I had thirteen 2s in my hand, thinking I'd definitely win by cheating.
Who knew the other party would hit me with a bomb, stop pretending altogether, and flip the table.
In this "resume," he saw a familiar name.
Theo Carlos Vieri!
The original body's father.
His death indeed had something fishy about it, but he never imagined the killer would be the old senior who had been "taking care" of him all along?
Just thinking about it made his skin crawl.
"Victor? What's wrong with you? Are you feeling unwell somewhere?" Webster put away his pen and asked gently, "Do you need to rest for another two days?"
"No, no need." Victor waved his hand, forcing a smile, "Just a bit of a headache, it's nothing."
"So what do you think of my suggestion? The first block is relatively safer."
Victor looked up at the other's eyes - peaceful, concerned... benevolent?
Just like a real senior considering his junior's welfare!
Damn it!
Victor felt like he was craving a cigarette. Seeing cigarettes on the table, he pointed and said, "Can I have one?"
Webster was startled, looked down at the cigarette pack, and nodded with a smile, "Of course." He pushed the pack over, indicating he could help himself.
Victor had just taken out a cigarette and put it in his mouth when he heard Webster say, "Victor, I remember you don't smoke, right?"
His hand paused slightly.
"I've been under too much pressure lately. Smoking can help relax."
Webster didn't pursue the matter further.
"Which place in our prison is most dangerous?" Victor suddenly asked.
"The third block, the serious crime area."
"Then I want to go to the third block."
Webster frowned, as if he'd heard something unbelievable. After a moment of silence, he smiled and said, "Is it April Fool's Day today?"
"Of course not, sir. I just feel this is my responsibility. As a federal police officer, I should be on the most dangerous front lines, going where the people need me. I remember my oath..."
Webster's expression was very rich.
You remember your police duties in Mexico?
Brother, aren't you playing with fire next to a gas tank - like a crow trying to fly a plane?
Even drug enforcement has to rely on the navy.
The army? Those idiots have long become traitors.
Victor wasn't actually stupid either. The big shots in the third block sounded intimidating, but they were controlled very strictly, basically only getting exercise time once every half month. Moreover, unlike the first and second blocks, the third block had greatly increased armed forces and were allowed to be equipped with HM-3 9mm submachine guns!
Normally they used Glock 17 pistols, which weren't bad either - the same as what the Americans next door used. Of course, this was only limited to important units like El Altiplano. Other small police stations?
They'd be lucky to have revolvers.
There was even a joke that Alvarado City Police Department used slingshots, ordered personally by the mayor. That bastard definitely took money from drug dealers.
Slingshots?
As long as the firepower is fierce enough, I'll be safe enough!
Most importantly, Gao felt this prison was like a huge cage, trapping him tightly. He might really get killed at any time, and his cheat ability was useless in prison.
He couldn't deliberately let them escape and then catch them again, right?
Moreover, there was a small note next to his cheat ability: people caught by subordinates also counted for points.
This was basically pushing him hard to climb up!
The best method was external assignment, serving as a small bureau chief in some remote place. Mexican police were extremely dangerous, basically dozens died every day, and bureau chiefs were replaced batch after batch - very common.
But Victor had no background. If you wanted to jump out of this cage, it wouldn't be easy.
Then he could only go to the third block to see if there were any "big shots" he could latch onto.
He wasn't someone with moral obsession. If he could serve the "big shots" well, wouldn't wealth and glory be just a matter of one sentence?
That's how society works. When you don't have the ability to change the world, please first learn to bow your head.
There was nothing shameful about it. Acting high and mighty?
Could your skull withstand a 7.62 bullet?
Kennedy was killed by a 6.5mm caliber bullet, and he didn't even have time to say a word.
Seeing that Victor didn't seem to be talking nonsense, Webster's frown deepened, but he quickly relaxed, forcing a dry smile, "I'll consider it. The police force needs people with your drive."
"Thank you, sir!" Victor stood up with the cigarette in his mouth and saluted.
Webster smiled and nodded, "Go to work. If you have any difficulties, you can come find me. Victor, my door is always open for you."
I want to open a hole in your forehead...
This sentence was naturally said in his heart. With 21,000 criminal points, damn it, he could exchange for so many things.
But Lu Xun said: When you can't challenge the other party, put away your blade, learn to stick out your tongue. Hypocrisy is also a form of self-protection.
Coming out of the office, Victor even closed the door behind him, put his hat back on properly, looked left and right, and walked toward the cafeteria. He smiled and greeted familiar colleagues along the way.
"¡Siéntate! (Sit down!)"
Walking into the cafeteria, he saw seated prisoners, about a hundred or so. The second block had quite a few people, about two thousand, so meals had to be served in batches to prevent any incidents.
Prison guards shouted orders through megaphones.
Those prisoners didn't care at all. Some even sat down laughing and joking, then whispered to each other, giving no face at all.
Victor was also a police sergeant, serving as deputy of the second block. The cafeteria, exercise time, bathing - all these were within his scope. The work was tiring, not to mention offending people.
"Victor." Casare stood at the cafeteria entrance with his hands behind his back. Seeing a figure in his peripheral vision, he quickly called out.
