Chapter 11: Mediator

Gun!

The young man who had been urinating fearfully shoved his tool back into his pants.

The four boys exchanged glances. One of them, who looked a little older, was about to speak.

Victor pulled out his police ID and immediately removed the safety. He didn't hesitate and started shooting.

Tra-ta-ta-ta...

Casares, standing nearby, jumped with surprise, squared his shoulders and stared at the bodies lying on the floor with widened eyes.

The hair on his head stirred with horror.

- You would at least give them a word to say, why shoot so quickly?

Hearing the gunshots, Best, who was curled up on the floor, wrapped his arms even tighter around himself.

When the twenty-five-round clip was empty, Victor lowered his weapon, glanced at Casares, and shrugged: "These guys tried to assault a cop. They're out of school, so they'll be drug dealers sooner or later. It's better to take them out right away.

These four really deserved to be punished: they robbed, raped, killed, and ended up bringing Victor 378 points.

Casares smiled nervously, walked over to Best, and smelled the pungent odor of urine and wrinkled his nose.

Apparently, the guy was pretty scared.

- Best.

He called out twice, not touching him to avoid getting dirty.

Hearing his name, Best cautiously opened his eyes, saw a familiar face, and, gasping for breath, said hoarsely, -Casares! Victor!

- Buddy, how long has it been since I've seen you, and you're already in such a state?

Victor frowned and waved his hand as Best tried to say something.

- 'Come on, let's get out of here first. It smells too much like urine in here.

Victor deftly changed the clip and went outside.

The slum dwellers who had heard the shots looked in their direction, but no one dared to approach.

- What are you staring at? Get out of the way!

He fired a line into the wall, and everyone hid in fear.

Insolence! Insolence!

Nuriel Best, standing behind him, was stunned.

Victor in front of him was a completely different person.

He used to be a gentleman who rarely raised his voice. Sometimes he even embarrassed himself in front of girls.

But now...

Anyone would believe he was a gangster.

- People change, Best, don't they? - Casares smiled.

Best blinked, not knowing what to think.

The three were walking down the main street when Victor spotted a red Beetle with the door open.

A girl with expressive hips stood next to the car, buying something.

- Get in the car!

Victor got behind the wheel, Casares and Best followed him.

Victor turned the ignition key, and the girl in high heels, hearing the noise, turned around. Seeing the stranger in her car, she became angry and started cursing.

Victor raised his gun, and the girl immediately backed away, yelling: "OMG!" and ran away.

- Hang on, we're taking off!

He took off sharply and the car jerked forward, nearly hitting Casares and Best who were sitting in the back.

- Sorry, I'll try again.

Victor looked in the rearview mirror and smiled, mumbled something and slowly started the car. The Beetle's engine was barely running and they were almost crawling.

- Who was that? - Victor asked when they had a chance to talk.

- Gang members from Chimalhuacan.

- How did you get involved with them?

Best's left cheek twitched, and he answered: -They demanded tribute from me - five pesos a week. I had no money, and they wanted a tax!

- I'm just a middleman. What tax? That's the fourth gang this month that's demanded tribute. I used to pay them all.

Casares looked at him sympathetically.

The Mexican slums are a huge extortion zone. Any gang can demand tribute. You don't have to pay much, but there are a lot of gangs, and defense costs more than taxes.

Many ordinary people can't stand it and are forced to sell their children.

The sons are forced to join gangs, providing "fresh blood", which is one of the reasons why drug traffickers are invincible.

Gangs in Brazil work the same way. When the police enter a slum, the criminals are all there. It's a war of the people against the mafia.

The social structure determines the height of power.

Think about it: Chimalhuacan has over a million people. How much money do these people bring to the gangs?

Even the poor can be squeezed. If not money, then blood.

- A couple of bastards call themselves a gang? - Victor said contemptuously.

- Why were you looking for me? - Best asked.

- Don't be in a hurry. Let's wash up first," Victor interrupted him, unable to stand the smell of urine.

Best nodded and looked at Uzi in the front seat. Are the Mexican police so well equipped now?

Did the Mexican government really have money?

Meanwhile, the car stopped in front of a bathhouse. On it was written in Chinese and Spanish: Northeast Old Bathhouse.

The owner of this bathhouse is Chinese. He went abroad in the 1970s and opened 6 branches in Mexico City. He is very rich.

It is said that he has a good relationship with the local gangs and the government. This gave him great advantages.

When they got out of the car, Victor tossed the keys to the valet. He looked at the cramped Beetle and the three big men going inside. He didn't like it.

- One room with a hot spring. And buy us some clothes. The rest as a tip.

Victor generously slipped two hundred pesos to the receptionist, who looked at Best strangely.

Why does he smell like that?

Taking the money, the receptionist smiled and escorted them to a secluded room on the third floor.

- Go wash up, you stink.

Victor took off his clothes and wanted to put the Uzi in the closet, but changed his mind and left it on the safety.

- Take the gun with you," he said to Casares, pointing to Colt.

In Mexico, people were killed even in bathhouses.

Best, seeing Casares's gun, asked: - Where did you get these guns? An Uzi is a good thing.

- You can't do without capital in our business.Victor smiled.

- I can get the guns. They deal drugs, we deal guns. We provide them with force support. It's called business. When you do what others don't do, it's called wisdom. When you repeat after others, it's called following your tail.

He relaxed into the hot water and sighed loudly.

- Go rinse yourself off, no need to get urine all over the place.

Best embarrassedly ran under the shower, hearing Victor's words: "But in business, the main thing is not to break the rules. If we get cheated, we lose money. But we need you to run the gun business.

Best quickly rinsed his head and returned to the bathtub.

- I know you want revenge, but you have no money, no men, no power. What are you hoping for?

- In this world, everything has a price. Youth, dreams, conscience, justice, we all work for money. You didn't work for justice, you worked for money. Money is our life force. If you have money, you can announce a reward of 20,000 pesos for the head of your enemy. No one responds? Then 50,000. No one? Then 100,000! And then he's dead for sure.

Victor spread his arms.

- Work with me, and I'll help you get your revenge.

Drug dealers? In the future, when he reaches the top, it will be a matter of a word.

- You think I don't have connections? I'll be your patron myself!

Best in the slums had already thought of joining another gang for protection, but he was an invalid.

The fire, though it had saved his life, had seriously crippled him: half his face was burned, the meniscus in his knee had been removed, and he limped.

He looked pathetic.

After a short thought, he nodded: - I agree.

He had no choice. The gang whose members had died in his home would surely take revenge on him. Once he returned, he would be doomed.

- Casares, there's a wad of money in my sack. Bring it.

The fat man, trembling, climbed out of the water, opened Victor's closet and took out the money.

- There are twenty thousand pesos here. Buy yourself some new clothes, get a decent apartment. You won't live in poverty with me.

That's almost 10,000 dollars! Just like that?

- You'll both get the same terms: 5% of sales. How's that sound?

Casares figured it out: if one AK-47 costs 800 dollars, he'd get 40 dollars a piece!

That doesn't seem like much, but at 50 sales a month, that's $2,000.

- I agree! - he replied cheerfully.

Seeing Casares' agreement, Best realized that 5% was a good deal and nodded. Victor got out of the water: - I'm going to go take a shower and get a massage. You two talk in the meantime.

When he left, Casares relaxed.

- Casares, do you know Fremont Holder?

The name sounded familiar, and Casares frowned.

- You mean the former deputy director of the prison in Juarez who robbed the drug dealers?

- That's right!

Best's eyes lit up: "He's recently gotten rich.