Working as a police officer in Mexico

Who is higher, Ace or Two?

What kind of question is that?

As old pros, no one stepped forward. Victor glanced at his watch, irritated, "What? You've been running casinos for so long, don't tell me you don't know?"

"Whatever Mr. Victor says is the highest, is the highest!" a skinny guy at the very front suddenly blurted out.

Casare's eyes widened in shock.

Who the fuck said that? Don't they know that only I can decide Vic's orders?

"No backbone at all, take him out and shoot him." Victor furrowed his brow, he hated smooth talkers the most.

"I'll do it!"

Casare pushed aside the police officer in charge and leapt forward, delivering a flying kick to the skinny guy's belly, nearly forcing the man's eyeballs to pop out, then grabbed his hair and dragged him outside.

What do you think you are!

Trying to suck up to me the same way?

"Any other answers?" Victor asked the casino bosses, seeing their hesitant looks, "Then I'll choose for you."

"Starting from here, Ace is highest on the left, Two is highest on the right."

He sliced his hand down the middle, and the officers promptly separated the group into two.

"Who is the richest among you?" Victor suddenly asked.

The casino bosses looked at each other, then a dark-skinned woman on the side of Two pointed across at Ace, "Seiver Stuart Aragon, he's the richest. He's bought the entire block, and we are his tenants!"

Victor looked over, the one being pointed at was a Spaniard. As for why she was so certain? Because the Spaniard... had a strong body odor.

Just like how Indians' eyes light up at the sight of lizards, must be racial talent.

The man's face turned ashen.

Victor, frowning, looked at both sides, smacked his lips, and gestured to an officer. He took a rifle from the officer's hand, racked the bolt, and opened fire on the group who had spoken out for Two.

Ratatatatatat... A whole magazine sprayed out.

Many screamed as they fell, others tried to run but were kicked back in by the officers at the door.

"Don't kill me! Don't kill me! I'll give you all my money! All of it!" The woman, who had luckily not been killed, knelt on the ground crying her eyes out.

Victor frowned, "What did you say? Do I look like a bandit? Am I just after your money? You just made the wrong choice, ma'am, the Ace is indeed higher than the Two! Sorry, you just had bad luck."

Ratatat...

The woman's pleas ceased abruptly.

The scent of blood gushing from the bodies terrified many on the other side; they were bad types, involved in usury, forcing prostitution, and rigging games, but they still feared Victor, who was much more brutal.

What does this tell us?

Military Leader > Politician > Gangster > Bad Element.

"Mr. Seiver Stuart Aragon, please come here." Victor beckoned with a smile, and the Spaniard shuffled over, pale as a ghost, "Sir... sir."

"Don't be nervous, you share the surname Aragon. I had a friend with the same name, the former head of the Mexican news media group, but he dealt in drugs, you're not involved in drugs, are you?"

"No! No! I have nothing to do with drugs!"

Victor patted him contentedly on the shoulder, "Good answer, but our Anti-Drug Force is fighting desperately on the front lines, and here are people who don't pay taxes. Without money, we can't afford ammunition or pay salaries. Tell me, isn't that aiding the enemy?"

Seiver Stuart Aragon looked crestfallen, "I'll pay! I'll pay the taxes."

Victor squinted, "Only when the child dies do you think of feeding it, only when I come to collect do you think of paying. Are you afraid of dying?"

"Don't cry, if you cry, I'll tie you up at the door and let the cannon fire at you!"

A man sobbing is disgraceful; even if you've got a gun to your head, you should show some courage. It's more interesting to kill someone with spine.

Seiver hastily wiped away his tears.

"From now on, this gambling street belongs to the Anti-Drug Force!"

The other party's heart raced, but seeing Victor's almost smiling expression, he quickly nodded in agreement.

"But I won't let you starve, I'll lease it back to you every year. However, I will only allow twenty casinos to exist in Tijuana, no more are permitted. I'll issue gambling licenses, and I'll send in professional finance staff. You're not allowed to offer usurious loans, everything must be under government control!"

"Licenses will be reissued every three years, open to all bidders, but with a fee no less than three million dollars. Aside from value-added tax, consumption tax, and luxury tax, there will also be an additional liquor tax, service tax, and chip tax, 75%, and tourists' winnings are also taxable, 55%! Of course, you'll foot the bill."

Victor was still "too kind."

Making only two dollars on a twenty-dollar profit wasn't his style; people had families to feed, after all.

Of course, if you don't pay taxes, your whole family can go die, then you won't need food anymore.

The Spaniard Seiver almost fainted upon hearing this; this... this was plundering the core of the gambling industry. This was robbery!

Victor looked at him, smiling, "Of course, you can refuse, but then, I'll kill you. There's no grace period for tax evasion in my territory."

"You have to choose between bullets and cooperation."

