Under Lares's summoning, a doctor walked into the interrogation room, seemingly unfazed by the scene of torture. After a brief check, he wrote on the report, 'Died of sudden cardiac death due to heart disease,' and stamped it.
"Let's have a drink sometime."
Lares, smiling, patted the doctor on the shoulder, walked out of the interrogation room, and gulped down some water.
Shortly after, colleagues from other interrogation rooms appeared one by one, their outcomes similar.
The real smugglers had escaped long ago, those guys knew the terrain well and slipped away as fast as rabbits. They had returned empty-handed once again.
"Lares, any results on your end?"
A colleague looked up and greeted him.
"No, tough nuts to crack, those Tijuana bastards have turned into turtles, only daring to hide behind Mexico and spread their goods. If I knew their whereabouts, I'd stuff their heads right up their asses."
Lares cursed angrily, his frustration evident.
