Working as a police officer in Mexico

Chapter 115 Spreading Rumors, Will Lead to a Rotten Mouth!

Guadalupe Island, Morelos District.

"Let me go! I'm going to kill this bastard!" Santos roared, his face contorted with rage, as he held a stick in his hand and burned with fury watching the satisfied look on the man's face on the TV, boasting smugly.

"Santos, cool it, cool it! It's just TV," his good buddy Campos restrained him from behind.

But the guy had been on a growth spurt recently, hitting almost 15 years old and shooting up to around 1.7 meters, his body getting more and more solid with nutritional supplements.

Valentina was also soothing him at his side.

Talking about Mr. Victor in front of Santos, wasn't that like singing "Sunshine, Rainbow, White Pony" in front of a black person?

The television show was still going on.

"Are you saying Victor is a psychologically twisted, mentally ill patient?" a woman's voice was heard as a side comment, with an incredulous tone.

The male host Kevin Carletree smiled, nodded, and held a document in his hand, "Here I have a 210-page report by expert authorities, analyzing Victor's behavior, actions, and speech."

As he spoke, he opened the first page, which read: Victor meets the criteria for psychological illness.

He didn't turn the page further; it would be embarrassing if the blank pages were seen.

The side comment came at just the right moment, with a gasp.

Then the camera gave the audience their screen time; they all wore looks of shock, right in line with the show's intended effects.

"Maybe Mr. Victor is doing these brutal things because he feels too empty inside?" Kevin Carletree said with a laugh, "Having a person with mental illness as the director of a police station is a joke in itself. I call on the Mexican Government to revoke his position and let him rest at home. And if Mr.

Victor can't find a place, he can come to me; I'd be more than happy to be his psychological support."

"Now let's take a hot-line call, hello, you're on the air."

"I have a tip-off. I know Victor. When he was young, he was always up to no good, even fought with him because he spied on women bathing. I couldn't stand it and fought with him."

Kevin Carletree exclaimed in shock and then sighed, "You truly are a good person."

The person on the phone got even more outrageous, suggesting that Victor sold favors to become a police director. It had to be favors he sold.

Indeed, favor literature thrives everywhere.

"Let me go!"

Santos suddenly broke free from Campos and, with a dark look, locked himself in his room. In the living room, everyone exchanged bewildered glances.

"These people are too abominable!" Stephanie, whose personality had grown more extroverted, frowned as she watched Kevin Carletree on TV with disgust.

"The ugliness of human nature is that: it's harsh on justice, yet too tolerant of evil," her father Dexter said, patting her head and sighing, "Bully the weak and fear the strong. That's it."

Inside the room, Santos held his father's medal, looking at the brightest Morning Star in the sky.

"Dad, please look after Mr. Victor."

...

Sonora TV Station.

After his program, Kevin Carletree nonchalantly tossed the press release aside. Now a big shot, he looked at the "side comment" woman's curvy figure, felt aroused, and went straight to touching her behind, "Hey, Maracia, want to grab a drink tonight?"

The woman threw him a glance, "I'm afraid I can't tonight, my husband is coming back. Tomorrow, tomorrow I can accompany you."

Kevin Carletree swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, "Then tomorrow morning, I'll wait for you at the usual spot."

The woman smiled, kissed him on the cheek, grabbed her bag, and left.

Humming a tune, Kevin Carletree left the studio and headed to the parking lot where his Maserati was parked with a black bag on the hood.

As if he expected it, he threw the bag into the back seat. When he opened it, stacks of US Dollars rolled out.

The money was from the local drug traffickers.

All to smear Victor on air!

To cool down the high-flying Victor from all sides.

They used to pay him per appearance, but now it was based on viewer ratings.

The drug traffickers were quite principled; they never shorted the money.

Spreading rumors was easy.

Kevin Carletree, a minor program host, would have been satisfied just not to starve, would do anything for money, and he couldn't have imagined his show getting so popular. Now he was a hot commodity in Mexico.

The whole country knew who he was.

