Working as a police officer in Mexico

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Oligarchic pressure?

Aguilar hesitated for a moment, then shook his head, "My personal doctor has told me that judging from Victor's outward behavior, this man... definitely has mental issues, he has a severe tendency towards violence. I don't think such a person would bow to so-called reality."

To be labeled as having a "violent tendency" by a Mexican drug cartel leader known for violence indicates that they were probably scared stiff.

"Compared to warlords, oligarchs can't even stop a 7.62 bullet with their US dollars. I admit the method you mentioned might be possible, but... we can't entirely rely on the Gulf Group's pressure on the new Cuauhtémoc government. If we encounter someone who doesn't play by the rules, he will really flip the table."

Guzman frowned and looked at Aguilar, "Then what do you suggest we do?"

"Apart from the external pressure you mentioned, I think we should unite."

"How do we unite? Aren't we united enough now? We've been forced to unite by the beatings," Abrego grumbled under his breath.

The Gulf Group has been having a hard time recently. Not to mention domestically—they're all tears—but their market share in the United States has been devoured by drug trafficking groups from Italy, the Golden Triangle, and even Africa, causing quite a few conflicts.

Damn it!

It seems like everyone thinks the Mexican drug organizations are easy to bully, all coming for a bite.

Aguilar fiddled with a string of jade necklaces in his left hand, his penchant for luxury goods well-known within the circle, legs crossed, "We should perhaps form a new Guadalajara Cartel."

As soon as these words were spoken, there was a sudden silence in the air.

The audacious Guzman was also stunned by this idea, his eyebrows knitted tightly together. Are you kidding me?

It was hard enough for Gallardo to end up in prison, now it was our turn to be our own bosses, and you are telling me you want to merge now?

Isn't that just going down the old path?

He didn't speak and glanced at Abrego, whose features were almost squeezed together, picking up the coffee on the table and downing it in one gulp, making Guzman's face twitch.

After finishing his coffee, Abrego took a deep breath, "Then who's going to be the boss? We can't just fish Gallardo out of prison, can we?"

This subject...

Everyone wanted to be the big boss.

Members of criminal groups all have ambitions and are unlikely to stay subordinate for long. The Guadalajara Cartel may have offended the United States, but Gallardo wasn't arrested until 1989!

A scholar from the Mexican Agricultural Institute (Quintero) was used as a scapegoat and sent to jail.

This means that between 1985 and 1989, the Camarena incident could only have been bone-breaking for Gallardo but shouldn't have led to his downfall.

The main factor was that other cartels within had grown unsatisfied with merely being members of the Plaza System.

I want to be the boss!!

Many within had helped fan the flames of Gallardo's imprisonment.

In a set of files published by the CIA in 2006, members of the drug trafficking group had provided DEA with information about a warehouse belonging to Gallardo in San Francisco, USA, filled with dozens of tons of drugs.

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That must have been the last straw.

Hearing Abrego say this, Aguilar, who obviously had given it much thought, said, "We could be joint decision-makers!"

"We'll only proceed with things that all three of us agree on. Each person has one veto. If one person disagrees with a decision, it's not allowed to be executed!"

"Besides us, I also think we should invite Colombia's Medellin and Cali Cartels, as well as some military strongmen from Salvador and the Guatemalan military to join us, forming a real 'North American Drug Trafficking Association!'"

Aguilar, having formerly held a significant position, was distinctively different, accustomed to major events, and even drug trafficking groups needed diplomacy, "Apart from us, the newly joined cartels won't have a veto right. They can only use our channels and connections, but they have to pay an annual membership fee!"

"A tightly-knit organization can prevent us from being caught in one swoop."

"The era of going it alone has to end, we need greater unity!"

Guzman and Abrego looked at each other.

They acknowledged Aguilar's ambition was indeed grand. Gallardo, at most, dealt within Mexico, but you're talking about encompassing the whole of North America, and what about all of Latin America next?

Fuck...

If they organize like this, even the Yanks would be scared!

The drug trafficking industry itself is a field with a violent factor of 9.9, and if this group were to rush into the United States, one can imagine what impact it would have on local public safety!

You can't just launch missile attacks on drug traffickers, can you?

Aguilar grew more and more excited as he spoke, "We all strictly prohibit internal struggles, divide profits according to shares in the company. If you agree, I will hire the most authoritative company on Wall Street to provide us with the best advice on equity."

Those people on Wall Street, as long as they see money, they'll do anything. What, you deal drugs? So what, as long as you have money, you are our client.

Even facing the CIA, they dare to stand firm!

We are tax-paying legal citizens; what are you supposed to be?

Those in finance fear only the IRS (tax office); what else? The CIA? DEA? If you dare to investigate, we'll grab guns and show you that even financial elites in suits can be white-collar bandits.

Aguilar looked at Guzman and Abrego, sat up a little straighter, jabbing his finger on the table forcefully, his gaze sharp, "There are just three words for this organization, fair! Fair! And still, damn fair!"

"If this can't be achieved, we might as well disband sooner. You all know how the Guadalajara Cartel collapsed. We either don't do it, or we become the largest drug trafficking organization in all of North America, if not the whole of Latin America!"

Medellin alone has 40,000 soldiers, add to that the various Mexican cartels, other countries' warlords...

Abrego seemed to have thought through this and licked his lips, eyes gleaming, "I agree!"

"What about Victor then? I'll turn him into dead crap!"

