Working as a police officer in Mexico

"60 million!"

Victor was stunned.

The way those Yanks asked for money, just like the French with their unbreakable spirit, completely shameless.

But the F14 itself wasn't cheap to begin with.

A few decades earlier, back in 1973, the price was 38 million US dollars each, which, if adjusted to the more recent years' value, would be roughly 234 million US dollars per unit, comparable to an F-22!

Moreover, the maintenance costs were sky-high.

Additionally, because it featured variable-sweep wings, its maintenance was much more complex than conventional wing fighters, not to mention the harsh marine environment, so the aircraft required nearly 60 maintenance man-hours per flight hour, which was more than three times that of the F/A-18.

Suddenly, it seemed looks couldn't be used to pay the bills.

Just think about it, you're broke at home, and then you spend hundreds of thousands to take a wife, only to end up paying 300 bucks each time you slept with her, plus monthly maintenance fees; and if you don't, the in-laws get unhappy.

They force you to buy a range of products for your "daughter" and tell you that their daughter only likes top-notch, high-class stuff.

Great… there go another few hundred thousand.

Poor people shouldn't play with the F14!

The most important point is, the F14 required only 76 million points to exchange, counting all the logistical spare parts…

Damn, that sounds better than a foot bath!

Twisting his brow, Victor muttered, "This is the first time I've seen someone beg while standing."

Casare chuckled awkwardly.

Do Mexicans not know how the Americans behave?

It's just that Victor's main forces were currently in the north. Had he been in the south or the Middle East, that's where you have what's called the "Crown of North America," the Campeche Bay!

Mexico's largest Cantarell Oil Field and the renowned Yucatan Peninsula were over there, and the capitalists from the United States had monopolized two-thirds of the country's oil and gas reserves.

Imagine one day Victor really pushing southward, if he tangled with those American folks over interests, who do you think would be the rebels... Guzman or Victor?

How does that saying go? "If there were a pile of dog crap on a 100 US dollar bill, Americans would lick it clean. They're scared their 'rudeness' might ruin Franklin's stinking X face."

"Boss, actually we could buy second-hand," Casare suggested, watching a sulking Victor whirl his eyes pensively.

He was the spitting image of a treacherous villain from the dramas.

"Grumman's daughter is too expensive, let's ask the Fairchild Corporation about the Warthog. If it's under 20 million, we'll buy! If it's more, let the Americans eat shit."

I'd rather take a pig as my bride than your F14!

Wait...

I'll exchange it myself later.

60 million US dollars, does Victor's family own mines or something?

Narrowing his eyes and exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke, Victor was about to speak when he heard an urgent knock at the door.

"Come in."

His chief secretary, Miss Krista Schroeder, entered with a professional demeanor, her expression calm.

She was the most capable one Victor had picked from a bunch of secretaries, alongside another university student named Traudl Junge, as his only two secretaries.

"Is there something wrong, Schroeder?"

"Governor, perhaps you should take a look at the Mexican international channel. Individuals or organizations from six countries are protesting against you," she said.

"???"

Victor was slightly taken aback. He glanced at Casare, who hurriedly rolled the television out and switched to the international channel.

"We are utterly dissatisfied with Victor's frequent acts of kidnapping parents! This is a serious loss of humanity, and we demand he immediately release Guzman's mother!" A middle-aged man with glasses, clad in a suit, read from a script, flanked by three armed individuals holding U.S. Military M16s, wearing balaclavas.

"That's the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia," Secretary Krista Schroeder informed.

She switched the channel, and a female spokesperson appeared.

"The Ecuadorian National Front announces that Victor is now an unwelcome person!"

She changed the channel again.

"The Panama Liberation Camp announces it's suspending any diplomatic activities with Mexico."

"Ms. Georgina Mull, the senior assistant for North American affairs at the United Nations Human Rights Council, is highly concerned about Victor's actions, claiming such collective punishment is unreasonable and illegal, urging the Mexican side to release the hostages."

"A Chilean official stated that General Augusto Pinochet is paying close attention to the matter, declaring that Chile will lobby for it, and will not allow such uncivilized and criminal collective punishments to happen."

…

Virtually overnight he seemed to have become the public enemy of both North and South America?

What the hell?

Casare felt a tingle in his scalp and carefully glanced at his boss.

Then he saw Victor's expression seemed a bit… relaxed?

"Just these rotten fish and eggs? Seems like Guzman didn't pay them enough," Victor said sarcastically.

Almost scared to death.

He thought the American sugar daddy didn't want him anymore.

Turns out they were just some small fry.

"The more they talk like that, the more excited I get," Victor sneered, sitting up straight, "How's the mercury pour going?"

"Guzman wants his mom alive? Well, I refuse!"

Casare tensed, his lips going dry; he looked over at Miss Krista Schroeder, the secretary, who seemed calm?

No...

Her lips were trembling too.

"It's settled then!"

Victor made a decision, "Issue a statement telling Augusto Pinochet to shut up, or send him to meet Allende. The old fart better not yap too much. Let him spend a few peaceful days or he might end up with his ashes scattered after he dies."

