"What do you want me to answer?"
"Or rather, what answer do you want to hear?"
Victor neither denied nor admitted, just stared straight at Casare.
No need to ask - the meaning was obvious. Yesterday's explosion was his doing, and it was specifically targeting Hagis.
Casare's mouth hung half open, "But you're a police officer."
Victor looked relaxed, pinching something sticky with his fingers and sniffing it under his nose, "Of course, I've always been a police officer. I often feel proud of this identity."
He pushed off the table with both hands, stood up, his expression fierce, "But Hagis wanted me dead, so I told him - offend Jesus and you can't get into heaven, but offend me and I'll make you die today. Fuck it, in a place like Mexico, if he wants to fight me to the death, I'll kill him first."
Casare was frightened by Victor's almost insane rhetoric.
"Are you really..."
"A mad dog?" Victor finished the last words for him, leaned back, laughed happily, and pointed around, "How many do you think are real police officers here? They're all undercover agents sent in by outside drug lords. They came for money. The national flag hanging outside feels too rough even to wipe your ass with. For people like you and me without background, education, or culture, what can we fight with besides our lives?"
"Now even selling sperm requires checking your education! What's your education level?"
"I know you have three siblings still in school. Your mother mends clothes for others. After sending your salary home, how many times a month can you afford women? All cheap goods, very undignified. Didn't your ex-girlfriend run off with a rich man? If you had money, would she have run? You could play with whoever you wanted. Tonight if you said you wanted to have children with a female councilwoman, throw money at it, and she'd have her IUD removed by afternoon. Money can do many things."
"Want to work with me?"
Victor had seen Casare's resume. Put simply, he was a white lotus, or rather had been a good boy since childhood. Whatever his mother said, he did - study, drop out, take exams, become a police officer.
It looked smooth sailing, but in reality, what you worked your whole life for, drug dealers could get by stuffing some money around.
"I guarantee you'll earn at least 1,000 extra pesos a month."
Casare's breathing immediately became rapid, but he didn't speak.
Victor wasn't in a hurry. He got up, patted his shoulder, "If you're interested, you can come to my room after work tonight. You'll be discreet about Hagis's matter, right?"
Victor didn't wait for his answer and left.
Casare sat there dazed, his brain running at high speed. He'd always thought Victor was as honest as himself, but now it seemed it was all pretense.
"Hey, Casare, are you done eating? Time to clean up." A cafeteria guard on duty came over, seeing him still sitting there, and called out somewhat impatiently.
He quickly got up, apologetically waving to the other person, watching him pour the unfinished mashed potatoes into a bucket, and swallowed.
A thought suddenly popped into his head.
If I had money, no one would rush me to eat faster, right?
...
Third Block.
In Altiplano prison, it was like a "walled city," isolated, with high-voltage electricity constantly running above, having independent cafeteria, rest areas, and work zones. It looked quite strict.
But it was actually a pile of shit.
Later, when Guzman was arrested in February 2014, his son once paid prison guards to bring in a watch with GPS positioning, then spent a year outside and $56 million to dig a tunnel 1.5 kilometers long, more than 10 meters underground, 1.7 meters high, 75 cm wide, with lighting and ventilation.
On July 12, 2015, under surveillance, Guzman successfully escaped again!
So Mexican prisons were just a joke.
If you hadn't escaped from prison several times, how could you call yourself a major drug lord?
But on the surface, the third block was still very "strict." Going in required passing 4 checkpoints, including name verification, photo comparison, and full-body searches for contraband.
After all checks were completed, he was brought before Cona Velasquez, the third block supervisor, a short, stocky police staff sergeant.
"Welcome, Sergeant Victor." The other seemed very friendly, even actively shaking hands with him.
Victor blinked his right eye. Now when meeting a "strange" superior, he had to feel them out first, or he wouldn't feel secure.
Cona Velasquez.
Male!
Born in 1952 in Monterrey, Nuevo León.
...
Served as head of Altiplano prison's third block since age 31.
Criminal points: 1500.
This score was about 5 Hagises or 1.5 Mill Bairds.
It wasn't that he was more ruthless than the other two, but because his influence was greater, and he had a father-in-law who was a Sinaloa state bureau chief.
Tsk tsk tsk...
As long as you actively cooperated with Sinaloa Cartel's rule, you were basically like a local emperor.
"I heard you were injured before? How is it? Are you better now?" Cona Velasquez asked like an old friend.
"Much better, thank you for your concern, sir."