The two turned to Guzman.

"I agree, too, but I propose that negotiations with the government and the new organization should be conducted, and we should inform the other Mexican drug cartels. If they don't join us, then we eliminate them!"

"No problem!"

Aguilar readily agreed, mainly happy to see his suggestion accepted, smiling broadly, "I'll have Arman make a trip to Colombia, he's quite familiar with the area."

He was in a hurry and intended to call his second in command, Arman. He had just picked up his phone when it rang first.

"Hello?" Aguilar straightened his left hand, tugged at his clothes, and leaned back comfortably, but as soon as he settled, his body abruptly tensed up, and his voice changed.

"What! Arman has been captured!!"

...

"What! Arman has been caught?"

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Kennedy was startled to hear the report from his subordinate.

"Yes, he was captured by a few local police officers from Tijuana, they were really brave, charging in with World War II weapons," the officer said with a smile on his face.

The "General Killer" Armando was the latest "Supernova" to rise to fame, having taken out two generals, a rare feat indeed.

Unlike Zambada of Sinaloa, who didn't have much real power anymore (a marginal figure), Armando was the second in command in Juarez, overseeing transportation, production, and sales.

His capture was a major blow to Juarez.

"Where is he?" Kennedy asked urgently.

"By the Tijuana Heroes Monument."

...

Bang!

A gunstock slammed heavily onto Armando's face, completely collapsing his face, likely altered by several plastic surgeries, leaving his nose skewed and his face badly bruised; his clothes were tattered, his appearance filthy.

"You laughing now? Why the hell aren't you laughing?" a Senior Police Sergeant from the EDM gripped his hair, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he looked down at him.

Armando stared back fiercely.

"I just love your defiant look." The Senior Police Sergeant punched him in the eyes again, provoking a scream of pain from Armando.

The members of the "Pescador mexicano" (Mexican Fisherman) stood smoking nearby; the group originally numbered seven and was now down three, clearly having lost them in the fight.

Svet squatted down, squinting as he watched, feeling a sense of satisfaction.

"Mr. Victor's... officers are really violent," Piet, his childhood friend, remarked at his side.

In other places, beating drug traffickers usually involves wearing masks; neither the fat ones nor the skinny ones dare to go without it, fearing recognition by their physique might lead to their families being wiped out. But this group was different.

As a cop dealing with traffickers, why would I need to cover my face?

How suffocating is that?

I became a cop to enjoy the thrill of killing drug traffickers!

The other members nodded in agreement when they heard Piet say this.

"But their equipment is indeed top-notch. Look at that Senior Police Sergeant, with a 9mm Browning (High-Power) Model 1935 pistol on each side, better armed than the Tijuana Chief of Police," a companion said with a wry smile.

"Without a large enough caliber, you can't kill a drug trafficker," Piet sighed.

"Stop hitting him! The boss is here," another officer said, pulling away his colleague who was still attacking Armando.

The latter still kicked the man in the face.

"Look at that face of yours! Makes me want to hit you."

Kennedy approached with Zolf Sherman and Damon Hesfu Zola, head of the Mexican National Emergency Squad (EDN). Seeing Armando on the ground, he frowned, "Damn it, he's beaten to such a state, how can I identify him?"

"Don't worry, boss, it's definitely Armando. How about we chop off one of his fingers and do a DNA test?"

"Get out of here, help him get up," Kennedy ordered.

Two officers helped Armando to his feet, and indeed, he was a strong man, not uttering a single word of surrender.

"Son of a bitch! Who cut out his tongue?!!!"

Kennedy turned around angrily, cursing.

No wonder he's not talking. Is he supposed to speak with his ass?

The EDM officers he glared at lowered their heads, and one Senior Police Sergeant said with a forced smile, "Boss, maybe he lost it on his own."

"Get out of my sight!"

Kennedy grabbed Armando's chin, "He's useless now!"

"Add a new rule from now on, no cutting the tongues of drug traffickers randomly."

The EDM guys looked at each other, silently communicating.

Next time, cut the ears!

Yeah, ears are useless.

"Keep a close eye on him. In a couple of days, we'll hold a public trial in front of the TV cameras, to show everyone the price of breaking the law," Kennedy decreed.

"Aren't we handing him over to Mr. Victor?" asked Damon Hesfu Zola.

"He's of no use without a tongue. Just report to the boss later," Kennedy said, waving his hand, indicating that not everything should bother the boss; they would talk if they caught someone on the level of Guzman.

"What about those Tijuana police officers?"

"Over there, hey, Svet!" an officer called out eagerly, waving.

The members of Pescador mexicano in haste threw down their cigarettes and sprinted over.

Kennedy looked at them approvingly, "Good job, you lived up to your badges. What would you like?" Your next chapter awaits on empire

"We were just doing our duty, sir!" Svet stood at attention.

"But credit where credit's due. Tell me what you want, and if it's in my power, I'll grant it."

The men glanced at each other.

"Could we meet Mr. Victor?" Piet asked softly. "We have great respect for him."

Kennedy pondered for a moment, "I will speak to the Director about it. You guys take a few days off."

"Sir, we can still fight; we're police officers and should be on the front lines," Svet said eagerly.

That's the spirit!

"Then you will operate alongside the Mexican National Emergency Squad. Damon, take good care of them," Kennedy instructed the EDN Commander, patting Svet's shoulder, "You have a promising future!"

...