Working as a police officer in Mexico

Plateau Prison entrance.

Underneath an ice cream truck.

Ryan looked at the chocolate ice cream in his hand with a complex expression, "Do you like this kind?"

"How is it? The taste is fantastic, right?" Best licked his ice cream and smiled at Casare beside him, "This is what I wanted most when I was a kid. To get it, I used to pick through trash with my brother and sister. Three of us would share one ice cream."

He might just be fulfilling a dream from his childhood now.

Ryan nodded, then complimented before handing over the briefcase, "This is all for bullets. I'll come pick them up."

Best took it, feeling its weight, and joked, "This is quite heavy, don't you want the gun?"

"No need for the gun, just the bullets. Though today, a Deputy Police Commissioner came; they seem to be investigating the origin of the AK47s," Ryan recounted the day's events.

"What did you say that Deputy Police Commissioner's name was?"

"Danilo Sanborn."

At once, Best felt a headache coming on, rubbing his forehead, "That mad dog."

"What? You know him?"

"He has some background, the stepson of Pedro Aviles, son of a big drug trafficker. He's so poor he had to rent a room, and even his girlfriend thought he was so broke she left him," Casare revealed more of his secrets.

"People give him money, and he won't take it, but he's very persistent in catching criminals. I've seen him before when I was at the Mexico Police Department, during my internship. Almost every day he would bring in a drug trafficker, but he's also clever, rarely touching the big drug trafficker's people, or else he would've been dead by now."

"Later, the director got annoyed with him and wrote him an assessment report to promote him."

Ryan found it hard to believe. Could there be such a person in Mexico?

"He's like a dog. Once he's onto you, you're going to pay the price," Best frowned.

"So we take him out?" Ryan said sinisterly.

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"Wait, let me think," suddenly, Casare shouted.

Casare always wanted to make a name for himself using his status as Deputy Police Commissioner, "Isn't he investigating the Tepito district shooting? Let's catch the shooter first."

"You really know who the shooter is?" Ryan glanced at him.

"I'm a police officer. Of course, I know about criminal activities," Casare said it nonchalantly, set on making it seem like his aunt came back to life.

Such people are truly ruthless.

Tsk, tsk, tsk~

After finishing their ice cream, they went their separate ways.

Now, Casare was quite stylish, entering and exiting the prison without even needing to report. The guards at the door would help open it for him and even ask him how he was doing with a bit of flattery.

Because he was Victor's man!

In the past, seeing Victor meant you'd run if you could.

But not anymore. In the prison, he was known as the "God of Wealth". If you were in need of money and came to him, even if he couldn't fulfill your "outrageous demands", he would still give you some token appearance fee.

The best way to get through to both heaven and earth was with money.

It's too exhausting trying to grind through time.

Best, carrying the briefcase, went up to the new office on the second floor. He knocked, waited for someone inside to respond, then pushed the door open, "Boss Victor, the money has arrived."

Victor was holding a copy of "One Hundred Years of Solitude".

You have to have some literary culture, right? It's uncivilized to be cursing like 'fucking this and fucking that' in conversation.

In so-called high society, of course you have to be rich first, then you have to know how to pretend. No matter how lowly you are, you need to act passionately and refinedly, though inside everyone is hypocritical.

"Exchange all of it for bullets for him. We keep half of the money and the rest we distribute to the heads of each prison zone, including the Deputy Warden," Victor instructed Casare.

The remaining half was more than 24,000 US dollars, averaging nearly 4,000 US dollars per person.

At once, Casare began to feel the pinch, as he was somewhat greedy, "Boss, that's too much?"

"Feeling reluctant to part with the money?" Victor asked, turning to him with a smile.

Casare nodded, "Giving a little less is also fine."

Best nodded along at the side.

"When everything's been given, what's a little more? The paths we walk in the civil service aren't like those in the underworld; we must make as many friends as possible," Victor stood up, pulled out a cigarette, stuffed it into Casare's mouth, and lit it for him before continuing.

"The way money's being collected now is too chaotic, Webster doesn't understand the meaning of unity at all. He just keeps stuffing the money from the drug lords into his pockets; do you think the people below him don't have opinions about this?"

"If you eat the lion's share, you need to let others have their cut. If you don't give everyone the opportunity to make money, how will they respect you? How are you going to get promoted?"

Casare felt this made a lot of sense, but still hesitantly raised a concern, "But we can't always be the ones shelling out the money."

"Once I get the badge of a Police Commissioner, I'll be able to pull Webster down. We operate a bit, and I'll act as the Warden for a while. By then, every criminal in the First Prison Zone will pay 300 Pesos per month, each one in the Second District 500 Pesos, and each one in the Third District 20,000. After all, they have the money; how much do you think we'll make in a month?"

Victor touched his police insignia, "That money, we'll distribute throughout the prison according to rank—who really runs the prison if we get to that point?"

Casare's scalp tingled at this grand plan.

He had no idea how much money they would be bringing in each month with such a "salary" system, but if it really was implemented, even if a Warden really was parachuted in from above, he would be rendered powerless by Victor.

Interests were intertwined.

"Isn't this playing a bit too big?"

"What, you scared? I remember a line from a TV show I watched: either we don't be corrupt, or if we are, we go for the big money, and stop pussyfooting around like we used to. Those who are in with us can stay; those who aren't, well, just let them get the hell out of here. Besides, we're not taking dirty money; this is a sanitation fee.

We mop their floors and wash their cells while they're locked up; if they don't pay a little for that, does it even make sense?"

This was called a legal method.

Money—could it even be illegal? It all comes from Mexican banks anyway.

"But promotions still have to be based on achievements, right?" Victor patted Casare's shoulder and asked.

Was this a reminder to himself?

Casare furrowed his brow, then suddenly relaxed, "Boss, I think when faced with justice and family, I should choose the former. When can we arrest Dragan?"

Damn it!

Indeed, "justice."

Casare had been a little carried away by Victor's "grand blueprint"—it's all about achievements, isn't it?

I'll sell out my cousin for you.

"Did your aunt agree?"

"She'll have another one," Casare said confidently and then relayed the conversation he had at the prison gate with Ryan to Victor, "I had someone follow Dragan; he won't escape."

"I can help your aunt," Best interjected from the side.

"Well done, and you're right, we can't keep all the credit for ourselves. Think about it, who should we share a piece of this cake with?"

"What do you think about Alejandro?" Casare thought for a moment and proposed a name. "But it seems like we just offended him, not sure if the Director of the Prison Administration Bureau holds grudges."

"He's petty? This piece of cake is enough to broaden his views. Go find a few more likable folks in the prison. When we go to arrest Dragan, they can get involved, earn some merits, and everyone can get promoted together."

Victor felt this choice was not bad. If he could get a piece and play it right, maybe he could jump even higher up the ranks. That way, he'd have someone to lean on, and Mexico's new generation would have a better protection umbrella.

Dragging people down into such schemes—when the benefits were enough, they would jump in themselves.

Human greed never stops.

Casare nodded eagerly, already having a few people in mind who were typically nice to him; it was time to help them out.

As for Dragan?

Sorry about that!!

You'll be inconvenienced a bit, stepping out a few decades early. When the time comes, I'll definitely take good care of my aunt, don't worry, you won't be upset.

Your cousin, more than anything, just wants to climb higher.

"You arrange to have dinner with your cousin, then you can anonymously tip off Sanborn," Victor suddenly spoke up nonchalantly from the side, his words light but laden with the filth of scheming!

...