They even drew a special red line.
Outside this line, there were quite a few police cars parked, with officers squatting beside the nearby fire hydrants smoking cigarettes.
"When’s lunch getting served?" an officer, holding his stomach, glanced at his watch and said to his colleague.
"Don’t worry, it should be soon, look! There it cos." The colleague pointed toward Pablo Escobar’s mansion and saw soone pushing a cart out, loaded with all kinds of delicacies.
The air was still filled with the aroma.
Once the cart crossed the red line, the policen sward over it, grabbing food with their hands and they even brought red wine, drinking straight from the bottle.
The drug trafficker delivering the food looked on with disdain.
As for the welfare and benefits of the Colombian and xican Military Police, let’s just say, the pot can’t mock the kettle.
Every day, watching over Pablo Escobar’s residence was considered the "best" job at the dellín Police Departnt, and many officers fought over it, because they were provided with a al every afternoon.
Delicacies, rich ats, and seafood!
All things these low-ranking officers and soldiers would never get to enjoy in their lifetis.
Every afternoon, ordinary people would wait at the gate of the mansion, just to rush toward the garbage truck coming from inside, hoping to scavenge the uneaten food.
That’s how people who had been to dellín described it.
Poverty was everywhere!
They were selling their dignity and their lives.
So, when a drug trafficker talked about providing employnt for 300,000 people, you can imagine how much prestige he would have among people struggling to survive. No matter if you are a drug trafficker, at that mont, you are their Savior!
Later, when Pablo was killed, nearly 30,000 people braved the heavy rain to attend his funeral. That... was truly ironic.
The performances of these grassroots troupes are always morable.
It is also one of the reasons why Latin Arica couldn’t completely eradicate drug lords.
"Abundance in the granary leads to knowledge of propriety; when food and clothing are sufficient, one knows honor and sha!"
"Bro Góz, why is today’s al so good?" a young police officer with his mouth greasy, holding a pigeon in his hand, looked up and asked the drug trafficker smoking opposite him.
"Today we have so big shot visiting, the boss is happy," the trafficker replied.
Big shot?
The police officers glanced at each other.
Góz, the drug trafficker, seed utterly unconcerned, "From xico, Mr. Aguilar from Juarez. Why? You want to et him?"
The young police officer quickly smiled awkwardly, waving his hands in dismissal, afraid to ask more. Knowing too much could kill you faster, and he joined the force just for a living, so why should he "ddle" in affairs that didn’t concern him?
anwhile, inside the mansion.
About a dozen shapely Colombian models had stripped naked and were wrestling in the dining room.
Two n sat opposite, legs crossed, smoking cigarettes. One was Aguilar, and the other, with fluffy hair and a sowhat round face, looking like an ordinary passerby, was Pablo Escobar.
"So your xican Drug Cartel is having a tough ti now. Is that Victor really that fierce? Fiercer than the Aricans?"
Aguilar let out a rueful laugh, "A few days ago, Armando was captured by him and executed."
"Oh?"
Pablo turned his head in surprise, looking at Aguilar.
He had t Armando before, a smart, shrewd young man with a ruthless streak and, most importantly, a sense of the big picture, never trying to outshine the boss. Pablo had considered poaching him several tis, but Armando had wanted to continue his growth "locally."
And now he was dead!
"Quintero from the Guadalajara Cartel was arrested by police a couple of days ago too and handed over to the DEA."
Pablo’s brow furrowed at this, and he tossed his cigar into the trash. He had only taken one puff, but the $100 stick had no flavor, "I heard about Zambada being executed by firing squad, but I had no idea it’s been so quick: the dead are dead, the rest have fled."
Aguilar took a deep breath, "That’s why we from Juarez, Gulf Group, and Sinaloa Group are planning to establish the North Arican Drug Trafficking Association and invite the dellin Cartel to join."
"As a sign of our sincerity, we will only take a 30% cut from the goods that pass through xico into the United States."
Previously, they took half of the goods, a plan given by Gallardo.
"But we must form mutual support in all respects, including military aid."
"Latin Arica is vast, the world even more so. With billions of people globaly, our market is still plentiful; we don’t have to worry about junkies. What we need to do is withstand the police crackdowns. A boycotted drug trafficking group will have no benefits to speak of."
"We’re also planning to ally with the warlords in Guatemala and Salvador. Once we unite, we can have tens or even hundreds of thousands of ard forces. What do you think is more appealing? The president of Colombia or an emperor of a new nation?"
Upon hearing this, Pablo’s eyebrows lifted, his heart thumping.
He was shocked by Aguilar’s words. Big plans, huh? A North Arican Drug Trafficking Association? From what he was saying, did they even plan to establish a nation of drug traffickers?
Hehehe…
Impossible!
Why not?
If this drug trafficker-founded association could gather tens of thousands of soldiers, and on top of that, missiles, armored vehicles, tanks, planes!
With such military force, one would need to ask: just how much does the Latin Arican region weigh!
Pablo had to admit Aguilar’s pie in the sky had struck a chord with him.
The more money he had, the higher his ambitions soared.
He pondered for a mont, "Then who will be the chairman?"
Aguilar’s eye twitched, he knew this question would co, "It’ll rotate annually. This year it starts with Juarez Cartel, but you will have a veto. No decisions will pass without your agreent."
"And if the Aricans go after , would you help ?"
"North Arican Drug Trafficking Association won’t abandon any partners!" Aguilar said gravely.
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