"He's very arrogant now! Sir, I even feel he's more brazen than the drug dealers I've seen. You didn't see it just now - he fired his gun! He fired his gun in Altiplano prison!"
In the warden's office.
Hagis Baird's face was flushed red, waving his arms, appearing very agitated. With both hands on the desk, he stared intently at Webster, "I even suspect he's possessed by the devil. This is nothing like the old him!"
Webster held a cigarette in his mouth, "The devil? Then you'd have to go to the Vatican to find a priest, but are you sure we don't have any little boys here? Would they even come?"
Hagis Baird's mouth twitched, "Sir, that's not funny at all." He paused, breathing slightly rapidly, "You promised you'd help kill him!"
"My family gave you $20,000!"
Webster's eyelids lifted slightly, "He applied to me to go to the third block."
This news left Baird stunned, two question marks flashing in his brain.
Even dogs wouldn't go to the third block. Although those big shots were physically restrained, their personalities were bizarre. You never knew which word or action would suddenly anger them.
Drug dealers had no humanity!
In Mexico, if you offended the president, you'd face legal judgment.
But if you offended drug dealers, you'd understand what it meant to wish you were dead!
From mayors down to villagers, as long as you angered them, tomorrow your head would appear in Mexico City, your arms in Santiago, your ass in Tijuana. Don't doubt it - they had that capability.
"He... he..." Baird didn't know what to say.
"Notify him to report to the third block tomorrow." Webster took a transfer order from his drawer and threw it in front of Baird, leaned back, crossed his hands over his stomach, "For the sake of his dead father, I'm agreeing to his request."
"How long he lives depends on God's will."
Baird looked at the transfer order in his hand, always feeling it wasn't direct enough. In Mexico, there was no need for such subtle moves. They were the Gulf Group, the oldest criminal organization. Wasn't he just a small prison guard?
Find a few people to kill him and be done with it?
Killing police was too common in this country.
"I know what you're thinking. If you have the ability, you can find people outside to kill him. But if it's in prison, we can only follow the rules. You can't have a drug dealer rush into the guards' dormitory with a gun and shoot him dead, right? That would be a provocation. Last time, to make the Tijuana and Juárez people fight each other, many people died. Settling that matter cost quite a bit, and the people above have some opinions about me. I need to keep my head down lately."
Webster was an old schemer.
That soccer match was actually a premeditated murder targeting two organizations!
At that time, a small leader nicknamed "Clown" Gagrido died in Tijuana. He was the illegitimate son of Tijuana Group leader Benjamin and was quite beloved. His death directly caused the two major groups outside to go to war!
Sinaloa, one of the three giants, was also forced to join the battlefield.
The Gulf Group benefited considerably as the fisherman.
For this soccer match, the Gulf Group gave the Preventive Police Department chief $5 million.
All purposes were for profit.
As long as the profit was enough, even God could be sold.
Jesus should have been clearly priced long ago.
Baird wasn't very satisfied with Webster's arrangement, but what could he do? No matter which organization, the other's rank was higher than his. He saluted glumly and walked out of the office.
Standing at the door, he began muttering a few words, tucked the transfer order under his arm, and walked to Office No. 2 of the second block. Casare was sitting inside, making coffee, "Where's Victor?"
"Restroom." Casare pointed to the washroom in the office. Just as he finished speaking, he saw Victor walk out, shaking water off his hands.
"Victor, Sergeant Baird is looking for you." Fat Casare shouted to him, indicating with his eyes.
"Your transfer order is here. The warden agreed to transfer you to the third block as deputy warden. Congratulations, buddy." Baird handed him the transfer order with a fake smile, "Hope you can work... long at your new position."
"Oh?" Victor took the transfer order, saw the seal on it, and felt relieved. The first step of his plan was complete. As if he didn't hear the "curse" in the other's tone, he smiled cheerfully and even thanked him profusely.
Baird had a mouthful of complaints stuck in his throat, neither able to spit them out nor swallow them. He left with a dark expression.
He didn't forget to slam the door hard.
Boom - even dust fell from the impact.
After Baird left, Casare, who had been anxiously waiting nearby, couldn't wait to speak, "Victor, you're going to the third block? That... that place is very dangerous. Don't you know? Just in the first half of this year, 9 prison guards died. Although they died outside the prison, it was obviously retaliation from those drug dealers."
"I heard there was an unlucky guy who just didn't wash a drug dealer's feet, and during his vacation, he was kidnapped along with his wife and daughter. Three days later they were found dead in the woods, without a single piece of good flesh on their bodies."
"There's also Quim Lucas, you know him, very good-looking. He was my classmate. When he was in the third block, a drug dealer with homosexual tendencies took a liking to him, but he refused. Later... his genitals were cut off and hung on the street!"
Casare's voice was trembling, his pupils even dilated.
Obviously, drug dealers had left an indelible shadow in the heart of Casare, who was a police officer.
Slap!
A hand pressed on Casare's shoulder, "What are you afraid of?"
Casare looked up and met Victor's eyes.
