October 29, 1989.
Sunny.
Not suitable for going out.
Dragan had been living quite comfortably lately. He'd brought weapons to his gang, led attacks on rival gangs' "money pits," and even made it on TV - though as a wanted fugitive, this made fame-seeking Dragan very inflated.
Unfortunately...
Everyone in the surveillance footage wore hoods.
Originally he'd planned to take his subordinates for a massage when Casare called, telling him about gun maintenance.
He especially emphasized: "Free!"
These two words had nothing to do with Mexico. Dragan instinctively said, "Don't lie to me?"
"How could I? We're cousins. Even if I'd lie to others, would I lie to you? A new batch of gun oil came in from the Soviet Union, reportedly can improve barrel heat resistance. You're a big customer, so I'm letting you use it free first."
Dragan also felt his cousin wouldn't deceive him. After reporting to his boss, he brought guns and two subordinates to the appointment.
The market.
Not many people during the day.
In a stone house, Victor scanned the surroundings through glass. He'd recently developed a skill - squinting without blinking, like scanning, he could directly see people's names, even those hiding in rooms would be displayed.
Moreover, if criminal value exceeded 10,000, names would be marked very boldly.
Seemed like he hadn't fully understood this golden finger.
Far more complex than he realized.
"This market is really full of hidden dragons and crouching tigers!" Victor saw at least 10 bolded names. His first thought was - should he take them all down together?
"What did you say?"
Alejandro standing behind him heard his muttering and quickly asked.
"Nothing, relax. After we handle this, you just go out and pose." Victor said casually.
This Hongmen Banquet - today Pei Gong must die!
"They're here." An observing officer called softly. Victor quickly looked through the window and saw a gray Volvo drive into the market, stopping right on the road. Three people got out wearing sunglasses, rolled-up sleeves showing tattoos.
Walking under a parasol, they sat casually in front of Casare.
"Boss, a bottle of tequila."
Dragan grinned, his gold tooth still gleaming, "Cousin, how's business lately?"
"Making ends meet, just getting by, can't earn much money. Being a police officer isn't easy."
This made Dragan laugh, "Cousin, I told you - what kind of police officer? Only waste becomes police. Daily earnings aren't even enough for hospital visits. I say you should just quit. How about letting me join your arms business? Just give me a cut."
You're dreaming of eating shit.
With Victor's temper, if you competed with him in arms business, he'd blow away even your reincarnation chances!
Casare smiled, his tone lifting, "By the way, how old is aunt this year?"
"Seems like 36, why?" Dragan asked puzzledly.
"Nothing, she can still give birth."
"???"
Just as Dragan was confused about this meaning, suddenly a figure jumped out from behind the Volvo, face bandaged, holding a gun, "Hands up! Police! Dragan, you're under arrest!"
It was Sanborn.
This guy was really desperate. When he was recuperating in the hospital, someone delivered a letter. After reading it, he immediately demanded discharge.
It just said: "Tepito district shooting case main culprit Dragan is at the market outside Altiplano Prison." It included his photo.
He immediately had a cerebral orgasm, thinking this was intelligence from his informant. Originally he'd planned to call colleagues, but they completely ignored him - either this one had stomach ache or that one had itchy butt.
Sanborn could only come "single-handedly."
Indeed he saw Dragan, his heart racing with excitement.
"Casare! You betrayed me?!" Dragan suddenly seemed to have an epiphany, looking at his cousin, excitedly drawing his gun to shoot him. Then he heard two bangs - Sanborn fired directly. Dragan stared wide-eyed and collapsed.
Taking advantage of this gap, Casare held his head and agilely rolled beside the car.
Sanborn and the other two subordinates were all confused when several people rushed out from the stone house, holding submachine guns and firing at those still standing!
Nearly 200 bullets total - even the parasol was shot down, and the Volvo was full of bullet holes.
"Police! Don't move!"
Victor pushed Alejandro, who came to his senses, face flushed, emotionally charged, and rushed out shouting loudly.
But after these bursts, besides Casare hiding by the car side, who else was alive?
In Victor's eyes inside the stone house, those bolded names were moving, now fleeing after hearing gunshots.
These people were fucking smart.
Feeling something wrong, they directly ran.
He'd wanted to clean up behind them and earn some points, but now this dream was also ruined.
Only after the gunfight ended did Victor come out.
Bullets had no eyes - going out and getting hit by stray bullets would really be game over.
Alejandro was leading people searching vehicles, finding neatly arranged AK-47s in the trunk, making him immediately unable to contain his excitement. Casare originally wanted to find a reporter, but damn it, that bastard ran when he heard gunshots.
Tabloid reporters had no dedication spirit at all - how could they find big news?
But this was just a minor episode. He directly called six TV stations and newspapers - they'd make it in time when they arrived.
Casare looked at Dragan's corpse on the ground. His eyes were wide with anger, absolutely not expecting his cousin would betray him.
Casare sighed, squatted down to close his eyes, looking sorrowful.
This was his own dear cousin.
"Dragan, don't worry. I'll find aunt several more men and give you more brothers."
Fortunately there were no ghosts, or hearing this he'd jump up and fight him desperately.
Sanborn was also shot - hit during Dragan's group's counterattack.
Spitting blood, not quite dead yet, his eyes were unfocused. He seemed to see his childhood self receiving the candy from his teacher.
The other touched his head, "Your choice will be dangerous, Sanborn. You might die."
"Teacher, there should also be sweet times, like this candy. I'll definitely protect Mexico! It belongs to light!"
Sanborn murmured, "Light..."
Then his head tilted and he died.
Victor stood beside him. He'd heard of Sanborn and understood how much contempt a drug lord's son faced trying to become a righteous police officer.
Relatives' mockery in childhood.
Colleagues' ridicule in adulthood.
But he held fast to his original heart.
A respectable "Mexican!"
"Amen, Buddha be with you."
Victor prayed sincerely for someone for the first time.
(End of Chapter)
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