The weather on the island changes on a dime.
The sky was dim, and the rain seemed to pour down without warning.
The church was sparsely filled with believers.
Even with the police and drug traffickers at each other's throats, people still needed to attend mass—after all, approximately 89% of Mexico's population is Catholic. Even a powerful figure like Guzman had to flee to Guatemala in 1993, after a shootout led to the death of a Cardinal.
In Guatemala, he paid an official 1.2 million US Dollars, hoping for protection.
But once the official took the money, he turned Guzman in.
This marked the beginning of Guzman's imprisonment.
On the day the Cardinal died, Mexico's national media continuously broadcasted Guzman's photo on television, and the public took to the streets in protest. The incident was severe enough to provoke the otherwise passive Mexican public into rebellion.
"God said, He shall return to Earth..." As the priest at the altar read from the Bible, there was a clang, and the door was violently flung open from the outside.
All those present instinctively looked towards the entrance.
They saw a troop of armed personnel, dressed in black and wearing masks, rushing in. The word Policía was emblazoned on the left arm of their uniforms.
The priest's brow twitched, he set down the Bible, and strode forward quickly. "Officer, what seems to be the problem?"
"Just a routine check," Victor explained with a smile.
The priest caught a glimpse of an armored vehicle outside the doorway and the gaping barrel of a cannon mounted atop it. His mouth soured, thinking, do you come with a cannon to read the meter?
"Officer, this is a house of God, what you're doing is..."
"God? Does He break the law?"
The priest was taken aback by the rhetorical question. Watching the flustered priest, Victor flipped the Roman collar on his robe and said with a smile, "On Guadalupe Island, even God must abide by the law."
"Search!" With a wave of his hand, more officers in police uniforms burst in from outside and began searching the church.
The priest paced anxiously to the side.
Although the congregants felt that this was disrespectful to God, considering that the intruders were armed, they thought better of it and kept their heads down.
"Director, there's nothing behind the church." Experience new stories on m v|l e'-novelhall.net
"Director, there's nothing in the restroom annex either."
Victor squinted his eyes as he looked at the Our Lady of Guadalupe Statue in front of him—pure, gentle, and immaculate.
This Virgin Mary, sharing her name with Guadalupe Island, had been a spiritual belief for Mexicans since her apparition back in the 16th century.
"Smash it!" Victor suddenly ordered.
Soon, the sound of a machine gun's rat-tat-tat could be heard.
"Confiscate all these drugs, seal the church, no opening without my permission."
...
Clang!
Alberto Lopez Portillo's face turned a livid shade of blue as he flipped the table, causing the fruit and tea to spill all over, then grabbed his subordinate by the collar, "What did you say, say it again!"
"The... the church has been sealed, our goods are gone."
Alberto nearly rolled his eyes in anger, "How did the police find out about the goods in the church?"
"There must be a snitch!"
This batch was supposed to be sent to California, and the gangs inside the United States had already given an advance payment. If the goods aren't delivered, this route would be cut off, and the loss would be even greater.
"Boss, let's find a way to divert some goods right now. If the Original Bloods Family doesn't get their supply..." The subordinate didn't finish his sentence.
But Alberto, who had lived in the United States for a long time, obviously knew what that meant.
Founded in the 70s in Los Angeles, this African American gang had spread globally in just a decade, but because the armed forces in the United States kept things under control, these gangs hadn't caused any significant trouble.
But occasional gang wars were still a thing.
The blood feud between the Original Bloods Family and the Crip Gang had claimed over five thousand lives over the decades.
But even the fierce Colombians, when trafficking drugs in the United States, had to get local gang permission, otherwise...
They'd show you what being a territorial gang means.
Alberto clicked his teeth in frustration, furrowing his brows deeply, "Then divert the drugs destined for other states in the United States to California first."
"I've lost at least five million US Dollars! Damn it!"
"Boss, there's another thing, after Victor made his televised speech, it seems like many of the islanders are getting restless," the subordinate tried to put it gently, "The guy nicknamed Perro fino of the Trevino Family next door, Los, was killed."
1000 US Dollars had already begun to motivate some of the braver islanders to take action.
The world never lacked "brave" people.
The more Alberto thought about it, the angrier he got. He kicked a teacup on the floor hard, turned around with a dark look in his eyes, "These peasants think they can turn the tables with Victor around? Teach them a proper lesson, let these lowlifes understand that ultimate victory will always be ours!"
"What do you mean, boss?"
"Some people in the Morelos District are getting too cozy with the cops, show them some color!"
...