Victor sat in the car, looking at the bustling construction site outside and the erging infrastructure.
He felt a hint of pride in his heart.
On Guadalupe Island, he had implented an eight-hour workday, but with three shifts. The islanders were getting paid, and his machines never stopped.
It was truly a win-win situation.
Moreover, to reduce the burden on families affected by "work-related injuries" and "fatalities," Victor planned to open an insurance company on the island, compelling everyone to purchase a policy. It would only cost 200 pesos a year, and since 1990 the exchange rate had fluctuated.
1 US dollar ≈ 2.2 pesos.
The insurance company could also cover the police officers for accidental insurance. The money for this would co out of the police departnt’s budget yearly, which in turn would co from the island’s finances. In this way, wasn’t this money going into Victor’s pocket?
Even if an officer were injured or killed, the claim would be paid by the company under Victor’s na, which could also boost his reputation.
There were now close to ninety thousand people on the island, with many immigrants arriving.
If it weren’t for the lack of funds right now, opening a supermarket on the island, like the Yanks’ Walmart—here it could be called Wonima—would monopolize the local commodity market and definitely make money.
The motorcade entered the residential area.
A yellow Humvee police car was parked on the side of the road, and four or five older kids were frolicking around two police officers, chattering away.
There was none of the common fleeing at the sight of the police that occurred elsewhere.
When the police officers noticed the motorcade, they stood upright and saluted.
The kids did the sa, looking quite adorable in the process.
Victor rolled down the window and waved at them with a smile.
This was the power that drove him!
When he returned to the police station and had just set his foot into the lobby, he heard a broadcast from the TV, "The up-and-coming drug trafficking organization, Jalisco New Generation, emphasizes that the Gulf Group’s war in Baja California is aningless!"
"It only harms ordinary people. When n who must support their families fall in pools of blood, who will take care of their hos?"
"They call for the Gulf Group, Juarez Cartel, Sinaloa Group, and the xican Governnt to cease hostilities and end this disaster."
Victor turned to look and caught a flash of the cara focused on a man in a dark green military uniform, beret cap on his head, mask covering his face, with a muscular build. Behind him on the wall hung a banner that read: CJNG!
His voice was altered, "We ask both sides to show restraint and ensure the safety of civilians. We are also willing to take in civilians coming from Baja California. We will use our power to protect Jalisco!"
Victor laughed.
But he couldn’t laugh wholeheartedly.
The drug traffickers knew to use dia and public opinion to cloak themselves now?
Drug traffickers protecting civilians?
It was incredibly far-fetched. Then what were the police for? What was Victor here for—to be a gigolo?
However, the person in charge of this organization did have brains.
Jalisco New Generation?
The na felt familiar!
Victor had a feeling this new group would beco his rival.
Indeed, after 2005, the drug trafficking scene changed, and on more than one occasion, traffickers recruited newcors under banners of "defending our holand, eradicating evil!"
And they did follow through with so real actions.
For instance, in 2015, two criminals from outside Guadalajara killed a police officer and raped seven won. The Jalisco New Generation caught them, stripped them naked, surrounded by seven or eight weapon-wielding n as they bled profusely in front of the cara.
Finally, after admitting to their cris, the traffickers executed them.
This video went viral at the ti.
And their closing statent was, "We are Jalisco New Generation, and our main aim is to protect civilians!"
"Gather their information, I want to know their moves," Victor said, pointing at the Jalisco New Generation on the TV.
With a pained expression, Casare realized he’d have to find informants and spend more money again.
...
Although Jalisco New Generation seed to be acting as a diator, in reality, they were only adding fuel to the fire.
The drug traffickers take a break? The big bosses don’t agree. They’ve been battling it out, nearing victory, and now a governnt force wants to intervene? What are they up to?
The xican Governnt cease hostilities? Would they not care about losing face?
The combat around xicali intensified, becoming a three-way battle!
Gulf Group on one side, Juarez Sinaloa on another, and the Governnt Forces on yet another—the whole of Baja California was in complete disarray.
They would start shooting on sight.
Victor’s new underling, the head of the Trat Police Departnt, Guillermo, did have so ability. With the weapons supplied by his boss, he could basically maintain order in the city.
Victor had supported him with two BTR-80 armored personnel carriers, 15 Browning M2HB 0.50 inch machine guns, and 40 AK47s, not to ntion 300,000 rounds of ammunition!
He really had invested heavily, but after all, when recruiting underlings, you’ve got to give them so sweeteners.
Victor had stayed on Guadalupe Island for another half month, during which Alejandro called him to say that xico City would not accept his demands and loudly berated him as an illegal ard force!
"Then let them solve it themselves."
And then he quietly waited to see the joke unfold.
Indeed, in the following month, the xican side dispatched a Major General from the Navy to command the battle.
Hmm... then he was kidnapped.
By Juarez’s Armando.
On the way to take up his post, the convoy was attacked, the bodyguards were killed, and the Major General was kidnapped, leaving the xican Governnt completely disgraced!
In the end, they could only spend 5 million US dollars to ransom this "useless" man.
Armando beca the real "General Killer."
Now, with others supposed to take the post, no one was willing to do it.
They were all scared to death.
Find soone else, you say.
After going around in circles, they ended up coming back to Victor.
April 1, 1990.
Ensenada City. City Hall.
Víctor’s laughter filled the office as he waved his hand dismissively at a helpless-looking Alejandro and Special Envoy Stephen Moyer, "Sorry, I can’t help it—the General got captured by a drug trafficker."
"If it were , I’d have already killed myself."
"Please show so respect, Officer Victor," Special Envoy Stephen Moyer said, his face very grim.
"Do the weak deserve respect?" Victor scoffed, "You should have co to earlier, and by now, I would have already taken down that Abrego."
"Enough nonsense, you didn’t call here just to have a tea party."
Stephen Moyer took a deep breath, "We agree to your terms; we’ll permit you to establish an anti-drug unit after quelling the drug traffickers’ revolt in Baja California, but it cannot exceed 1500 n, and the governnt will not fund it."
"200 million US dollars!"
Victor extended his hand, "And another 200 million US dollars!"
Stephen Moyer sprang to his feet, "You didn’t say you wanted money!"
"That was last month’s price. You’re hiring , so what’s wrong with raising my price?"
"You’re welco to look elsewhere, pick from the Army, the Navy, or even the Air Force, and see if anyone else will go."
"Apart from , who else is there in xico?"
A tough guy is all it takes!
"This..." Stephen Moyer’s face darkened, "I need to report this."
"Twenty minutes should be enough, right? I don’t have that much ti to play house with you."
The envoy nodded and went out to make a call.
"Victor, there’s no need to make things so tense," Alejandro said, spreading his hands.
"I just want to tell you sothing—they are dogs! To get a bone out of their mouths, you have to make them submissive; they’ll learn their lesson once they’ve suffered," Victor said.
No money?
No way I’m moving!
He was most certainly unyielding.
...
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