Working as a police officer in Mexico

The people beside them all risked glancing over.

The bodyguard standing next to them was about to step forward, but Casare gestured with his hand to not bother, and reached into his pocket to hand over a cigarette.

"Sorry~" Damien Jarvis raised his hands in apology, took the cigarette, and put it in his mouth with a tremble.

"I learned about Mr. Victor's deeds from television, and I know clearly, if anyone could help me, it would only be him, I am out of options."

Casare stood up to light the cigarette for him, "No need to apologize, do you want revenge?"

"But there...there's no evidence!"

"We never need any damn evidence when dealing with matters, for drug traffickers, our policy is always to err on the side of killing rather than letting go, do you know to which Mafia they belong?"

"The New York Lucchese Crime Family!"

"They pressured me into being discharged from the military!"

The capabilities of the American Gangsters are not small. According to a report titled "Gang Threat Assessment and Emerging Trends Analysis" published by the FBI's National Gang Intelligence Center, there are 33,000 acknowledged gang organizations in the United States, with about 1.4 million members, approaching the size of the Regular Army, controlling 48% of urban criminal activities throughout the country.

In the eyes of some gangs gearing towards international and franchising routes, the military is always the best stepping stone. With underworld activities becoming increasingly covert and ubiquitous, at least 53 gang organizations have infiltrated the U.S. Military.

One could say that U.S. soldiers fighting in hot zones are actually nothing but TMD street thugs, what kind of discipline do you expect them to have?

Mafia = U.S. Military = Bandits, this equation isn't wrong at all.

Such paper tigers must be taken down!

Yanks will eventually turn into evil dragons.

"Oh? The American Mafia." Casare's eyebrow twitched, he nodded with unconcern.

"No problem, your resume fits our requirements very well, what salary do you need?"

Damien Jarvis looked at him, "You...you're not worried?"

"Worried about what? Worried that these damn rats will go to Mexico and assassinate Mr. Victor in the dark? Or are you worried that they will use nuclear weapons to flatten Mexico?" Casare scoffed.

"Maybe, I think you should be worried, Mr. Casare."

Just as Fat Casare finished speaking, a voice came through. When he looked up, he saw a white man in a suit with a red tie, hands in his pockets, walking over and looking down at them, with unhidden scorn in his eyes as he glanced at Damien Jarvis.

"His life, our Lucchese Family wants it. I hope for some respect." The young man tapped on the stall.

Casare especially despised men who were fancier than himself.

"What face do you have, JB?"

"What face do you have?"

"Is your father Jesus, or is your mother Maria?"

Casare said to Damien Jarvis, "Don't worry, once the employment contract is signed, you're one of us. If you die here today, tomorrow, let's put the head of the American Mafia boss in front of your tomb. We're not capable of much."

"All you know is to hold grudges and seek revenge."

"Any Tom, Dick, or Harry comes here asking me for respect, get lost." Casare squinted his eyes.

This discharge center really lets anybody in.

It's not good to be this open to the public.

The opponent, his face white, pointed at Casare and kicked the stall, "You fatso!"

"Ouch, you hit me!" Fat Casare pointed at Damien Jarvis and asked, "Did he hit me?"

The baffled American soldiers instinctively nodded.

Casare jumped up, tossed a chair, and smashed it over, "You hit me, beat him up!"

He and the bodyguards charged forward; there were five or six of them, and they began to punch and kick the lone man. Damien Jarvis hesitated for a moment, then also rushed in, driving his foot into the opponent's face.

Sending out all the suppressed rage.

"They're fighting again, fight, fight!" The "onlookers" next to them jumped out again.

"Break his leg! Break his leg!" Casare shouted.

A bodyguard lifted a stool and smashed it down on the opponent's knees.

The sound of bones shattering was clear and distinct.

"Ouch!" The man rolled on the ground, screaming in agony while holding his leg.

"Stop! Stop!" A team of American soldiers keeping order ran over, their faces twisted in anger, "Casare! Why are you fighting again, you've seriously disrupted the order here!"

