Chapter 7: Original performance

Tijuana: 2,000 pesos.

Juarez: 3,000 pesos.

Sinaloa: 4,000 pesos.

...

For Victor, this money was a considerable sum at this point.

Sinaloa pays the federal police chief 450,000 dollars a month. That same 50,000 pesos was scraped together like alms to a beggar.

- However, I think it is not only the heads of these 17 groups who are imprisoned in the third block. Why didn't the others pay? - Victor pointed to the list.

Anna froze, her face became confused and strange, she tried to answer as gently as possible: -Sergeant Victor, maybe some people don't know about your assignment yet.

- I understand, but I'm a fair man. Those who haven't paid, let them each submit a 2,000 peso introduction fee. That's not too much, right?

- I'll pass it on.

Anna noticed that Victor was literally drowning in money and, hiding her irritation, agreed.

Victor seemed calm. In the third block, apart from the chief, he was the most important.

If he didn't use the power, it would be lost, he knew that for sure. He urgently needed money to strengthen his position. If he could make money, why not use it?

Anna thought Victor was too greedy and predicted a short life for him. She cared little about what would happen next and soon left.

The previous deputy chief had only been in office for two months. Although he received almost 100,000 pesos in tributes, his entire family was killed.

This happened because he dared to piss off a big narco baron's on the block.

Greedy people don't live long.

If Victor knew her thoughts, he would definitely debate with her.

It seemed that those who weren't greedy could live a long time.

If you give me money, you can kill my whole family for all I care. The more you give, the more you get. If you want, I'll show you the family grave, and for an extra fee, I'll let you blow it up.

After sitting in the office for about ten minutes, Victor felt uncomfortable. He put on his hat, grabbed his keys, and decided to take a walk around the block to explore whose influence he could join.

The third block was considerably quieter than the first two. There were no walkers and no noisy prisoners here.

Walking down the corridor, Victor heard a woman's voice from one of the cells. The sounds were too obvious and exciting, especially in the deserted corridor.

Damn it...

What time is it? Are they still doing this?

Victor looked at his watch and with his hands behind his back, he headed towards the cells. There were private rooms with private bathrooms, about 20 square meters in size, with air conditioning, TVs, and even game consoles.

Conditions were better than in the police dormitory.

There was also a strict hierarchy in this unit. The most dangerous criminals were kept in the deepest cells.

- Hey!

The prisoner in the outermost cell, hearing footsteps, turned around and saw the policeman. He whistled and said unhappily, "I want tuna tacos and a bottle of tequila for lunch.

Victor looked around.

- Shit, I'm talking to you! Remember?

The prisoner rose from the bed and kicked the bars, making a loud noise.

It was an older man, about fifty years old, clearly with a difficult temper.

Victor blinked.

______

Stefan Blancard. Male. Born in 1949 in Medellin, Colombia.

Dropped out of school at 16 and joined a gang, beginning his criminal career with car thefts and street fraud, later moving on to kidnapping and smuggling, gradually gaining notoriety.

In 1973 he joined the Medellin cartel Pablo Escobar, became one of the technical leaders.

In November 1985, Pablo supported an attack by left-wing militants on a courthouse in Bogota, Colombia, taking 300 people hostage. Stephan was among the participants, playing the role of liaison.

In 1986, he became the cartel's main representative in Mexico City, working with Sinaloa and Tijuana.

In 1987, he was arrested in the red light district for beating up a prostitute, and has been in prison ever since.

Crime points: 77,000 points!

______

Obviously a serious player.

The Medellin cartel has been on the radar.

In fact, ever since Pedro Aviles started, Mexican narco baron's have been cooperating with Colombian ones. Aviles was the first Mexican narco baron's to make such connections and the first to use airplanes to transport drugs.

For each shipment, he received half the value of the goods. Because of Mexico's proximity to the United States, such a deal was favorable to the Colombians.

It became a template for cooperation between inter-national drug cartels like Guadalajara and the Gulf.

