On a dimly lit street, 14-year-old José, who had just come of age, slung a rusty AK over his shoulder. He was half-heartedly chatting with his father, Andrés, while a few of his father's friends were teasing him nearby.
Yesterday was his first "coming-of-age" ceremony. Andrés had taken him to a house in the Depolo slums, where they held the family of three at gunpoint before handing José a sharp knife.
José could hardly remember how he used the knife; he only recalled that when he came to his senses, the male head of the household was lying on the ground, blood splattered across his face, warm and pungent.
Before José could fully snap out of it, his father Andrés threw a young, lifeless body into his arms and then pinned the family's female head under him.
Andrés said that this family's poster was already up on the wall with the word "Muerta" written on it. It was a rare opportunity, perfect for José to complete his "coming-of-age" ritual.
Once this was done, José would officially be a member of the gang and could start working for the boss, Doza.
José felt humiliated and angry because his father's friends wouldn't stop mocking him, asking for details about what had happened the previous night, though he could barely remember any of it.
In his hazy memory, the girl was a few years younger than him, terrified, and too scared to scream for help. She could only endure his clumsy and rough treatment, whispering desperately for him to spare her.
Her voice was incredibly faint, and it grew quieter until it was no longer distinguishable. By the time José came to, her small body had become cold, and her youthful face had lost all color.
The next day, after setting the family's house on fire, which was today, Andrés handed José a rusty AK and took him to patrol the street corner.
This was a job José had been eagerly awaiting. If he stayed on patrol until dawn, he would earn $20—dollars, not Mexican pesos, a sum he could never have earned in a whole month running errands for others.
José envied his cousin, Danting, who was under 30 but already drove a luxury car, wore expensive suits to collect money from well-known local businesses, and was always followed by women using high-end cosmetics and perfumes.
While José was lost in these thoughts, a drunk man appeared at the street corner and started yelling at them. José immediately became alert, his keen eyesight making him feel the man's face was familiar.
"Andrés, that man…" José turned back, only to find the man had disappeared.
"What man?" Andrés heard the noise and turned around, but saw no one.
José became agitated, even feeling a rush of blood. "In the alley! I heard the sound, and I think I've seen that man's face on a poster! He's one of the ones we have a bounty on!"
"Are you sure?" Andrés looked skeptically at the alley about 20 to 30 meters away, where there was hardly any streetlight, though he could vaguely hear arguing. It sounded like English, but he couldn't understand.
Andrés twisted his head, and his scarred face twitched before signaling to his friends, "Let's go check it out."
If it was one of the bounty targets coming to them, his luck would be incredible. With that thought in mind, he clicked off the safety on his AR-15 and confidently led the way toward the alley.
Meanwhile, in the alley, Jason had finally "convinced" Lieutenant López and shoved him into the jeep. Jack peeked out from the alley.
In a standard kneeling shooting position, with the folded stock snugly against his right shoulder, the 4.6mm×30 high-performance rounds fired rapidly from the barrel, covering the entire street in a perfect fan-shaped spread.
"Tat-tat-tat-tat!" In less than two seconds, a 40-round magazine was emptied. Jack switched to a new magazine and patiently fired in short bursts, ensuring every target received an equal share, making sure no one was left out.
Andrés fell to the ground without a word, his son José beside him. Perhaps because of his youth or because he had taken something beforehand, José, though his lower abdomen was shredded by bullets, still had some dim awareness.
When the bullets hit, José felt an intense burning pain in his lower body, and his strength drained away rapidly. Then, his body went limp, and he collapsed to the ground.
What had happened? Why couldn't he move? Not even a finger. His body was growing cold. He thought of the little girl from the night before. Did she feel this way in the end?
"Huff… huff…" José struggled to breathe, but before he could exhale his final breath, Jack fired a finishing shot at him.
"'Scimitar' Juan sends his regards!" Jack shouted loudly, creating confusion, and continued to shoot at the five bodies on the ground until his magazine was empty. Two shooters in the distance, too frightened to approach, jumped into the nearby ditch, too scared to show their faces.
"Screech!" The jeep screeched to a halt beside him, and without looking back, Jack opened the passenger door and climbed in, driving away.
——
"You bastard! How could you do this? Without you, how will I and the kids survive? You bastard!"
The woman threw herself into her husband's arms, kicking and hitting him, before breaking down into tears, exhausted.
"Thank you." Lieutenant López, now clearly composed, held his wife and gratefully looked at the two Americans, mumbling the word silently.
Jason sighed and turned toward the stairs. "By the way, who exactly is this 'Scimitar Juan' you've been yelling about?"
"The boss of the Matamoros gang, a drug trafficking group based near Juárez."
Jack waved dismissively. This wasn't important. It was a clumsy attempt at sowing discord, unlikely to succeed. Seeing López heading back to the rooftop, he asked, "Are you still planning on drinking?"
"Why not? The ice in the bucket should still be mostly intact. If I don't drink, it'll be a waste." Jason looked back in surprise. "Aren't you coming?"
"I'll have a couple of bottles with you, but feel free to drink as much as you want. Mandy's beauty trick won't pick you anyway, and I'm sure tomorrow's mission won't require you to step in."
Jack smirked. He missed Hannah, and the lack of any girls around was starting to wear on him. Hanging out with these guys, smoking, drinking, and living on the edge, made him long for the quieter life he had before.
Tomorrow, he might even be asked to seduce some 40-something woman. What kind of nonsense was this?
"You're so confident? I think Clay has a better chance, though maybe Ray could get it. Who knows, maybe Carla likes dark skin," Jason said, scheming and making fun of their teammate.
However, to everyone's surprise, at the meeting the next day, Mandy Ellis selected neither Jack, nor Clay Spencer, nor even Ray Perry, but the short and stocky Texan Sonny Quinn.
"Are you serious?" Before Jack could speak, Clay Spencer, looking dissatisfied, grabbed Sonny by the neck and pulled his face close to Sonny's, one handsome, the other not so much, forming a stark contrast.
"We've chosen the identity of a Texas oil baron who struck it rich when he accidentally dug up oil on his farm. Of course, if any of you can speak with a proper Texan accent, I welcome you to sign up," Mandy Ellis said with a sly smile.
The group fell silent, and Jack's understanding of the Texan accent was limited to the word "Howdy," which Hannah used to greet people. It sounded adorable coming from her.
But, of course, it only sounded cute when Hannah said it. Sonny saying it wouldn't have the same effect.
According to the CIA's analysis, Carla Reyes had plans to expand her pimping business into the Federation, especially eager to connect with wealthy Texas big shots. Apparently, she thought that those nouveau riche ranchers were a huge potential market.
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American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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