Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 752 - 418 Men Are Just My Stepping Stones!_2
752: Chapter 418: Men Are Just My Stepping Stones!_2
752 -418: Men Are Just My Stepping Stones!_2
“These gift boxes are not cheap.”
Victor said as he opened it.
Inside lay a gold watch, pure gold, weighing about 400 grams—a symbol of sheer extravagance.
He joked, “I’ve never received such a gift before.
Damn, this guy.”
George Smiley opened the car door for him and casually remarked, “General, you’re the best gift the Mexican people could ever ask for.”
Victor glanced at him in surprise, then smiled and pointed at him.
Well, George Smiley had learned how to be flattering too.
Victor gently closed the door and waved his hand, signaling everyone to get in the cars.
The convoy drove toward a villa district not far away.
It wasn’t far, just about ten minutes.
On a small hillside in the city stood the villas.
They used to belong to drug traffickers in Mexico City, later came under Popovich’s ownership, and now, of course, were national assets.
The cars passed through a grand gate.
Casare, his girlfriend Hayler Alves, and his sister Feliciana were already waiting at the entrance, along with Goebbels, Major General Yuri Burns, who oversaw logistics, Deputy Commander Koester Beine Tapia, both of whom had been responsible for logistics from the start and had a tight-knit relationship, and several other high-ranking officials.
This was more like a top-tier “Mexican” gathering.
Victor got out of the car and immediately noticed the French woman standing there.
He couldn’t help but think…
Whoah, 36D!
And her features were like those of an elf, resembling a particular Hollywood actress who would later rise to fame: Anya Taylor-Joy!
Casare stood next to her, the perfect embodiment of… beauty and the beast.
Of course, it wasn’t that Fat Casare wasn’t a match for her.
Come on, a man with real power in a country—how could he not match up to an actress?
Victor was merely curious as to what she saw in him.
With suspicion in his heart, he stepped out of the car and gave her a casual once-over with Golden Finger.
His brows furrowed—her background was surprisingly clean!
Name, family members, education—everything checked out.
Even her crime value was just 2, with the only offense being kicking a garbage can.
Just petty stuff.
“Boss!” Casare called out.
His sister Feliciana smiled and added, “Big Brother Victor.”
“There’s my little princess, and you’ve grown taller,” Victor said as he hugged her, rubbing his bristly chin affectionately against her face like a friendly older brother.
Then he turned to Casare and grinned, “Aren’t you going to introduce her to me?”
“Hehe, this is my girlfriend, Hayler,” Casare said, pulling the young woman closer.
She was visibly nervous; her ears were even red.
“Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hayler.”
The two shook hands briefly.
“Good evening, General.”
Victor waved dismissively.
“Don’t call me General.
Just call me what Casare does—Big Brother.”
“B-Big Brother…”
Victor nodded in satisfaction.
“Alright, let’s head inside and chat.
Why is everyone just standing around out here?”
Casare made a “please” gesture to usher the boss in first.
Without ceremony, Victor walked inside, quickly noticing the cozy decorations: balloons, a table full of dishes, and an overall warm ambiance.
“Please, have a seat.”
“Boss, care to say a few words?”
“You’re the birthday boy, not me.
This isn’t a meeting.
If I speak for your birthday, am I supposed to take credit for aging two years younger too?
I’m 30, not 32.
Don’t try to rob me of two years of youth,” Victor joked, lightening the slightly awkward atmosphere.
After all, hierarchy can make things stiff, no matter how casual you try to make it.
It’s like when your boss takes you to karaoke for a business deal, tells you to relax, and then you slip your hand into the hostess’s dress.
What happens next?
The boss turns around and has you arrested for harassment.
The boss says relax, and you actually think they mean it?
“Thanks to everyone for coming to celebrate my birthday.
Apologies if the hospitality isn’t up to par.
Tonight, no one leaves sober,” Casare proclaimed, holding up a glass of decanted red wine and pouring drinks for everyone personally.
“Thanks to the boss, I’m celebrating my 32nd birthday properly instead of rotting like a dog in prison.”
“I still remember my 30th birthday.
