Working as a police officer in Mexico

I had 13 pairs of twos in my hand, and I thought I had a sure win by cheating.

Who would have thought the guy would pull out a royal flush and didn't even bother to disguise it, just flipped the table over.

In this part of the "resume," he saw a familiar name.

Theo Carlos Vieira!

His biological father.

His death indeed had foul play involved, but who would have thought the killer would be the senior who'd been "looking after" him all this time?

Just thinking about it sent shivers down his spine.

"Victor, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?" Webster asked softly as he put away his pen, "Do you need to rest for a couple more days?"

"No, no need." Victor waved his hand, forcing a smile, "Just a bit of a headache, it's nothing."

"So, what do you think of my proposal? The First Prison Zone is relatively safe."

Victor looked up and into the other's eyes, calm, concerned… benevolent?

Just like a senior truly considering his junior's best interest!

Damn it!

Victor felt a craving for a cigarette. Seeing one on the table, he pointed and asked, "Can I have one?"

Webster was taken aback at the request, looked down at the cigarette box with a smile, and nodded, "Of course." He pushed the box forward, indicating for him to help himself.

Just as Victor took a cigarette and put it in his mouth, he heard Webster say, "Victor, I remember you don't smoke, do you?"

He paused slightly in his movements.

"The stress has been too much lately, smoking helps me relax."

Webster didn't pry any further.

"Where's the most dangerous place in our prison?" Victor suddenly asked.

"The Third District, heavy crime area."

"Then I want to go to the Third District."

Webster's brows furrowed as if he heard something unbelievable, fell silent for a moment, then laughed, "Is today April Fool's Day?"

"Certainly not, sir. I just feel it's my duty. As a federal officer, I should be on the most dangerous front line, where the public needs me the most. I remember my oath..."

Webster's expression was quite expressive.

In Mexico, you remember your police duties?

Buddy, isn't this like playing with a lighter next to a gas canister—Abe—crows flying planes?

Drug enforcement has to rely on the navy.

This chapter upload first at NovelUsb.Com

The army? Those idiots have long since turned traitor.

Victor wasn't a fool, either. The leaders of the Third District sounded intimidating, but they were under strict control; they were only let out once every half-month, and unlike the First and Second Districts, the Third District's armed forces were significantly increased, with permission to carry HM-3 9mm submachine guns!

The usual Glock 17s weren't bad, either, the same as what the Yanks next door used. Of course, this was only for important facilities like El Altiplano. The other minor police stations?

Having a revolver would be pretty good.

They even turned into a joke where the police station in Alvarado City used slingshots, as personally ordered by the mayor, that twit must have taken drug traffickers' money.

Slingshots?

As long as the firepower is strong enough, I'm safe enough!

Most importantly, Mr. Gao felt that this prison was like a huge cage, trapping him tightly, uncertain when he could actually be killed by someone, and besides, his Golden Finger was useless in prison.

He surely couldn't intentionally let them escape and recapture them, right?

And next to Golden Finger was a small note: Subordinates' catches also count as points.

Isn't this just encouraging me to climb up as hard as possible?

The best approach would be a dispatch to some remote place to serve as a small Director. Mexican Police is extremely dangerous, with dozens dying every day, and it's common for Directors to come and go.

But Victor had no backing. It wouldn't be easy to jump out of this cage.

So, the only option was to go to the Third District to see if there were any "big legs" to cling to.

He wasn't a man with moral scruples. If he could please the "boss" well, wouldn't riches and honor be just a word away?

That's how society is. When you don't have the power to change the world, learn to bow your head first.

There's nothing shameful about it. Pretentiousness?

Can your skull withstand a 7.62 bullet?

Kennedy was pierced by a 6.5 mm bullet and didn't even have time to say a word.

Seeing Victor didn't seem to be bullshitting, Webster's frown deepened even more, but soon relaxed, and he chuckled dryly, "I'll consider it. The police force is lacking your kind of enthusiasm."

"Thank you, sir!" Victor stood up with the cigarette in his mouth and saluted.

Webster nodded with a smile, "Get back to work, and if you encounter any difficulty, you can come to me, Victor, my door is always open for you."

I want to put a hole in your forehead...

Of course, that was just said in his mind. With 21,000 criminal points, I could exchange a lot of stuff.

But Lu Xun once said: When you cannot challenge someone, sheathe your blade, learn to stick your tongue out, hypocrisy is also a form of self-preservation.

Coming out of the office, Victor even closed the door behind, adjusting his hat, he looked left and right, then headed towards the canteen, greeting familiar colleagues with a smile as he passed.

"¡Siéntate! (Sit down)!"

Entering the canteen, he saw sitting inmates, about a hundred or so. The Second District had a larger population, with more than two thousand people. They had to eat in batches, afraid of any trouble.

The jail guards were loudly ordering with megaphones.

The inmates didn't care at all, some even giggled after sitting down and whispered among themselves, not giving a damn.

Victor was also a Sergeant, serving as the deputy head of the Second District, covering areas including the canteen, airing out, and showering. The work was not only tiring but also made enemies.

"Victor." Casare stood at the entrance of the canteen with his hands behind his back, catching a glimpse of Victor's shadow, he promptly called out.

