Working as a police officer in Mexico

Chapter 37: 37: Is a 37mm Caliber Considered a Cannon?

The sudden turn of events terrified the girls.

Panicking, they tried to run outside, but Casare had blocked the door, so they could only shiver and huddle to one side.

In Mexico, being a prostitute wasn't safe; one could be embroiled in vendettas at any time.

Earning a bit of money was truly not easy.

Victor drove a shard of glass directly into Wilbert's thigh, "I'll ask one more time, who did it!!"

"Olivier, it was Olivier!" Wilbert screamed in terror, his expression filled with horror.

Dammit, who just comes up and starts a fight?

Don't I just want some money?

If you want a free ride, just say it outright, would I disagree?

"Which Olivier?" Best frowned and asked.

"Tezcatlipoca's lot, he's out for revenge because you guys killed his only brother!"

Best nodded slowly at Victor, "I think I know where they are."

"So this guy is useless now, right?"

Wilbert was scared to death by that remark; he raised his hands, shouting in fear, "Don't kill me, I'm useful, I can provide you with information."

"You're too expensive, sir."

Casare fired seven shots at him, finishing with a headshot.

The most important thing was, if you offended Jesus, you could still pray, but if you offended Boss Victor, did you still expect to live?

Everyone knew he was the most narrow-minded... scratch that, the most intolerant of evil!

"Boss! Someone's coming!" the jail guard at the door shouted urgently as he opened it.

"Let's get out first."

Victor took the Uzi submachine gun from Casare's hand, and as soon as he stepped out of the private room, he saw four or five burly men rushing over. By their tattoos, it was clear they belonged to some gang.

The men were clearly dumbfounded upon seeing their guns, and as Victor raised his weapon, they panicked, bumping open doors and hiding in the adjacent private rooms.

Victor and his crew took the opportunity to rush out. At the entrance, one jail guard even pulled out a tear gas grenade and tossed it into the crowd of people still dancing.

Serves you right for not sleeping at night!

The thick smoke instantly filled the entire bar amid screams, confusion, and cries.

The group got into a red Mazda parked at the door and sped away.

By the time the gang members in charge of watching the place came out, sniveling and teary-eyed, they could only rage impotently on the spot.

...

"Who is Olivier?" Victor, sitting in the passenger seat, pinched the handle above his head and turned to ask Best, who was behind him.

"His old man was an avocado tycoon in Michoacán, but due to global warming, agricultural products grew slowly, and he felt he couldn't get rich, so he turned to the Gulf, doing supply chain business for them. However, during one shipment, he was shot and killed by the Drug Enforcement Administration, and that's when Olivier took over his dad's job."

"But he was ambitious and split from the Gulf to go solo. However, his business didn't last long before he was beaten back by the Michoacán Family Cartel, and finally, he came to Mexico City."

Casare looked puzzled from the side, "How do you know all these details?"

"Because he acts brazenly without abiding by any rules, casually killing entire families."

"Does he have significant firepower?" Victor asked the question he was very keen to know.

"He has nearly a hundred gunmen under him, including but not limited to assault rifles - he's got an unusual amount of firepower for Mexico City."

That made things clear.

Indeed, while the neighbor hoards grain, I hoard guns; their grain silo is right next door, and the louder the caliber, the louder the voice.

"Got RPGs?"

"Haven't heard of any..."

"What about heavy machine guns?"

Best shook his head while chuckling, "Boss Victor, that kind of hardware is way beyond ordinary gangsters."

"Then what's the big deal? Do drug traffickers have real combat power? What good does it do to be able to fight? When you're out doing business, it's all about firepower; this kind of cancer should be eradicated!"

Victor lit a cigarette for himself, "Go get two pickup trucks to warehouse number one; I'll show you what real firepower is."

Casare, afraid he'd take it too far, said, "Boss Victor, we jail guards don't have the authority to enforce the law; if this gets too big, it won't end well."

The downside of being a jail guard is not being able to officially wield power.

"Without a uniform, who would know who it is? I have one rule when I do things: whoever jumps out, I'll squash them down. Some avocado seller dares to defecate on my head; not even Jesus could save him, I say!"

Seeing his resolve, Casare stopped trying to persuade him.

Best called Duke to buy a used pickup truck, and by the time the group arrived at warehouse number one, which was situated in the "Bergedes" village outside the prison, Duke was already standing outside in the cold.

Victor knocked on the door, and it was opened from the inside by two blond-haired, blue-eyed foreigners who looked German.

The main ethnic groups in Mexico are Indo-European mixed race and Indigenous people.

Casare and Best, standing behind them, exchanged looks. When did Germans become part of the team?

