บท 8: Chapter 8: Selling Weapons
- Why did you beat him up?! Don't you know that the first rule of our third block is not to abuse prisoners?
- Did you just go to prison? Idiot, they're more valuable in prison than your parents. If you want to die, why are you dragging us with you?!
Conor Velasquez was pounding the table with rage and yelling at Victor, pointing his finger at him. But it wasn't that he really "cared" about the prisoner.
It was that he was afraid.
These were people from the Medellin cartel!
If the Guadalajara cartel used the plaza system so that all Mexicans could make money, Pablo from Medellin was just plain crazy.
He even wanted to run for president.
He had already become a deputy at the time, but was publicly exposed by the honest Minister of Justice. And what did Pablo, who cared about his reputation, do?
He simply ordered the Minister of Justice killed.
After all, they weren't afraid to "turn the table". Your bones are no stronger than a bullet anyway.
Kidnapping the children of high-ranking officials, brutally murdering judges, attacking the president, blowing up passenger airplanes - they're not to be trifled with.
Of course, that's not to say that the Guadalajara cartel isn't violent.
They at least dare to attack DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration) agents. Even Pablo in his craziest days knew that you could kill ordinary Americans, but if you touch the DEA, they really will fight to the death.
Stefan Blancard was caught by accident because there is no extradition agreement between Mexico and Colombia, and the parties are now arguing over who to try him. The U.S. wants him extradited for trial, too.
But that doesn't mean you can abuse the people of Medellin with impunity.
That's suicide.
Conor Velasquez was afraid of being dragged into it. The Medellin cartel kills everyone without exception.
Victor, looking at his superior who was ready to shoot him, remained calm and pointed to his clothes: - He attacked first. I felt threatened and had to defend myself.
- Go tell that to the narco baron's!
Kona Velasquez didn't want to waste any more drool on the "dead man". He was still friendly from the morning, but now his face expressed only disgust. Pointing to the door, he shouted: - Get out of here, idiot. If you don't want to die, go with a dog chain to your cell and pray for forgiveness.
- Don't say I didn't warn you.
- Sorry, my profession doesn't allow me to do that. I'm a policeman. It's the criminals who should be afraid of me, not me of them! - Victor refused, saluted and walked out.
- Bastard! Son of a bitch! You idiot!
Conor Velasquez froze for a moment at his words, complex feelings flashed in his eyes, but they were quickly replaced by rage and loud curses: - Wait for death!
Police officers passing by saw and heard the scene.
Some looked at Victor with respect, others looked at him as if he were dead.
There are always those who, even in such a filthy society, retain moral principles.
But Victor was really just playing along. These words he added to enhance his "positive image".
The Mexican government is corrupt, but that doesn't mean everyone there is scum. There are people trying to save their country. They hope to find like-minded people and give them power.
Pablo may have been a savage on the outside, but he knew how to keep his base. When he died, tens of thousands of people from his hometown of Medellín came to see him off on his last journey.
Everyone has two sides: one for others and one for himself.
In public, I am a patriot.
In private life, patriotism is a business.
It's called image building. If there was enough money later, he even planned to write a book, open a TV channel - just to improve his image.
Victor glanced at his watch, and finished his work early.
No one minded. Even the guards thought the deputy chief wouldn't last long, so why bother with his schedule?
But what happened in cell block three quickly spread throughout the prison.
When Victor came out, the people he knew pointed fingers at him and didn't dare speak. When he reached the canteen, he stood at the window, but no one came up to give him food.
Everyone was afraid of being dragged in.
Avoiding danger was an instinct of carbon-based life forms.
Victor wasn't angry. Since no one wanted to give him food, he made his own, took a few extra chicken legs, packed them up and took them to the dormitory. If he doesn't finish, he'll have some for dinner.
-He hasn't run away yet? He's not afraid of revenge?
- Escape? Where? Even in a government building, he could be killed. Prison is safer. If I were him, I'd stay here forever.
Colleagues were whispering, but one eye was fixed on Victor with particular scrutiny.
...
Evening. It was quickly getting dark.
The lights in the dormitory were dim. Victor sat with a notebook in his hands, pausing now and then, pondering something with a frown on his face.
There were many notes and plans on it.
For example: "Achieve an appointment as the head of the department for within half a year to a year."
