Working as a police officer in Mexico

"The events of this afternoon can never happen again! Our protection target actually got out of our protection circle, which is a very low-level mistake!"

George Foreman of the Special Service Bureau tasked with Victor's safety furrowed his brow, cursing at his subordinates.

A problem like that was a blow to their face.

"Boss, this Mexican offended quite a few people as soon as he came to the United States. Those street gangs have all issued death threats to him." A subordinate spoke up.

"The gangs are not a factor! It's only in the United States that their existence is tolerated, shielded by a complete political and state system," George Foreman, hands on his hips, said word by word, "But the rats in the sewers cannot crawl onto our heads. If they dare to mess around, we'll kill them."

True enough, what nonsense about California's 18th Street Gang, "Florenzia 13"; a gang is still a gang, not worthy of the public stage. What would happen if you tried to intimidate Victor like that in Mexico?

The threatening letters sent out in the afternoon, by that very evening, TMD even your dogs at home would be blown up, so indeed, the sound system in the United States also protected them.

But to say they are completely useless is also wrong.

The Medellin had fought with local gangs for nearly a year over drug market territory on the streets of San Francisco. They had no choice; Pablo couldn't send in troops.

And some of the gangs at the US-Mexico border have also evolved into "quasi-military" units. Moreover, many gangs in the United States are part of transnational organizations.

Take "MS-13" for example, which originated in Salvador, and its members are now spread across Latin America, having been involved in drug trafficking in Guatemala and Mexico.

Depending on US dollars to move, there are arms deals within the American National Guard!

Vic's Tijuana also discovered many of their branches — no matter the number, just crush them all. His drug purge had already severely affected the income of the American gangs.

Many gangs unable to traffic drugs had to increase other violent crimes, such as kidnapping, extortion, murder, etc.

The pressure on domestic security in the United States suddenly spiked.

Do you think local police have a soft spot for Victor?

The American Mafia even held a special meeting on how to maintain the US market when the Mexican supply is low.

After much discussion, there was only one solution: Victor had to die.

Only if he died, could the rest continue to live.

Baja California and Sonora blocked right at Arizona's supply channel; you have no idea, the local street drug prices went up threefold!

Plenty of addicts even had no choice but to drive into Mexico to directly buy from drug traffickers.

So, to a certain extent, Mexico is related to the livelihood of many Americans; if Victor really takes office, NMD, all American gangs will lose their drug source.

The Mafia might as well take up monastic life!

Therefore, at a deeper level, it's still a struggle for interests; too many people want Victor dead.

Under a bullet, all life is equal.

The fact that Victor could come to the United States meant that, for the time being, he was completely in line with the needs of the United States. If a drug trafficker took office one day, he'd be just a discard.

It was 6:15 PM.

Victor emerged from his room after just having taken a shower, without any scent of perfume.

What's the deal with big guys and perfume!

He entered the elevator, still clenching a cigarette in his mouth.

"Want one? Authentic Tijuana goods from Mexico." Victor saw George Foreman staring at his cigarette, thinking he wanted to smoke, and courteously offered it to him.

"No, no need, sir, it's just that you have a bit of a heavy smoking habit."

"At least two packs a day."n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

George Foreman nodded, "Then you should take care of your health, smoking is harmful."

Victor paused and, smiling, thanked him, "But I'm afraid I can't give it up. I have an interest in smoking, drinking, and women. If I didn't indulge in any of that, what would be the joy in being a man?"

Ding dong~

"First floor, here we are!"

Special Service agents standing on the periphery went out first, expanding the protection circle, then Victor and his entourage, including Casare, walked out, with George Foreman at his side, his eyes sharp as he surveyed the surroundings. Read latest chapters at empire

This hotel...

It wasn't booked exclusively.

The Wyndham Hotel was bustling with people coming and going. As he got off the elevator, many were handing out flyers, loudly shouting their grievances.

Jason Bourne spotted something amiss next to him, a man glancing up from his newspaper by the window. He put his paper down and started walking their way, his hand slipping into his jacket!

"Watch out!!"

The man's face showed deep hostility, clearly upset, and he charged at Victor.

George Foreman had obviously noticed this too and quickly shouted to the other security personnel to take notice, while he himself went forward and landed a punch under the man's chin.

Really...

Casare stood behind and saw the man "flying", his entire body tipping backward, his teeth spinning in mid-air.

The bloodied man was pinned to the floor, the punch strong enough to knock him out cold.

A crowd protected Victor as they left the hotel and got into the car.

Outside, the crowd was obviously larger than the one they'd seen in the afternoon, densely packed, with the police presence having at least tripled.

"Long live! Long live! Long live!" Seeing his car, the supporters shouted hysterically, vigorously waving their flags.

Victor waved back with satisfaction.

"Mr. George Foreman, could I trouble you with something?"

The captain of the Special Service team in the passenger seat turned around, "Yes, please speak."

"Contact the hotel for me, have them prepare some food and water for the supporters outside, I'll cover the costs, but only for my supporters. Let the opposition eat shit."