Working as a police officer in Mexico

Chapter 68 The Spark of a Career!

120mm mortar rounds fired five consecutive shots!

At a glance, the waist of the hill had been blasted a few centimeters lower.

"Kennedy Heisenberg," the number three man in the Victor Cartel, charged forward with the officers, fearing that someone might still be alive after such bombardment.

"Don't kill me! Don't kill me, I surrender!"

A criminal in the yard's swimming pool, obviously lucky, quickly raised his hands and pleaded as he saw Kennedy and the others, "I have a seventy-year-old mother..."

Bang!

Kennedy blasted the man's head open with a shotgun, "Sorry, I refuse."

"Search! Check the safes, the nightstands, and inside any covers."

This was an "extracurricular activity"—raiding homes!

To develop Guadalupe Island, you need money, and if the drug traffickers are dead, doesn't that all become Uncle Victor's?

Drug traffickers like to hide cash at home. When Colombian Pablo was on the run, any place he had stayed could yield a huge sum of cash.

Because their money was "dirty," it had to be laundered. When Sandra Beltran, the famous Mexican drug lord nicknamed "Queen of the Pacific," was arrested in 2007, it was for money laundering.

But the police didn't need any of these labels!

Victor publicly declared this money belonged to the drug traffickers and, from then on, he could use this method to "launder" the money earned from arms sales. The drug traffickers would never imagine that, in death, they would still take the blame for "Uncle."

In the end, Kennedy Heisenberg found $3 million US dollars, 1.5 million Pesos, as well as about 20 kilograms of gold and jewelry estimated to be worth over $600,000 USD in the ruins of the Portillo family home.

When Victor heard the news, he was silent for a long time, his tone very firm as he looked at Casare, "If the drug traffickers don't die, I feel very uncomfortable."

Just one rotten drug trafficking family on the island of Guadalupe had so much cash, imagine how much money those transcontinental drug trafficking organizations must have.

No wonder when the DEA catches drug traffickers, the CIA has quite a few people trying to obstruct them.

Buddy, the waters are too deep for ordinary people, it takes someone like Uncle Victor to handle it, someone with a thick skin and an even thicker barrel.

When he returned to the police station, Santossported a new set of clothes that hung awkwardly on him as police attire, "Mr. Victor, that was awesome!"

"If I could be like you one day, that would be it."

Victor patted his head, "Santos, you don't need to be me, but you will definitely be me. The anti-drug efforts in Mexico aren't just my responsibility; you and your generation are the main force."

"But for now, I stand before you. When I'm old or fallen, you should take up my cause, carry on my torch, and overthrow, resist, eradicate those drug traffickers who are ravaging Mexico."

Santos nodded with conviction, like a believer listening to "God," then suddenly it seemed like he remembered something, "Mr. Victor, I'll be baptized in a month, can you come and be my godfather?"

Victor was taken aback, because in Europe and America, being someone's godfather means you are their Padrino, their Godfather, and that's serious business.

It's like being their guiding light.

That's what the Italian Mafia loves to do.

Seeing Santos's hopeful gaze, Victor touched his head, "Of course, both God and I are with you."

Feeling the warmth from Victor's palm, Santos nuzzled like a puppy, finding the fatherly love he hadn't felt in a long time.

When you're lost in life and suddenly a light appears, you'll find everything about them to be virtues.

"Father! I've finally found someone as great as you!"

...

When the Portillo family, "dominating" the northwest of Guadalupe Island, was "live-streamed" being wiped out, other drug traffickers dared not come to their rescue.

What a joke.

With a 120mm caliber bigger than a fist, what if it hit their own head?

Jakarta Snow (Nieve en Yakarta) Cafe.

Waitstaff shivered to one side, legs trembling.

The main cafe was packed with burly men, tattoos, guns, nose rings, and even some with words carved into their faces, the visual impact alone was significant.

"The Portillo family... gone," a white man in a cowboy hat said somberly.

"Scorpion, we've got eyes!" retorted a black man sitting opposite him, his temper seeming quite bad.

Mexico is a multiethnic country, with about 1.5 million black people living in states like Guerrero, Oaxaca, and Veracruz.

"¡Negro! Do you believe I will shove your ass into a watermelon!"

This remark enraged the black man, who grabbed the handgun on the table and pointed it at the other party; the white man's followers hurriedly pulled out their guns, and both sides readied their weapons.

The other drug traffickers watched with cold eyes.

"Enough!"

Just as the atmosphere turned rigid, a towering figure rose, standing at least 190+ tall. In Mexico, he certainly qualified as a "giant," his eyes fierce as he furrowed his brows.

This was Francisco, nicknamed "Warrior," whose organization "Morsis" was affiliated with Tijuana and held an "aloof" status on Guadalupe Island.

The black man and the white man hadn't really planned to start fighting; hearing his words, they both sat down sulkily.

"Francisco, have the gentlemen from Tijuana not replied yet?"

The burly man shook his head, "The gentlemen have given us permission to give up Guadalupe Island."

"What!"

"How can this be!"

"This is not possible, how could the gentlemen issue such an order."

The other drug traffickers all looked in disbelief at this scene.

Especially the white man, who shouted even more vehemently.

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"Juarez has announced an alliance with Sinaloa and has declared war on Tijuana."

This news was even more shocking, but frankly, it had no relation to them.

If Tijuana gets taken down by the two large groups, their smaller organizations just have to find a new boss, which is quite common in Mexico.

But right now, everyone is "begging" under Tijuana; they can't exactly stand up and flip the table, can they?

"The gentlemen mean..."

The burly Francisco took a deep breath, a look of resignation in his eyes, "Surrender."

"Their firepower is too strong, where did that bastard Victor get his cannons from! Damn it, are those Mexican politicians eating shit?" a drug lord complained loudly, but the relief was evident on his face.

They...

Were really scared.

If the police are armed with cannons, should the Coast Guard also have aircraft carriers?

"I won't surrender!"

The white man kicked the table away with one foot, "You bunch of cowards!" and stormed out, kicking the door on his way out.

Francisco looked at everyone, also standing up, "Tomorrow I will go to see Victor to ensure our interests. There are terms to our surrender."

After he left, all the drug traffickers in the cafe looked at each other and could only heave a sigh.

If you can't beat them, what can you do?

As long as they could live, they were willing to sell anything.

The more ferocious a person is, the more afraid of death they tend to be.

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