Having caught the last bus, Victor was returning to the prison.
He left the stolen Beetle for Best to sell. Mexico was full of used car dealers, so the money would go to the organization.
Getting out of the car, Victor stood at a lonely bus sign from where he could see the bright lights of the night market.
Even the recent attack hadn't stopped the life of the city. Aren't these just dead people?
We should fear the living, not the dead.
When Kennedy was assassinated, did that stop Americans from having fun?
- In a couple of days a shipment from the USSR will arrive, we need to realize it quickly, - said Victor, smoking.
Casares' eyes glistened with anticipation: - How much?
- 10 AK-47 assault rifles, 10 thousand rounds of 7.62 mm ammunition and 10 F-1 grenades. It's a big order.
Victor looked at his system glasses. He had 2028 points. 10 AK-47s were worth 1500 points, the ammo was almost free - 1 point per 100 rounds, that's only 100 points. Grenades were worth 200 points. With 228 points left, he would kill some criminals again in a couple days and earn more points.
In Mexico and Colombia, danger and opportunity go hand in hand. It's the perfect place for Victor, because the drug traffickers here are numerous.
When Casares heard the numbers, he began to shake with excitement, calculating the profits in his mind.
Though the shipment seemed small, it would be enough to fight a small war.
- How do we set the prices?
- AKs - 800 dollars, ammunition - 1 dollar for 5 pieces, grenades - 30 dollars. If they take it all at once, we can discount it.
Casares tried to count on his fingers, but math was not his strong suit.
Still, he realized he could make about $600 from this deal, and his face lit up.
- I'm rich, I'm rich!
- Make more acquaintances in block two. That's where the backbones of the different gangs sit - our potential customers. When we sell large quantities, they'll be our main buyers.
- Got it.
To make money, even the cops had to get along with the inmates.
- By the way, did you hear about that Freemont Holder that Best was talking about in the bathhouse? The story's amazing.
- Dude, in Mexico, everybody who made it to the top has amazing stories. Doesn't mean they're on the righteous path. They could get killed at any moment. You don't want your head to meet your ass, right?
They continued their conversation as they entered the prison. One of the guards, seeing them coming back, teased Casares, -Casares, did your money all go to the girls in the market?
As for Victor, no one dared touch him. After all, he dared to attack the narco baron's of the third block.
Casares answered the guard with his middle finger, the universal gesture.
When they went to their cells, Victor gave Casares two boxes of ammunition for the Colt and warned him of the possible danger.
He was to shoot first if danger appeared.
Casares, seeing Victor's seriousness, agreed.
Back in his room, Victor opened his journal and remembered the story of Fremont Holder that Best had mentioned.
Holder's story was indeed fascinating.
...
Fremont Holder can be called a "black cop", he also had a tragic fate: it is said that his family was killed by drug traffickers, and that's why he decided to become a policeman.
But the Mexican police do not think to get involved with drug cartels.
Holder found his own way: alone broke into a bar, where the gangsters gathered, and took the goods for 4000 dollars!
By the standards of 1987, it cost about 1,200 pesos to kill a man in Mexico. Of course, you don't hire someone from an organized gang, you just pick up a teenager off the street and they'll do it.
Of course, now it's 1989, maybe prices have changed, maybe they've gone up or down.
After all, society is unstable, there are fewer benefits, everyone is starting to tighten up.
But $4,000 dollars is enough to sell your soul.
In this world, everything depends on benefits: even the closest friend, the best brother will betray if it comes to a conflict of interest. Human nature is very complicated, money can not only make the devil work for you, but vice versa.
But just Holder had his own "cheap" principles. He was filled with hatred, closing his eyes, he saw his parents and siblings asking him, "Why aren't you getting revenge?"
He couldn't sleep.
He thought he would go through his life like this, maybe die on this street, and then the people at the shelter would take his body and the world would forget about him.
But he didn't want to put up with that! He wanted revenge, since his enemies were drug dealers, he would respond with violence to violence! His morals were flexible.
This world is cruel. If you're not tough, you won't last long.
If you can't become a legend, at least become infamous.
Even on the Day of the Dead, someone will remember you.
He knew he needed accomplices, so he hailed a cab and drove to the La Condesa neighborhood. As soon as he got in the car, he drew his gun, and the driver immediately became docile.
He looked at the neat houses around him, and his gaze became nostalgic for a moment. He used to live here too.
Limping, he found house number 27, in the garden the dog had already smelled the stranger and was barking non-stop.
A man in his thirties came out of the house, called out to the dog, and when he saw the figure at the gate, he immediately tensed up, ready to run.
- Ryan, don't you recognize me?
Holder stepped forward, the moonlight mixing with the dim light at the gate and illuminating his face.
