"Recent developments in the major shooting case in Tepito district - ringleader Zvovich Dragan, nicknamed 'Desert Ant,' has been killed by police! He belonged to the Samuráis Bárbaros (Savage Samurai) gang. Police are currently pursuing other members."
The female reporter's voice came from the TV.
Many guards in the cafeteria looked up, whispering to each other.
Hearing the broadcast, Casare's hand paused, but he continued eating his sausage and pork knuckle rice.
Victor propped his elbows on the table, lit a cigarette, took a drag, then offered it to Casare. The latter looked up, cheeks bulging, "Give me a drag."
When the other didn't take it, Victor stood up and stuck the cigarette in his mouth.
"I know you're in a bad mood, but he was seeking death - can't blame others."
"When you come out to do anything, first, you must keep a low profile. He dared to randomly kill people with a few AK-47s - that's seeking death."
You should at least spend money to buy some heavy weapons from me.
Buy an armored car, and you wouldn't have been swept to death like this.
Victor held up two fingers, glancing at Best sitting nearby listening, "Second, either don't do something, or don't regret it after doing it. I'll give you an extra $2,000 this month. How about it? Does your conscience still hurt?"
Casare said sullenly, "That was my cousin..."
"$3,000."
Casare took a deep breath and finished his pork knuckle rice completely, "I feel much better."
How much is a person's conscience worth?
Just add more money.
Besides, this was called righteously eliminating relatives!
Wasn't it natural for police to arrest criminals?
"Boss Victor, the warden wants to see you." A guard came over and said quietly.
Victor looked up and saw Webster sitting in what looked like a "VIP area" at the innermost part of the cafeteria by the floor-to-ceiling windows. His expression wasn't good, his gaze meeting Victor's.
"Looking at his expression like his mother died." Victor cursed under his breath, but still raised his hand and waved toward that direction. He threw the napkin on the table and walked toward the "VIP area."
Casare quickly followed.
Best pulled out $5 from his pocket and stuffed it into the guard's pocket, smiling and patting his shoulder. The other's eyes lit up.
Who knew delivering a message could earn money.
If the prison had democracy, he'd definitely vote for Victor as boss.
"Sir, do you have any orders?" Victor said with a fake smile, rudely pulling out a chair and sitting down without giving him any face.
Webster hadn't gotten angry yet, but his confidant sitting beside him, First Block Supervisor Sebastian, got furious, pointing at Victor, "Victor, who told you to sit? No respect for hierarchy."
Victor crossed his legs, looked up at him, suddenly grabbed the ashtray from the table and smashed it at Sebastian's head. The other was immediately stunned, legs somewhat weak, but Victor grabbed his neck and pressed his head on the table, pounding hard, "Fuck your mother!"
This commotion directly alarmed all the guards outside, everyone looking in unison.
Webster was also stunned by this scene. Coming to his senses, he quickly pulled Victor back, "Enough, Victor, do you want to beat him to death?"
Victor blew his bangs, threw the ashtray in his hand on the ground.
Sebastian, face covered in blood, had already fainted, lying on the ground convulsing.
"Write him a leave request - work injury. Have the warden stamp it."
The first half was said to Casare, the second half looking at Webster. The latter was completely suppressed in terms of presence. No matter how ugly his expression, with this leverage in the other's hands, he could only hold back his anger.
"I'm most reasonable. He was rude to me, so I was rude to him. People should respect each other!"
Webster called two guards from outside to take Sebastian to the clinic, throwing a document in front of Victor, "Looks like your methods are more formidable than I thought. You can directly promote to Officer (Inspector). You're capable."
"Thank you for the compliment, sir!"
Seeing the official promotion document and appointment letter, Victor flipped through it a few times and handed it to Casare, "You're now three stripes, Policía Primero (Police Sergeant)."
Casare's face lit up.
Diluting the sadness over his cousin.
