Working as a police officer in Mexico

Cuauhtémoc's wife's face tightened instantly as her fingers involuntarily clutched her husband's arm, with her left hand covering her son's eyes.

But the youngster was curious about many things after all.

He peeked through the gaps at the floating corpse. Was that... a drug trafficker?

So, drug traffickers could be killed?

"This... could this be a bit inhumane?" Cuauhtémoc's wife asked with a furrowed brow, "Doesn't Mexico not have the death penalty? Was it ordered by the court?"

Carlos looked at her curiously, "Ma'am, in Mexicali, Ensenada City, and Guadalupe Island, drug traffickers caught don't need a trial; they can be executed directly!"

"Of course, now Mr. Victor doesn't allow the arbitrary execution of drug traffickers because we need them to build roads and plant green belts, and there are many dangerous tasks that we also need them to do."

"That one just now..."

"However, to remind the public not to get involved with drugs, one lazy drug trafficker is caught and hanged every day."

Well...

Last come, first served system.

To be a drug trafficker and not be killed by Victor, you should be singing his praises; instead, you slack off, which is just wasting food while living.

Carlos, aware of their family's status, softened his language a bit, "Drug traffickers can't change. Believing they won't traffic drugs again is even less likely than believing Mr. Victor is God..."

"Once drug traffickers understand how easy it is to make money, they won't settle down. Do they want to be farmers? Are they willing to endure the monotony of daily life?"

"They're beyond saving; greed has devoured them. The best we can do is send them off to be reincarnated."

Cuauhtémoc nodded with knitted brows; he was not a hidebound man. He sat quietly in the car, observing.

Street vendors hawking their wares, women with children, students running about, and armed officers patrolling.

Everything seemed to be in perfect order.

How familiar...

When his own father was the Governor of Michoacán, it was like this too. No drug trafficker dared to show their face, and there was a smile on everyone's face.

He was sitting on his father's shoulders, looking at the churches of Michoacán. He was 5 years old then, and in the blink of an eye, over thirty years had passed.

His father had died, the church had been burned down, and Mexico, to which he had devoted his life's work...

...had become a notorious drug den known all over the world!

The car drove through the central street, where one could see walls of houses marked everywhere with red paint:

"Violence against drug traffickers!"

"Kill the drug trafficker, skip the trial!"

"Drugs suck away your life. Do drugs today, face a firing squad tomorrow!"

...

This somewhat high-pressure approach had clearly reversed the drug situation in Mexicali in short order.

Even due to Victor's methods, other crimes had been significantly reduced.

Even the most troublesome black groups had freaking started to keep their heads down.

The vehicle entered the Mexicali City Hall guarded by police officers.

Carlos took the wheelchair out of the trunk, helped Cuauhtémoc's wife to sit down comfortably, and covered her with a blanket.

The clothes on Cuauhtémoc's entire family, weren't even as expensive as one dinner for a drug trafficker.

Victor came down the steps with his people, warmly embracing Cuauhtémoc, who was baffled by the gesture.

Are we that familiar?

Victor also shook hands with his wife and child, smiling, with a gentle tone, "Welcome."

"I greatly admire your father; Mr. Cardenas is my idol. He was a great man."

Casare listened expressionlessly from behind.

Boss...

You didn't even know who Cardenas was before.

Idol?

Since the other party doesn't know, just say anything.

Everyone likes to hear their forebears praised, and indeed, seeing him say this, Cuauhtémoc relaxed significantly.

Victor is very astute; he wouldn't neglect anyone, occasionally interacting with his wife and son as well, making everyone feel as if bathed in a pleasant spring breeze.

Those who are leaders, they naturally have personal charm.

Like Lincoln, many people cursed him, but no one could deny his charm in some aspects, he even remembered the janitors' names.

Back then, he could recognize and call out the names of hundreds of staff members in the White House.

This is a skill and a knack.

"Santos, Stephanie, can you help me entertain our new friend?" Victor asked with a smile as he looked at his foster children.

Not wanting to let McClure, Cuauhtémoc's son, feel bored, he also called over Santos and others, had he a wife, they could've engaged in some "first lady diplomacy."

"Of course!" Santos extended his hand towards McClure with a smile.

The latter glanced at his father, and Cuauhtémoc patted his head with a smile, "Go ahead."

McClure dashed off immediately.

He had no friends in Mexico City.

No one wanted to play with him...

When everyone else was wallowing in a murky world, his father's integrity sometimes seemed "funny" to others.

"He hasn't laughed like this in a long time," Cuauhtémoc said, watching his son and sighing deeply.

Victor spread his hands out, "Isn't this exactly our neglect?"

"A weak and incompetent mediator can't bring benefits to our country, he makes women afraid to wear skirts on the street, he robs the smiles from children's faces, he makes men face death at any moment, what's the use of keeping such a person around?"

Cuauhtémoc's eyelids twitched.

He had not expected such a strong attack from Victor as soon as he sat down. Wasn't he talking about Carlos?

"It was the choice of the people," he said after a moment of silence.

"Then why wasn't I called during the vote?" Victor said with a smile, "That's like looking down on me."

Cuauhtémoc looked up at him.

You bastard were still a jail guard when Carlos took office.

Who could have known you're not possessed by an alien, becoming so fierce all of a sudden?

"Sir, Mexico cannot continue to sink any lower; we must change. Drug traffickers should be in the sewage system, in graves, not on the streets. Look at my... the people's Mexicali, isn't the air here much better than in Mexico City?"

Cuauhtémoc's brows raised; had he just heard "my"?

But he didn't dwell on it.

"Mexicali is indeed like that, I saw hope," he affirmed.

Victor smiled happily, his achievements being praised, "Then we should extend this model throughout all of Mexico, everyone should benefit from it."

Cuauhtémoc shook his head, "Carlos will not agree."

"What about you?" Victor countered, spreading his hands open, "Since he's useless, let's put someone willing in his place."

"The political legacy your father left for you wasn't meant to be wasted."

"Is there anyone more suitable than you to take over Carlos's position in Mexico now?"

Victor's gaze was fixed on him; he saw Cuauhtémoc involuntarily clench his fist; his heart was surely not at peace.

"If you're willing, me and my officers will all back you. When the time comes, if you tell us to aim our guns at God himself, we won't hesitate."

Cuauhtémoc hung his head, knowing his advantage as soon as he arrived—Victor's willingness to help him was definitely out of some political need.

After a long silence, he asked, "What do you need?"

Victor's expression became serious, "My demand is simple: the government must go to war with the drug traffickers full-scale!"

...