Victor pulled out a bottle of wine.
He somehow found two wine glasses from somewhere, took them to the toilet to rinse - they'd been sitting so long they had spider webs.
He poured wine and handed it to Casare, smiling as he painted a big picture, "Don't worry, I have a good grasp on this business. Wherever there's violence, there are customers. Mexican drug dealers can't just fight each other with sticks and stones, right?"
After saying this, he started laughing first, "We either don't make money, or we make a huge pile of it. Then we'll buy a big mansion next to the president. Who would dare look down on us? Play with fewer street stalls. Don't let all the money you earn go to treating AIDS later."
Victor clinked glasses as he spoke and drank it all in one gulp.
The taste of cheap red wine...
AIDS was discovered in 1981. Americans wanted to be first in everything - even gay sex they played so elaborately.
Casare was thin-skinned and blushed when teased like this. He sipped his red wine and, as if thinking of something, asked, "I heard you offended a drug lord today. Won't he retaliate against you?"
"Retaliate?"
Victor sat in his chair, crossed his legs, pulled out a cigarette and sniffed it under his nose, then tapped it a few times in his palm, "He's locked in prison like a dead dog. I'm a police officer - should I be afraid of him? Even if they come at me dirty, if someone outside wants to kill me for his sake, is their firepower fiercer than mine?"
"I'll sweep them dead with an AK-47."
"Just the two of us... I'm afraid..."
"What's to fear?" Victor held his cigarette between his fingers, "What business doesn't encounter trouble?"
"Drug lords?"
Victor spat, "We're police officers. Isn't catching drug lords part of our job?"
Victor glanced at him, "People in gray businesses either go ashore with fortunes or go underwater to sit in prison forever. We're the same. Do you think there's still a way back? Believe it or not, once you find your cousin and sell weapons, every gang in Mexico City will know there's a fat guy smuggling arms. Then... you'll be gnawed to nothing."
"Casare, my requirements for this life are very low. I want to sleep with women I've never had, I want people to stand up from their sofas to talk when they see me, I want everyone to shut up when I'm unhappy. I don't want to randomly find a woman, have a child, work hard half my life but end up poor, then one day get seriously ill and have my children - the son doing hard labor, the daughter becoming a prostitute - just to pay medical bills, while I lie in the hospital bed saying 'being ordinary is a blessing.' Fuck that, I want to get rich. If Jesus comes and blocks my path to wealth, I'll make him change Resurrection Sunday to Friday!"
He poured himself more wine as he spoke, raising his glass in a toast, "If we're going to play, let's play big. Right? Making money but afraid of risk? The bigger the risk, the more money!"
Casare had been a police officer for four or five years. Taking small money distributed by drug lords had long lost its appeal. He was so poor he could wash the white spots off his underwear to use as salt. Looking into Victor's eyes, he gritted his teeth, grabbed the remaining one-third of wine, and downed it in one go.
"Victor, whatever you say to do, I'll listen to you."
Casare's brain worked well, "But we're police officers. Some things are inconvenient for us to handle directly. We need to find someone to help."
Victor nodded, thinking he made a lot of sense. Suddenly a name came to mind, "Do you still remember Nuriel Best?"
Casare was startled hearing this name, "Wasn't his whole family killed by drug dealers?"
"He's still alive, living in Ximaxucan. I have his contact information."
This original body was honest in work and open in character, having quite a few "friends." Nuriel Best was one of them. Like Casare, he was also a police officer, and the three had worked together before.
However, he was quite ruthless and lustful. He had an affair with a drug dealer's mistress and was caught. Then his whole family suffered.
Two brothers were directly stuffed into barrels and filled with cement.
He didn't dare be a police officer anymore, afraid drug lords would know he wasn't dead and harm him. He usually hid around. The reason he stayed in contact with Victor was because the latter had once seen him in Ximaxucan.
"You want to bring him on board?"
Victor nodded, "Bring him on board. At least we know him to some extent. He's already a 'dead man' now, so many things are more convenient for him to do than us. For arms dealing, should we wear police uniforms?"
"But what's he doing lately?"
Casare frowned, "Seems like he's working as a middleman for people, selling information, helping make connections. But you know he's pretty lazy, living frugally. Besides being bold, he's good for nothing."
Being bold was good! As long as you're bold enough, the Queen of England takes maternity leave!
"Tomorrow you take leave. In the morning, take the weapons and do business with your cousin. Tell him that as long as the money's right, we have plenty of goods. We don't take drugs, just US dollars - not even rubles. I'll come out then, and we'll meet at the outside market."
