Working as a police officer in Mexico

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You make 100 million, I get 200,000!

Do you really think I'm some kind of "Fair-minded Official" with a clear conscience, huh?

No!

I represent "fairness!"

You earn 100 million, and I ask for 98 million—not too much, right? But now you're making Uncle Victor very uncomfortable.

If you don't pay your taxes, then I'll have to collect them myself. Only thing is, I might bring a few too many people, with rather large calibers. When they shove the barrel in your mouth, don't you cry about it.

Casare made a call to Damon Hesfu Zola, the head of the Mexican National Emergency Squad.

"The boss is a little pissed off, call some people in, yeah, and bring the weapons too. Get the 2S3 Akatsiya self-propelled howitzers ready, loaded with OF-540 high-explosive bombs! Add two more crew members to the vehicles, ready for sustained combat!"

"For what?"

Casare pondered for a moment, "Armed debt collection!"

Damon Hesfu Zola on the other end was baffled. Could anyone still owe the boss money in Tijuana?

Even God would have to pay protection money here.

After hanging up, Damon checked his watch and stepped out of the office, "Gather up, the first and second battalions of the EDN Police Force, fully armed, with ammunitions at three times the normal rate, and roll out the 2S3 Akatsiya howitzers."

The Mexican National Emergency Squad now had a full complement of 1,500 personnel, mostly well-bred sons from Guadalupe Island, split into five battalions, with 300 each battalion. Being Victor's direct anti-drug force, they were well-equipped.

Besides personal weapons, rocket launchers, self-propelled howitzers, and twin-barreled anti-aircraft guns were all provided, and they even had three Bell 212 armed helicopters at their disposal.

Victor planned to first create an "armored combined battalion" with them, quietly getting some tanks, and then adding a few dozen T72s to the Mexican National Emergency Squad later on. Wouldn't they be able to strut around North America then?

They should be able to break through small nations like Panama, Salvador, Honduras, and others.

Still...

Daydreams are pleasant, but there was one problem—they were broke. Why? Because they weren't collecting taxes. It was a vicious cycle.

Victor had no idea how the previous finance operations were handled.

Or rather, how they were in other states of Mexico.

But in his territory, if his word didn't carry weight, then what was the point of having an army?

Isn't it just so you can slam them directly if they annoy you while you're talking across the table?

Victor took his police uniform from his secretary and said to the others in the Finance Department meeting room, "All of you, come with me. I'll show you how to talk to those who don't pay taxes!"

As he came down from the upstairs, he saw Damon Hesfu Zola arriving at the entrance with the police squad.

"Director!" Damon saluted.

Victor caught sight of the 152mm caliber of the 2S3 Akatsiya howitzer and narrowed his eyes. He got into the Humvee, "Let's go, to District 30!"

...

If you were to ask which district in Tijuana had the most foreigners, it would definitely be District 12 and District 30. The former was a gathering place for Nigerians, a high-frequency crime spot for illegal immigrants. But after a crackdown, these Nigerians almost wished they could bleach their skin.

The latter was a gathering area for casinos and betting companies.

Many Americans liked to come here to gamble a bit.

On one street, there were over 70 casinos. In Mexico, gambling has been legal since the 19th century.

"Do they have business licenses?" Victor, sitting in a Humvee and smoking a cigarette, asked.

Casare, sitting in the back, quickly poked his head forward, "No, most are run by local families or gangs."

"You want to run a casino without a business license?"

Victor squinted his eyes. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. What if casinos could be legally controlled like in Las Vegas? Limit District 30 to only 20 legal casinos, and declare the rest illegal.

Some would surely object, and he could sweep up the illegal ones, making a tidy sum.

Then, by auctioning off "official gambling licenses," he could pocket another sum. After the auction, they'd have to pay taxes every month—VAT, sales taxes, luxury taxes, you name it.

$20 chips, $18 tax.

$2 for the casino to earn, don't say I, Victor, monopolize everything.

Considering about 10 million American tourists come to Tijuana each year, and if half of them gambled, how much money could that bring in for him?

Plus, controlling casinos could control the money laundering channels, not letting those laundering groups run wild. I am a police officer, after all!

Just from the legitimate casinos, he could make an extra few billion US dollars a year!

Bang!

The more Victor thought about it, the more excited he became, slamming his palm onto the dashboard of the Humvee.

"Seal off all the exits of the streets, not even a 'Rat' gets out."

As the large police force marched across Tijuana, onlookers stopped to gaze. As they reached District 30, some lookouts who appeared to be keeping watch felt the ground vibrating beneath them. When they dumbfoundedly looked up, they saw armored vehicles and the muzzles of howitzers, which scared them so much that they dropped their cigarettes.

"Vic... Victor is here!!!"

A man with a mohawk and tattoos ran inside, shouting at the top of his lungs, as if he had encountered something horrifying in an alley.

"Am I that scary?" Victor asked Casare with a stern face.

"Only those with darkness in their hearts fear the light, boss. You are Mexico's light; of course, these scumbags are scared of you."

