1989, October 29.
Sunny.
Not a good day to go out.
Dragan had been living it up lately; he brought weapons to the gang, led an attack on an enemy gang's "Gold-digger's Den", and even made it on TV. Though it was a wanted poster offering a reward, the fame-seeking Dragan was quite inflated by this.
Unfortunately...
All the surveillance showed were figures wearing hoods.
Initially, he was planning to take his boys for a massage, but Casare called to tell him to get his guns serviced.
And he emphasized, "For free!"
Those two words didn't seem to match with Mexico at all, and Dragan couldn't help asking, "You're not fooling me, are you?"
"How could I? We're cousins, and even if I were to deceive others, would I deceive you? We've got some new gun oil from the Soviet Union that supposedly improves barrel heat tolerance. You're a big buyer, so you get to use it for free in advance."
Dragan figured his cousin wouldn't con him, reported to his boss, and took his guns and two of his boys to the appointment.
The marketplace.
It was quite deserted in the daytime.
In a stone house, Victor was scanning the surroundings through the glass. Lately, he had developed a skill; if he squinted without blinking, it was like a scan that could directly reveal names, even if someone was hiding in a room.
And if their Crime Value was over 10,000, their name would be highlighted boldly.
It seemed that he still hadn't fully figured out the 'Golden Finger'.
It was far from being as simple as he had understood.
"There are real masters hidden in this marketplace!" Victor had seen at least 10 bolded names, and his first thought was whether he should knock them all out at once.
"What did you say?"
Alejandro, standing behind him, heard his mutterings and quickly asked.
"It's nothing, just relax. Once we handle this, you just need to strike a pose when you go out," Victor said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Today's banquet definitely had to end with the death of Lord Pei!
"They're here." A police officer observing whispered, and Victor quickly looked out to see a grey Volvo drive into the marketplace and stop on the road. Three men got out, wearing sunglasses, with tattoos visible on their rolled-up sleeves.
They sauntered to a spot under an umbrella and nonchalantly sat down across from Casare.
"Boss, a bottle of Tequila."
He had hoped to clean up at the end and earn some points. Now that dream was down the drain.
Victor only came out after the shootout ended.
Bullets don't have eyes; if he went out and caught a stray bullet, that would truly be game over.
Alejandro was busy searching the vehicles, and when he found a neat row of AK47s in the trunk, he couldn't help but get excited. And Casare had wanted to find a reporter, but damn it, that bastard had run off at the sound of gunfire.
Tabloid journalists have no sense of sacrifice. How can they uncover big news?
But that was just a minor detail. He immediately called six TV stations and newspapers—it would still be in time when they arrived.
Casare looked down at Dragan's body lying on the ground, eyes wide with fury; he would've never thought his cousin could betray him.
Casare sighed, squatting down to close his eyes gently, his expression sorrowful.
This was his dear cousin, after all.
"Dragan, rest assured, I'll find a few more men for Auntie. You'll have more younger brothers."
Luckily, there were no ghosts around, or hearing this, they would have leapt up to fight him to the death.
Samboerne was shot too; he had been hit by Dragan's men during their counter-attack.
Coughing up blood, he didn't die instantly. His eyes lost focus, and he seemed to see himself as a child, taking a piece of candy handed to him by his teacher.
The teacher patted his head, "Your choice will be dangerous, Samboerne. You might die."
"Teacher, there should also be sweet moments, just like this candy. I will definitely protect Mexico! It belongs to the light!"
Samboerne murmured, "Light..."
Then his head tilted, and he died.
Victor stood by his side. He had heard of Samboerne and understood how much ridicule a drug lord's son had faced to become a righteous policeman.
The mockery from relatives in childhood.
The jeers from colleagues in adulthood.
But he stood firm in his convictions.
A respectable "Mexican!"
"Ah Men, may Buddha be with you."
For the first time, Victor prayed sincerely for someone.
...