Working as a police officer in Mexico

"Victor..."

Casare called out, noticing something off about his mood, glanced at Harrison out of the corner of his eye, and continued softly, "There's a piece of paper on the body."

He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over.

Victor snatched it away and saw that it was written in Spanish, "¿Dios sabe, ¿nos ofendes? ¡Grupo Pedro! (Does God know, have you offended us?—Pedro Group!)"

Great!

So arrogant!

Mexican crime syndicates always like to flaunt their names.

I don't know what these bastards are thinking; sometimes they even boldly announce it was them who bombed government buildings.

Maybe, they just want to intimidate others.

Victor handed the note to Harrison, "Find their people, I want to meet them."

He said it plainly, but everyone understood, he was furious!

"Understood," Harrison nodded.

After glancing at Lina one more time, Victor left.

This country is too filthy, unable to accommodate even a sliver of sunlight; it should just be obliterated by a nuclear bomb.

Tears?

They're just a tool for the weak to vent.

Find them, kill them!

Fighting violence with violence is the best method.

...

November 1st.

Fiedler Pedro sat in a Ferrari F40, watching the parade celebrating Day of the Dead across the street, and couldn't help but spit.

He grew up in the United States and despised these "ignorant" festivals the most. He liked revelry and parties. As the eldest son of the Pedro family, he could afford it.

He honked the horn forcefully.

A push of the throttle and roar!

He charged straight into the crowd. The sudden acceleration left some unable to dodge in time, and they were sent flying, tumbling through the air before slamming hard onto the ground.

Screams erupted from the procession behind him.

Yet, a sick smile spread across Fiedler Pedro's face.

He didn't like Mexico; he had come back only because, after drag racing in the United States, he hit and killed a pregnant woman and a local police officer, and had no choice but to flee.

It's not the same in the United States; that's prison time. He rushed back to Mexico to lay low for a while.

But the arrogance in his bones couldn't be hidden, the DNA of a bastard is always that of a bastard. In Mexico, he couldn't care less about killing people.

His family had plenty of money and power; he could kill whoever he wanted!

Seeing a red light ahead, Fiedler Pedro instead floored the gas pedal, accelerating headlong when a dump truck came barreling towards him, hitting the rear of his car.

The airbag of the Ferrari F40 deployed instantly, the car rolled on the ground, and then crashed into a nearby green belt.

The accident happened in just 10 seconds. A sedan pulled up next to the Ferrari, and four men with hoods emerged. They pried the car door open with a hydraulic cutter, dragged out the unconscious Fiedler Pedro, and threw him into the trunk.

One of them took out a pen and wrote on the car: "Victor Carlos Vieri, phone number..."

After finishing, they tossed the pen carelessly, took the passenger seat, and drove away stylishly.

The police, arriving at the news, saw the Ferrari F40 and realized trouble. The car was all too familiar. The deputy superintendent leading the team hurriedly called the Pedro family and ordered the scene to be secured.

After about fifteen minutes, two cars arrived, and seven or eight burly men got out. The leader grabbed the deputy superintendent, "Where's Fiedler?"

The deputy superintendent, held in such a manner, didn't even dare to retort, just stating he didn't see anyone.

"Boss, someone wrote a phone number here," one person noticed the number on the car.

The leading man pushed the deputy superintendent away, walked over to the vehicle, and squinted at the series of names, feeling it was... eerily familiar.

Whoever it is that offended the Pedro family, they won't have a good ending!

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...

Whoosh~

A bucket of water was dashed in Fiedler Pedro's face.

He slowly opened his eyes, and the pain that took over his cerebral cortex made him groan involuntarily. Then, he realized he was tied to a "metal bed," with four people standing in front of him.

Three were wearing hoods, while one was smoking a cigarette, watching him.

"Inject him with adrenaline."

The man without a hood, Fiedler Pedro deduced, ordered, and someone with a syringe approached him.

He struggled violently, "Who are you! I'm Fiedler, the eldest son of the Pedro family. Whatever you want, you can talk to me. I can give it to you, money, is one million US dollars enough!"

Seeing the person come closer, he panicked and increased the offer, "Five million US dollars!"

But Harrison paid no heed and injected the adrenaline into his bloodstream. Soon, Fiedler felt invigorated, or rather, his mind felt excited.

The other two picked up buckets and doused him several times, drenching him completely, and then they forcefully pushed the metal bed he was lying on!

Fiedler Pedro saw darkness before him, screaming in panic and fear, "Hey, hey!"

Cold air blew against his face from both sides.

He knew where he was.

The morgue's freezer!

He watched in horror as his body froze solid, but he could feel the pain, his brain was overly stimulated, he even imagined he saw a woman.

No one knew how long it had been before he was pulled out.

He lay on the metal bed, shivering.

Ice had formed on his skin.

Victor stood before him, smoking a cigarette, tilting his head back with his eyes closed, "There was a girl, hmm, a very adorable girl. Her eyes were gorgeous, like shattered diamonds."

"She could have grown up and seen this beautiful world. She could have gone to school, had knowledge and friends, gotten married, had kids, and a family."

Victor exhaled, opened his eyes, "But no more, to hell with it, huh."

He brought his cigarette close to Fiedler Pedro's right eye, and pressed down hard. The eyeball... it seemed to have charred.

There was an unpleasant smell.

And... Fiedler's scream.

"You see, you can feel pain too," Victor released his grip, and the cigarette butt was stuck to it.

He reached out, and Harrison behind him handed him a hammer. Victor struck forcefully at the other's frozen right leg. Of course, it did not shatter, but it could be mushed!

"Ah!! Aha... spare me, please let me go," Fiedler begged, with tears and snot mixed together.

He had none of the dignity of a drug lord's son.

"She must have cried like this too," Victor lifted the hammer, continuing to strike, even Harrison, seasoned as he was, felt nauseated.

Just then, a phone rang.

A jail guard hurried over to hand it to him.

Victor answered, and on the other end was what sounded like a wild boar roaring, "Victor! I know it's you! Where is my son!"

Fiedler Pedro heard his father's voice through the phone, and instantly felt aggrieved, pleading tearfully, "Save me."

"Mr. Vasili, your son is very happy, laughing. If you ever find the time, perhaps you should visit your mistress and have another child," Victor said.

Vasili Pedro was shocked when he heard this, "Don't touch him..."

"Ah!!!"

A hammer fell upon his hand, mincing flesh and bone, his agonized screams tore at Vasili's heart.

"Rest assured, I will break his limbs first, then kill him. Mr. Vasili, God has prayed to me that your sins must be judged!"

Victor raised the hammer, and in Fiedler Pedro's gaze of despair, he brought it down on his head.

...

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