The sudden turn of events terrified the girls.
Panicking, they tried to run outside, but Casare had blocked the door, so they could only shiver and huddle to one side.
In Mexico, being a prostitute wasn't safe; one could be embroiled in vendettas at any time.
Earning a bit of money was truly not easy.
Victor drove a shard of glass directly into Wilbert's thigh, "I'll ask one more time, who did it!!"
"Olivier, it was Olivier!" Wilbert screamed in terror, his expression filled with horror.
Dammit, who just comes up and starts a fight?
Don't I just want some money?
If you want a free ride, just say it outright, would I disagree?
"Which Olivier?" Best frowned and asked.
"Tezcatlipoca's lot, he's out for revenge because you guys killed his only brother!"
Best nodded slowly at Victor, "I think I know where they are."
"So this guy is useless now, right?"
Wilbert was scared to death by that remark; he raised his hands, shouting in fear, "Don't kill me, I'm useful, I can provide you with information."
"You're too expensive, sir."
Casare fired seven shots at him, finishing with a headshot.
The most important thing was, if you offended Jesus, you could still pray, but if you offended Boss Victor, did you still expect to live?
Everyone knew he was the most narrow-minded... scratch that, the most intolerant of evil!
"Boss! Someone's coming!" the jail guard at the door shouted urgently as he opened it.
"Let's get out first."
Victor took the Uzi submachine gun from Casare's hand, and as soon as he stepped out of the private room, he saw four or five burly men rushing over. By their tattoos, it was clear they belonged to some gang.
The men were clearly dumbfounded upon seeing their guns, and as Victor raised his weapon, they panicked, bumping open doors and hiding in the adjacent private rooms.
Victor and his crew took the opportunity to rush out. At the entrance, one jail guard even pulled out a tear gas grenade and tossed it into the crowd of people still dancing.
Serves you right for not sleeping at night!
The thick smoke instantly filled the entire bar amid screams, confusion, and cries.
The group got into a red Mazda parked at the door and sped away.
By the time the gang members in charge of watching the place came out, sniveling and teary-eyed, they could only rage impotently on the spot.
...
"Who is Olivier?" Victor, sitting in the passenger seat, pinched the handle above his head and turned to ask Best, who was behind him.
"His old man was an avocado tycoon in Michoacán, but due to global warming, agricultural products grew slowly, and he felt he couldn't get rich, so he turned to the Gulf, doing supply chain business for them. However, during one shipment, he was shot and killed by the Drug Enforcement Administration, and that's when Olivier took over his dad's job."
"But he was ambitious and split from the Gulf to go solo. However, his business didn't last long before he was beaten back by the Michoacán Family Cartel, and finally, he came to Mexico City."
Casare looked puzzled from the side, "How do you know all these details?"
"Because he acts brazenly without abiding by any rules, casually killing entire families."
"Does he have significant firepower?" Victor asked the question he was very keen to know.
"He has nearly a hundred gunmen under him, including but not limited to assault rifles - he's got an unusual amount of firepower for Mexico City."
That made things clear.
Indeed, while the neighbor hoards grain, I hoard guns; their grain silo is right next door, and the louder the caliber, the louder the voice.
Isn't that a bit of bullying?
Moreover, this kind of "combat pickup truck" was also refreshing their understanding of weapons. Can weapons really be used like this?
The combat pickup truck actually became famous globally in 1987.
That year, armed conflict erupted between Libya and Chad. At the time, the Libyan military was well-equipped, whereas the Chadian military only had 400 civilian Toyota pickups. However, the Chadians outfitted the pickups with anti-tank missiles and, using their maneuverability in the vast desert, engaged in guerilla warfare against the Libyan tank regiments.
Incredibly, they managed to defeat the hitherto invincible Libyan forces.
And actually, Mexican drug traffickers began using "combat pickup trucks" in the early 90s. During the armed conflicts between Sinaloa and Tijuana, there were instances of machine guns mounted on pickup trucks, firing into crowds.
This thing, cheap and reliable, was perfect for home, travel, and even essential for firefights.
"Weld it on."
Upon Victor's command, Yuri and Kost got to work. Meanwhile, Duke's eyes were shining. After Victor went inside, he commented to Best, "Boss, the big guy has quite the connections, huh? Even managed to bring in a cannon."
"This is not good news," Best sighed.
"What do you mean? Is there a problem?"
"If we really start using cannons, how do you think those major drug trafficking organizations will react? They'll definitely upgrade their own equipment. Places that are already rampant with drug trafficking will become even more brutal."
Duke clearly understood the nature of drug lords. If they learned of this new "play," they would surely join in, potentially escalating the conflicts between drug lords into full-blown "wars"!
There's an "arms race" among drug lords as well.
In 2009, Los Zetas spent $60 million to purchase arms, and they were even auctioning worldwide.
Are you braindead?
Who would dare sell to you?
Can't you send a private fax?
No! Can't you write a letter?
With a population of over eight million, Papua New Guinea only spent $84 million on military expenses in 2017!
Your drug trafficking organization is more vicious than a whole country.
It's only because the world's top 500 doesn't allow "illegal organizations" that Mexico isn't the country with the most "enterprises" on the list.
"But what's that got to do with us?" Duke hesitated, "Boss, in Mexico, it's better they die than us."
You're almost getting killed by others, and you're still being a Virgin Mary?
"I'm just expressing my dismay, idiot!" Best snapped irritably.
"Come over here and give me a hand," Casare called from atop the pickup truck.
"On my way!" Duke hurried over.
The group was busy until the early morning; as long as it's securely fixed, making sure the welding doesn't flip them over with the first shot.
When Victor was called out, he too felt the overpowering pressure looking at the "combat pickup truck." A 37mm caliber simply couldn't be called a "gun," right?
Suddenly, an idea occurred to him.
If he had his own factory in the future, could he export these to Africa?
Sell them cheap, and they should have a market, right?
Can't sell them to Mexican drug traffickers, though. If they blew him up, that would be a massive loss.
But then he suddenly remembered a problem.
"Which one of you knows how to fire a cannon?"
...
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