Location preferably not to be chosen in areas of large cross-border organizations such as Sinaloa or Tijuana. But after counting the states, he realized that drug traffickers control almost the entire country.
The poorest state of Chiapas, next to Guatemala, had become a logistical center for drug trafficking because of its convenient geographic location.
Victor made a choice of three locations: the island of Guadalupe in Baja California. This island in the Pacific Ocean has a population of about 80,000 people. Although narco baron's are active there, surrounded by the sea, it's harder for them to organize major attacks as on land.
Tijuana's traditional holdings.
The second option: the city of Taxco in the state of Guerrero. This city is in the dense forests where Indians used to live.
Then the Indians left the place and it became a Mexican settlement of about 100,000 people. Due to transportation difficulties, it's easy to hide there, and it also serves as a drug growing area.
The third option is Ciudad Juarez in the state of Chihuahua. This old Juarez property on the south bank of the Rio Grande River, across from the American city of El Paso, is a classic smuggling paradise. At night you can see small submarines transporting drugs.
These three locations were his choice. In a notebook, Victor detailed the plan. When he became the head of the department, he would develop a team of 30 armed men.
Some of these men could be employed by the police, and then he would be able to operate with more freedom.
The rest will take care of the black market, including the arms trade, which will provide a constant flow of information and money.
Then, using that money, he would be able to invest in high-level connections.
The plan was detailed. If someone had found this notebook on the street, they would have thought it was the deathbed fantasies of some "fool". But for Victor, who had goals and ambitions, this was just the beginning!
If a man has no purpose, how is he different from a worm?
Knock, knock, knock.
As he was adding new plans to his notebook, there was a knock on the door. The knocking was quiet, as if they didn't want anyone to hear.
Victor stashed his notebook in his desk, picked up his Colt M1911 pistol, cocked it, and walked cautiously to the door.
Even in prison, one had to be careful.
- Who is it?
- It's me, Casares.
The voice behind the door was muffled.
Victor opened the door, took a look and, recognizing the person who had come, removed the chain from the door and pulled the chubby man inside, looking around before closing the door.
- Change your mind? Working with me? - Victor asked immediately.
Casares, trying to maintain his dignity, waved his hands, -I don't do drugs. My father died because of drugs. I swore I'd never get involved with them.
- The competition is too fierce. You and your size, if you get into this business, you'll be lying dead in the desert tomorrow. - Victor shook his head.
The narco baron's don't want anyone messing with their market.
If a new person comes in, they'll make less money.
The notorious Colombian narco baron's, the Cali Cartel, wanted to do business, but they coordinated with Pablo first. One of the founders, Gilberto, was a childhood friend of one of the Medellin cartel leaders, Ochoa, which is how he got permission to sell cocaine in the US.
It's funny, isn't it?
But in this business, it's best to stay out of it without power.
Those who can do drugs are the military.
Those without power are gangsters. And those with no power at all are small-time hooligans.
Victor bent over, pulled out a large red suitcase from under the bed, as if for a wedding. He opened it, and there lay an AK-47 and a CZ 25.
He took the AK, cocked the bolt, and patted the metal: "This is what I do.
- Guns? - Casares was genuinely surprised.
Before coming in, he had imagined many possibilities: that Victor could steal cars, organize prostitution, even sell blood, but he hadn't expected the case to go this far.
- I have connections in the USSR. Although it's risky, the profits are big. The question is, how brave are you?
- This AK-47 is purely Soviet. I don't care how much you sell it for, I just want 200 dollars. Anything over that is yours. If you're brave enough, you can sell it for $1,000 and I'll still only take 200 dollars.
- How's that? If you're good with your mouth, one sale is enough to provide for your family for a year. The scariest thing in this world is not making money. I'm giving you the opportunity to earn. My principle is to share food and money with my brother. I won't forget you.
Before Casares could answer, Victor shoved an AK-47 into his hands.
- Try it. But you need to find someone you know. Otherwise, if you run into any gangsters, I'll come to your funeral.
Arms dealing isn't about handing out flyers.
Drugs destroy the human will, and guns can destroy the system. Just watch the Mexican army and police go after you.
Casares thought for a moment.
- 'I have a cousin, he's in one of the gangs in Mexico City, and he has some influence there. I can get in touch with him.
Victor wasn't surprised.
Everyone in Mexico has a relative who's a narco baron's.
A lot of the big narco baron's still have family ties.
- Good, we'll make money together!
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