Five consecutive rounds of 120mm mortar bombardment!
Visually, the hillside had been blasted several centimeters lower.
"Victor Cartel's" number three figure Kennedy Heisenberg led officers charging up, fearing someone might still survive such artillery bombardment.
"Don't kill me! Don't kill me, I surrender!"
A criminal in the yard's swimming pool - obviously very lucky - quickly raised his hands pleading when he saw Kennedy and others, "I have a seventy-year-old mother..."
Bang!
Kennedy fired a shotgun blast, directly blowing the other's head apart, "Sorry, I refuse."
"Search! Safes, nightstands, and check inside bedding too."
This was "extracurricular activity" - raiding homes!
To develop Guadalupe Island required money. With drug dealers dead, didn't this all belong to Victor?
Drug dealers loved hiding cash at home. When Colombia's Pablo fled, wherever he'd stayed, huge amounts of cash could be found.
Because their money was "dirty" and needed laundering. Mexico's famous female drug lord nicknamed "Queen of the Pacific," Sandra Beltrán, was arrested in 2007 for money laundering.
But police didn't need these titles!
Victor publicly announced this was drug dealer funding. In the future, money earned from arms dealing could be "laundered" this way. Drug dealers never imagined that after death, they'd still take the blame for "the boss."
Finally, Kennedy Heisenberg searched the Portillo family ruins and found $3 million and 1.5 million pesos, plus about 20 kilograms of gold and jewelry estimated at over $600,000.
When Victor heard this news, he was silent for a long time, then looked at Casare with very firm resolve, "If drug dealers aren't completely dead, I feel very uncomfortable!"
A drug dealer family holed up on a rotten island had so much cash - imagine how much money those trafficking groups spanning multiple continents must have.
No wonder when DEA caught drug dealers, many CIA people also came forward to obstruct.
Brother, the waters run too deep. Ordinary people can't handle it - it takes Victor, whose fate is hard, and most importantly, whose caliber is thick enough.
When returning to the police station, the car had just stopped when Santos, who'd changed clothes and wore an ill-fitting police uniform, called out, "Mr. Victor, that was so cool!"
"When can I be like you?"
Victor patted his head, "Santos, you don't need to become me, but you will definitely be me. Mexico's anti-drug cause isn't just my responsibility alone - you and your generation are the main force."
"But now, I stand before you. When I'm old or fall, you should take up my cause, raise my torch, overthrow, resist, and eliminate those drug dealers destroying Mexico."
Santos listened like a believer hearing "God." He nodded firmly, then suddenly seemed to remember something, "Mr. Victor, I'll be baptized in a month. Can you come baptize me?"
Victor was stunned, because in Western places, helping someone get baptized made you Padrino - Godfather. This carried heavy meaning.
Equivalent to being his guiding light.
Italian Mafia loved doing this sort of thing.
Victor looked at Santos's hopeful gaze, patted his head, "Of course, God and I are both with you."
Feeling warmth from the palm, Santos nuzzled like a little dog. Here, he'd found the paternal love he hadn't felt for so long.
When your life is confused and suddenly a beacon appears, you'll find everything about them is an advantage.
"Father! I've finally found someone as great as you!"
...
When the Portillo family "dominating" northwest Guadalupe Island was "live-streamed" being wiped out, other drug dealers didn't dare rescue them.
What a joke.
That 120mm caliber was bigger than a fist - what if it hit your head?
Jakarta Snow (Nieve en Yakarta) Café.
Staff stood trembling aside, legs going weak.
Mainly because the café was filled with tough guys - tattoos, firearms, nose rings, some even had words carved in their faces. The visual impact alone was overwhelming.
"The Portillo family... is gone." A white man in a cowboy hat spoke heavily.
"Scorpion (Escorpión), we saw it with our own eyes!" Sitting across from him was a black man who didn't seem to have a good temper.
Mexico was a multi-ethnic country, with about 1.5 million blacks living in states like Guerrero, Oaxaca, and Veracruz.
"Negro! (Black!) Believe it or not, I'll stuff your ass in a watermelon!"
This enraged the black man, who grabbed a pistol from the table and pointed it at the other. The white man's subordinates quickly drew guns, both sides at drawn swords.
Other drug lords watched coldly.
"Enough!"
Just as the atmosphere grew tense, a tower-like figure stood up, at least 190+ cm tall - definitely a "giant" in Mexico, with sinister eyes and furrowed brows.
This was Francisco, nicknamed "Warrior (Guerrero)," whose organization "Morsis" was a Tijuana subsidiary unit, holding "transcendent" status on Guadalupe Island.
The black man and white man hadn't really planned to fight. Hearing his words, they sat down sullenly.
"Francisco, haven't the Tijuana gentlemen replied yet?"
The big man shook his head, "The gentlemen allow us to abandon Guadalupe Island."
"What!"
"Impossible!"
"This can't be - how could the gentlemen give such orders?"
Other drug dealers looked at this scene in disbelief.
Especially the white man, who shouted even more intensely.
"Juárez announced an alliance with Sinaloa and declared war on Tijuana."
This news was more shocking, but frankly, it had nothing to do with them.
If Tijuana was killed by two major groups, these dependent small organizations could just change bosses - very common in Mexico.
But now everyone was "begging for food" under Tijuana - couldn't exactly stand up and flip the table.
"The gentlemen's meaning..."
Big man Francisco took a deep breath, helplessness in his eyes, "Surrender."
"Their firepower is too fierce. Where did that bastard Victor get artillery! Damn it, are those Mexican politicians eating shit?" A drug lord cursed, but his expression clearly showed relief.
They...
Were really scared.
Police equipped with artillery - should coast guard also get aircraft carriers?
"I won't surrender!"
The white man kicked over the table, "You bunch of cowards!" After saying this, he angrily kicked the door and left.
Francisco looked at everyone, also standing up, "Tomorrow I'll go find Victor to guarantee our interests. Surrender also has conditions."
After he left, all drug dealers in the café looked at each other, only able to sigh.
Can't win - what could they do?
To stay alive, they'd sell anything.
The more vicious people were, the more they feared death.
(End of Chapter)
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