Theo Carlos Vieri. The father of the old Victor.
His death, was suspicious, but who would have thought that the killer would turn out to be the one who had always "taken care" of him?
Just thinking about it sent shivers down my spine.
- Victor? Are you all right? You're not feeling well? - Webster removed his pen and asked softly, "Do you need to rest for a couple more days?
- No, I don't," Victor waved his hand, smiling with difficulty, "It's just a headache, it's nothing.
- What do you think of my proposal? The first block is relatively safe.
Victor raised his head and looked into his interlocutor's eyes: calm, caring... good-natured?
As if he was really a mentor who cared about the younger generation!
Damn it!
Victor felt a strong desire to smoke, seeing cigarettes on the table, he pointed at them: - Can I have one?
Webster froze for a moment, looking at the pack, he nodded with a smile: - Sure," he motioned the pack, offering to take one.
Victor only lit up when he heard Webster say: -Victor, if I remember correctly, you don't smoke, do you?
Victor's hand froze slightly.
- The stress has been too much lately, smoking helps me relax.
Webster didn't question further.
- What's the most dangerous place in our prison? - Victor suddenly asked.
- Block three, the major crimes area.
- I want to go to cell block three.
Webster frowned as if he had heard something incredible, hesitated for a moment, and then said with a smile: - Is today Fool's Day?
- Of course not, sir. I believe it is my duty as a policeman to be at the most dangerous station, where I am needed, I remember my oath ...
Webster's face became quite expressive.
You're in Mexico and you remember the duties of a cop?
Bro, you're like a kid playing with fire next to a gas can. They even send the navy on operations against drug traffickers.
Army? Those guys have been with the criminals for a long time.
Victor was not stupid, the third block is full of dangerous criminals, but they are strictly controlled, they are let out for a walk once every half a month, and unlike the first and block two, there are much stronger armed guards, including HM-3 submachine guns of 9 mm caliber.
In normal times they use Glock 17s, which is also not bad, the Americans use the same ones, although this only applies to important institutions like El Altiplano.
What about other small police stations?
If they have a revolver, it's already good.
There was even a case where the Alvarado police station used slingshots by decree of the mayor, who was probably getting money from drug traffickers.
Slingshots?
The important thing was to have enough firepower and then he'd be safe!
Victor felt that this prison was like a huge cage, keeping him locked up, and who knows when he might be killed, and his abilities were useless here.
You wouldn't purposely let criminals go so you could catch them again later, would you?
Besides, there was a note in his abilities that said, "Caught by subordinates also counts."
That's a clear call for career advancement!
The best way is to go to a remote location and become a precinct commander.
It's very dangerous to be a policeman in Mexico, dozens of people die every day, and station chiefs are constantly changing.
But Victor has no connections, and it is not easy to get out of this cage.
The only way out is to go to the third block and find a "roof".
He was not a man of high moral principles, if he managed to please the "boss", then wealth and honor would be ensured.
That's the world, if you don't have the power to change it, learn to adapt.
There's no shame in that, is there, pride?
Can your skull withstand a 7.62 caliber bullet?
Kennedy was killed with a 6.5mm bullet before he could even say a word.
Seeing that Victor was serious, Webster frowned even more, but then quickly relaxed, his face lighting up with a dry smile: "I'll think about it, the police need enthusiasts like you.
- Thank you, sir! - Victor saluted with a cigarette in his teeth.
Webster nodded with a smile: - 'Go to work, if you have any difficulties come to me Victor, my door is always open to you.
"I want to put a hole in your forehead..."
These words he kept to himself of course, with 21,000 crime points, Victor could trade them for a lot of things.
But as one wise dude said, "When you can't defeat your enemy, hide your claws and learn to play dumb."
Leaving the office, Victor carefully closed the door, adjusted his hat, looked around and headed for the dining room, nodding affably to familiar colleagues on the way.
- ¡Siéntate! (Sit down!).
Victor entered the canteen, seeing the prisoners sitting down, there were about a hundred of them, block two was the most populated, about two thousand people, and they ate in shifts so there wouldn't be any problems.
The jailers loudly ordered the prisoners to sit down.
The prisoners paid no attention to them, some laughed and chatted, not listening to the guards at all.
Victor was a police sergeant, a deputy in block two, and his duties included canteen, walks, and showers. The job was hard and entailed conflict.
- Victor," Casares, who was standing at the entrance to the mess hall, noticed him and immediately called out.
Victor's face relaxed a little and he headed towards him, but suddenly he heard a noise and shouting.
