Those who understand Mexican history couldn't possibly be unaware of Joaquín Guzmán Loera.
Born in 1957 in the state of Sinaloa, the cradle of drug lords in Mexico, an agricultural stronghold, the traditional crops became unprofitable due to the free market and cheap US agricultural products, prompting many farmers to start growing DM or YP.
Guzman's father was one such farmer, fond of drink and women, a trait that might have been inherited through DNA, as evidenced by his later formalization of four marriages and countless mistresses.
Guzman dropped out of school in the third grade, frequently beaten by his father. As the saying goes, the children of the poor must take on family responsibilities early, and at 15, he pooled money with a few cousins to contract farming ventures, taking on the role of breadwinner. These same cousins later fell out with him and split from the Sinaloa Group to form the Beltrán-Leyva Cartel.
They managed a plantation for a while,
but soon discovered that middlemen were making all the profit.
Hence, his first entrepreneurial endeavor was declared a failure.
He then joined the ranks of Pedro's operation, one of the first-generation drug lords in Sinaloa, working under one of Pedro's lieutenants, Palma, tasked with transporting goods to the US-Mexico border to be handed over to cross-border smugglers. Due to his short stature of around 1.6 meters, he was nicknamed "Shorty".
But you wouldn't dare call him that to his face, or he would make you understand what it meant to prefer death over life.
Cool-headed, ruthless, and with a good business sense, he quickly stood out and became an invaluable aide to Palma, When the boss Pedro was killed in the late '70s, Gallardo took over and became the decision-maker.
Guzman even served as a driver for Godfather Gallardo.
It was well known that being a driver for the boss could lead to a prosperous future, and soon his talents were recognized. Gallardo put him in charge of logistics, often running to Colombia and Honduras, thereby expanding his connections significantly.
After the Guadalajara Cartel fell apart, Gallardo's lieutenants convened to divvy up territories, and the Sinaloa Group reestablished itself as independent. By then, the capable "Shorty" began to earn his reputation as a "tunnel-digging maniac."
He built tunnels at the border, ferrying goods into the United States around the clock.
The Colombians' wares would reach designated warehouses in the United States within a week through his operations, a logistics phenomenon that could put some courier companies to shame.
Of course, as things stood, Guzman was quietly amassing a fortune and was not yet famous, mainly because he kept a low profile and hadn't yet made the United States' most-wanted list.
Ten o'clock in the morning.
Victor and Casare arrived at the agreed-upon district, where they could clearly feel an increase in unfamiliar faces on the streets.
In a neighborhood café, Victor met this legendary figure.
He blinked subconsciously.
"6,750,000!"
Guzman was still the number two man at the moment, so his points hadn't exceeded expectations, but Victor had discovered something remarkable in his recent focus.
The killing of Palma!
Victor was still sitting with his legs crossed, lifted his head to look at him, and pointed to his own head, "Shoot here, don't hit my chest, I just changed into this suit."
"But, Guzman, if I end up lying here today, you'll join me in death. Let's see if your lousy pistol has more bullets or if my submachine gun has fiercer firepower."
"You're acting like the boss on my turf? Didn't your mother teach you anything!"
Victor kicked the table forcefully, exuding a powerful aura.
He didn't say he was a cop because for drug traffickers, this identity would be even more stimulating.
Guzman squinted his eyes, and the henchmen behind him all watched the boss; they didn't want to die here. The other side was right, once the submachine gun unleashed a volley, they'd all be lying here.
Beacon-sized beads of sweat seeped from the temples of Best and Casare, their hands gripping the guns were a bit nervous.
Guzman truly lived up to being called: the last slippery veteran drug lord.
If it were the "Z3" Cascano from the Millennium era, he might have already been in a direct confrontation by now.
That guy established Los Zetas.
Guzman suddenly relaxed his grip on the gun, placed it on the table, and squeezed out a smile on his face, "You're impressive, Victor, I admire people like you. You're right, drugs can't be deposited in a bank, so let's deal with cash."
The guy played cowardly when he sensed something was wrong, but Victor knew that this guy must already hate him enough to grind his teeth.
Mexican drug lords are accustomed to solving problems with violence, facing difficulties with one word: "Barge". It was rare for someone like him to voluntarily play the coward.
No wonder the Yanks later put up a $15 million bounty on him.
The subsequent transaction went smoothly; they were given cash, loaded the goods into the car, and left directly.
This was the first encounter between Victor and Guzman, and it was not friendly at all.
Casare, with lingering fears, said, "Victor, they are Sinaloa, they are brutal, doing this..."
"The most brutal violence organizations in the world are always national governments, but aren't we still offending them for the sake of money? The constitution is their tool for collecting wealth, and the army is their violent means to maintain power and riches, just like the United States."
"Are you afraid of its weapons? Or its power?"
Even the smallest drug trafficking group in Mexico wouldn't yield to you just because you're awesome; at worst, they'd fight you. If you don't kill me, I'll join your enemy and go after you.
Pablo even directly funded the rebels because the Colombian government was giving him trouble.
"What I fear has never been death, but someone encroaching on my interests, earning one point less is as uncomfortable as killing me!"
...