Working as a police officer in Mexico

Hundreds of people were engaged in an intense brawl, fighting viciously!

The police constantly blew their whistles below, their batons smashing down on the crowd involved in the fight.

Victor's men were trampled over as if they were drawings on the ground.

The entire scene was in utter chaos.

Screams, wails of pain, and cries were incessant.

Meanwhile, upstairs in the city hall, Victor and Alejandro watched in silence.

"Aren't you going to stop it, boss?" Casare asked softly at his side.

"The police are maintaining order, why stop it?"

Victor, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, pointed to the crowd below holding supportive signs, "Today they can support you like this, but if someday you can't meet their expectations, they can turn against you. You need to make them understand that even their cheers must have my approval!"

"Call an ambulance for them."

Casare nodded hurriedly and scurried off.

"Leave one deputy minister of the Baja California State security department for me," Victor said, gazing into the distance.

Alejandro was confused, "The number of people in the security department has been arranged."

"Then fire one!"

Victor looked at him, "What's the use of keeping useless people around? Here in Baja California, you and I have the say, everyone else? They can find somewhere else."

He was no longer satisfied with just 80 men in EDM; he had to climb the ranks, ascending in position so he could control more people.

Currently, there were barely 300 men on the island, and even though there were a thousand more in the training camp, Victor felt very insecure.

Mexican drug traffickers are too dangerous!

Benjamin: ?????

Sometimes, Alejandro also found Victor's toughness hard to swallow, but he himself was rather meek, and most importantly, he was afraid that the other party might beat him too.

All he could do was force a smile and nod, "I'll try my best to find a way."

"Don't be so dejected. We eliminated the Tijuana Cartel; you should demand some benefits from the old men in Mexico City. If they refuse, then criticize their philosophy on TV and make the public doubt their enthusiasm for drug prohibition. You've got to learn to boldly use the media."

"Can you curse at people?"

"Do you need me to teach you a few phrases?"

Victor clapped him on the shoulder, "Only those with personality are remembered by the people, Alejandro."

After the Millennium, many countries have seen peculiar characters.

Someone with their pants down can still hold sway; if they didn't have a big caliber at home, people would have died laughing already.

"Smile a little, don't look so sour."

Alejandro forced a smile.

"If a murderer can take a seat in the National Palace of Mexico, why can't you? Buddy, listen to me, it won't be long before you have to think about what posture to adopt when you take that position."

Victor straightened his suit for him and patted his shoulder, "We can't be satisfied with the present. Once we develop Dan Senada city properly, we'll be invincible. I plan to invest in several factories here; fancy a stake? Get the mayor involved and anyone else you think might be valuable."

You can't always threaten people with force.

Interests are the best ties.

Force is just something that makes these greedy people sit down and have a proper conversation.

"You're starting a factory??" Alejandro looked bewildered for a moment, hesitating, "Victor, drug traffickers can't make soap."

"????"

Even Victor had to laugh at this, "Buddy, what are you joking about? Dan Senada city and Guadalupe Island are both natural harbors; we can export fish, handicrafts, and even industrial products. Those protesters earlier were right; we need to create jobs for them. You don't want the entire city full of prostitutes, hobos, and thieves, do you?"

"In the political system, if you're not sitting at the table, you're on the menu."

"We need development!"

Mexico isn't actually poor.

They have avocados and many other things besides; vegetables have been their major export for ten consecutive years, and auto parts are even sold as far as Southeast Asia. In 1989, the domestic output was 214.03 billion US dollars.

But where does all this money go?

Clap your hands and it disappears.

A dog guarding the treasury might bark a few times as someone tries to take the money, but put a Mexican bureaucrat there, and he'll stuff extra money into his underwear.

The longest record was the delay of public servants' salaries for over three months.

If it had not been for the "pocket money" from local drug traffickers, the system might have completely collapsed.

The countries in the Latin American region are always filled with magical realism.

Alejandro suddenly felt that Victor was a leader "with ideals and ambitions," at least one with a more sound mind.

"Leave it to me. I'll make sure the city hall gives the best benefits," he promised.

He also wanted to develop Ensenada City into a major Mexican harbor city.

He could collect so much in taxes...

No, that's called maintaining stability, eradicating drug traffickers.

"Knock knock knock~"

After knocking, a female secretary wearing high heels walked in—a notch higher in quality than the ones on Viguadalupe Island; Victor liked this type, with generous curves.

"Boss!"

Casare suddenly burst in from outside, looking serious. He glanced at the woman, frowned, and whispered in Victor's ear, "The Gulf Cartel has announced that they are taking over the Tijuana Cartel's turf."

"Oh?"

Victor's eyebrows twitched as he pinched his cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke, "Abrego's nose is quite sensitive."

"Have the other organizations agreed?"

Casare shook his head, "Sinaloa and Juarez disagree, a large-scale conflict has erupted in Mexicali, and local military police are suppressing it."

"Governor Rafael Max must be having a headache now," Victor said with a touch of schadenfreude.

"Should we send someone over?"

"Whoever enters that quagmire dies; it's not an island, our few men wouldn't even suffice to fill their teeth gaps."

Offensive and defensive battles are entirely different,

Wait for them to fight their brains out, and then promote the scene under "Uncle Victor's" rule."

By then, there will definitely be many people hoping for us to "liberate" the whole of Lower California.

That's what the people desire, the unanimous wish!

The main problem now is the lack of manpower, funds, and firepower.

He glanced at his points.

29800000!

No, it's still too little, maybe have Harris blow up the Third District of Plateau Prison?

Anyway...

Those old drug traffickers are useless to keep around!

The useful ones are in the First Prison Zone and the Second District; they work on sewing machines.

Casare stood by the side, for some reason always feeling a chill.

"But issue a statement, warning the three parties not to harm innocent civilians, or we will retaliate!"

...

Mexicali, the capital of Baja California.

This relatively wealthy city of Mexico was now suffering a catastrophe.

Battles were everywhere.

Masked drug traffickers wielding weapons were indiscriminately shooting at fleeing pedestrians.

Some local social gangs were looting everywhere, causing chaos.

The stationed military police were being driven back in defeat; even many surrendered on their knees, yet they were still executed by the drug traffickers.

Inside his office toilet, Governor Rafael Max was hiding in a panicked state, listening to the gunfire outside, his hands trembling with age.

Boom!

A loud noise as the office door was kicked open, followed by the sound of messy footsteps entering; Rafael Max's nervous hands gripped the small handgun tightly.

Holding his breath and listening to the sound of drawers being rummaged outside,

But...

After all, he was getting on in years; he lost his footing and directly sat on the toilet, making a sound.

"Damn it!"

Rafael Max's eyes widened as the person at the door began spraying bullets into the toilet, emptying their magazine.

The Governor is dead... Find your next read at mvl

The toilet door opened, revealing two bandits wearing masks, armed with AK47s. One glanced at Rafael Max's gold watch, swiftly stripped it off, and even pried out his gold teeth.

"Hurry! Let's go, the cops are coming."

"Don't rush, let me check a bit more; what's the hurry, I knew these officials are rich."

In the end, they even took the leather shoes.

It's a sad state of affairs when a Governor dies in his own office!

...