Turning his head, he saw a black man with dreadlocks cursing loudly, throwing plates, and the people around him making a ruckus.
The jailers nervously ordered him to sit down, but he didn't listen to them.
- Who's that?
Casares squinted, looked at him, and then, remembering, said, "Fridson Kuhlman, one of the main members of the Millennium Cartel.
- The Millennium Cartel? - The name was familiar, a known group for sure. - Were they paying?
Casares hesitated, taking the hint: "No, they never pay.
- They don't pay in my place and they make a mess of it? That's funny," Victor smirked, pulling a baton from Casares' belt.
- Hey! What are you doing? - Casares tried to stop him.
- What am I doing? Showing him what it means to be a poor prisoner,' Victor spat.
- Bastards! We're not eating that pig food! I want caviar! I want fruit! You're all sons of bitches, feed it to your pigs! - Freedson Kuhlman shouted.
People around him cheered him on.
- Yes! Caviar and fruit! And women! I want to fuck!
- Women! Women! Women!
The prisoners banged on the tables, making a lot of noise.
Freedson Kuhlman was pleased, prisoners like to stand out, even if they get killed, they'll be in the news.
- Caviar? Did you pay for it?
Freedson Kuhlman turned at the voice and saw the baton come down on his head. Before he could dodge, he fell to the floor and blood rushed from his head.
- Goddamn it! Rebel? You didn't pay and you're rebelling? You want caviar? I'll give you shit! - Victor hit him with his baton with fury.
And he hit him hard.
- Hey! What are you doing? Stop it!
- Get him off!
- Kill that fucking cop!
The atmosphere was heating up, Casares was getting nervous, the guards on the second floor were starting to sound the sirens.
A large man with tattoos on his head, the closest one, lunged at Victor, but he turned around, pulled out a gun and shoved it in his assailant's mouth.
- One more scream and I'll shoot you in the head.
With the gun in his mouth, the man was not afraid, but became even more fierce, mumbled something, and pointed at his temple, saying, "Shoot me!
Shoot!
There was silence in the dining room. The man clutched his left ear, screaming in pain, blood running through his fingers, and half of his ear lying on the floor.
- Shut your mouth! - Victor stepped on his face, pressing his finger to his lips. - Hush, you're too noisy.
Freedson Kuhlman was dumbfounded.
The guard...
Dared to fire the first shot? That's not very Mexican.
- Everybody on your knees, don't think I'm kidding. My hand is shaking and who knows where the bullet will go," Victor narrowed his eyes and his voice was menacing.
Most of the prisoners realized they had to obey. Those who remained alive had long ago realized this truth: it was foolish to resist authority.
They obediently sat down.
As soon as order was restored, footsteps were heard, the rapid response fighters rushed into the mess hall, and a scowling Haggis Baird entered with them.
When he saw what was happening, he raised his eyebrows in surprise: "What's going on here?
Casares quickly explained the situation.
Haggis Baird nodded: - Send the wounded man to the infirmary, Fridson Kuhlman to the isolation ward, and put the others on a three-day hunger strike.
Then he turned to Victor and looked at him in surprise: "I'll report this to the warden.
Their immediate superior was injured and unable to work, so they reported directly to Webster.
- Of course, all according to procedure," Victor replied calmly.
He was acting according to the rules, defending his life, the use of weapons was justified. This isn't an ordinary prison, it's a high level lockup, no ordinary murderers go here.
Haggis Baird looked at him: -But the one you wounded is not an ordinary man, he is a cousin of the leader of the Order of the Paratroopers.
Victor stared at him intently, not taking his eyes off him. Haggis Baird frowned, but soon gave up, feeling the weariness in his eyes.
- Do you know Dealey Square in Dallas, Texas?
- What kind of place is that? - Haggis Baird frowned.
- The president of the United States was shot there. - Victor clapped him on the shoulder, making a gun out of his fingers and putting it to Haggis's temple. - Whoever this man is, one bullet and it's over, agreed, Mr. Haggis Baird?
Haggis Baird was angry, wanting to say something else, but Victor was already gone, and Casares, apologizing, ran after him.
- Son of a bitch!
Haggis Baird slammed the table, his face contorted with rage.
- Victor, aren't you afraid he'll get his revenge? - A concerned Casares caught up with him.
- A turtle can defend itself against a knife, but not a bomb. Now that we're enemies, it's a fight to the death. Besides, if I don't make a fuss, someone won't be able to make the final decision," Victor smiled enigmatically, but Kasares didn't understand.
- 'Then be careful.
- Don't worry, last week at the hospital the doctor said my bone density is thicker than body armor.