Casare thought about it and nodded.
"Also, remember, if your cousin asks tomorrow where your goods come from, you can appropriately tell them some information. Tell them I have an uncle in the Soviet military who's an officer with deep connections. Even if he wants RPGs, we have them - just need some time."
Casare looked at him with surprise. He didn't remember Victor having relatives in the Soviet Union, but he wisely didn't ask.
"Downplay and obscure my existence. Don't tell him my name."
Unlike Mexican drug lords who loved to parade in front of their subordinates daily, Victor preferred keeping a low profile. Unless there were important matters, he didn't even plan to show himself. Casare was his glove.
Drug business was unavoidable - if your boss delegated power, after a subordinate stayed long enough and became familiar with production processes and had sales channels, he'd get ideas. Anyone could grow these raw materials.
Mexico's economic crops had all been switched to growing raw materials.
But arms were different. You simply had no goods. Could you randomly set up some machine tools and dare to start operations? As long as Victor controlled the supply, Casare couldn't run anywhere even if he wanted to.
Victor was going to pursue an official career.
He thought quite long-term. Casare didn't mind either - as long as there was money to be made, whatever Victor said went.
He stayed in his room until around 10 PM, then Casare opened the door and walked out with a backpack containing AK-47 components.
"Jesus bless us."
Victor lit a cigarette, crossed his legs, took a puff, and blew out a smoke ring, "Amen."
...
Mexico was a country very suitable for tourism.
You'd get very "high" early in the morning.
When encountering military burning of plantations, you could even ascend to heaven. Of course, this was just rhetorical exaggeration - which idiot would use fire?
Wouldn't that turn the whole country into addicts?
Casare took his leave slip, carried a dark gray bag, wore a baseball cap, and walked out of the prison. Just as Victor said, nobody cared when you left this place - no searches at all.
Before the millennium, when Guzman was caught, you know how he escaped?
He spent over two million dollars to have a janitor smuggle him out in a cleaning cart.
As soon as Casare left the prison gates, he saw groups of men standing on the left and right, looking at him unfriendly and pointing. Some even took out portraits for comparison - obviously here for revenge.
Casare's eyelids were trembling.
These guys might as well have "drug lord" written on their foreheads. If they drew guns and shot randomly, there'd be nowhere to hide in this area.
Casare took a deep breath, walked past them calmly, and at the bus stop saw a red car waiting. After checking the license plate, he opened the rear door and got in.
The car was already full with four people - a driver, a disheveled man with messy hair and stubble in the passenger seat, and two burly men in the back seat who looked tough.
"Cousin Casare, long time no see." The man in the passenger seat removed his sunglasses, turned around and greeted him with a smile.
Casare hugged his backpack. The car smelled of men - body odor mixed with foot odor. Seeing the other person, he pointed and said, "Dragan, how come you got a gold tooth?"
"Looks good, right? 3,000 pesos." The other said with slight pride.
Damn!
So expensive - that money could buy several lives in Mexico.
Casare cursed the waste in his heart but still smiled and gave a thumbs up, praising his good taste. Didn't he know what kind of person his cousin was?
Face-conscious. In this business, there were two things - wallet and face. If you didn't praise him and said he was wasteful, cousins or not, he'd fight you.
"What's this good stuff you told me about on the phone? I was supposed to take my boys to collect protection money, drove dozens of kilometers to get here. Don't tell me you're just messing with me." Dragan tilted his head slightly.
Casare opened his backpack, took out AK-47 components, and assembled them under Dragan's and the others' gaze - Victor had taught him all night yesterday.
"This is good stuff, right?" He patted the gun body and handed it over with a smile.
"Fuck! AK-47!"
Dragan uttered a classic curse, took the rifle, and pulled the bolt several times. The sound was very crisp, "Where did you get this?"
"We have people in the Soviet Union. Getting some weapons is simple. When I have good stuff, I think of you first. Do you want it?"
Dragan looked Casare up and down again, "Looks like you joined an organization with good prospects."
"Want to join? The Mexican government? The police force is hiring now." Casare said, "Is there any organization bigger than this?"
Dragan was choked by these words.
He was supposed to quit being a gang member to become a police officer?
Was his brain fried?
"I'll give you a good price for this gun. Just give me some shipping and handling fees. I hope you'll take care of my business in the future. How about $800? We're cousins - I wouldn't cheat you."