"From now on, I'm in charge of the second block, emergency team, and third block. Do you have any objections?"
Victor threw the appointment letter on the table, crossed his hands, and looked at Webster.
This almost made the other laugh with anger.
Are you the warden or am I?
But before Webster could finish speaking, Victor directly stood up, "Give the warden some money, eat better, live longer."
Casare obediently threw down $1,000.
Standing between the "VIP area" and regular area, Victor raised his hand and clapped, naturally drawing everyone's attention.
Standing on a table.
"Starting today, I serve as Altiplano Prison Deputy Warden. The second block, third block, and emergency team all report to me. From now on, everyone in the blocks gets an extra 200 pesos monthly besides salary, emergency team gets 400 extra!"
The crowd fell silent for a moment.
Casare gave a guard a look. The latter immediately cheered, "Long live Officer Victor!"
This instantly ignited everyone's enthusiasm.
Guards raised their hands and shouted wildly.
Money... giving money!
Starting with this move?
Webster looked at him like he was crazy. You're using your own money to subsidize colleagues?
Is your head caught in a door?
"Sir, why doesn't our first block get any!" a guard shouted loudly. This concerned personal interests.
Mexicans were usually quite proactive in expressing their needs.
Look, Los Zetas felt they earned too little money and directly rebelled, clearly telling you the money you gave was too little!
Direct enough.
"Because the first block isn't my responsibility. You can ask the warden." Victor pointed back at him. Webster's face turned green.
Want me to pay money for colleagues?
You think I run a printing press?
I can barely afford mistresses with my embezzled money.
First block colleagues looked at him with glowing red eyes.
Now he had a headache.
Victor left amid everyone's cheers, guards automatically standing on both sides.
See...
When doing business, no matter what - whether being an official, thief, killer, or defender of justice - you fucking need money!
Mexican police salary was really just dozens of dollars monthly. Working hard, really risking lives. Suddenly someone gives you extra salary - aren't you happy?
Here, being noble couldn't fill your stomach. Only after eating your fill could you talk about ideals.
Now frankly speaking, if anyone wanted to move against him, these people would definitely charge faster than anyone.
Victor smiled. He seemed to enjoy such reverence.
"Boss, didn't you say to keep a low profile?"
"That's occasionally. Usually if you don't show off when you can, you'll get fucked!"
News of giving money instantly spread throughout the prison. Over 1,000 guards - some happy, some dissatisfied. Some even ran to ask Webster, making a mess for him.
Deputy Warden's office.
This was much bigger.
Bookshelf, air conditioning, refrigerator, even a compartment inside with a bed.
"Boss Victor..." Casare frowned, "We're spending over $150,000 monthly for no reason. We can't support so many people."
This chief steward started crying poverty.
Victor was filing his nails with nail clippers, "Do you remember what I told you last time?"
"You mean collecting sanitation fees from prisoners? I'm afraid they won't give willingly."
"Won't give?"
Victor smiled, put the file back in the pen holder, "Then we'll beat them down! This is police territory. Their minimum sentences are 25 years. When they get out, they can barely walk - why fear them? Just have guards wear hoods so they won't be recognized."
"Either don't break the law, or if you do and fall into our hands, no matter what gang you're from, I'm biggest here, then comes the Mexican government!"
"Don't be like Webster, can't even handle one prison. Tonight take people to raid the second block for contraband. From now on, they can only die if I allow it. If they act out, beat them to death."
"How much money do we have left?"
"$110,000..." Casare quickly said.
"First distribute money to emergency teams, then second block. For what's not enough, tell them they'll get it within ten days."
If you want horses to run, you have to let them eat grass!
PS: Brothers, due to certain irresistible forces, you understand, I wrote too wildly. I added a character in Chapter 11 - Best. This doesn't affect reading, but if you don't understand, you can check Chapter 11.
Thank you all for your support. I'll work hard under allowed conditions to bring you more exciting visual experiences.
(End of Chapter)
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