous, very savage. But then, eating that candy, he'd smiled and said:
"Teacher, darkness will ultimately yield to light! Just like Miguel Hidalgo, true Mexicans can never be defeated!"
But this path was very, very difficult.
(End of Chapter)
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