Back then, we just bought two loaves of bread outside and celebrated with you, Kris, Mai Ku, and a few others.
We were barely scraping by with a 900-peso monthly salary.
Just two years later, Kris got wiped out along with his family by rival traffickers, and Mai Ku was stabbed to death in prison.
Now, it’s just you and me left.”
His eyes reddened slightly as he spoke.
“No need to dwell on this during happy times,” Victor said with a wave of his hand.
“Just some sentimentality, thinking of old friends,” Casare replied, wiping the corner of his eyes.
Without the boss, he’d have been nothing more than a mayfly—he wouldn’t even know how he’d die.
Hayler patted him gently on the shoulder, offering a few words of comfort.
“How many drug traffickers are still left in the Mexican prisons?” Victor suddenly turned and asked others in the room.
“About 8,000 remaining.”
“What’s a birthday without making some noise?
Round them all up and have them executed.”
Hayler: !!!!!
She quickly lowered her head, not daring to make a sound.
A single sentence from this man decided their lives.
Good… excellent!
She trembled—not out of fear, but excitement.
There was greed and ambition glinting in Hayler’s eyes.
Deep down, she didn’t want to be a model; she wanted to be the Iron Maiden!
Who said women couldn’t rule?
And…
Casare was the ticket she needed—or more accurately, the stepping stone for her ascent!
Upon hearing the order, George Smiley acknowledged it, stepped out to make a call, and returned shortly to give the boss a confirming nod—everything was handled.
“Let’s drink!”
Victor stood, raised his glass, and declared.
The prison system immediately got to work after receiving the orders.
There were four prisons in Mexico City, located in the north, south, east, and west.
Under Popovich’s era, all of them had been expanded to hold over 5,000 inmates each.
Altiplano Prison.
Warden Kelton Torres, hat on his head, led a team of ferocious-looking jail guards into the cell blocks.
The convicts, groggy from their forced labor, opened their eyes to see the officers standing outside the cells, their reflections bouncing off their polished badges.
Fear surged through them.
“Evan, Frank, Ellio…” a jail guard called out, holding a list.
The sharp look in his eyes matched his commanding tone.
“Step out.”
The named drug traffickers trembled from head to toe, an odd contrast to their burly builds.
One, an old, wrinkled-faced drug trafficker, collapsed onto the floor, the smell of urine quickly filling the air.
“No, no!!
I’m not going out!!!
I didn’t do anything wrong!
I’ve been working hard; what have I done wrong?!”
Why did those words sound so ridiculous coming from a drug trafficker’s mouth?
Two guards rushed in and dragged him by force.
He clung desperately to the bedframe, howling.
They bent his fingers back one by one, pried him loose, and dragged him out.
“Don’t kill me!!”
“I was wrong, I was wrong!!”
Inside a cell holding twenty prisoners, only one remained.
He sat upright, trembling uncontrollably.
“Go to sleep early.
Work starts tomorrow morning,” a guard said while tapping the bars.
The lone survivor dove under his blanket instantly!
He curled into a tight ball, muttering incessantly as the sound of gunfire echoed from outside.
He shuddered, but at the same time, he felt a spark of relief—at least he wasn’t a drug trafficker.
He’d only committed fraud.
Minutes later, faint sobbing came from under the covers.
Sigh…
Victor’s soldiers weren’t exactly subtle; they left everyone petrified.
But it was humane in a sense.
After all, weeds need some culling first—it’s not like they’d run out.
This would teach these drug-dealing bastards what real terror felt like!
Some of them would die without ever understanding why they were suddenly pulled out and executed.
And the reason was this: General Victor wanted to celebrate his brother’s birthday in style.
So, they got dragged out and shot dead.
This kind of event should become a regular occurrence in the future.
The night deepened.
A tipsy Victor was helped into the car, waving goodbye to Casare as they drove off.
After the car started, one of his attendants reached for some wet wipes to clean him up, but Victor’s eyes suddenly cleared.
With a calm voice, he said, “Let’s go.”
“Keep a close watch on this Hayler.
Investigate her thoroughly.”
“When a beauty attaches herself to an ugly man, it’s always for something—either his life or his money.”
Casare: ?????