Victor's facial muscles relaxed slightly as he walked over, but as he was about to speak, a commotion erupted. He whipped his head around and saw a black man with dirty dreadlocks, speaking rapidly and very agitatedly, violently throwing plates and cursing. People nearby started to egg him on.

The jail guards shouted nervously at him to sit down, but he ignored them completely.

"Who's that?"

Casare squinted and stood on tiptoe for a better look, his memory was good, "Friedson Kulman, a key member of the Millennium Group."

"Millennium Group?" The name sounded familiar. They must have had some celebrities. "Did they pay?"

Casare was taken aback but then he understood what he meant, "No, the Millennium Group never pays."

"In my place, not paying and still acting so arrogant? Interesting," Victor said with an annoyed chuckle, pulling the plastic stick from Casare's waist.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" Casare quickly grabbed him and asked.

"What am I doing? I'm going to make him understand that poor players should keep a low profile." Victor spat on the ground.

"You bastards! We won't eat this pig feed. I want caviar! I want fruit, you sons of bitches, go feed the pigs," Friedson Kulman yelled loudly.

People nearby cheered, joining in.

"Yeah! We want caviar! And I want a woman, I want to do it!"

"Women! Women! Women!"

The people around were pounding on the tables and chanting.

Friedson Kulman was smug about it. In the criminal world, it's all about showing off. Even if you get hacked to death, you'll make the news.

"Caviar? You f***ing paying for it?"

As Friedson Kulman heard the voice from the side and turned, a stick came crashing toward his head. It was too late to dodge; he was struck and flopped to the ground.

Covering his head, blood poured everywhere.

"F*** you all! Starting trouble? You didn't pay and you start trouble, eat caviar? I'll feed you shit," Victor yelled, swinging the stick and smashing it down hard.

He didn't hold back.

"Hey, hey! What are you doing? Stop it."

"Pull him back."

"Kill the cop!"

The atmosphere grew increasingly tense. Casare was very nervous, and the jail guards standing on the second-floor perimeter were already sounding the alarm.

A brawny man with year rings tattooed on his head was closest and moved fiercely to grab Victor, but Victor spun around, drew his gun, and shoved it into the man's mouth, all in one fluid motion.

"Make another sound and I'll blow your mouth apart."

A foreign object in his mouth, the brawny man became even fiercer, not scared at all, wailing and arrogantly pointing to his own temple as if challenging, "Shoot me dead!"

Bang!

The gun fired!

Instantly, the cafeteria fell silent. The brawny man clutched his left ear, screaming, blood seeping through his fingers, a severed ear lying on the floor.

"Shut your mouth!" Victor stepped hard on the man's mouth and put his finger to his own lips, "Shh, you're too loud, you know?"

Friedson Kulman was stunned with fear.

The jail guard...

Dared to shoot first?

That's not very Mexican.

"Everyone, get down! Don't think I'm joking. Anyone still standing will make my hand jittery, and I won't know where the bullets might go," Victor said with an unfriendly tone.

Most of those who end up in prison aren't fools. Those too stubborn are already dead. They all understand the saying, "Only the wise survive."

They obediently squatted down.

Just as he had gotten the situation under control, he heard footsteps. The emergency response team rushed in. Haggis Baird's face was dark. When he saw the scene, he raised an eyebrow, "What happened here?"

Casare hurriedly explained the situation from the beginning.

Haggis Baird nodded, "Take the injured to the infirmary, lock the ringleader Friedson in solitary, and starve the rest for three days."

After speaking, he turned to Victor and seeing his nonchalant demeanor, a flash of surprise crossed his eyes. He said solemnly, "I will report this to the Warden."

Their direct superior had been injured and supposedly couldn't work normally, so they were reporting directly to Webster.

"Of course, by the book," Victor said casually.

His actions were by the book. If threatened, he was permitted to use a weapon. This was Plateau Prison, not an ordinary jail. You had to be a murderer to get in.

Haggis Baird eyed him, "The man you just injured is not just anybody. He's the cousin of the leader of the Desan Knights."

Victor stared right back at him. The other frowned but held the gaze. However, it wasn't long before he felt his eyes sting and gave in.

"Do you know Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas?"

"What's that?" Haggis Baird furrowed his brow. He felt belittled, and his tone wasn't good.

"A president of the United States once lay there. Is there anyone of higher status than him?"

Victor chuckled, patting his shoulder and making a gun gesture with his fingers by his temple, "No matter how high your status, bang, one shot and you're dead. Isn't that right, Mr. Haggis Baird?"

Fury surged in Haggis Baird, who was about to speak when Mr. Gao pushed him aside and walked away. Casare hesitated, then gave an apologetic smile to the former and followed.

"F***! Son of a bitch!"

Haggis Baird kicked the dining table, his face sagging with anger.

"Victor, saying that, aren't you afraid he'll retaliate?" Casare caught up with a worried look.

"A tortoise might hide from a machete, but it can't escape a bomb. Now that we're enemies, it's do or die. Besides, if I don't make some noise, how will certain people be convinced to make a move?" Victor spoke cryptically, puzzling Casare.

"Just be careful," Casare said.

"Don't worry, I was at the hospital last week. The doctor told me my bone density is thicker than a bulletproof vest."

...