Chapter 134 Mr. Victor Likes the Sense of the Camera.

After visiting the school, Victor finally went to see the militia of San Miguel Village.

They were all 19 to 25 years old.

There were about 40 people.

They had AK47 issued by the government. This thing does not require much skill at all. Just pull the trigger. There are no grenades, landmines, or bulletproof vests.

One word: Do it!

The drug dealers who come to such a village cannot be large-scale. Wouldn’t a dozen or twenty people be beaten?

Don’t underestimate the bloodiness of Mexican villagers.

In 2012, a small leader of the "Knights Templar" took 30 drug dealers to collect "planting fees" and then clashed with local villagers.

The villagers took out RPGs and directly blew up the pickup trucks they brought, and suppressed the drug dealers with machine guns. This video is very popular on the Internet.

The most important thing is that they executed the drug dealers of the "Knights Templar" and beheaded them one by one!

Of course, the drug dealers would not give up, so they waited for people to attack this village, but the village chief had already invited other villages around, and a "war" of considerable intensity broke out.

The fight lasted for three days, and the police did not come to mediate.

About 70 drug dealers and more than 20 villagers died.

This is also a result of the "Mexican militia self-defense" system. In this country, even hunting dogs have become as brave as lions.

Being timid will only bring death closer to you.

The Mexicali City Hall sent people to train them three weeks in advance, so they still have basic tactics, at least they know crossfire.

These militiamen will be excellent soldiers after further training.

It can be regarded as an investment in advance.

However, in order to prevent some vicious cases or reduce accidents, private guns are not allowed to be carried. They are all under the charge of the village chief, the first person in charge of the village. 2,000 rounds of bullets are equipped per month, and 3,500 rounds in remote areas, but a special person must come to review every month.

If there is one less, they must explain where it went.

Victor's current policy is: "Do not control the circulation of guns, but bullets must be controlled."

Anyone who illegally possesses guns and ammunition must go to jail.

It is precisely because of this high-pressure situation that the society of Lower California can gradually become peaceful and stable.

"Yes, it is very good to have this skill and tactics in a short period of time, but you still have to train well. After a while, Lower California will recruit police on a large scale, and you will be selected first. Don't embarrass the village at that time." Victor said with a smile while clapping his hands.

The eyes of these "militias" lit up when they heard it.

Joining the police force now means high salary, at least you don't have to go hungry every day.

After Carlos Salinas adopted the IMF's low-salary system for civil servants, the welfare benefits of Mexican police were gone, including welfare subsidies, housing and education subsidies. They had to buy bullets, weapons, and bulletproof vests by themselves.

This is also one of the reasons why the weapon models of police in each state are different.

But under the governance of Victor and Alejandro, Lower California is completely different. Police have become highly paid, and the families of sacrificed military and police can receive a pension of 1,800 pesos per month, equivalent to 800 US dollars.

During Calderon's drug prohibition in 2006, he gave the families of the fallen soldiers and police 10,000 pesos per month, equivalent to 483 US dollars.

One in 1990 and one in 2006, the exchange rate was different.

At that time, the peso was still very resilient.

One of the reasons why Victor wanted to kill Carlos was that this guy directly signed the humiliating North American Free Trade Agreement, which completely eliminated Mexico's chance of turning over.

The people were completely reduced to tools of production, and similarly, the prevalence of compradors and the ugliness of the economic boom were the lack of food and clothing for the lower-class people.

Many people believe that it was the signing of the North American Free Trade Agreement that led to the increasing number of drug dealers after 1990.

Of course, this is a later story...

There are still two years...

By then, Victor will not agree with this bullshit!

"I'll go back and discuss with Mr. Alejandro to give some support to rural schools across the state, and provide scholarships to outstanding students so that they won't have to go to school because of poverty."

"We must also let all children understand that knowledge can change their destiny!"

"Reading is useful!"

The village chief's eyes flickered when he heard this, and he grabbed Victor's hand, "Sir, we are suffering so much!"

Victor gently patted his shoulder and whispered, "Don't worry, I'm here, and the times will be different."

Click!

The reporter who was with him was busy taking pictures of this scene.

The sun behind him shone on Mr. Victor, the elderly village chief hunched his back, and the mud house behind him said how poor this place was.

The name was already thought of.

"Mr. Victor - the hope of Mexicans!"

Victor also glanced at the camera.

Without the camera...

I can't get excited to talk.

Uncle Victor, you are born with a sense of the camera.

...

Quintero had a very long dream.

He dreamed...

that he was arrested.

Hahaha, how is it possible.

Who dares to arrest me in Mexico now!

I am on the same side as Carlos, and even the DEA is looking for me all over the world, but what else can I do except cry in anger?

Bang~

Suddenly, he heard a little sound in his ear, like tapping something. The sound gradually became louder and louder, as if a hand grabbed his neck and pulled him up.

"Ouch, ha..."

Quintero opened his eyes suddenly, panting heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead, his pupils were a little panicked, he subconsciously moved his hands, and the pain from above spread to his brain instantly.

He turned his head and saw that his left hand was... nailed to the wooden board.

And he was suddenly nailed to the cross.

"Ahhhh!!!"

The heartbreaking pain made him cry out loudly.