Victor's facial muscles relaxed slightly as he walked over. Just as he was about to speak, he heard a commotion and shouting. He quickly turned to look and saw a Black man with dreadlocks chattering excitedly, forcefully throwing plates, cursing, while people around started booing.
Prison guards nervously shouted for him to sit down, but he turned a deaf ear.
"Who is this person?"
Casare squinted, stood on his tiptoes to look, and with his good memory said, "Friedson Kurman, backbone of the Millennium Group."
"Millennium Group?" The name sounded familiar; they should have produced some notable figures. "Did they pay money?"
Casare was stunned, then understood his meaning, "No, the Millennium Group never pays money."
"In my territory, not paying money, yet still so fucking arrogant? Interesting." Victor laughed angrily and pulled out a plastic baton from Casare's waist.
"Hey! What are you doing?" Casare saw this and quickly grabbed him to ask.
"What am I doing? Making him understand what it means for broke players to keep a low profile." Victor spat.
"Bastard! We won't eat this pig food. I want caviar! I want fruit, you sons of bitches, go feed this to pigs." Friedson Kurman shouted loudly.
People around him cheered in agreement.
"Right! We want caviar! I also want women, I want to do it!"
"Women! Women! Women!"
People around banged on tables and shouted.
Friedson Kurman was very pleased with himself. People in this business all like to show off. Even if they get hacked to death, they have to make the news.
"Caviar? Are you fucking paying for it!"
Friedson Kurman heard a voice nearby, turned his head, and saw a baton coming straight for his head. It was too late to dodge, and he was knocked to the ground directly.
Covering his head, blood all over.
"Fuck your mother! Making trouble? You don't pay money, yet you're still making trouble. Eating caviar? I'll treat you to eating shit." Victor swung the baton and beat the other person hard.
He didn't hold back.
"Hey hey! What are you doing! Stop!"
"Pull him away."
"Kill this cop!"
The atmosphere was getting worse and worse. Casare was very nervous. Prison guards on the second floor had already started sounding alarms.
A strong man with tree rings tattooed on his head was closest and fiercely prepared to grab Victor. The latter turned, drew his gun, and stuffed it in the other's mouth in one smooth motion.
"Say one more word, and I'll blow your mouth apart."
With a huge object stuffed in his mouth, this strong man became even more fierce, not afraid at all, making muffled sounds, arrogantly pointing at his own temple - basically saying, shoot me dead!
Bang!
Gunshot!
The entire cafeteria immediately fell silent. The strong man covered his left ear, screaming and shouting. Blood seeped through his fingers, and half an ear had fallen on the ground.
"Shut the fuck up!" Victor stepped on the other's mouth and put his finger to his lips, "Shh, you're very noisy, you know?"
Friedson Kurman was completely stunned.
A prison guard...
Actually dared to shoot first?
This was very un-Mexican.
"Everyone, squat down. Don't think I'm joking. Whoever is still standing, my hand gets very nervous, and if the bullet hits somewhere, I wouldn't know where." Victor squinted, speaking with an unfriendly tone.
Most people who end up in prison aren't hotheads. Those with hard bones died long ago. They all understood one phrase: those who know the times are heroes.
They obediently squatted down.
Just after controlling the situation, he heard footsteps. The emergency squad rushed in. Hagis Baird had a dark expression. When he saw this scene, he raised an eyebrow, "What happened?"
Casare quickly explained the whole story from the side.
Hagis Baird nodded, "Send the injured to the medical room, put the ringleader Friedson in solitary confinement, and starve the rest for three days."
After speaking, he turned to look at Victor. Seeing how calm the other looked, a flash of surprise passed through his eyes, and he said in a low voice, "I'll report this to the warden."
Their direct superior was injured and reportedly unable to work normally, so they reported directly to Webster.
"Of course, within procedure." Victor was very casual.
His procedure was correct. When personally threatened, he was allowed to use weapons. This was Altiplano prison, not an ordinary prison. Only murderers could get in here.
Hagis Baird glanced at him, "The person you just injured has an unusual identity. He's the cousin of the leader of the Desan Knights."
Victor looked at him directly, staring straight at him. The other frowned but also stared back. Soon he felt his eyes becoming sore and gave up.
"Do you know Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas?"
"Where is that?" Hagis Baird frowned. He felt he was being looked down upon, and his tone was very bad.
"An American president once lay there. Is there anywhere with a higher status than that person?"
Victor smiled and patted his shoulder, made a gun gesture with his finger, and waved it near his temple, "No matter how high the status, bang one shot, and they're dead too. Don't you think so, Mr. Hagis Baird?"
Hagis Baird's anger flared up. He was about to speak when Gao pushed past him and left. Casare hesitated, smiled apologetically at the former, and followed.
"Fuck! Son of a bitch!"
Hagis Baird kicked a dining table, and his whole face drooped down.
"Victor, aren't you afraid he'll retaliate against you for talking like that?" Casare trotted up, saying worriedly.
"A turtle can block a machete when it retracts, but can't hide from a bomb. Since we're enemies, it's fight to the death. Besides, if I don't make a big deal out of this, how can certain people make up their minds?" Victor spoke in riddles, leaving the other completely confused.
"Then be careful."
"Don't worry. Last week at the hospital, the doctor said my bone density is thicker than a bulletproof vest."