El Mencho hung up the phone, his brows furrowed tightly.
"You take people to the Hilton Hotel and bring the person over, remember, be gentle," he said to his confidant.
He was cunning, El Mencho was described as a blend of the old drug trafficker's slickness with the ruthlessness and venom of the new school, many were cautious, but only he was both crazy and cautious.
"The CIA wants to support their own?"
If it were true, then he should play their dog and ask for more benefits, if false... surely no one would be that bored.
And there were only a few who knew his private phone number.
"Mexico is getting more and more interesting."
...
Mexico City.
Cuauhtémoc walked out of the National Palace, protected by several Presidential Guards.
He was going to attend an open class at a school.
Just as he was about to get in the car, he suddenly heard someone calling him from behind.
