"Take care, sir."
Victor personally escorted Alejandro to his car and even helped open the door.
He was just such a "good person" - as long as everyone gave each other face, he was very reasonable.
When Alejandro got in the car, he deliberately lowered his voice, "You've been too high-profile lately. You should keep a low profile. Those drug dealers are always watching you."
Victor looked at him and smiled, "The future depends on one's own efforts, not on others' charity. I have only one rule - if you're not the hunter, you're the prey. Barely surviving is no different from death!"
"We must hold our lives in our own hands, sir. Drug dealers can never make it to the big stage. Power is needed everywhere - it's like real estate, location is paramount. The closer you are to the center, the more valuable your wealth and status become. You shouldn't be satisfied with now - you should climb higher."
Victor was very frank and honest, "I think we can be very good political partners. What you need are achievements. What better chance to gain American appreciation than killing drug dealers?"
In Mexico, as long as you licked American ass well, they could put you in whatever position you wanted.
Too far from heaven, too close to America.
"I can also give you money if you need it. Three years - within three years I'll help push you to the Security Minister position." Victor gestured confidently.
Alejandro was very tempted.
"What do you want?"
"I really want to advance, sir. My dream is actually very simple - when I express opinions, everyone must stand up and applaud."
The political game wasn't just about having bullets.
Victor couldn't drive tanks to sweep government buildings like Pablo, could he?
Why did Los Zetas later fall so quickly?
You could indeed fight, but what was the use of being able to fight?
When you came out to play, it was about background. Mexico relied on America. Bluntly speaking, which country on this planet could beat it?
Before it, could you be more violent than it?
"I hope you can bring me only good news." Alejandro said.
Victor extended his hand to shake his, "All you need to do is go home, close your eyes, and wait for me to carry you into the Senate."
"God bless." Alejandro nodded, patted the driver's shoulder, signaling him to drive.
Watching the departing sedan, Victor put his hands in his pockets. The dark clouds overhead were pierced by sunlight as he said to himself, "God can't liberate Mexico."
...
Three days later, Altiplano Prison.
Hall No. 1, originally able to accommodate over 1,000 people for dining, was converted into a factory!
Over two hundred prisoners sat at sewing machines learning to make clothes from a female prisoner.
About twenty armed guards stood nearby.
This was Victor's idea.
Prisoners should do labor reform. What was the point of lying around all day?
Converting 3 dining halls into factories, thousands of people working 24 hours non-stop making clothes for a foreign trade garment factory, earning 50 cents per piece.
This money naturally went to the prison (Victor).
But the big shots in the third block had it slightly easier. After all, they had money - just pay more each month. Victor was very open-minded - if you gave money, everything was negotiable.
"Fuck! Son of a bitch bastard, making me step on sewing machines. I really want to punch that guy's dog head." A muscular man with a fierce look grumbled under his breath.
Sitting beside him was a middle-aged man with a parrot tattoo on his shoulder, stepping smoothly while glancing at the other's fabric work, "Winter, I think you'd better calm down. Remember, you'll have to pay an additional $20 fine."
That's right...
Prisoners had to pay compensation if they ruined fabric.
Ah!
Victor would definitely be hanged from a streetlight eventually.
The prisoner called Winter scratched his head anxiously, eyes darting around, then saw a chubby figure entering the doorway.
He quickly elbowed the other, "Hey, that fat tiger is here."
The middle-aged prisoner was obviously not happy being disturbed, but hearing this, he looked up and saw Casare standing on a table.
Fat Tiger was the nickname prisoners gave him.
A very fat smiling tiger.
"Everyone stop." Casare called out. All prisoners stopped their hands - finally they could rest.
"Starting today, new prison regulations are announced! Ten rules total, listen up."
"First, respect guards."
"Second, feeding cellmates shit is prohibited!"
"Third, urinating on cellmates' clothes is prohibited."
"Fourth, stuffing uneaten leftovers into your own XX is prohibited."
"Fifth, standing naked behind your cellmates is prohibited."
...
"Tenth: Whatever Warden Victor says is right!"
Casare finished reading the paper in his hands, stuffed it in his pocket, and smiled. The fat on his face was still trembling, "I'm happy to tell you some news."
"We've received another big order, so we've decided to cancel current break time. Everyone works overtime. Thank you, that's all."
Overtime!
Damn!
Even prisoners couldn't accept this.
"Fuck! We're here to serve time, not to work, you bastard." A prisoner couldn't help standing up, inciting those around him, "Brothers, this is completely undignified. This is oppression, this is an insult to human rights!"
Casare looked at him, and at the many restless prisoners below, suddenly pulled out his gun - bang bang bang!
Shot him dead directly.
The prisoner stared wide-eyed, falling limply to the ground.
The powerless prisoners could only keep quiet.
Before firearms, even if you had killed countless people, you wouldn't dare make a sound.
"Anyone else disagree with overtime?" Casare asked with a smile.
After waiting a few seconds and seeing no objections, he nodded satisfactorily, signaling guards to drag away the body.
As for how he died?
Was that important?
With money paving the way, Victor smoothly obtained the position of Altiplano Prison warden. He was much stricter than when Webster was there.
The point was, if you wanted to get by in Altiplano Prison, you either obeyed or paid money.
For wealthy inmates, tolerance could be slightly increased.
After Casare left, those with tempers finally spoke up quietly.
"I really can't stand this place anymore. I want to leave!" Winter said, looking at the dragged-away corpse with discomfort.
"You'll be shot full of holes."
"I have connections. The Michoacán family has already contacted people outside who will cooperate to rescue us!"
The middle-aged man sitting beside him raised an eyebrow, "Really? What's the method?"
"Start a riot!"
Winter gritted his teeth, "The Michoacán family and several other gangs will launch attacks outside, forcing the Mexican government to replace Victor or release us. Which do you think the government will choose?"
Was there any question?
Given the Mexican government's nature, they'd very likely replace Victor. If they got a "normal" official, these people's lives would definitely be better.
Release was impossible.
The DEA wouldn't agree either.
"How do you know?" the middle-aged man asked curiously.
Winter's eye twitched, as if remembering some unspeakable memories, unconsciously touching his buttocks. This action was clearly seen by the middle-aged man, who instantly understood.
Sigh, prison life was really hard.
He tactfully skipped this topic, "The Michoacán family is willing to be the scapegoat?"
Winter took a deep breath, "Victor killed the nephew of their leader Osiel Cárdenas. He can't swallow this insult. I heard the Gulf Group will also participate in this riot."
Hearing this, the middle-aged man's eyes lit up. Looking around, "What do we need to do?"
"We also start a riot inside the prison!"
"As long as it's chaotic enough, the Mexican government will compromise!"
"Only a few people know about this."
God can't save Mexico. You think a prison guard can turn the tables?
Eat shit!
(End of Chapter)
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