"Sir, stop shouting. No one will answer you even if you scream until your throat is broken." A figure emerged from the darkness, wearing a mask and a white coat, "Welcome to the Mexican International News Department, oh no, Welcome to Mr. Victor’s hell, you can call me B2, my nickname.”

After he finished speaking, the surrounding lights turned on. This was a seemingly ordinary factory building.

"I'm sorry, time is too tight and we can't restore it one to one. Do you think the environment here is familiar?"

Quintero's mouth was trembling, it was painful. When he saw the photo hanging directly opposite, he suddenly screamed crazily and struggled.

"It seems you know each other, but I still have to introduce you." B2 smiled and pointed at the photo, "Mr. Enrique Camarena, a famous anti-drug hero and our idol, you are in a similar farm He and his colleagues were tortured for nearly an hour."

"The forensic doctor found a total of 179 wounds on his body. Don't worry, we will add one more to your body."

B2 pointed to a box stacked next to him, "There are a total of 78 tubes of epinephrine and 2000mm of type A blood in it. It's the same blood type as yours. If it's not enough, I'll have to bite the bullet."

"Now let's take the first step..."

B2 smiled and picked up the scalpel, "Cut off your ears."

The picture of Enrique Camarena on the wall was staring at Quintero. He couldn't help but scream as he looked at B2 getting closer and closer.

"Don't come here...don't come here!"

How can a drug dealer's psychological defense be so strong?

Their bones…

It has long been rotten by drugs!

Quintero himself smoked it, and for him, it was a sign of "enjoying life."

B2 cut off his ear with one knife.

Quintero screamed, his whole body shaking with pain.

…

At this time, in the darkroom nearby, you can clearly see everything happening inside, but the people inside can't see them.

Seeing this scene, Casare subconsciously touched his ears, which felt a little chilly, and glanced at the boss from the corner of his eye.

Victor was very calm, still holding a cigarette in his hand.

I've been under a lot of pressure recently and my addiction to smoking has become quite intense.

"Boss, will you kill him?" Casare hesitated and said, "If the DEA receives the body, its value will be greatly reduced."

"Death is not easy. A person can withstand 18 atmospheric pressure and a high temperature of 104°C for 26 minutes. The minimum body temperature limit is about 14.2°C. If you add some adrenaline, you just need to ensure that he does not lose too much blood. Do you want to die? Hahaha. "Victor smiled.

He looked around and threw the cigarette butt into the trash can.

There is also written on the wall: littering, fine of five yuan.

Look how well Uncle Victor follows the rules.

"Fewer parts, it won't be a problem. Let's get some secrets out of him first."

The CIA's methods are even more "rude" than these.

Let’s put it this way…

When some of the CIA's actions were exposed in their country, many people believed that they should be shot. It was simply unconscionable.

No one doing intelligence work has clean hands.

"Let Lyanna come and see his lover later and let them have a private chat." Victor said suddenly.

Casare knows so much about the boss.

When the two men meet, Quintero is not allowed to kill him, even physically. Will the reward be waived by then?

Leanna's crimes are too numerous to describe. She used her identity as a reporter to cover for Quintero several times, and even used a reporter's vehicle to help the Guadalajara Cartel transport drugs.

Victor only talks to two kinds of people, those who have never sold drugs, and those who are pleasing to the eye.

I'm sorry Lyanna was so unpleasant to him.

Informant?

This bitch is only worth a Quintero, and has no use value anymore.

Casare nodded, looked at Quintero inside, and suddenly felt a little pity for him. You said it would be better if you died early. No matter what kind of prison you escaped, if you were extradited by the Yankees, you would spend decades in prison at most.

it's good now…

My body is all broken.

Professional matters are left to the professional "Mexico International News Department". He is now very good-tempered and cultivates his character.

When he walked out of the interrogation room, he saw the secretary trotting over in a hurry, "Boss, Mr. Cuaucomote and the others have arrived in Mexicali."

"Let's go meet him."

Victor has already known Cuauquemot's father, the president "LS Ronaldo Cardenas" remembered by the Mexicans, from a lot of information.

That's how you evaluate him.

"The macho man in the Latin American world, the brightest eagle in Mexico, and a world asset!"

If he got involved with him, Victor wouldn't have to worry about Mexican political problems, and he wouldn't have to worry about the villain behind him at all.

…

Quaukmot looked at the lively streets outside, a little lost in thought.

He was an activist, so he took a leave of absence and came to Baja California with his family under the protection of several agents. The other party handed them over to police officers waiting at the border and left.

Accompanying him was a police sergeant named Giancarlos.

This guy caught Zambada alive and was brave in battle, so he was directly promoted as an exception, which is equivalent to being a "model".

"What is that?" Suddenly, Kwaukemot's wife pointed to a platform not far away and asked.

"That's the gallows, ma'am."

Giancarlos glanced at Bare Teeth.

“A drug dealer is hanged every day!”

As soon as he finished speaking, he heard the sound of a gong, and then people around him gathered around to watch the fun.

A drug dealer wearing a hood was pulled to the gallows by the police.

"Hang him! Hang him!"

The people below shouted.

The drug dealer was trembling.

Let the police put a cap on his head and pull the pole.

The lower board was opened, and the whole person was hanging directly on it. The drug dealer struggled hard, but he was like a fish on a chopping board...

Seems funny.

All the people cheered and shouted, kill the drug dealers!

“Welcome to the anti-drug city: Mexicali!”

…