Carletree started the car, intending to head to a bar to find a woman to vent his frustration. But as soon as the car moved, a black van smashed into him from the side, pushing the Maserati into a bearing pillar.

Bang...

The hood was sent flying, and smoke began billowing out.

Four strong men got out of the van, masked, they wrenched open the flattened car door, dragged him out by his hair while he struggled, and landed two solid punches, instantly collapsing his recently surgically-enhanced nose.

"Kevin Carletree?" the lead man muttered.

"Don't kill me, the money, the money's on the back seat." The host raised his hands, his face covered in blood, his voice trembling with fear.

With a sneer, the man took a javelin from his companion's hand?

"Nonsense, someone's going to die!"

As he spoke, he violently thrust the javelin into Kevin Carletree's mouth, causing him to scream in pain.

"What the hell! Who?"

Hearing the noise, a security guard came over, but no sooner had his head appeared than he was sent back by bursts of gunfire from the man's companion.

"Uuuuuh... Aaah!" Kevin Carletree let out all sorts of screams, but the man continued to hammer the javelin into a load-bearing wall.

It was not over yet, grabbing a chainsaw from the van, pulling the cord, it buzzed to life, "Next life, don't grow a mouth."

Kevin Carletree's eyes bulged, reflecting the terror within his pupils.

Meanwhile, Maracia, who had left earlier, drove her own car barefoot, with her heels off, driving in stockings.

Noticing a burger joint on the side of the road, she felt a pang of hunger and stopped the car to get out, but just as she reached the middle of the road, she was blinded by intense high-beam lights and instinctively turned her head only to see a cement truck charging towards her.

Crash...

It ran right over her, dragging her body for a long stretch, as customers and staff from the burger joint hurried outside upon hearing the commotion and saw on the ground... nothing but flesh and blood.

They screamed in terror!

"Call the police, call the police!" The manager understood what had happened upon seeing the departing cement truck—he was a seasoned Mexican.

The customers covered their mouths vomiting, their appetites lost.

This night was destined to be unsettled.

As dawn broke, a hanging body was found on the bridge at someone's front door, its scalp flayed off!

Someone also discovered unidentifiable ashes in the boiler room.

In a roadside trash bin lay a body, chopped into pieces.

The Capital's Hermosillo Police Department received reports of 21 murder cases, all on the same night, and all the victims had been tortured before they died.

They found two commonalities among these people.

Their accounts had multiple complex money transfers, and most had deep connections with the local drug traffickers.

Second, they had all insulted Victor on a TV show!

Their identities were also exposed: local TV producers, directors, hosts, and some journalists.

Upon receiving the report, the head of the Hermosillo Police Department felt his head swell.

"Are you saying all this was Victor's doing?" the Director asked the young officer in front of him. Continue your saga on M V L

The other nodded, "There's a lot of evidence to corroborate it!"

The Director nodded, "Very good, sir, why don't you start guarding the reservoir this afternoon? They could use your bravery there."

The officer was taken aback, only to see the Director tear up the file supplied by him, crossed his arms, and placed them on the desk, "I've investigated this matter thoroughly—it was suicide."

"How is that possible?!"

...

"Suicide! How is that possible!"

In the security department office of Mexicali City Hall, Alejandro said loudly to Victor.

The latter scratched his ear, "Why not? In Mexico, nothing is impossible."

Alejandro took a deep breath, saw someone peeping at the door, and glared, "What are you looking at?"

The government employee retracted his head, frightened.

Alejandro closed the door.

"Victor, no need to hide our relationship from me, right?"

"I didn't lay a hand on them."

Right, he hadn't "personally" laid a hand on them.

"The locals are a bit rude, perhaps someone couldn't stand it anymore."

Alejandro's eyelids twitched, but he also knew that if the other party staunchly denied it, there was nothing he could do. He picked up a document from the table and handed it to him, "The security department of Sonora State is demanding we hand over the culprit who killed their soldier."

Victor laughed, looked up, and pointed to the phone, "Call him and ask if he wants to eat shit!"

...