The other nodded, flipping through the resume folder he brought, saying casually, "Those bastards are too lawless. I heard that Hoyle was a small leader of the Gulf Group. Be careful yourself. If you need anything, you can come find me."
Victor immediately understood.
Sinaloa and the Gulf Group had grudges, often killing each other over market share. Today you kill my mother, tomorrow I kill your mistress, just as "Godfather" Gallardo said when he was arrested.
"Without me, the beasts will be unrestrained!"
Victor wasn't stupid. He certainly wouldn't refuse this kind of friendliness delivered to his door. If he pushed everyone to his opposition, that would be really stupid.
"I'll have to trouble you in the future."
He picked up the lighter on the table and lit the cigarette for Cona Velasquez.
Appropriate flattery was for living better.
Backbone?
Not worth anything.
Before Guzman became famous, he even stole cars.
Which self-made boss had it easy?
Some things you don't have when you're born - this lifetime might be difficult, but some people refuse to accept fate, so you have to give up many things.
For example: dignity.
Isn't it a joke for poor Mexicans to talk about dignity?
Cona Velasquez was obviously satisfied with Victor's attitude, holding his cigarette, "The third block originally had another deputy, but he was killed in a gunfight during his vacation outside."
"You'll be responsible for his work from now on - arranging patrol guards, taking prisoner roll call, armory weapon accounting..."
This was much more power than he had in the second block.
"Anywhere can be chaotic, but in the third block, as long as those drug lords don't leave their cells, let them do whatever they want. Even if they ask you for condoms, satisfy them."
Victor wasn't a hothead. He kept his posture very low, acting like "I'm new, don't understand, whatever the boss says goes."
"I'll have someone show you to the office." Cona Velasquez pressed the intercom on his desk, "Anna, come in."
Someone responded from the other side.
You could tell from the voice - nice tone, good figure.
After two or three minutes, knocking sounds, high heels tapping on the floor with a rhythmic sound. Victor turned his head and saw a tall figure in police uniform, her breasts almost bursting out.
Particularly eye-catching.
Men - if you don't look at breasts first, what do you look at?
The heart?
"Anna, this is the new third block deputy warden, Victor Carlos Vieri."
"Hello, sir." Anna saluted, seemingly intentionally or unintentionally shaking her arms, making her chest bounce automatically.
This was a woman who knew how to use her advantages.
"I'm the head of the third block psychological guidance intervention team. If you have any physical or psychological needs in the future, I can arrange them."
The third block had this kind of thing?
Why did it sound like prostitution?
Gao blinked his eyes.
The other's information was clear at a glance.
Looking at the "resume" above, Victor suddenly understood, his expression strange.
He hadn't guessed wrong. This Anna was indeed a prostitute, belonging to a sex organization called "Night Cat" under Juárez, doing business inside the prison, mainly providing sexual services to the big shots inside.
Once cost hundreds or even thousands of dollars.
Just from this, Tijuana could make millions of dollars a year.
Damn!
Simply outrageous - his mother opening the door for outrageous - outrageously ridiculous.
No wonder many drug lords were even willing to come to prison. Here they could ensure safety while remotely controlling their organizations. Prison was more comfortable than outside. Of course, the prerequisite was not encountering subordinates growing too powerful, like the later Los Zetas under the Gulf Group.
"You take Sergeant Victor to see the office." Cona Velasquez said. "I have to attend a meeting later."
Anna smiled and nodded.
The two left the office. Anna walked ahead, her ass swaying more seductively than an electric fan. Walking to the next room, she turned the doorknob, "Sergeant Victor, this was the former deputy warden's office. Take a look - if there's anything you don't like, I'll have it all thrown out."
Victor looked around. It was decorated very cleanly, with a bookshelf containing world classics. He even saw two works from China.
He casually opened a drawer. An envelope lay inside. His eyebrow raised.
"Yesterday I heard the third block had a new superior. This is a meeting gift from the gentlemen..."
"Gentlemen" probably referred to the drug lords.
Victor opened a corner and saw colorful bills inside.
"A total of fifty thousand pesos." Anna said while watching this young officer.
The other's expression was obviously surprised, and she felt a sense of conquest rising in her heart.
"Anna..." Victor glanced at her shoulder insignia, "Corporal, can you do me a favor?"
"Of course."
Anna smiled seductively, already preparing to undress.
"Can you help me break down which gentlemen gave what, and which gentlemen didn't give anything from this fifty thousand pesos?"