Tamaulipas capital, Victoria City.
In a private hospital called "Happy Heavenly Kingdom."
Abrego was pushing his uncle Juan Nepomuceno in a wheelchair through the garden.
The weary-looking Nepomuceno coughed, self-deprecatingly saying, "When you get old, you have to run to the hospital every few days. I'm just causing you worry."
Abrego's body was somewhat fat. He smiled and put his hand on Nepomuceno's shoulder, "Uncle, what's this? Since childhood, you carried me on your shoulders. If not for you, I might have starved to death on the streets by now."
"My little Abrego has grown up too." Old people always liked reminiscing and sighing, "I'm old now."
"Don't worry, uncle. The doctors at this hospital are excellent. They'll take good care of you. If you're dissatisfied with anything, tell me - I can have doctors from America come over too."
Who knows if this "invitation" used proper means.
"What do I have to be dissatisfied about? Compared to other old friends, I can at least die peacefully, not dying violently on the streets. This is already the greatest blessing."
Abrego looked at Nepomuceno's face full of age spots. He could only sigh inwardly, providing care during the other's final years.
Just as he was rarely enjoying this fine weather, a key member came running over "thump thump thump," opened his mouth, saw Nepomuceno, then closed it again.
"You go handle your business. Have the caregiver push me back." The old man was tactful, patting the other's arm. Abrego nodded, "Uncle, I'll come see you again after I'm done with business."
Nepomuceno smiled and nodded.
Abrego hurriedly left with his subordinate, brushing past a masked doctor who looked back at him, then at Nepomuceno. Seeing he was alone, the doctor approached, "Let me help you, sir."
Nepomuceno looked up. This old man was inherently cautious, sizing up the other - this was his "habit." But thinking about it, this was a private hospital.
Most of Mexico's private hospitals had "backgrounds."
Drug trafficking groups, government, local gangs jointly funded them - for what purpose?
As "protective residences" for old drug dealers wanting to retire. Walking dark paths too long, one eventually becomes afraid.
People.
The older they get, the more they fear death!
"Thank you, doctor." Nepomuceno forced a smile. He looked just like an ordinary old man. Who could imagine he'd once monopolized smuggling channels and brothels on the US-Mexico border in Matamoros?
The doctor nodded, pushing the wheelchair into the building.
Most drug lords lived in single suites with three rooms and a bathroom, plus TV, air conditioning, and air purifiers. Even the bed sheets were changed daily.
The doctor pushed Nepomuceno into his room. The latter waved his hand, smiling, "I can handle the rest myself, thank you."
"No need to thank me, Mr. Nepomuceno. But someone asked me to bring you a message."
The doctor removed his mask, locked the door with his back hand, then leaned his head over, "Mr. Victor sends his regards!"
He grabbed Nepomuceno's hair, covered his face and dragged him forcefully. The latter naturally struggled, but where could this old man find the strength to fight a strong young man?
He was dragged from the wheelchair and pulled into the bathroom.
Directly pressing Nepomuceno's head into the toilet!
The old man struggled desperately.
But the toilet water drilled into his nostrils and ears.
Soon, his whole body went limp.
If you don't believe it, find a toilet and try it yourself - it's easy to choke on water quickly.
Releasing his hands, Nepomuceno fell to the floor, his entire face purple from suffocation. The killer calmly turned on the tap to wash his hands, then methodically took out a dark pen from his shirt pocket and wrote on a conspicuous wall in the room:
"Víctor te recuerda, por favor, respeta la ley!"
(Victor reminds you, please obey the law!)
After writing this, the killer lifted the overturned wheelchair from the floor before opening the door and leaving.
Fingerprints?
Did killing in Mexico require preventing fingerprints?
If you have the guts, come take revenge. If you have the ability, take my head.
About three or four minutes after the killer left, a relaxed-looking caregiver walked in. But within two seconds, she screamed and ran out, face pale. After running two steps, her legs gave out and she collapsed on the ground.
When colleagues ran over and saw the scene inside, they were also horrified.
Abrego quickly received the news and arrived.
He looked at the wide-eyed Nepomuceno, half-kneeling on one knee, reaching out to close his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he stood up with red eyes.
Walking out of the room, looking at the trembling, dazed caregiver at the door, Abrego's tone held no humanity: "I don't want to see them."
A nearby drug dealer grabbed the caregiver's hair and dragged her out like a dead dog.
The caregiver screamed, begged for mercy, cried loudly, but expecting a drug lord bastard to show mercy?
You might as well ask the Vatican to hang a Buddha statue.
"Boss, Luto y vicisitud (my condolences!)."
Abrego's triangular eyes reflected viciousness, "Don't talk bullshit! Victor should be the one needing condolences!"
"Tell the Tijuana people - kill Victor, and I'll give up two American channels, plus introduce them to Colombian Cali Group's goods!"
The subordinate almost said: Boss, think twice!
But Abrego's expression made him immediately shut up. He didn't want to be stuffed in a toilet himself.
Everyone in Gulf Group knew Nepomuceno's position in Abrego's heart.
Some gossips even rumored they weren't uncle-nephew but father-son - Nepomuceno wasn't without sons.
Why pass the position to a nephew?
There was definitely something fishy.
But Abrego's power in Gulf Group was too deep - no one dared touch his nerves.
His word was law!
...
When Nepomuceno died, Victor received a "points notification."
He was rather petty.
Couldn't kill you, Abrego? Couldn't I kill your most cherished uncle?
Since when did upholding justice require being aboveboard?
Victor was telling all drug dealers he'd use any means necessary!
Either don't do it, or see who's more devious.
Anyway, he was alone.
And to prevent prison guards' families from being threatened, he'd already had people organize "police apartments," planning to bring their relatives over in the next few days.
"Design me a gun emplacement here!"
On Guadalupe Island, Victor gestured at a hill 300 meters laterally from the dock, beside the AK-630M 30mm 6-barrel naval gun.
This hill wasn't high, about 70-some meters, but standing there was enough to overlook half the island.
"Make it open-style. I'll put quad anti-aircraft guns here. When people come from the sky, I'll shoot down planes. When ships come from the sea, I'll level them."
Victor had learned his lesson.
If he encountered another operation like the Guatemalan special forces, he'd guarantee they'd be shot down at the beach to feed great white sharks.
Speaking of which, when Victor had Casare dump drugs into the sea earlier...
Recently, great white sharks in the area had been behaving strangely.
But what did that have to do with Victor?
Did animal protection organizations have artillery?
"Boss, if the Mexican government finds out... would they..." Casare mentioned beside him.
"Oh right, there's still the government." Victor slapped his forehead as if suddenly remembering.
Why ignore them so completely?
"Casare, we're also official. When Alejandro comes, we can even have him move Baja California's security department here."
Then he could...
He was a loyal subject!
The man had no troops under him - this was called protecting leadership.
Casare helplessly waved his hand, suddenly seeJust borrowing Alejandro's signature.ing an officer running over from the distance. He immediately perked up, "What's wrong?"
"A new mayor from the state came, and he brought Guatemala's military liaison officer. They look aggressive, like they're..."
Victor's ears perked up too. Hearing this, he smiled.
"Coming in a group? Very good - they can leave as a group too!"
(End of Chapter)
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