Working as a police officer in Mexico

Mexico City. Presidential Residence.

Quintero lay in bed, watching the "pay channel" on TV, his eyes shining brightly.

His face was flushed red, of course, because of "shyness."

Carlos was busy dousing his own fires everywhere and couldn't show his face, which made Quintero, who was still planning on revitalizing his second career spring, very anxious.

His girlfriend was not by his side, either.

Moreover, since this was the Official Residence, it wasn't convenient to call for prostitutes; otherwise… why would he need to use his inherited skills?

Just as he was about to reach the right spot, the phone on his bedside table rang.

It completely interrupted his mood.

"Fuck! Fuck!" Quintero cursed with a grimace, but his private phone was a new number he got after his jailbreak, not many people knew it.

If someone was looking for him, it had to be important.

He took his hand out from under the covers, propped himself up, and grabbed the phone. As soon as he answered, a seductive voice came through, "Papá!"

"Leanna?" Quintero shivered.

"Don't you recognize my voice anymore? Or is there another woman calling you that?"

Quintero forced a laugh, "Where are you?"

"I'm in Mexico City on a business trip. Will you come out? I brought the stockings you love the most."

Upon hearing this, Quintero sat up straight, swallowed hard, but remained cautious—after all, he had been caught before and needed to be careful.

"How did you come back to Mexico City?"

Leanna looked at the prepared script, "The company has some business to handover here. I might be transferred to Mexico City."

"That's why I wanted to see you on my arrival, isn't it?"

Leanna smiled and lowered her voice, "And... don't you want to tear off my clothes? Playa Hotel, room 303."

This was too much to handle.

Even the dog author couldn't take it.

Quintero had been going crazy inside the Official Residence and replied, "I'm coming right now!"

Then he got up, hurriedly put on his pants, glanced at his underwear, decided not to bother with it, and just put on a pair of jeans—more convenient for later.

When he was leaving, he happened to run into Carlos's secretary, Ajit. The secretary saw him in an orange shirt, wearing sunglasses, stepping in leather shoes, and looking dashing, which left him a bit startled, "Are you heading out, Mr. Quintero?"

"Going to meet an old friend."

Ajit hesitated for a moment, "Your identity is a bit special, it's best not to run around."

Quintero had long grown weary of such warnings. He was a drug trafficker after all. Frowning, he said, "Ajit, I'm a person, not an animal. Being cooped up here for so long, I need to relax. Don't worry, I won't cause trouble."

"If I have to stay here all the time, what's the difference from being in jail?"

Hearing this, Ajit responded, "Then please come back as soon as possible."

Quintero waved his hand dismissively, "It'll be quick."

If he didn't get laid thrice today, he wouldn't come back at all.

After hanging up the phone, Leanna looked at the two men in front of her, "...I've finished, when can you let me go?"

"Soon, once we catch Quintero."

One of the men suddenly leaned in close to Leanna, his gaze calm, "Miss Leanna, you wouldn't deceive us, would you?"

Despite his gentle tone and expression, there was something about it that made one shiver involuntarily.

"No... I won't."

"Thank you for your cooperation."

After Leanna was taken away, they reported the news to their colleagues in Mexico City.

They hoped they could catch Quintero.

...

Quintero was speeding through the streets in his showy red convertible Ferrari, with Elvis's classic "Can't Help Falling In Love" playing on the stereo, different from Gallardo's old-fashioned style.

He really liked the Europe and America vibe, having attended concerts in the United States more than once. In current terms, he had a strong capacity for assimilation.

Red light ahead.

Right at the pedestrian crossing, people were walking by.

Quintero didn't even think about stopping, he just drove straight through, frightening the pedestrians into shrieks, as they kept cursing his mother in his wake.

That's how brazen a drug trafficker can be.

He didn't finish off the other party without getting out of the car, which already showed he had learned to keep a low profile.

Hiss~

With a suave parking job, he directly blocked the entrance to the Playa Hotel. The security guards outside recognized the car's value and didn't dare to approach, only to watch helplessly as Quintero went upstairs.

The security guards could only sigh.

Humming a tune, Quintero, too impatient to wait for the elevator, took three steps at a time as he ran up the stairs—in front of women, everything else was trivial.

302…

303!

He looked up at the door number, smiled, and knocked on the door, but the door swung open on its own.

Although it was strange, Quintero didn't pay it much mind. As soon as he stepped inside, a figure rushed out from the door, covered his mouth with a hand, and flipped him over onto the ground.

Then three or four people ran out of the bathroom, some injected him with an anesthetic, others tied him up.

Quintero's eyes widened as he made muffled cries.

"Be graceful, don't kill him," someone said.

Ethan Hunt, chewing gum, looked at a drowsy Quintero with a smile and patted his face, "Sir, just sleep for a while, and by afternoon you'll be in Baja California."

Quintero didn't know who the other party was, but he knew he had been set up!

That bitch betrayed him.

He would definitely sell her off to Africa.

Quintero silently cursed, feeling his eyelids getting heavier until everything went black.

At that moment, there came the clinking sound of a cart in the hallway.

A man dressed as a janitor and wearing a mask pushed a cart over and stopped at the door. He looked left and right, knocked on the door, and pushed it open, and the agents stuffed Quintero inside.

"Put a pillow under his head to make his sleep more comfortable," said Ethan, still considerate.

The group left in turns.

"Hey!"

Just as the janitor was about to leave, suddenly a door nearby opened, and a man waved, "Come help me tidy up."

The janitor glanced at him, nodded, and walked into the room. After about twenty or thirty seconds, he came out and as he closed the door, he saw the man lying on the bed, even covered with a blanket.

It's good to be young, able to fall asleep instantly.

The best way to deal with a nuisance is to deal with the numbing person causing it.

…

Seven o'clock in the evening.

Carlos, tired from a busy day, was just preparing to have dinner.

He had gone to great lengths to suppress the scandal. The Salinas Family had paid a high price, and it was something he could not swallow.

"Where's Quintero?" he suddenly asked while gnawing on a steak.

Ajit, his secretary, was startled, "I'll go call him."

He hurried to Quintero's room, only to find it empty. He felt a sense of dread, and urgently asked the guards at the Official Residence entrance, but they said Quintero had not returned.

A knot of anxiety formed in Ajit's stomach, and he felt dizzy. He rushed back to Carlos, his tone bitter, "Sir, Quintero... is missing!"

"What? How could he be missing?" Carlos exclaimed.

"He said he was going out to meet an acquaintance today. I was too busy in the afternoon to ask more, but he said he would be back, and now he's nowhere to be seen."

"Go find him! Idiots! All of you, go look!"

Carlos was about to go insane. He had told that idiot countless times not to run around aimlessly, and he never listened. And now the man was missing.

Ajit's face was also unsightly.

Glancing at the steak in his hand, Carlos tossed it aside, his expression grave.

Quintero...

He was like a bomb. Carlos had been the one pulling strings from within to get him out of prison, with the Yanks oblivious that he was in his Official Residence. And now, shortly after Raul's incident, he too had disappeared.

If…

If he ended up in the hands of the Americans.

Carlos shuddered at the thought.

...