Chapter 5: How do you earn your first capital?

- Good night, Victor.

- Pleasant dreams, Casares.

They said goodbye, and Victor went into his room, closing the door behind him.

A few seconds later, the door was ajar. One eye followed Casares' back until he entered his room, then the door slowly closed.

Victor turned on the light and the entire room came into view.

About 15 square meters, a bed, a bathroom, a desk.

On the walls spiders had made their webs. There was a musty odor in the air. Mexican policemen live very modestly - a place to sleep is not bad.

Victor lifted the toilet lid and urinated. Then walked over to the sink and rinsed his hands. Men don't wash their hands unless they get on them.

Lifting his head, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were slightly reddish, like a killer from a TV show.

He pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, put it in his mouth, and flicked the lighter a few times. This one-peso lighter clearly didn't want to work. Victor shook the lighter vigorously, and finally a small flame flared up.

- Let's smoke," he neurotically held out the cigarette to the reflection in the mirror, smiling slightly. The reflection repeated his movement.

Haggis Baird's death brought him relief. He noticed that there were fewer hostile stares around, and life was no longer so dangerous.

Next.

Webster Ashbourne!

This man has many virtues, but he has one flaw: pettiness. You want to kill me? Why would I want to talk to you?

But he's not a beggar from the streets of Mexico City, he's the warden. He's got a lot of connections behind him, and to take him out, you have to plan carefully.

One mistake and it's all gone.

Lying on the creaky bed, Victor pondered his next steps.

He'd killed Baird and Mila, and the Haggis Baird family certainly wouldn't let that go unanswered. Crime families are held together by cruelty and lawlessness, and revenge is only a matter of time.

The only consolation is that Mexico City is a long way from Chihuahua.

There's an urgent need to make money!

Even years later, every teenager will know that if you have money, all you have to do is treat them to tea and milk and the girls will be yours.

Mexican drug traffickers and gangs recruit openly, offering a small salary and a share of the goods sold.

Life for the lowest gang members is worse than dogs.

"First Capital."

Victor frowned, mulling over the possibilities.

The drug trade? Too much competition, too many spots, and he'd be under the watchful eye of the US DEA.

Kidnapping? Small profits, slow earnings. Mexico has too many poor people and the rich are too well guarded.

Human trafficking?

Victor wondered, really selling Africans to France? No one needs slaves to pick cotton anymore nowadays.

Besides, human trafficking mostly involves prostitution, slave labor, illegal medical operations, and so on. It requires scale, you can't make a lot of money with small things.

He really tried to seriously analyze the pros and cons.

What in the world makes the most money? Besides finance and the internet, it's weapons, drugs and smuggling.

During Prohibition in the U.S., the predecessors of the Bay Cartel made money smuggling alcohol. After Prohibition was repealed in 1933, they switched to drugs.

Compared to this, the arms trade seems "inconspicuous."

It's not that Mexican or Colombian criminals don't want to do it, but it requires investment. This isn't marijuana, which you can grow in any vegetable garden and make a quick buck.

Mexican goods worth one peso shipped to the U.S. sell for at least five times as much.

Most importantly, you can't manufacture guns in Mexico and sell them in the US.

But the profits from the arms trade are so great that drugs seem unprofitable. You have to realize that the real money is not made individually, but at the state level.

The penal code is just a way for the elite to monopolize.

Weapons?!

Victor's eyes lit up. Drug traffickers in Mexico are the fastest to use up not only handymen, but guns as well. And he has the ability to trade points for weapons.

He blinked, and simple data appeared in front of him.

Crime Points: 2160

Baird had 300 points, Mil had 900, minus the cost of two grenades, it comes out to exactly that.

2160 points can be exchanged for 108 F-1 grenades.

Old stuff from World War II, he'll sell them for 10 dollars a piece, not too expensive.

That's $1,080.

- Shit, that's no bargain.

Victor looked again at the panel where the items available for exchange were marked.

Swedish Carl-Gustav 45 automatic rifle - 70 points.

These are cheap prices, for one Baird you can buy two AKs.

The international price of AKs is about 300-800 dollars, if we talk about the originals. Of course, Afghan fakes are cheaper.

AK-47s are in high demand by drug traffickers to pressure the military and police.

2160 points can be exchanged for 14 pieces. Even if you sell them for $200 a piece, that's $2,800. Wouldn't it be better to sell assault rifles than grenades?

$2,800 is almost two years' salary.

These calculations made Victor's eyes light up.

Someone who truly experienced need, seeing the money could make him lose his head.

He took a deep breath, calming the emotions raging inside.

You can't run this business at random, you need a cover.

The best cover is authority.

We need to find someone influential in the third sector of the prison.

You always have to have support to get promoted.

You can't get very far without it.

Although he was burning with impatience inside, he realized that rushing would not lead to success. The goal was set, now he needed to get some sleep.

But as soon as he closed his eyes, thoughts of money kept him awake.

He tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

It was not until morning that sleep overcame him.

...

In the morning, coming to work, Casares heard in the prison canteen sensational news.

- Baird is dead! - said his colleague at the next table, attracting everyone's attention.

- Really? It can't be," his interlocutor marveled.

- I was filing into the warden's office this morning and I heard him on the phone. The incident at the night market last night was mentioned. I contacted friends on the outside and they said the bodies of Baird and Haggis Baird Mila had been delivered to the Sinaloa Cartel. They say Guzman paid 150,000 pesos for them.

That amount came as a shock to the guards.

150,000 pesos is 75,000 dollars. That's--

Do you know what that means?

Someone shook his head regretfully, -I didn't expect Baird to die. He was a little arrogant, but he wasn't a bad man.

Of course, there were those who made a few sarcastic remarks, but they were quickly dismissed by Baird's friends. He had a clan behind him, and it was better not to talk about it.

Casares ate the potatoes, but he found them tasteless. There was shock in his eyes.

Baird had died unexpectedly! This made him even more suspicious of Victor's actions yesterday.

Suddenly someone put a hand on his shoulder, which made him flinch, and the spoon fell out of his hands.

- What happened? Why are you so scared?

The man picked up the spoon from the floor and put it on the table, then sat across from him and smiled.

- Do you remember the woman?

Seeing a familiar face, Casares swallowed his mashed potatoes and pulled on a smile.

- No... I just remembered a horror movie.

Victor nonchalantly took the potatoes from his plate, broke off a piece, and ate it.

- Delicious, it looked like Uncle Sals was in a good mood today.

Ka. sares smiled awkwardly and glanced at Victor before daring to ask.

- Victor, Baird is dead.

- О? That's a shame, may God rest his soul," Victor replied indifferently.

- Aren't you curious how he died? - Casares licked his dry lips and continued to ask.

Victor looked at him.

- 'Friend, asking and being overly interested in the deaths of others is disrespectful. Do you think Jesus liked having his crucifixion discussed?

Who knows what strange thoughts went through the heads of priests in the Middle Ages.

Using the cross as a logo - how can that bring protection? It's like reminding someone of his agonizing death.

God is unlikely to help in such a situation.

Seeing this response from Victor, Casares looked around, leaned forward with concern in his eyes, and lowered his voice.

- Are you sure you had nothing to do with his death?

The smile slowly disappeared from Victor's face.