Chapter 10: Don't Pee Anywhere

Dragan almost choked on his own saliva.

- What? $800? You're robbing me?

The saliva almost hit Casares' face.

He instinctively pulled back to avoid his cousin's stinking breath.

But in business, who doesn't ask a high price? You think I'm preaching?

- Is it expensive? The cost of an AK-47 is about 200 dollars. It's shipped from the Soviet Union to Mexico. I only charge you a small fee. Dragan, have I ever cheated you since you were a kid? - Casares took the machine gun and removed the magazine.

- Standard 30-round magazine. When you go shooting at night, your opponents with pistols are gonna flinch. And you, my cousin, can show who's the real boss of this street.

- Most Mexican gangs use American guns. If you're the first to use Soviet weapons, that'll be cool. You always wanted to be unique, right? American rifles cost a lot more than $800. Besides, the AK is a battle-tested weapon.

Terrorists prefer the AK - everyone says it's great.

Casares' words went straight to Dragan's heart. He looked at the driver and the two stout guys in the back seat, lifting his chin slightly: "What do you think?

- Great, boss. If we have this thing, the Whale brothers won't dare compete for those two karaoke bars anymore. We'll just destroy them," said the driver.

The two thugs in the back seat nodded.

Their gang is small, only about twenty men, controlling two streets, collecting tribute from stores, especially karaoke bars and brothels, with an annual turnover of about fifty thousand dollars.

The salary of a typical gang member is about 1,000 pesos a month. Dragan, being a "key fighter", received about 1000 dollars a month, which was considered a high salary.

Getting the money, of course, they wanted more. The boss used to say take over the neighboring street - the salary would double.

Don't think the regular Mexican gangs are so tough. They use machetes too, and firearms are in short supply. Smuggled guns from the US are reserved by the big narco baron's and only small shipments reach the small gangs.

It's hard for a gang like Dragan's to grow.

- Okay, 800 is 800, write me a receipt, I need to report.

Dragan pulled green bills out of his wallet, and Casares thought the bald Franklin looked pretty damn cool.

- By the way, write 900 dollars.

Sneaky guy, taking kickbacks!

Casares quickly wrote a receipt and handed it over, accepting the money and holding out the backpack: -Inside is 100 rounds of ammo, a gift from me. I don't give that to the others, but if you need more ammo, you'll have to pay for it.

Dragan's eyes lit up. He opened his backpack and saw two boxes of ammunition. His look became even friendlier.

Kasares was about to leave, but as he opened the door and stepped on the ground, he suddenly remembered something: "By the way, we have more grenade launchers, mines, grenades. If you need them, contact us. I guarantee a discount.

Advertising is sacred.

Having said that, he got out of the car, closed the door and waved to Dragan sitting in the front seat, walking away with his hands in his pockets.

- Boss, is your cousin a gun dealer? - The driver glanced at his retreating back in the rearview mirror.

- Arms dealer? What the hell, he never left Mexico.

Dragan frowned.

- Maybe he works for some big boss.

- Come on, let's go see our boss. If this weapon is really cool, I'll ask for funding and we'll buy a dozen AKs. We'll be stronger!

...

For the first time doing "illegal activities", Casares felt adrenaline. This wasn't like ordinary extortion - this was the real deal.

He headed toward the market across from the prison. The place was lively even at night, and even more so during the day. Sleepy prostitutes leaned against tents, smoking, yawning, thin as drug addicts.

Casares, with an experienced eye, immediately realized that they were terrible - stinking like rotten shells. One puff and you're infected.

As he was about to go inside, he saw an ice cream truck, licked his lips and approached: "Give me one.

After licking the ice cream a couple times, his eyes lit up.

He had loved ice cream as a child, but his family was poor.

His mother, alone feeding four children, worked without rest. He was the eldest and didn't want to spend money on ice cream, even if it only cost 2 pesos, preferring to let his family eat extra.