"Use those exact words, not a single one changed."

If you're shameless, I don't care who you are.

Protest?

Go talk to Cuauhtémoc; he's the President of Mexico.

As for declaring war?

You small-time Chile, laughable, laughable. Do I look like a clay figure of the Three North American Giants to you?

"Make sure it's globally broadcasted!"

"I love it when they hate me but can't do a damn thing about it."

Tyrant?

I prefer you call me the Mexican Father.

"Boss, that United Nations thing..."

"Which country does the United Nations belong to?"

Victor took a deep drag of his cigarette, his cheeks tightening, "Do they have nuclear weapons?"

"As long as I'm not stupid enough to go burn the UN charter and provoke the nerves of some great nations, they won't think about messing with me."

"There shouldn't be such an idiot," Casare scratched his head.

Victor looked at him with a peculiar expression.

There are no idiots.

But there are a few gods.

"For the world, there are still too many monsters and demons," Boss Wei couldn't help but sigh.

…

Sinaloa Culiacan.

A private luxury mansion.

Guzman paced back and forth anxiously, one cigarette butt following another on the ground.

He was such a devoted son!

In order to keep his poor mother alive, he begged and pleaded, calling high officials in Mexico City, hoping they would help.

But as soon as they heard it was related to Victor.

QNMD!

They all refused, none dared to upset Victor, which infuriated Guzman so much he threatened them.

If they didn't help, he'd expose their graft and bribery.

Who knew, they'd rather resign and live abroad with the money they had, still having a life to live. But if you go to Victor for mercy,

He could have someone kill you.

Many officials were privately discussing whether to flee.

Mexico had truly become unlivable.

Who would have thought Victor, who was expected to vanish in a flash, would grow stronger with every conflict, and now had even become the Governor of the North.

It's better to run away fast before the cleansing begins.

In the three days after he became Governor, at least eleven senior officials had resigned, not to mention countless lower-level ones, showing the lethality of those three words associated with Victor.

In such circumstances, Guzman had no choice but to seek help outside of the arena, hoping to use some "out of the ring activities" to deter the opponent.

He had spent over a hundred million US Dollars just to get these people to speak up, that United Nations thing… was more expensive.

Guzman was waiting for news.

Cousin Arturo entered with a grave expression, "Big Boss."

"How is it?" Guzman, hearing noise, quickly turned his head.

"Victor announced… a live execution!"

"Ah!"

Arturo hurriedly turned on the TV in the living room. He pressed the remote, but it didn't respond, so he went straight to pressing the buttons by hand, tuning into the Tijuana International channel.

On the screen was a narrow space where a figure Guzman recognized was kneeling on the ground, restrained.

"Mom!" he shouted as he rushed forward, his gaze fixated on the screen, "Phone! Phone!"

"Call Victor!" he shouted at Arturo.

"Valery Loera Cervantes?" Meanwhile, on the TV, three people wearing masks, doctors, stood beside the restrained figure?

One of them called out a name.

The woman raised her head, her eyes filled with pain and terror.

"This is the judgment from the Tijuana court, condemning you for drug trafficking, murder, kidnapping, and other crimes. The sentence is death, to be executed immediately!"

"I want to appeal! I want to appeal!" Guzman's mother, upon hearing the death sentence, screamed with all her might, but her mouth was gagged the next second.

The man reading the sentence looked into the camera, "Directly and indirectly, she's responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands, therefore, we plan to… administer mercury injection!"

Guzman glared, watching as someone approached with a scalpel…

"Boss! Victor's on the line," Arturo said.

The other man jumped up, grabbed the phone, and ran over, "Victor..."

"Guzman!"

"I'm going to make you a lonely widower, I'm going to make sure everyone who follows you dies out!" Victor's voice carried sarcasm on the other end.

"I want you to live in agony every day!"

After speaking, he hung up the phone.

For the first time, Guzman felt a chill in someone's voice.

"Ah!!!" A scream suddenly came from the TV, and he quickly turned his head, just in time to see the scalpel slicing into his mother's scalp.

Then someone brutally poured mercury!

"Victor! Victor! Victor!!!" Guzman's eyes reddened as he screamed in anguish, getting overwhelmed, he collapsed on the floor under Arturo's horrified gaze.

"Boss... Boss, quick, call an ambulance!"

The bodyguards ran in, stunned by the scene. Hearing Arturo's roar, they hurried to make the call.

And on the TV...

The screams were relentless, and even Arturo, who managed the Gunmen Group and committed many crimes, felt a chill down his spine.

Victor...

Was truly too merciless.

Sizzle~

The TV flickered, and with the final scream, the screen went dark.

At the same time, Victor calmly watched the scene through the glass, with Casare by his side, his face pale, his legs weak.

"Make sure to send Guzman this scalp. He loves his mother so much, let her keep him company," Victor said.

"By the way, do you think I'm cruel?" Victor suddenly turned to ask.

"To do the work of God, one must use thunderous methods!" Casare responded loudly.

Victor nodded in satisfaction.

A pupil worth teaching!

…