"I must tell you, officer, you'd better stop here..." The refined middle-aged man looked at the fallen subordinates, frowning.
Rat-a-tat-tat!!!!
Bullets answered him. Victor emptied his magazine, and six or seven subordinates standing beside the man were all shot, one even turned into a sieve.
When the gun muzzle aimed at the middle-aged man, there was a click - empty chamber.
The middle-aged man's eyes twitched.
"Sorry, out of bullets..." Victor smiled and shrugged, then swung the Uzi submachine gun, using the stock to directly smash the other's face.
Those expensive glasses fell to the ground, and half his face was beaten bloody.
Victor crushed the glasses underfoot, then stepped on the other's face, looking at him. The latter also glared back fiercely, making defiant sounds from his throat.
"Tell me where they are."
But obviously the other wasn't very cooperative, struggling hard and even spewing filth from his mouth - nothing but threats.
Victor looked around, walked to a nearby counter, and saw a bottle of whiskey. He popped the cork, and a rich alcohol aroma hit his face.
Under the middle-aged man's horrified gaze, he directly poured the alcohol on him.
"What are you doing? Damn it, what are you doing!"
Victor pulled out a lighter and threw it at him.
The fire...
Instantly ignited.
"Ahhhhh!!!"
The middle-aged man immediately screamed, waving his arms. The miserable sight made even Harrison's face twitch.
Victor squinted as the other fell to the ground, his hands stiffly stretched out, burned beyond recognition.
"Gentlemen, I don't have a very good temper. Can any of you tell me where the women you captured went!" He looked at the subordinates on the ground covering their wounds, still not dead, spreading his hands.
This brutal scene scared them.
Even Mexican gangs who prided themselves on being "savage" and "bestial" couldn't help being afraid.
No, they were only afraid of becoming victims themselves.
"Anyone?"
A bloody hand tremblingly raised up. Victor looked at him - a young man with slightly childish features but terror in his eyes. Victor nodded and smiled, "OK, thank you very much."
He loaded the magazine and fired at the other fallen gang members.
Garbage - no use keeping them alive.
Seeing his companions killed, the young man's legs were going weak.
"Where?" Victor turned to look at him.
The young man raised his hand and pointed to the inner room. Harrison led people rushing in, and soon came out with a joyful expression.
"Warden, we found 6 women and 3 children total, all lost today, with Day of the Dead makeup on their faces."
Victor nodded, then suddenly turned and asked the young man, "Are you fast at running?"
What kind of question was this?
The young man's brain crashed, but he still nodded.
"That's good, remember to catch up with them." Victor raised his gun and shot him in the face.
No need to trouble Mexican courts.
Releasing people was tiring work.
He'd just send them to their next life directly.
...
"Lina."
When Victor and others brought out the kidnapped women, the man who had been waiting anxiously by the armored vehicle joyfully called out, ran over to hug his wife and daughter, kissing their foreheads hard. This joy of recovering what was lost made the man shed tears of excitement.
He put down his wife and daughter, ran to Victor, tremblingly grasped his hand, thanking him continuously.
The little girl named Lina also ran over, looked up at Victor, and offered him a piece of candy from her hand.
"I'm a police officer, this is what I should do." Victor squatted down and touched her head, "Stay with daddy from now on, understand?"
Lina's eyes seemed to speak. She nodded, kissed his cheek, and pointed at his badge.
Victor smiled and gave her the badge, touched her head, comforted them a few more words, then the family left. Lina kept looking back as she walked away.
At this time, local police from Misqui Town finally arrived late. Their equipment looked very poor - the leader with Policía Primero (Police Sergeant) rank still carried a Smith & Wesson M 1917 revolver at his waist.
This was a 1917 product that stopped production in 1945.
With this equipment you wanted to fight drug dealers?
Even using it to scratch an itch would feel uncomfortable.
However, the sergeant was quite strong, his chest muscles bulging through his uniform, making women envious.
The sergeant looked at Victor's well-equipped group with envious eyes. He knew prison colleagues were coming to help but hadn't paid much attention - who knew they'd be so well-equipped?
You even brought out armored vehicles!
Born from the same mother, why such different treatment?
He took a deep breath, ran to Victor, saluted, "Good day, sir. I'm Misqui Town Police Chief Alfredo Rodriguez."
Victor looked him up and down, nodded slightly, pointing inside the arcade, "Find someone to clean up inside."
The other definitely knew about the dirty dealings in this arcade, but Victor was too lazy to care - he wasn't Mexico's Security Minister now.
Hearing this, Alfredo's face changed. He led people rushing into the arcade where the air still carried a smell that stimulated his brain cortex.
"Ugh~"
Colleagues behind couldn't help but lean over and vomit. Alfredo's throat rolled - he swallowed it back.
"Chief, this... what do we do? They work for the Pedro Group," a corporal beside him said quietly.
Alfredo frowned - this was also tricky.
Mexico had many groups with various names, but most evolved from several well-known organizations - products of "fragmentation."
The Pedro Group once belonged to the Guadalajara Group, part of the "plaza" system. After the organization scattered, the Pedro family went solo again, but couldn't compete with traditional organizations in drug trafficking.
They could only find other ways.
Like organ smuggling, human trafficking, etc. - anything that made money.
And they did it brazenly with cruel methods.
They showed no mercy.
"Chief, I quit, I resign."
While Alfredo was still thinking, a police officer with weak psychological endurance directly took off his uniform.
He didn't want to die!
The Pedro Group would kill everyone. The local police station would definitely be implicated for poor "supervision" of the arcade.
No one wanted to die!
Alfredo also planned to hide in the countryside.
...
The gunfight at the arcade clearly affected the town's activities.
The number of people visibly decreased greatly.
Those still outside now either had big guts or were missing some brain cells.
The annual Day of the Dead...
Devastation everywhere.
Without a peaceful society, such festivals had no necessity for being held. Don't expect Mexican drug lords to respect customs - they played the unexpected.
At midnight, they withdrew early.
When the convoy returned to the prison, they saw lights on outside with clearly strengthened security at the entrance.
"What happened?" Victor asked Casare wearily.
"An hour ago, a group dumped three bodies at the entrance."
Victor raised an eyebrow with a bad premonition. He had Casare take him to see. In the prison's temporary morgue, he saw three familiar people.
It was the family of three he'd just rescued.
"The man had 7 stab wounds, fatal injuries to chest and back. The woman was decapitated. And the girl..." The prison police officer beside them fell silent.
Victor looked at Lina's small face, pale and colorless. Her small hands at her chest seemed to be clutching something. He gently pried open her hands.
Clatter~
A badge fell to the ground, the Mexican coat of arms facing up.
Victor picked up the badge, held it in his hand, looked up, and exhaled from his mouth, "Tal vez, me equivoqué." (Maybe, I was wrong.)
(End of Chapter)
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