77,000 points - if you kill him, you can trade him for a pesticide spraying jet or a small ship.

- Wait a minute.

Victor pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket that had the names of the narco baron's who had made "meeting gifts" written on it. He scrutinized the list.

- You're from the Medellin cartel?

Stephan Blancard raised an eyebrow and examined Victor closely.

- 'I'm sorry, but you haven't paid, so I can't help you.

Victor folded the paper and tucked it back into his pocket.

- Without money, I can't serve you.

Was that extortion?

Stefan laughed, his smile so wide it looked like he could swallow a child's head.

- Do you know who I am? And you dare to demand money from me?

He grabbed Victor sharply by his clothes, yanking him toward him.

Victor grinned. 'You started it first, and that gives me the right to respond.

Even if the supervisor is unhappy later, that will be an acceptable explanation.

He grabbed Stefan's hand by the wrist and twisted it with force. He was clearly trying to get his hand back to its original position, straining as hard as he could, but age and comfortable life had taken their toll, and in a moment Victor broke his finger with a distinctive crunch.

Stefan cried out in pain, grabbing his injured finger and stepping back.

Victor took out his keys, opened the cell door, pulled out a baton and swung it around to hit Stefan on the head. He hurriedly raised his hands to defend himself.

- Stop it! Stop it!

- Damn you, you haven't even presented a gift for the meeting and you're being so cocky. Medellin cartel? That's Mexico, haven't you seen a map?

Victor swore it wasn't for lack of a gift, just a desire to teach a criminal a lesson.

He'd already turned the Gulf cartel against him, so there was nothing more to fear.

When you have many enemies, one more, one less, it doesn't matter.

Whether you act humble or not, these narco baron's still won't respect you or treat you differently. To them, cops are just government dogs.

But if you beat them so bad they don't recognize themselves, they'll stop talking.

Are they tough? You've got to be tougher!

The patrolling prison guards, hearing the commotion, ran toward the cell. Seeing the sergeant with a baton beating Stefan "Rat" Blankard, they froze in the doorway, not knowing what to do.

Victor, tired of beating, noticed the guards at the door. He threw the baton into their hands, causing them to step back, clearly frightened.

- Cowards!

Victor grinned, squatted down and, grabbing Stefan by the neck, whispered: - Remember, son of a bitch, tell your men to bring a gift to the meeting. Otherwise, every day I'll come here and beat you up.

Wiping the blood from his hands on Stefan's prison clothes, Victor left the cell, throwing a glance at the guards, "Get him a doctor. Also, I'm Victor, the new deputy warden.

The performance was too audacious.

The first thing he did was beat the prisoner.

The guards standing at the door didn't dare to enter the cell, afraid that the enraged Stefan might vent his anger on them.

- Quick, call the doctor, and I'll go report to the chief.

There was a commotion in the third block of about 200 guards.

There was a newcomer who dared to beat up a narco baron's baron, which made many of the guards look at him with new respect. However, there were those who took it with derision, even placing bets on how he would die.

The odds were as follows:

Being shot within a week: 1 in 1.7.

Being hacked to death and stuffed in a barrel of oil: 1 in 7.

Being dismembered: 1 in 6.7.

These were the drug cartels' three favorite ways to kill.

At this time in the psychological counseling office, Anna was painting her nails with bright red nail polish when one of her coworkers burst into the room with loud exclamations as if she herself had been at the scene.

- Do you think he's lost his mind? - The coworker asked.

Anna was stunned, her mind flashing back to the movie where Victor was shot by narco baron's. She shook her head and, putting on her shoes, ran to inform her lover.

After she left, the coworkers looked at each other.

- The bitch went after the award again," one of her colleagues muttered enviously.

Anna was the most successful in the department and also the most beautiful.

Hate among women can be amazing.

...

When Conor Velasquez returned from the meeting, he ran into Anna, who rushed over to him in a hurry.

- Warden, Victor ... He had beaten Stefan Blancard out of cell number one.

Anna watched in horror as Conor's face changed in an instant, as if at a Chinese opera.