The next day.
About 10 in the morning.
Two official vehicles marked with "APM" drove into Plateau Prison.
This was the abbreviation of the Prison Administration Bureau.
"One, two, three!"
On the outdoor exercise field, several squads of prisoners could be seen running under the lead of jail guards who would strike them with sticks when they showed signs of fatigue.
This was real hitting!
Alejandro and the others inside the car almost popped their eyes out when they saw this scene.
When did Mexican prisons start doing exercises?
As long as one fewer jail guard died each day, the KPI of the Prison Administration Bureau was met.
The two cars pulled up in front of the office building where Casare, dressed in a police uniform, was waiting at the door.
Alejandro and his companions got out of the car, frowning, "Where's Victor?"
"Upstairs, waiting for the officers!"
This caused everyone present to become somewhat displeased. You're just a low-level police supervisor; even the lowest among us is an assistant from the Federal Security Department and is several ranks above you.
But after exchanging glances, nobody was foolish enough to voice their discontent, only to follow Casare with suppressed irritation to the office.
As they opened the door, they were stunned by the scene before them.
Victor was on the ground laying out banknotes, and as they entered, he was just tucking a peso note under the edge of the desk. He got up from the ground and raised his head, "Good morning, officers."
"What are you doing?" Alejandro asked, frowning.
Victor dusted off his hands, "It was too late to lay down a new floor for the officers, but I'm quite enthusiastic, so I decided to pave a 'money-path' for you all instead!"
"Please come in and have a seat."
Alejandro looked at his colleague from the security department. His colleague looked back at him, and Alejandro, despite himself, walked in; indeed, walking on the pesos felt quite different.
As they walked into the office, they noticed Victor sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed, and stacks of banknotes scary to behold were placed on the coffee table.
"Help yourselves, officers. But I just have one thing to say – I want to be the warden. Who's in favor? Who's opposed?"
Alejandro and his companions were bewildered.
"What about Webster?" A middle-aged man wearing a suit with immaculately groomed hair asked sternly.
"Unfortunately, he was stabbed to death by prisoners yesterday."
Dead!
"One minute, however much money you can grab is all yours!"
He said, glancing at his watch, "Start!"
The one who got the bag immediately rushed over began to frantically scoop up money.
Victor didn't mind at all.
Money is only money when you spend it; otherwise, it's just paper. It has value when it's used, and without value, it's just trash.
"Boss, I've prepared your share. I had it sent to your house; there's no need to scramble with the kids," Victor said, sitting next to Alejandro with a smile.
Upon hearing this, the other party's expression relaxed slightly, hesitating, "You want to be the Warden? I haven't been reassigned yet so I can still have a say, but you've hit someone from the Federal Security Department..."
"They didn't die; it was just a lesson."
"That was a huge blow to their pride."
"Pride? How much is that worth? Alejandro, everyone is selling themselves; it's just the parts being sold that differ."
Victor laughed at this remark, lit a cigarette for himself, and with a flick, threw the lighter across the table, sending it skimming away, "It's just a broken head, right? I'll apologize to him."
With that, he stood up, "I'm sorry!"
He then kicked him, turned to Alejandro, shrugged, and said, "He takes it as my forgiveness."
"I'm not that demanding. Webster is dead; whether I take his place, I'll be reasonable in my dealings."
Violence?
If reason doesn't work, then use force.
Alejandro, considering the face (money) involved, nodded, "I'll do my best."
"Appreciate it. Oh, and one more thing."
Victor smiled a bit sheepishly, "Now that I've assumed such a significant role, I have a few relatives back home that I want to get into this place."
That was just giving an identity to people like Kennedy Heisenberg, so they could benefit from the state resources.
It was a minor matter that normally wouldn't need to be brought up to him.
But eventually, when things get stirred up, it's like giving him a heads-up.
"Time's up!" Casare said softly nearby.
Victor glanced at his watch and then at the men who even took off their suits to stuff money into them and were still dropping cash on their way out.
He generously said, "Another minute."
"I've always been generous to new friends!"
...