Working as a police officer in Mexico

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!

Are you kidding me?

So sudden?

The smart people present shifted their gaze toward Victor.

"If he's dead, don't I, as the Deputy Warden, have the right to take over?"

"You are knowingly breaking the law; you have no right to become warden. We don't agree with this, and we will get to the bottom of it!" the middle-aged man said, rising and shouting angrily, "Let's go!"

With that, he prepared to leave with his two young colleagues.

Victor's smile instantly vanished, and as he watched the man walk around the coffee table, he suddenly stood up, picked up a baseball bat beside him, and struck the man's head from behind.

He flopped to the ground immediately.

But that wasn't enough; Victor continued to strike.

The jail guard at the door glanced over and closed it.

The middle-aged man screamed and tried to block the blows with his hands.

"Damn it! I give you face, and you don't want it. Investigate me? How many lives do you have?!"

Victor didn't stop beating until the baseball bat broke, and Alejandro and the others from the different departments didn't dare intervene. Even the young colleagues brought by the middle-aged man seemed at a loss.

After the stick broke, Victor kicked the man a few more times, then turned around, slightly sweaty, to look at the people on the sofa who were too scared to utter a sound.

"I'm very fair when it comes to business. You want money, I'll give it to you; I just want the Warden's position. Name your price. If you can't handle it, just bring him to collect the money. I refuse to believe that there's anyone in Mexico who isn't corrupt!"

As Victor said this, he pulled open his bookshelf cabinet, which was neatly filled with Pesos.

These were all 'sanitation fees.'

Last night, Casare had collected money all night long. Those who didn't pay? They had to tiptoe around the toilet next to the bowl. And if they fell in?

Hehehe... they were in for a miserable time.

Did you think that by becoming a prisoner, you were going to be a boss?

Did you think Victor was a good person?

Once you're in a Mexican Prison, you're a criminal. To speak frankly, I don't know about other places, but in Mexico, if you kill everyone inside, not a single one is innocent.

If Victor ever gets into power, the first thing he's going to do is collect sanitation fees... Oops, my mistake, he'll reinstate the death penalty!

For crimes that aren't afraid of death, it's just playing house.

In Plateau Prison, with its 5,000 inmates, they bring in almost 1.2 million Pesos a month in 'revenue' for Victor.

Indeed, power is the greatest wealth.

Alejandro and the others saw the full cash and also knew who had swallowed hard. Victor looked towards the source of the sound with a smile. It was a young man who didn't have the thick skin of old Fox yet; his face turned red under Victor's gaze.

"Casare, fetch some bags for our new friends," Victor instructed, and Casare, who had already prepared the bags, handed them over.

"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!"

...

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