"He hit me first, there are witnesses. It's just that he's too weak and couldn't beat us."

"I'll have to report this to the higher-ups, you've shown no respect for our order," the leading American captain said.

Casare asked his bodyguard for a phone, dialed a number, "Here, this is my boss's number, go ahead and tattle to him."

It felt very much like calling the parents after a fight.

"Hey~" Victor's voice came from the other side.

"Boss, a member of the American Mafia, the Lucchese Family, threatened me and beat me..." Casare expressed his grievances so naturally, as if... he was tattling.

"How are you? Are you hurt anywhere?" Victor asked anxiously.

"No, but a few of us knocked him down. Some U.S. soldiers said I deliberately disrupted the order."

"Alright, I got it. I'll call the FBI, have them contact The Pentagon. Take care of yourself. What the hell with Lucchese Family, never heard of them. Tell them, a criminal should look like a criminal, keep a low profile and don't jump around too much."

With that, he hung up.

Casare laughed, "Captain, your leader will contact you, now please take this pile of shit out of here."

After he finished speaking, he even kicked the other man and smiled at Damien Jarvis, "How much salary do you want? Mr."

...

Tijuana General Hospital.

The best hospital in Northern Mexico, without a doubt.

It covers an area of 21,210 square meters and can accommodate about 2,000 hospital beds.

You can see quite a number of Americans here.

American healthcare isn't as amazing as they say, universally free?

Have you had your head kicked in by "Reader's Digest"?

Could those capitalists let go of such a piece of cake?

Every year, a lot of people go bankrupt due to medical expenses, but if you get sick, you can't just not seek treatment, can you? So many Americans just run next door to Mexico.

This hospital treats about 300,000 Americans each year.

The medical treatment is extremely saturated.

And right now, the inpatient department is secured inside and out.

"Who is that coming? What's going on?" In a ward on the second floor, a bunch of people crowded around the window asking each other.

"Don't know, but it's definitely some big shot."

"A VIP coming to the hospital? Don't they all have personal doctors?"

In the eyes of the "audience" eager for knowledge, a black nanny car stopped at the hospital, and the director along with a few administrators hurried over.

"It's Governor Victor!" People in the windows of various floors looked on, and no one knew who shouted, starting to yell, "Governor Sir!"

The whole hospital was filled with cheers.

Victor smiled and waved his hand, then shook hands with the director, "Sorry for the interruption."

"Not at all, it's an honor for the hospital that you could come," the director said with a smile, "The person is in the top floor of the inpatient department, I've assigned our best nurse to accompany them."

A group of people took the elevator straight to the ward.

But as he was about to enter, he paused, glanced at the accompanying journalists, and upon seeing the cameras on, he put on a sad expression and walked in.

This ward is really nice.

There's a TV inside, a sofa, and even a bay window. The two female United Nations officials were inside, clearly bewildered by the crowd of strangers coming in.

"I'm so sorry for coming late!"

"Excuse me, you are...?" one of the officials asked, taken aback.

"This is our Governor Victor of Northern Mexico," the director interjected helpfully.

Victor shook hands with one of them, "We are concerned about what happened to you and rest assured, the Northern Governor's Office will make the drug trafficker pay for this act!

"Anyone who tramples on life will pay the price."

"Upon hearing of your attack, we've already had our forces bombard the drug trafficker's controlled areas, killing several leaders and sending Guzman to the hospital."

"Please believe in us."

Jason Bourne glanced at the journalist beside him, thinking the boss really had a way with words. Sent to the hospital, indeed, but he didn't mention it was from being bombed into it.

This directly turned a brain haemorrhage joke into a piece of political propaganda.

Nobody ordinary could say such a thing.

Could you point at a little mustache who committed suicide and claim you killed him?

However, it seems Guzman can't prove it himself either.

That creates a vicious cycle.

This "achievement" will definitely make the evening news.

Victor looked at them, "May I ask when will the United Nations leaders arrive?"

...