This was actually due to the fact that Victor's total points had exceeded 10,000, and the originally "deep gray" "Character" category in the Golden Finger panel was highlighted.

You could get a customized character from it.

It includes gender, age, name, nationality, and so on.

But the more features you add, the more points it will cost.

For example: if you just need an "Ordinary Infantry," this cannon fodder level fighting personnel would cost about 2,000 points, but if you add something like "NATO Firearms Proficiency" on top of it, that would need an additional 2,000 points.

If everyone's got enough points, they're all fucking Stallone?

But the assignments are adjusted according to rank.

Currently, as a police superintendent and Deputy Warden, you can only get 20 men.

This is just pushing yourself to climb up the ranks!

Right now, the emergency squad's jail guards just need to spend a little money, and it seems like they're getting the better deal.

Does this Golden Finger want me to be a cop or a warlord?

He used 3,000 points to "conjure" two technicians with "basic welding" skills.

One is called Yuri; The other, Kost.

The most important thing is, they don't look especially "dull-witted." You could strip them naked and still see hair where there should be hair.

"Boss!" The two saw Victor and even had looks of joy on their faces.

"The stuff?"

Yuri pointed inside the building, "It's all set up."

"Come on, I'll show you what real firepower is!" Victor told the two behind him as he led the way inside.

Best and Casare glanced at each other, both feeling like there was some malevolence in the boss's smile. As they walked through the gate, their eyes bulged instantly.

They saw a... cannon right next to the boss!

"M3 cannon, United States made. What do you think? Weld it to a pickup truck, one shot to blow that bastard to hell. Are their guns bigger than my caliber?"

The two were just staring in amazement.

Isn't this cheating!

At most, others have some guns, and you're bringing in a cannon?

Isn't that a bit of bullying?

Moreover, this kind of "combat pickup truck" was also refreshing their understanding of weapons. Can weapons really be used like this?

The combat pickup truck actually became famous globally in 1987.

That year, armed conflict erupted between Libya and Chad. At the time, the Libyan military was well-equipped, whereas the Chadian military only had 400 civilian Toyota pickups. However, the Chadians outfitted the pickups with anti-tank missiles and, using their maneuverability in the vast desert, engaged in guerilla warfare against the Libyan tank regiments.

Incredibly, they managed to defeat the hitherto invincible Libyan forces.

And actually, Mexican drug traffickers began using "combat pickup trucks" in the early 90s. During the armed conflicts between Sinaloa and Tijuana, there were instances of machine guns mounted on pickup trucks, firing into crowds.

This thing, cheap and reliable, was perfect for home, travel, and even essential for firefights.

"Weld it on."

Upon Victor's command, Yuri and Kost got to work. Meanwhile, Duke's eyes were shining. After Victor went inside, he commented to Best, "Boss, the big guy has quite the connections, huh? Even managed to bring in a cannon."

"This is not good news," Best sighed.

"What do you mean? Is there a problem?"

"If we really start using cannons, how do you think those major drug trafficking organizations will react? They'll definitely upgrade their own equipment. Places that are already rampant with drug trafficking will become even more brutal."

Duke clearly understood the nature of drug lords. If they learned of this new "play," they would surely join in, potentially escalating the conflicts between drug lords into full-blown "wars"!

There's an "arms race" among drug lords as well.

In 2009, Los Zetas spent $60 million to purchase arms, and they were even auctioning worldwide.

Are you braindead?

Who would dare sell to you?

Can't you send a private fax?

No! Can't you write a letter?

With a population of over eight million, Papua New Guinea only spent $84 million on military expenses in 2017!

Your drug trafficking organization is more vicious than a whole country.

It's only because the world's top 500 doesn't allow "illegal organizations" that Mexico isn't the country with the most "enterprises" on the list.

"But what's that got to do with us?" Duke hesitated, "Boss, in Mexico, it's better they die than us."

You're almost getting killed by others, and you're still being a Virgin Mary?

"I'm just expressing my dismay, idiot!" Best snapped irritably.

"Come over here and give me a hand," Casare called from atop the pickup truck.

"On my way!" Duke hurried over.

The group was busy until the early morning; as long as it's securely fixed, making sure the welding doesn't flip them over with the first shot.

When Victor was called out, he too felt the overpowering pressure looking at the "combat pickup truck." A 37mm caliber simply couldn't be called a "gun," right?

Suddenly, an idea occurred to him.

If he had his own factory in the future, could he export these to Africa?

Sell them cheap, and they should have a market, right?

Can't sell them to Mexican drug traffickers, though. If they blew him up, that would be a massive loss.

But then he suddenly remembered a problem.

"Which one of you knows how to fire a cannon?"

…

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