Working as a police officer in Mexico

New York. District 8.

In a mansion.

Mike Corleone, wearing dungarees, put the flowers in a vase, smelled them intoxicatedly, turned on the slightly retro phonograph, listened to the soothing music in it, and poured himself another glass of red wine.

Sitting on a recliner, enjoying the rare time.

He is from the Mexican News Department. He received an order to bring people to New York not to travel, but to teach these unruly "New Yorkers" a lesson!

CNMD.

"Why offend anyone else, but Mr. Victor, hey~" He sighed softly.

For him, what the hell is the Aryan Brotherhood, the Blood Alliance? 13th Street? I don't have enough people with these two hundred, so I'll call for more people.

After Victor cracked down on drug dealers, he didn't blow up all the "underground passages". Guzman and other "tomb robbers" dug them out with great difficulty. It would be a pity to collapse them.

You have to make use of waste.

All tongues know that there is a "project" in Lower California and Sonora, called "American Dream", where locals help runners from other countries to sneak across from here.

There is an industry here.

And you don't need to pay more per person, but you only need 2,000 US dollars!

Help local residents get rid of poverty and become rich.

Local residents are not allowed to lower the price at will, otherwise, they will be punished.

You runners have lost so much money, are you still reluctant to give up this 2,000 US dollars?

Moreover, in order to make the reputation of the "American Dream" project better, local tongues are not allowed to mess around, such as raising prices in the middle, eating puffs, special services, etc. If you do, your "tongue identity" will be cancelled.

Victor directly legalized and compliant this industry, at least, so many people don't have to be consumed on the road.

Let's all go to "build" the United States.

When all the dregs in the world go in, it will slowly affect the normal operation of society.

This is a slow job of chopping meat with a nail clipper.

Ten years, twenty years, thirty years, fifty years...

One day it will collapse.

The people under Mike Corleone came in through the "tunnel".

Weapons and ammunition were also delivered in this way

How else could they come?

Were they airdropped from the top of the United States?

"Knock, knock, knock~"

There was a knock on the door, and Mike Corleone called lazily, "Come in."

Then he saw his younger brother push the door open, "Boss, the other four mafia families have issued a hunting order!"

Mike Corleone twisted his neck and sneered, "It's just a piece of waste paper. The old man thought it was his time now."

"Vincent Mangano, the godfather of the Gambino family, has offered a reward of 5 million US dollars."

"It turns out that killing the Lucchese family is so valuable." Mike Corleone's eyes lit up.

"Then let New York continue to be in chaos. I hate the tone of these old men. Now it is the world of the young. Can you chop off the head of the godfather of the Gambino family? Throw him to Times Square in New York. What do you think they will call us?"

"Barbarian? Or Robinson? Or thug? Or terrorist?" Mike Corleone's mental state seems to be wrong.

How serious can people from the so-called "mental hospital" of the anti-drug forces-the Mexican News Department be?

Either ducks or paranoids, or patients with obsessive-compulsive disorder.

"After the incident with the Lucchese family, those people may strengthen their defense." The younger brother said hesitantly.

"Then wait!" Mike Corleone squinted his eyes, "There will always be a chance for us."

"What we lack the most is time!"

"There will always be a time to relax."

"No, just kill his whole family first."

Mike Corleone said with a smile, "Mr. Victor said this is called a weak spot!"

…

Sinaloa State, capital, Culiacán.

The sky is foggy.

The air seems to be filled with a breath of anxiety.

I don't know why?

The residents always feel that the atmosphere is not right.

Sometimes when walking on the street, they will punch and kick the trash cans on the roadside if they are not satisfied.

8 o'clock in the morning.

Many people are busy going to work on the road.

Suddenly, the alarm sounded suddenly.

"Air raid alarm! Hide!" A citizen on the roadside shouted, holding his child and hiding behind the "anti-impact wall" next to him, holding his head and lying down.

The street was in chaos.

Crying, screaming and hurried footsteps.

In the air, 10 P-51 fighters pierced the sky and rushed into the city in two directions.

The Americans were still very trustworthy in what they promised. At least the final payment was paid quickly, and it was only two days before and after the first batch of goods.