Casare, having gained the "emperor's" favor, might as well be made a eunuch later.

Victor waved his hand, "Have their person in charge come see me. We're here to collect taxes with force. Anyone who refuses gets a taste of 'peanuts'."

The "ruthless" EDN officers stormed into the neighborhood.

"Which casino is the biggest here?"

"Maguixiu zitel (Maguixiu zitel)!"

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This was the god in charge of gambling within the Aztec cultural sphere; it looked like the casino boss was quite cultured after all.

Victor nodded and got down from the Humvee, "Take some people and come with me."

Gambling is a "vicious" industry. How many people die from it every year? It constantly stimulates moral boundaries by exploiting human greed.

But you simply can't eradicate it completely.

A 2 trillion US dollar super market isn't something you can deal with just by caliber alone. You can physically eliminate a body, but can you get rid of human desires?

With gambling, many criminal activities follow, such as the adult industry and other usurious loans, etc. Many places start to control it from a national level. Mexico was one of the earliest countries to legalize gambling.

And some countries in Europe allowed it around the millennium.

Unshackled capital will overflow; it's better to make them understand fear than to ask them to behave!

Victor walked into the Maguixiu zitel casino, where people inside had already received the news and were waiting respectfully.

"Sir!" A man with a buzzcut and a big diamond earring by his ear smiled and bowed.

"Are you the boss?"

"I am Antonis Rosello."

"How much tax did he pay last year?" Victor turned and asked the person from the Finance Department.

"20... 200,000 US dollars."

"That's a hefty sum of money," Victor said with a laugh, looking at Antonis Rosello, "I remember the tax rate for casinos in Mexico is 25%, right? So may I ask, how much was your revenue last year?"

Antonis wiped the cold sweat from his face and gave an awkward smile, "Mr. Victor, please take a seat upstairs, and I'll explain it to you."

"Explain?"

"You fucking owe me money, and you want me to waste time listening to your explanations?" Victor grabbed Antonis by the collar and dragged him to the gaming table, "Let's play a game, one card each, whoever has the bigger card calls the shots."

"Deal!", he commanded the stunned dealer. Hoping her hair and dressed in a white cool dress, with half her chest exposed, the dealer nervously tossed two cards over.

"Don't worry, I'm a man of rules; whoever has the bigger card, gets his way."

Antonis Rosello swallowed hard and nervously flipped his card, "Ace!"

His eyes suddenly brightened, and he broke into a smile.

But Victor had flipped over a "2".

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Mr. Victor; I guess I was a bit luckier," Antonis said cheerfully.

Victor quieted down and frowned, "Are you fucking taking me for an idiot? Which is bigger, 1 or 2? Not paying taxes is one thing, but you dare to cheat me?!"

He grabbed Antonis Rosello's head and smashed it onto the gaming table, picking up the card shoe and slamming it against his head, "That's for cheating me! Damn it!"

"Do you think I'm blind?"

"I have an Ace, I have an Ace!!! The Ace is the biggest!!" Antonis Rosello cried miserably.

"Ace, your mother, trying to cheat me of my money!"

Damon Hesfu Zola's eyelid twitched as he approached Casare, "Isn't... isn't the Ace supposed to be the largest?"

Fat Casare glanced at him.

Indeed, a thug's mind doesn't work well.

Is this a matter of who's larger?

It's a matter of dignity. How could Uncle Victor possibly lose?

Even if God himself came, a 2 would be larger!n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

After Victor had tired from hitting, he threw the bloody card shoe on the floor and spat, turning around, "This place is full of swindlers, daring to cheat me, they must have cheated other innocent people on other days, lying through their teeth, shut it down!"

"Drag him out and hang him outside."

"Let people see, those who say an Ace is larger than a 2 should be hung to death."

"Boss, what about all the gambling funds?" Casare asked with a glint in his eye, "Should we seize them and wait until the case is clear before returning them?"

"What do you mean seize, confiscate them! Participating in illegal gambling, the funds are forfeited."

Let these gambling Yanks bleed a little too.

As EDN officers began seizing the stakes, some cooperated, but some didn't take kindly, "Hey, we are Americans, Americans!"

"Americans? You fucking bastards still have to follow the law here. How did you cross the border? Did you pay the border crossing fee? Drag them out and beat them hard, they definitely look like smugglers!" Casare pointed at two young Americans and cursed.

A few officers came up, grabbed them, and dragged them outside, hitting hard with their gun butts!

The screams were pitiful.

The money was almost starting to be bagged in sacks.

All those bundles of US dollars...

The American gamblers were crying their eyes out.

Victor, on the other hand, was laughing heartily.

"Director, the other casino bosses have arrived," someone reported.

"Bring them in."

When dozens of people entered and saw Antonis Rosello lying on the floor, they were somewhat at a loss.

Victor leaned against the gaming table, looking at them, and raised both hands.

"What do you think, is the Ace or the 2 bigger?"

...