Working as a police officer in Mexico

Dawn was just breaking.

The early-rising Jail Guards were met with a horrifying scene.

A man in pajamas, his face covered in a beard, hung limply in mid-air, wrists bound behind his back, bearing an expression of death.

The Jail Guards, unsure of the situation, pointed and questioned each other.

"What's going on? What time is it? Isn't it time for a shift change?" Casare, with dark circles under his eyes, approached and demanded with a scowl to see the crowd around him.

Many Jail Guards hurriedly walked away, while a fair number who were on good terms with him remained.

"Warden Casare, who is that?" a Jail Guard sporting a Sergeant's insignia offered a cigarette, his face eager to please.

Casare hesitated, but knowing they would find out soon enough, he took the cigarette and muttered begrudgingly, "Olivier."

Eager to ensure he understood, he added, "He did what Franz did yesterday."

The Sergeant's eyes widened in shock, but Casare didn't want to talk more and walked away with his hands behind his back; watching his retreating figure, the Sergeant swallowed hard, shocked by the news.

In less than half an hour, almost everyone knew the man hanging on the playground was Olivier, and had learned from someone in the know that Warden Victor had personally led a team to capture him.

And that there had been an intense gunfight.

Warden Victor, already quite popular within the prison, gained a massive wave of favor.

"Did you have someone deliberately spread the word?" Best whispered to Casare.

The latter was gnawing on a chicken roll, "When you do something, it should be high-profile. Otherwise, who would know what you've done? Everything covertly done might as well not have been done at all. It's called political prestige, do you understand?"

Best admitted he was right but, as a naturally cautious person, he felt that not all the Jail Guards were compliant, and some miscreants were still in cahoots with drug traffickers outside.

There's no telling what unexpected problems might arise.

Nine in the morning.

Warden Victor appeared on the playground on time, and Casare had already arranged for 200 inmates and 100 Jail Guards to act as "spectators." Plateau Prison had too many people to bring them all out.

If you were to seriously gather over 5,000 inmates and a riot broke out, that wouldn't be a laughing matter.

Victor wasn't foolish enough for that.

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He just picked out a few troublemakers typically to set an example.

The inmates, schooled through experience, dared not whisper to each other now, but their eyes brimmed with anger, feeling their dignity was being insulted.

Just as Warden Victor was about to go up and say a few words, he saw Casare hurry over, "Webster has called Pier Luigi here."

The name sounded very familiar.

After thinking for a moment, it seemed to be one of the two Deputy Directors of the Prison Administration Bureau.

Alejandro had indicated that the Deputy Directors didn't usually get along well with him but became more courteous after he was honored with a promotion, perhaps knowing he was about to transfer.

A position was about to become vacant.

Webster accompanied a middle-aged man who looked very capable, his gaze cold and predatory, evidently not someone to be trifled with.

"What are you doing, Victor?" Pier Luigi lifted his head to glance at the hanging Olivier, frowning, "Punishing prisoners privately is against regulations."

"Ah sir, I'm illiterate, can't understand regulations,"

"But I know he's a drug trafficker, and he tried to attack the prison yesterday to break out an inmate, but we caught him. I'm just teaching him a lesson."

"An attack? In pajamas? Victor, are you joking?" Webster couldn't help but interject.

"Can't shoot in pajamas? You go sit on sofas at a woman's house with your ass bare; don't think I'm unaware, officer!"

His words almost caused the onlookers to laugh out loud.

Webster's face turned red, and Pier Luigi gestured with his hand for him to be quiet before stepping forward to confront Victor, coming close face to face, "I've heard about you, Victor. You've been doing well lately, but sometimes don't take things too seriously. I know you follow Alejandro, but he's about to transfer, so some things might change."

Victor laughed at this, turning to look at Webster, "So, you choose to side with him, right?" Glancing at his watch, he added, "Officer, time's up. If you feel like giving a speech, maybe you should head to a pub, where the strippers will applaud you."

Pier Luigi's brow twitched, anger flashing across his face, as he reached for Victor. But Victor countered with a punch, landing squarely on Pier Luigi's left cheek, causing him to stagger.

Victor followed up with a kick that knocked him to the ground, and, not yet appeased, landed a series of hooks on Pier Luigi, not holding back, swelling his eye like a rock.

Grabbing Pier Luigi by the hair, Victor whispered harshly by his ear, "Sir! You have bad breath and your words are so bothersome. I can't stand people who fuss and nag!"

With force, he slammed Pier Luigi's head onto a nearby table.

Thud!

He lay on the ground like a dead dog, his face covered in blood.

All was silent.

Webster's eyes were wide in disbelief, astonished that Victor dared to assault a superior.

Isn't a deputy director still a director?

"Have someone take him to the infirmary, put the medical expenses on my tab."

Victor pulled out a chocolate from his pocket, popped it into his mouth, and the sweetness instantly swept through his brain, significantly improving his mood.

He looked at Webster, patted his face, "Warden, you've really pissed me off. Don't bother coming in tomorrow."

Reverse firing!

Of course, he knew what Webster meant; it was nothing more than seeing his own power grow and sensing that he would lose his say in Plateau Prison. He was too fond of that power to let go, wanting Pier Luigi to suppress him.

Isn't this what office politics are all about?

Even you, a senior on the verge of retirement after thirty years, think you can boss around the newcomers.

Victor wasn't going to indulge him.

If you've got the guts, shoot me.

If you don't, get the hell out of my sight.

As for dismissing him?

He was just in the news, freshly promoted; you're going to dismiss him now? Wouldn't that be slapping your own face?

As long as I'm lawless, no one can nag in my ear.

And even if I get dismissed, isn't it just about slipping some money?

However much you want, come and take it!

Victor disregarded Webster and stood in front of the jail guards and prisoners, hands in pockets. "Gentlemen, I'll say this only once. What happens outside, I don't care. In Plateau Prison, prisoners are prisoners and guards are guards. If you think you've got the strength, feel free to provoke me."

"And another thing!"

Victor raised a finger, "Please respect the law."

As he lowered that finger and lit a cigarette for himself, the rope tied around the suspended Olivier snapped, and he plummeted abruptly to the ground.

Have you ever seen a watermelon smash on the ground?

The blood mixing with brain matter splattered onto the faces of nearby prisoners, and even those with countless murders felt a chill in that moment.

"Clean this up."

As the jail guards, trembling, were about to herd the silent prisoners back to their cells, they saw Casare, puffing and panting, running over.

"By the way, make sure the sanitation fee is paid in full today. Those who don't pay won't be allowed to use the toilet tomorrow. Gentlemen, for the sake of your anuses, please don't forget."

...

Back in his office, Victor received a call from Alejandro, who immediately asked if Pier Luigi had been looking for him.

Victor did not bother to disguise the truth, "Yes, but I think you might need to visit him in the hospital."

Alejandro asked, "What happened?"

"His face had a little rendezvous with my fist."

You could clearly sense the speechlessness on the other end.

"You hit him?!"

"He might end up taking my place in the future, and by discrediting him, he'll surely keep causing you trouble."

"No, he's not going to take your place, Alejandro, I assure you."

"I hope you can always be this confident."

"You didn't call me just to talk about this, did you?" Victor took a drag on his cigarette and let it swirl in his nostrils.

There was silence on the line as if a decision had been made.

"Do you have connections to military arms? I want a batch of weapons."

"Cough, cough, cough..."

Victor choked upon hearing this, "Alejandro, are you looking to go to war with someone?"

Politicians can just hit each other with sewer pipes.

Save the bullets.

My main concern is you might not pay.

That's very important.

...