Alberto López Portillo tugged irritably at his suit collar.
As the leader of "Reclusos en confinamiento (Confined Prisoners)," his family had been active on Guadalupe Island for 60 years.
This was one of the important US-Mexico shipping routes, very close to California. Every year they earned considerable income through kidnapping tourists, human trafficking, and drug dealing.
Unlike old-school drug dealers, Alberto was educated - a top graduate from Cambridge Business School. He wanted to unite all drug dealers on the island, learning from "Godfather" Gallardo's system of unified management, unified collection, and unified distribution.
He believed Guadalupe Island alone was enough to support many people.
Just as he was ambitiously preparing to make his mark...
Victor came!
Straight up rat-a-tat-tat, completely uncivilized, catching drug dealers off guard. Couldn't he come up and talk first?
In Alberto's view, Guadalupe Island's drug dealers were being forced to fight back!
When he heard the TV station was under attack, even the usually calm Alberto cursed furiously. In his new plaza system, this place was his important propaganda outlet. Most importantly, the Portillo family made considerable money annually from the TV station.
He brought gunmen for support.
"Charge! $500 reward for killing a police officer!"
Drug dealers getting off pickup trucks were herded by small-time leaders like cattle, driven to charge forward.
Really no tactics at all.
You could do this against Mexican military police, but facing EDM (Mexican Lions), weren't you just target practice?
As soon as they entered firing range, they met crossfire.
They couldn't even break through the defensive line.
A drug dealer carrying a rocket launcher crouched and fired at the second floor!
"RPG!!!"
Whoosh~
Boom!
The massive shockwave blew an EDM member by the window outside, falling to the ground coughing up blood. Half his arm was gone, completely mangled. Kennedy Heisenberg ran over, taking out tourniquets and cotton pads from his shoulder to bandage the wound.
But the impact was too severe. Soon his eyes dimmed.
Kennedy's hands paused, understanding there was no saving him. As commander, he calmly dragged his comrade's body aside and directed others to continue resisting.
Victor at the police station also received the distress call, seeing in his golden finger that personnel had dropped to 74/80 - six killed in action!
Of course, these could be replenished.
But it showed how intense the fighting was.
Victor quickly organized rescue, leaving 60 officers to guard the police station while everyone else went to provide support.
Two TPz-1 armored vehicles were covered with protective grilles, reducing the chance of being taken out by one rocket shot. Officers inside nervously rubbed their faces.
Most were originally just prison guards.
Little firefight experience.
They needed to be brought out for training!
Victor put on body armor and boarded the SA.321Ja helicopter, heading to attack the TV station.
Alberto's emotions were boiling. He'd also torn off his long-maintained mask, snarling viciously, "Useless! All useless!"
200 men couldn't even storm the TV station.
Nearby drug lord leaders glanced at him. They weren't very satisfied with this new leader - brothers were up front with real weapons fighting while you commanded from behind?
Your hair wasn't any longer than others'.
"Boss, police reinforcements are coming!"
A subordinate beside him held a phone, saying nervously. Alberto was stunned, suddenly hearing mechanical noise. Looking up, he saw a helicopter approaching from far to near.
You could clearly feel the drug dealers' panic.
Being bombed by helicopters overhead daily, unable to shoot them down - wouldn't your head hurt?
"Alberto, let's withdraw! Police firepower is too strong. We'll find ways to buy heavy weapons and blow up these two helicopters then."
A nearby leader advised, but his tone didn't sound like consultation. After speaking, he directly called for drug dealers to retreat.
Alberto was so angry his teeth itched!
The Portillo family was essentially a criminal group. A little punk wanted to take over? You weren't qualified yet.
Like the Gulf Group - logically it belonged to the Abrego family, but after he was arrested, his son and nephew lacked ability to become leaders, could only co-lead with Cárdenas, then were kicked aside later.
Criminal groups weren't royal thrones.
You think you could inherit just by saying so?
Alberto felt these old fossils were getting in the way, but he restrained himself, looking at them with sinister eyes, then glancing at the helicopter overhead, frowning. He hooked his finger to pull over a trusted subordinate, whispering very quietly in his ear, "Go find the police, tell them where Litokwa and the others are hiding."
The subordinate was immediately stunned, tongue-tied, "Boss..."
Litokwa was the family's second-in-command, the drug dealer who'd just called him by name directly, also closely related to Alberto - should be his uncle.
He wanted to use police to kill the other.
Drug dealers were drug dealers - they never forgot infighting.
Even the later-praised "Shorty" Guzmán's best skills were five points: treachery, betraying brothers, being treacherous, framing others, and seducing sisters-in-law!
What integrity did you expect from criminals?
People who could abandon moral bottom lines to commit crimes had very low integrity.
Victor?
He was just morally flexible.
Anyway, final interpretation rights were in his hands - who told him to have bigger caliber?
Under Alberto's gaze, the trusted subordinate could only reluctantly agree.
But felt despair about the future.
With bosses fighting each other like this, how could they battle police?
Moreover, he felt Alberto wasn't capable - narrow-minded and mean. Should he betray him to the "second-in-command"?
Thinking this, the trusted subordinate couldn't help glancing at Alberto.
...
"Boss, they've withdrawn. Should we pursue?" the helicopter observer shouted loudly - you couldn't hear without volume over the noise.
Victor wore windproof goggles, looking down at drug dealers driving pickup trucks in drifts.
"Land first!" Victor made a downward gesture.
The pilot made an OK gesture. The helicopter landed on the TV station rooftop where people were already waiting.
Victor nimbly jumped down, patted Kennedy's shoulder in praise, covering one ear, "Can the broadcast room be used?"
"Yes!"
Victor nodded, waved his fingers, indicating to lead the way.
Going down through the stairwell door, gunpowder smell still filled the air, with corpses and debris everywhere.
"Eleven TV station personnel survived..."
"I remember Best's intelligence said there were over twenty staff here?" Victor looked at Kennedy, who remained silent. He immediately understood, "Drug dealers are all beasts!"
"I want to expose these brutal methods to all residents of Guadalupe Island!"
"Boss, should I have someone prepare a speech for you?"
"Are any officers college graduates?"
Everyone fell silent.
What college graduate would be police in Mexico? They'd have fucking fled and emigrated long ago.
Those who could read and had education came from wealthy families. As always, the poor stayed put.
(End of Chapter)
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