Working as a police officer in Mexico

What's the big deal with me, Victor, having a few?

And yet, I find my mind exceptionally clear now.

It's just been too long.

He picked up that bro, sniffed it under his nose, stuffed it into the cabinet, and pressed the phone, "Who's on duty at the secretariat, send someone over."

Every so often, you could hear the sound of footsteps in the corridor, hurrying, and then Traudl Junge would push the door open and come in, looking puzzled at the messy office, furrowing her brow, "Why is there a scent of heather?"

Victor's hand paused, "Get someone to clean up the office."

"Oh, right away!" The young Traudl Junge nodded busily, Victor walked out of the office with a smile, feeling a pair of eyes still watching his back.

It was a good thing his was the top floor, with just his office there.

Victor glanced at the elevator, then thought about taking the stairs, to get some exercise. He was developing a little pot belly, panting a bit after just four hours. He had just walked down when he ran into Jason Bourne coming up.

"Hey, Jason."

"Sir!" Jason Bourne looked at Victor's grin, what's up with the boss? So happy? Found a woman?

"Is there something?"

Jason Bourne nodded eagerly, eyes twinkling, "Guzman, had a cerebral hemorrhage!"

"Huh? Hmm!" Victor looked up in surprise, his voice making two different tones, and lifted his head to look at the other, "Are you sure?"

"Hmm! Our informants took turns to confirm it; they would never have guessed one of his bodyguards was on our payroll."

"Fantastic!"

"So, is he dead?"

"Not yet, but according to the informant, Guzman's cousin Arturo has forbidden anyone to visit him, only saying it's a minor issue publicly, and also, he has a hunch he's going to be silenced and hopes we can give him some money to escape."

"How much does he want?"

"Two hundred thousand US dollars."

"Escape, my foot! Let him come work for me, on my turf. What's there to be afraid of? Where could he possibly run to? Nowhere is safer than here!"

Jason Bourne always thought...

The boss just didn't want to let go of two hundred thousand.

"This is an example of what we need to show everyone, anyone who works for us, all their past crimes are basically pardoned."

Well, basically, not in principle? That depends on Victor's mood then.

Later on, showcase these people as examples, their daily job would be to boast about Victor's generosity.

"Shall we launch an attack, bring down Sinaloa?"

"No rush."

Victor chuckled sinisterly, "You say this news is being suppressed by Arturo? Then let's go tell everybody else. After all, everyone has the right to know, right? Let the news cycle on repeat, and have someone on the front lines with loudspeakers not stopping."

"I want to cause chaos inside their ranks!"

"Arturo wants to rise to power? He'll have to check with Guzman's loyalists if they agree. When they start infighting, we just push once, and it'd be best if they fought amongst themselves."

It was a blatant scheme, quite easy to solve, really. Just trot Guzman out for a spin, but could Arturo really back off?

Victor found that his luck had really been good lately.

At least it seemed all the luck was on his side.

Jason Bourne thought for a moment, then nodded.

"Right, clear out villa number 3 for Krista Schroeder to live in," Victor said, mentioning something seemingly trivial.

Jason Bourne, ever so shrewd, caught on immediately. It looked like quite a few young lads were going to have their hearts broken.

"Alright, I'll arrange it as soon as I go down."

Victor hummed a tune and waved his hand lazily as he walked downstairs.

When you've reached his position, you just have to speak and there are plenty of people to do things for you.

But he wasn't satisfied with just squatting in northern Mexico.

The true romance of a man lies in power and ambition!

"I came, I saw, I conquered!"

...

Detroit.

As an industrial city.

The morning was foggy.

Casare complained as he left the hotel, "Damn it! Some idiots praise the environment in the United States, what a crock of shit!"

The greeting words were quite beautiful.

"Sir, the car is here," the doorman said respectfully, going over to help open the taxi door.

Casare thanked him and naturally, his bodyguard handed the doorman some money.

Seeing the 100 US dollars in tips, the doorman's smile went crooked.

How generous!

No, way too damn generous!

"Hey! Buddy, good to see you again."

Casare had just gotten into the car when the driver turned around with a smile.

The former looked up and recognized this as the "talkative driver" from yesterday.

He was excited, "Buddy, I've figured it out, you're definitely not just anybody."

"Oh? How can you tell?"

"This hotel costs more than a thousand dollars a night."

Casare was taken aback, then laughed out loud, giving him a thumbs up.

"My eyes have seen too many people, let me tell you..."

"Could you start driving, please? Sir," Casare interrupted him, smiling, "I'm in a hurry."

"Okay! Okay! Where to?"

"U.S. Military Retiree Center." Stay tuned to empire

"That place again, it's my fourth time today," the driver muttered, but his foot was quick on the gas pedal, zooming away.

Casare glanced back, another car was following them.

This driver couldn't keep his mouth shut, "Do you know who got chased by Chaos 13th Street yesterday?"

"It was the mayor's son of Detroit."

"?!"

America, damn it, truly the land of equal rights, even the mayor's son can get a beating.

That was the first thought that came to Casare's mind, and he looked up dumbfounded.

"There's a crackdown on gangs in Detroit, they see black people as an unstable element, employing violent law enforcement against gangs like 13th Street, but turning a blind eye to white gangs. Mark my words, it'll turn into a riot sooner or later," the driver sighed.