The man saw him and immediately his face changed.
He quickly ran up and opened the door: -Holder! Are you alive?!
- God doesn't need my soul," Holder grinned, adding in a husky voice, "I'm not dead.
- Come in quick before that damned Sungwoo sees you.
Ryan grabbed his arm and pulled him into the house.
Sunwoo is the neighbor who killed his entire family.
Judging by his name, his father was Vietnamese and his mother was Mexican.
And Ryan was Holder's childhood friend, their fathers were close too.
- You're alive, it's a miracle! I thought you were-" Ryan was excited, tears glistening in his eyes.
- When I heard that your house had burned down, I immediately sensed something wrong, I went to the police, but they didn't even come to look, they said it was an accident. If it wasn't for Sunwoo, who got drunk and bragged in the street that he killed your family, I wouldn't have known he did it!
- Then my brother Arietta also went to the police, but they said Sunwoo was drunk and talking nonsense, no proof.
Holder, hearing that someone else was fighting for him, was moved.
- Where's Arietta?
Ryan lowered his head.
- He's dead.
Holder was stunned.
- How?
- He was hit by a cement truck after school. The driver went to jail, but I know it wasn't an accident.
Silence is the song of helplessness.
Tears are the deepest expression of weakness.
- Sunwoo! - Holder gritted his teeth and looked at Ryan after taking a deep breath: -Do you want revenge?
Ryan raised his head.
- I want to work on my own, I need people. I know you were in the Mexican army. I want you to join me.
- You want to be a drug dealer! - Ryan turned pale.
For Mexicans, organized crime is immediately associated with drugs, because it's almost a century old.
- Ryan, we can't change the world, we can't change Mexico. We can only survive. Don't you want revenge?
- Mexico doesn't believe in the weak, those who don't have a voice have no place in society. I don't want to die in the gutter one day. When I close my eyes, I think only of revenge. I need strength! I believe you will help me.
Ryan stared at him, pondering, then nodded slowly: - I trust you, you won't let me down.
Holder looked at him too and nodded confidently: - I won't. Let's start small. Who else lives in this house?
- His mother.
- Kill her!
- Shaina is a good person.
Ryan hesitated.
- She's a good person? All the more reason to send her to God. God loves good people, he'll be happy to see her!
Holder now just wanted the first proof of loyalty.
- Arietta was a good person too.
Ryan clenched his fists.
- Kill her!
Holder's eyes were full of determination. He needed proof of loyalty. It wasn't that he didn't trust Ryan, but over the years he'd learned that all feelings were bullshit.
Like a teenager in the slums who desperately pursues a girl and you just pay her and she gets in your car.
By killing Sungwoo's mother, Ryan really becomes his sidekick.
Don't let your feelings get in the way of the case.
If you make a mistake in Mexico, you have one road, death.
...
Victor ate breakfast in the mess hall, grabbed his keys, and headed for the cells.
As he passed Stefan's "solitary" cell, he saw him enjoying the company of a woman who was feeding him fruit straight from her mouth.
Knock, knock, knock!
Victor tapped the baton on the wall. Stefan, who had just been relaxed, raised his head and a curse froze on his lips.
Damn it, is that bastard still alive? Didn't the men from Sinaloa promise to take him out?
- Surprised to see me, Mr. Stefan?
Victor opened the cell and entered. Seeing the sliced cactus fruit, he took a bite and spit the seeds into the face of Stefan, who was about to get up out of anger.
Victor poked him in the face with his baton.
- Do you want some more?
Stefan remembered how that baton had hurt him and tensed up. But his status and pride wouldn't let him give up.
- What will my hatred get you?
Victor grinned.
- I'm just teaching you the rules. In my territory, if you're a dragon you must curl up in a ball, if you're a tiger you must lie down. And where's your welcome gift? You didn't give it to me?
Saying this, Victor lowered his baton and poked Stefan in the groin.
- Okay, I'll give it to you!
Stefan was startled and quickly agreed. This 'place' is absolutely not to be injured.
He got out of bed, walked over to the safe, yes, he had a safe, pulled out a wad of dollars and held it out to Victor.
The wad looked like it contained about $2,000-3,000 dollars.
- 'You better give it to me right away,' Victor said, taking the money without the slightest hesitation and patting Stefan on the shoulder.
- Keep having fun.
Before he left, he closed the cell door.
Victor had only taken a couple steps down the hall when he heard a gruff voice:
- Aren't you afraid he'll get back at you?
He turned his head and saw a gaunt middle-aged man sitting in his cell staring at him, his eyes as sharp as an eagle's.
Victor blinked.
One glance was enough to notice the red numbers.
"1 078 000!"
"Sicily Falcon!!!"