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 comes." The colleague pointed toward Pablo Escobar's mansion and saw someone 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 policemen swarmed 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 Mexican Military Police, let's just say, the pot can't mock the kettle.