When he became a policeman, he found that their pay was worse than the service dogs, who had 10 pesos for food a day. Casares used to give his parents' paychecks to help with his siblings' studies, trying to make his mother's life easier.

But now...

He had 800 dollars in his pocket, and he could finally afford to indulge.

Phew~

A whistling sound distracted Cazares from his thoughts. He saw Victor under an umbrella by the roadside, with a glass of juice in front of him.

- Have you been waiting long? - Cazares ran up to him.

- Only half an hour. How was business?

Cazares took money out of his pocket and put it on the table: -Sold it for 800 dollars.

Victor looked at the green bills and took two of them with satisfaction, the rest he gave back to Cazares: -We agreed on 200 dollars, the rest is yours.

Casares swallowed. He thought Victor was joking, but it turned out to be true.

He grinned and took one bill, "One is enough. I didn't do anything special, the goods are yours.

He understood his place and knew who was in charge. If he took more, he could displease Victor and lose his profits in the future.

Don't be a fool and don't believe it when your bosses say, "If you have complaints, speak up."

And then you openly criticize, and the next day you are fired for any little thing.

Don't believe school grades, where everything seems random, but in fact everything is planned.

If you don't grade well, you're in trouble.

The world is full of tricks, you have to recognize them.

Casares thought Victor was just talking about the $200.

Victor was pleased with his "reasonableness." He nudged the money back: -I'm a man of my word. No one will touch my money, and I won't take yours. Take it, we have big things ahead of us and we'll make big money.

In the gray business, you need your subordinates to make money too. If you just feed them promises, one day they'll break your skull.

Money is better than promises.

Casares, realizing that Victor was serious, raised his head, and he smiled at him, pointing at the money: "Hide it, or they'll steal it.

Finished drinking the juice, Victor stood up: -Let's go to town, let's find Best.

Casares grabbed the money, stuffed it into his inside pocket and looked around. Not far away, a woman kept her eyes on him. He grinned like a guarding dog guarding a meal.

Whoever tries to rob him will be dead. In Mexico, it's best not to get in a cab. You never know where they'll take you or if the drivers will turn out to be drug dealers looking to make a buck. If you look attractive, tomorrow you'll end up in a nightclub.

So try to ride certified buses.

But buses are dangerous, too.

In 1985, when the third man from Guadalajara was arrested, his subordinates started a riot, killing everyone in the streets. A bus carrying schoolchildren was stopped and shot, killing 24 students and a teacher. The children were on average 7 years old.

A bus with workers returning home was also stopped and six men had their heads cut off, leaving them outside the government building.

This country is rotten to the core!

No one is coming to save it. Even Jesus would have to learn to smoke marijuana to fit in.

Fortunately, Victor and Casares stayed out of trouble. After reaching the station, they took a three-wheeled diesel motorcycle and drove to Chimalhuacan.

Chimalhuacan is a large slum in Mexico City with a population of about a million people, a fifth of the city.

Victor knew the exact address and showed it to the driver, who nodded, stepping on the gas and shrilly yelling for everyone to spread out. The driver raced through the narrow streets, overtaking and not slowing down.

The children bravely ran after the car. If they had seen a foreigner, they would have already turned the car over and robbed it.

Arriving in Chimalhuacan, Victor's face became grim. He pulled out a Colt M1911 pistol and handed it to Casares: "Here, just in case.

- And you?

Victor opened his jacket, showing the Uzi: -I always take it with me, to keep me safe.

Kasares was surprised, but took the gun and put it behind his belt.

They reached the place in half an hour, but Best's door was kicked in. Inside there were sounds of fighting and cursing.

- We seem to have come at a bad time.

Victor stepped inside, Cazares following, and they saw four teenagers surrounding a man on the floor.

One of them was urinating on the man lying there.

When they heard footsteps, they turned around and saw Victor with a submachine gun.

- Gentlemen, if you urinate anywhere, you can lose your tool!