"Trash, a bunch of complete useless pigs!" he muttered under his breath, not knowing whether he was cursing the colleagues in Michoacán, the sheriff of that small town, or the entrenched lethargy within the entire system.
He abruptly pressed down on the internal communicator on the desk, "Inform everyone at headquarters with stars on their shoulders to gather in Meeting Room One within five minutes."
With the order issued, the giant machine that was police headquarters seemed to slightly speed up its operations.
But old habits die hard.
Five minutes later, when Minister Robert walked grim-faced into Meeting Room One, only half of the long table was sparsely occupied, with several seats still empty.
Among the senior officers who were present, some were sipping coffee gently, some whispering in low voices, still showing a bit of afternoon laziness and indifference on their faces.
Robert said nothing, just walked to the head of the table.
