"If you have arms connections, I think we can make some money together," Alejandro said.
Business?
Victor was certainly interested.
He sat up slightly, "Please elaborate."
For him to use "please" - the stakes weren't low.
"I'm being transferred as Senior Assistant to the Mexican Security Department, responsible for anti-drug work in Chihuahua state, coordinating with military liaison. Last night a senior I hadn't contacted for a long time suddenly reached out. He hopes I can help him contact the military to sell some weapons to him."
Hearing this, Victor raised an eyebrow, "What does your senior do?"
The Mexican military had always been at the forefront of corruption. They would sell weapons to drug lords for money, while drug dealers used military weapons to massacre civilians. To some extent, the military were accomplices.
But honestly, the Mexican government's military spending was truly garbage.
Could you imagine that 1989's military budget was less than $1.5 billion?
The army didn't even have decent tanks - all armored vehicles.
The air force?
American-made F-5Es.
The navy had nearly 40,000 people, two fleets, equipped with two "Gearing-class" destroyers and American-made frigates from the 1960s.
What kind of warship was "Gearing-class"? Those were ships the US rushed to build at the end of WWII, originally intended to fight Japanese devils in the Pacific. But after they were built, Japan couldn't hold on and surrendered, making these ships useless.
By the 1980s, Americans didn't need them anymore and started fire sales.
Even the Seven Warlords of the Sea would look down on this stuff - they'd rather use their own boats.
Salaries were universally the lowest in all industries. Even begging wouldn't get you so little money.
You don't give money but still want people to fight drug dealers?
You're wearing a condom on your head - got the wrong head.
So in brutal anti-drug gunfights, you could even see Mexican soldiers waving wooden sticks.
The magical and abstract Latin American world.
"You should have heard his name - Aguilar, former Mexican Federal Security Bureau commander, current Juárez leader."
Holy shit!
Big brother, your old classmate is so awesome, how did you end up so miserable?
But thinking about it, it made sense. Drug lords mostly put "interests first." If you couldn't bring them benefits, they didn't consider you an old classmate.
"Didn't you contact the military?"
Alejandro's tone immediately rose, "How could I not? I contacted Brigadier General Derek Alvarez of the 18th Division in Chihuahua state. He told me the unit's weapons were less than 25% - all sold by the previous commander!"
"Even armored vehicles were sold."
Victor's butt went numb listening. The Mexican military's level of corruption still exceeded his imagination.
Alejandro took a deep breath, "Aguilar is a very proud person. He doesn't like being refused. I had no choice, so I found you, buddy."
"I do know people, but sir, what do you need?" Victor asked very directly.
It was all about interests - why talk about feelings?
In Mexico, if you talked about feelings, you weren't far from death.
"$30,000, my introduction fee, and don't worry - I'll put in good words for you."
"No problem, I'll have someone deliver it to your house."
Victor agreed readily. Problems that could be solved with money weren't big problems.
After agreeing on timing, Victor was about to hang up when Alejandro called out again, "Wait, there's one more thing."
"Day of the Dead is the day after tomorrow. Mexico City's security tasks are heavy. The security department hopes you can dispatch personnel starting tomorrow to handle security in Misqui town."
Even prison guards were being deployed for patrol?
Wasn't this too ridiculous?
Victor frowned slightly. He knew this was an order from the security department - complaining was useless. "How many people needed?"
"No specific requirement, but bring more people. You know, there are always drunks who like causing trouble during Day of the Dead. Your own safety is most important."
After hanging up, Victor stroked his chin.
Day of the Dead had many incidents. He needed to bring more people, preferably an armored vehicle. Even facing gunfights, no need to fear.
But looking at his points: 10,789.
This wasn't even enough to exchange for a wheel, let alone enough weapons for business with Juárez.
Being a person meant taking big steps, even if you pulled something.
At worst, put a band-aid on it.
Victor's eyes flashed with sinister intent. Looked like he needed to pull out some old immortals from the third block for sacrifice. He pressed the intercom, "Casare, come over."
...
Night.
Sicily Falcon slept fitfully, curled in a corner.
Suddenly, he heard the cell door opening. Being a light sleeper, he woke immediately, jerked up his head, and saw three figures rushing over. One person firmly covered his mouth.
Sicily Falcon's pupils dilated as he kicked desperately, making muffled sounds from his mouth, trying to struggle. But his body was already weak, and without money in prison, he ate poorly.
Nutrition couldn't keep up.
One person took out a thumb-thick rope and put it directly around Sicily Falcon's neck, strangling hard.
Sicily Falcon's eyeballs nearly popped out, face flushed red, cheekbones trembling. He even smelled urine as liquid spread out.
He made "heh heh" sounds from his throat, hands flailing wildly, but soon his body stiffened, then went completely limp.
Strangled to death directly!
These three people worked with clear division of labor, hanging the rope on the bed, then putting Sicily Falcon's head through the rope to look like hanging. The technique wasn't very professional.
After finishing, the three closed the cell door and left.
They didn't see a pair of eyes in the first cell staring intently.
...
Sicily Falcon was dead!
This news shocked the third block. Block supervisor Cona Velasquez looked at Falcon's tragic state and swallowed hard.
A prison doctor squatted nearby. He looked at the strangulation marks on the other's neck, then at the scene, "Supervisor, he should have hanged himself."
"Hanged?!"
Cona Velasquez felt it was absurd, pointing at the carelessly hung rope on the bed, laughing angrily, "Show me how to hang yourself with that?"
The prison doctor was in a difficult position.
Just then, a voice appeared at the door, "What's going on here?"
Cona Velasquez turned and saw Victor standing at the entrance. This made his expression very complex - originally just a small deputy supervisor, now suddenly his superior.
"Warden," the guards in the cell all called out. Cona Velasquez reluctantly followed suit, "Deputy Warden."
Victor glanced at him.
You don't want to progress at all.
"Sicily Falcon hanged himself. Death time exceeded 8 hours," the prison doctor said.
Victor got angry immediately, looking at Cona aggressively, "How do you manage things? How could there be suicide? Are you actually patrolling?"
Three consecutive questions directly confused Cona.
"Can't do your job properly, can't even see you around. You're suspended for review. Casare will temporarily manage the third block," Victor said with a frown.
Cona's face immediately turned ugly.
But under Victor's gaze, he could only accept it reluctantly.
"Process the body according to procedure and cremate it."
Before leaving, Victor glared harshly at Cona. Casare behind him patted his shoulder, saying gently, "It's fine, the warden is just like this. I'll talk to him. Once he cools down, you can come back. I'll help manage for now."
Just as Victor was about to leave the cell, he suddenly turned and saw Stepan Blancard nervously shifting his gaze to the book in his hands, sweat slowly dripping from his temples.
"Stepan," Victor suddenly spoke.
"Yes, here..." the other instinctively responded.
"Read more books, read well. Reading more prevents wild thoughts."
Stepan Blancard met Victor's gaze, his face turning pale as he nodded nervously.
Victor took one last deep look at him and left the cell.
Standing at the door.
He said to Casare, "Stepan's health doesn't seem good. Do you think he might have some infectious disease problem?"
Casare immediately understood.
"Then I'll move him to another cell for individual observation and management."
"You manage the third block. Don't let suicide incidents happen again."
"I understand."
(End of Chapter)
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