"What you fear is nothing more than death, but why can't we make them die? In this fucked-up society, words are the most useless. The only thing that can speak for you is weapons. If drug dealers hold handguns and you hold an AK, who do you think should be afraid?"
"My old man used to tell me that as a person, you should have a sense of justice, young people should have drive, understand that morality is the bottom line of being human. What was the result? He got himself killed. I finally understand that at any time, you have to climb up. No one listens to what small fries say."
"Why did you become a police officer?"
"For..." Casare stammered.
"Don't tell me about some bullshit justice. Don't be too rigid in life and work. Absolute justice absolutely leads to no good end. You have to be ruthless as a person. In the cafeteria, if I hadn't fired that shot, do you think I could still be standing? Those sons of bitches - are they afraid of the law? They're afraid of bullets!"
Victor patted Casare's face, "If he bullies you, you fight back. If you can't fight back, find someone to go down with you. Drug dealers are also people. They're also afraid of death. I don't believe bullets can't fit in their mouths."
Although he said this, the fear of being ruled by drug dealers for decades wasn't so easily dispelled.
"Don't worry. In Mexico, I'll live longer than God."
"After work tonight, want to go for a drink? My treat." Victor said with a smile.
...
Prison work hours were nine to five.
No overtime required.
Because Altiplano prison was about 50 kilometers from the city center, many police officers lived in dormitories. But not far from the prison, a "night market" would provide many needs.
Victor had no interest in street prostitutes, mainly afraid of becoming an AIDS warrior. He'd really regret it then. If he was going to play, it had to be with Hollywood stars.
They were all selling themselves anyway - at worst, he'd pay more money.
Casare was less picky about meat and vegetables, looking up and down twice, "Two of us."
The lady heard this, glanced at Victor, "Two people costs extra."
"How much extra?"
"10 pesos per person, second round half price."
Casare's eyes immediately lit up. He nudged Victor with his elbow, lowering his voice, "Victor..."
"No thanks, I'm not interested. You can play by yourself if you want, but I think you should take protective measures."
Fat Casare was conflicted. This woman was exactly his type, but Victor wasn't interested. He couldn't just abandon his brother, right? Just as he was about to wave his hand and refuse, he heard Victor say, "You go ahead and have fun. I have something to do. I'll meet you at the outdoor bar when I'm done."
He even pulled out 20 pesos and handed them to the woman, "Take good care of my brother."
He patted Casare's shoulder and walked toward the distance.
Casare was confused and looked in the direction he was walking, seeing a familiar figure. It looked like... Hagis Baird?
"Sir!" The woman pushed him, very proactively taking his hand and pulling him into the tent behind her.
Victor indeed saw an acquaintance. Hagis Baird's ugly face ranked second only to Franklin's in his heart, and the latter's main use was being on dollar bills.
This guy followed someone who obviously wasn't easy to get along with into a secluded RV. For Victor, finding out this person's identity was simple.
Right eye blink.
All information popped out.
"Mill Baird.
Male!
Born in 1970 in the Baird criminal family of Chihuahua City.
Nickname: 'Family Stud'
At 18, robbed a French tourist with accomplices, murdered and dismembered him. At 19, joined the family drug trade, using human bodies for US-Mexico border trafficking. Same year, shot and killed 3 Chihuahua City police officers, listed as Chihuahua City's 67th most wanted criminal with a bounty of 6,000 pesos. At 20, tortured and killed a Chihuahua City anti-drug councilman, murdered and dumped the body.
Recent focus: Family assigned him to kill an opponent imprisoned in Altiplano prison's second block, nicknamed 'Madman,' old-school LOS Chihuahua City chief Miguel Ramirez.
Criminal points: 900."
So the "family" sent someone. No wonder Hagis, who was usually lustful, didn't go looking for women.
Before, he was always with his small team, but now...
He was alone?!
Victor's eyes immediately lit up.
He felt his waist - no weapon.
The prison didn't allow taking firearms out during off-duty hours. In Mexico, except for government departments being strict with themselves, everything else was loose.
Maybe to provide convenience for criminals' revenge.
But...
Victor still had the 1,000 points he got from killing Hoyle in prison.
Enough to exchange for a handy weapon.
Having been hurt once, he didn't want to leave danger behind. Since Hagis was alone, he'd kill him!
Anyway, after killing him, just throw him outside - who the hell would know he did it?
He looked around, put his hands in his pockets, and walked to the back of the RV as if nothing had happened, listening with his ear to the side.
"What? You want me to kill Miguel Ramirez?" Hagis's voice.
"This is a family mission." Mill Baird's voice was hoarse, as if his vocal cords had been injured.
Hagis was silent for a moment.
"No problem, but I want you to help me kill someone. He's very troublesome and hindering my promotion in Altiplano prison."
"Who?"
"Victor Carlos Vieri."
"No problem. He'll die outside soon."
Victor, leaning against the RV, felt the killing intent in his heart growing stronger.
You fucking want to kill me, then I'll kill you first!
He blinked, and an exchange window appeared before him.
Balance: 1000.
He used 40 points to exchange for two Russian-made F-1 hand grenades!
Blow you up, you son of a bitch!