"This... this gambling industry is partly owned by the Spanish elite; I... I need to discuss it with them," Seiver said agonizingly.

"Spain?"

"This is Mexico, you think it's still the colonial period?"

"I don't have much patience. I'll count to three."

"Three!"

Victor pulled out his gun and aimed it at his head, Seiver glared angrily, "What about your first and second terms?" As he saw the other's finger on the trigger, he hurriedly said, "I agree!"

That's more like it!

Actually, corporate warfare isn't as difficult as they say, right? Many people say how formidable capitalists are, but look… they're also quite easy to talk to.

"However, while I'm allowing you to bid for the gambling licenses, you've got to make up for your past tax evasion. Does the Finance Department keep any ledgers?"

"No… none."

"Then each of you will pay a fine of six million US dollars, and we'll let bygones be bygones. Anything else to say?"

The casino owners hung their heads, not daring to utter a word.

Victor was pleased, "Making money is something we should all do together. You can eat only what I give you, and if I say you can't touch something, then you'd better shut your mouths."

He patted Seiver on the shoulder, "Otherwise, I'll smash your mouths in."

With that, he walked out of the casino.

The officers behind him carried out the confiscated gambling funds as they left.

Seiver took several steps back, his legs a bit wobbly, and he supported himself against a gambling table as sweat poured down continuously.

Under immense pressure, he was just a little short of meeting his great-grandmother.

"Seiver, this… Victor is planning to treat us like dogs!" someone finally couldn't help but whisper, hoping, "Maybe… could we put some pressure on Mexico through Spain?"

They'd been living it up in Tijuana for so long, but suddenly someone was putting a shackle around their necks. A dog used to jumping about won't learn to be good.

But when the master wields a stick, they have no choice but to obey.

"Yeah! With just a word or two, Victor is going to siphon off our profits worth several billion US dollars a year?"n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Think of something, Seiver, you have the widest connections here."

The casino owners argued back and forth until Seiver couldn't take it anymore and shouted, "Shut up!"

Everyone fell silent.

"Why didn't you refuse him earlier? Are you afraid of dying? If you're not happy, you can find someone to kill him! You can go to the black market to hire an assassin, as you like."

Defeated, Seiver sat down on the floor.

He didn't dare.

Those corpses on the floor had drunk and dined with him just yesterday.

Victor is nothing but a damn dictator!

A police officer?

What kind of officer acts like that!

...

As Victor walked onto the street outside the casino, he looked at all the people from the Finance Department, "You see, is it so hard to collect taxes?"

The group exchanged glances, not daring to voice any opinions.

"However, I also understand how difficult it is in Mexico to make people pay taxes on time; many are extremely uncooperative. Then we'll just have to beat them into submission. I'm planning to set up a tax collection force, learning from the American concept, equipped with armed helicopters, armored vehicles, and artillery. Anyone who dares to evade taxes will be sent to heaven!"

A Mexican version of the IRS?!

The Finance Department staff were suddenly energized.

Are we getting our own force too?

"Pull out a battalion from the Mexican National Emergency Squad. I'll arrange someone else to take charge of this team. What you in the Finance Department need to do is conduct tax audits. We'll collect the taxes that the Mexican Government dares not to, and provide full support for the expenditures of the Anti-Drug Force."

"Even if someone tries to rob, make sure they pay their taxes."

"If I still see such meager numbers on my financial reports, I'll send you guys to Guadalupe Island to swim with sharks!"

"Is a week enough? Get all of the owed money from Tijuana back for me. And of course, you won't be working for free. Besides a base salary, one-tenth of one percent commission from the recovered funds can be yours. That's right, fellas, if you find evidence of tax evasion by the wealthy in Tijuana, you're going to get rich." Victor threw out this "bonus system" for the IRS.

No one could remain indifferent.

Sure enough, the eyes of the people in the Finance Department lit up!

"Commission?"

"That's right, work hard, guys. I'm looking forward to you catching Mexico's Al Capone."

The IRS had put Al Capone behind bars for 25,000 years with a sentence for tax evasion, gaining fame in one go.

Victor sat back in his Humvee, and Casare asked from the side, "Boss, isn't this commission system a bit too progressive?"

"Profit and desire are what drive human and technological development. I want to make sure that no one in Mexico dares evade their taxes."

"What about drug trafficking… do they also pay taxes?" Casare continued with a hint of doubt.

"No, those involved in drug trafficking deserve to die. Their money should be seized."

After his Humvee left, the staff from the Finance Department suddenly buzzed to life.

"We get a commission, so if I uncover a hundred million US dollars in evaded taxes, isn't that a direct 100 thousand US dollars for me?"

"I think my leather shoe factory has definitely been evading taxes, I'm going to audit them!"

"Mike, that's your uncle…"

"No, that's US dollars."

...