And today's mission of this squadron is not to carry out bombing, but to return after dropping a series of leaflets in the air.

The drug dealers' anti-aircraft battalion can only fire two empty guns at the sky.

The residents who were lying in the bunkers and hiding in the houses looked up at the planes flying away, and looked at each other in confusion.

No bombing?

A little uncomfortable.

"What is this?" A civilian picked up the leaflet on the ground.

"The leader of the Sinaloa drug cartel, Guzman, has been shot dead. All personnel must lay down their weapons and surrender! Governor Victor forgives everyone! But if you persist, there is only one way to go!"

"Guzman is dead?" Someone said in disbelief.

"What! How is it possible?"

"It says shot dead? Why don't we know?"

Some people didn't believe it, but some hesitated and stammered, frowning, "It seems that I haven't heard from Mr. Guzman for a long time."

When this was said, many people looked at each other, and after thinking carefully, it was true.

Guzman used to be very low-key, but after he got the "angel round" investment from Colombia, he also understood the importance of public opinion. He often appeared on TV to say hello to the people in the actual control area.

The last time he showed up was a week ago. At that time, he invited local 18-year-old young people to join his army. They were to overthrow Victor's rule and lead everyone to common prosperity.

He always felt a little flustered when he didn't show up.

This sense of confusion began to spread among the crowd.

At this time, Arturo's face was ashen, and he was holding a flyer in his hand.

"Bang!"

He slammed it hard on the table.

"Boss, should we ask someone to confiscate all these?" asked the confidant next to him.

"How many are there in Culiacán? Tens of thousands, can you collect them all? And do you know who has them? Damn, Victor, that bastard, how did he know that Guzman was in trouble? There is a traitor among us!"

Arturo was sweating. Victor's trick completely disrupted his trick and caught him off guard.

"No, you can't go in..." Just then, a fierce noise sounded in the corridor outside, and then he saw the door of the office was knocked open and his bodyguard was pushed in.

A dozen people walked in from the door, all of them were strong and had bad faces.

"Arturo, where is Boss Guzman!" The fat man in the lead asked with a loud laugh.

The head of the 1st Regiment of the Imperial Army in Culiacán - Luis Adri Loera!

You can tell from the last name that he is Guzman's cousin.

And Arturo is a cousin.

Following behind him were the leaders of the 2nd, 10th, and 9th Regiments of the Imperial Division, who had more than 10,000 "regular drug dealers" in their hands.

Arturo narrowed his eyes, "Luis, what do you want to do!"

"What?" The short and fat man laughed grimly, took out a gun and fired three shots at Arturo's brother on the ground. The next second, he pointed the gun at the other party, "Where is the boss!"

"I count to three, if you don't tell me, I will kill you first, then your brother!"

Luis breathed rapidly, "One!"

"Two!"

Arturo was sweating all over, he wanted to resist, but the other party looked at him with a covetous look, if he dared to draw his gun, he would shoot you to death now.

"Three!"

"Guz... The boss was so angry with Victor that he had a brain hemorrhage and is now unconscious." After the other party said it, Arturo was still a man of insight.

The muzzle of the gun was too black.

"Where?"

"My brother took him to Acapulco in Guerrero State in the south." Arturo said it very straightforwardly, and then changed the subject, "Boss Guzman is in a bad situation now. We can run Sinaloa together, Luis."

Bang, bang, bang!

Luis Adri Loera emptied all the bullets in the magazine directly at Arturo.

The other party fell on the chair, staring, still a little bit unbelievable.

"I'm sorry, I like to be the boss myself."

What's the point of talking with others!

Another confidant of Arturo in the office saw that the boss was shot dead, and was terrified. He pulled out his gun and wanted to take the initiative, but was shot dead by someone with a submachine gun.

"Let's go! We have to save Guzman. I am the orthodox of the Loera family. Now I will temporarily command Sinaloa!"

This fat man is also a ruthless person.

"Call all the leaders to come to Culiacán for a meeting in the name of Guzman!"

"What if they don't come?" Someone behind him asked.

"That's the rebels!"

"I'm going to suppress the rebellion with arms!"

The internal struggle for power began.

Guzman?

That's the former boss!

...