After EDM briefly shook off the pursuers, they ducked into the Chimalhuacán slums. The civilians sunning themselves heard the commotion and saw a van drive in.
Several men dressed like hard-core bandits climbed out, submachine guns in hand.
But the civilians acted like they'd seen it all. They didn't even budge. A few kids just watched curiously, gnawing their fingers.
Mexicans really are different.
People climb walls to watch gunfights; they take a dump while others are clearing mines.
The EDM captain whistled, tossed a set of car keys to a man, then led his team, carrying the unconscious Raúl Salinas, toward the next location.
The man looked at the keys in his hand, then up at the van, and suddenly shrieked!
Struck it rich!
What luck—someone gifting a car?
He slid into the driver's seat, happily fiddling with the wheel. He could sell this for good money—enough to cover the household. But after just a few minutes, a group of armed men rushed in and slammed him to the ground.
"Don't kill me, don't kill me!" the man wailed.
"Where's the driver?" a cartel boss slapped him, yanking his hair to ask.
"They ran that way—I don't know them." The man pointed at a narrow path behind him, clutching his head.
The boss waved. "After them!"
On the way out, they shot the man on the ground twice.
For them, just a flick of the wrist.
The man's eyes bulged; he died with no peace. When the cartel chased off, his relatives rushed out and clutched the body, wailing. His wife stared helplessly around, and his child looked on, blank.
In truth, no one would have thought…
Including the EDM captain who gifted the car—could he have known this act indirectly got a family's pillar killed?
Without a stable society, you never know when some passing trafficker will shoot you dead.
Worse in Brazil: in the favelas, workers heading home—if they run into a firefight between police and traffickers, they have to join the traffickers on the spot. Otherwise… the traffickers will kill their whole family for "standing by."
If there's blame, it's on a damn rotten society!
They don't live in a peaceful country!
The captain led his team into a nondescript house, lifted a floorboard, and there was a passage beneath it.
It ran straight out of the city.
If anyone in the world knows how to dig tunnels, it's Mexicans. According to rough counts, by 2020 Mexico City had about 17,189 underground passages—without counting elsewhere.
The whole country…
Underneath looks like a hornet's nest.
No wonder in big quakes they all damn collapsed!
"Wait." After everyone had gone down, the captain climbed back up, rigged a booby trap at the door—four grenades tied to a cord. If anyone pushed in from outside—boom!
Nasty!
No idea who he learned that from.
Once it was set, they slid into the passage and moved in a crouch, dragging Raúl Salinas in turns. Just as they figured they were nearly out, an explosion boomed behind them.
Clearly, the pursuers had arrived.
"Move, faster!" the captain covering the rear shouted. After a few more minutes they saw daylight ahead. The reception team was already there—over a dozen fully armed EDM and four Humvees.
They clambered out and sat on the ground, gulping for air.
The air down there was too thin.
When Guzmán broke out of prison, his son took oxygen tanks and a doctor…
Afraid of dying down there.
Sweat poured off the captain as he forced himself up. "Go! Don't stay here."
They piled into the vehicles and pulled out.
Minutes after they left, another OH-58 flew over. They couldn't find a damn thing.
Bang! Bang!
"Useless, utterly useless!" Carlos Salinas heard the front-line report, slammed the table, and cursed furiously.
Everyone in the command post just looked at one another, not daring to speak.
"Where was Raúl grabbed? Who did he see last?" Carlos suddenly asked.
They looked at each other—no one knew.
"Find out! Are you all idiots?" Carlos snapped.
The command room descended into chaos—some contacted traffickers, some spoke to witnesses. About half an hour later they compiled a report.
"Best?" Carlos had no impression of the name.
"Sir, according to CISEN's dossier, he's the president of the 'Hope Group' and one of Victor's people." The secretary pulled a file—Best's headshot on the cover.
CISEN had been collecting on Victor's circle since he rose in Baja. Best, the man who'd been at Victor's side since the Plateau Prison days, was listed as "Victor Group's number three"!
Nickname: jewry!
"After Mr. Raúl's kidnapping, he disappeared."
Carlos Salinas drew a long breath. He was 80% sure this was Victor's work. Who in Mexico had more elite troops under them?
He frowned, swept his gaze across the room, then stormed out. In the car he told the secretary, "Get me Victor."
The secretary nodded, pulled out the phone, and tried several times—no answer. He looked at Carlos awkwardly. "Sir…"
"Call Alejandro!"
…
Raúl Salinas had a long dream.
He dreamed he was beating a maid with a baseball bat. Her shrieks on the floor thrilled him. He kept shouting "Beat you to death!" adrenaline surging. Seeing the corpse, his beast nature burst forth!
Splash~
A bucket of water hit his face and broke the "dream."
Raúl slowly opened his eyes. He tried to look around, but a bright light snapped on in his face. His pupils shrank and he tried to turn his head—only to find it fixed in place!
And… his clothing had been stripped off.
Cold air blew from both sides, raising gooseflesh.
"Good evening, Mr. Raúl." Victor stepped out of the darkness with a tape recorder and set it on the table. "May I ask you a few questions?"
"V-Victor?!" Raúl didn't know if it was fear or shaking—his voice stuttered.
"Does the Salinas family have business with the cartels? Or are you providing protection for them?"
"Let me go! This is illegal! I'm Carlos's brother!"
Victor frowned, then spread his hands. "Looks like Mr. Raúl isn't very cooperative. Sorry, I'll have to use some methods."
At his words, an officer came over with two wires, tapped them together—blue sparks crackled.
"What are you doing!"
The officer pressed the wires to his chest. Raúl convulsed, eyes rolling back, tongue lolling.
When the officer let go, Raúl slumped.
"Isn't electro-torture your favorite? Of the servants you've killed, two were electrocuted. What's wrong, can't take it when it's your turn?" Victor smiled and walked up to him. "Don't worry, I'll use every method you've used—on you."
"Then you'll know if it feels good."
Another officer came out with a big pair of pliers, worked the handles—click, click. Raúl stared in horror as the jaws locked on his hand and then… snapped his fingers backward!
"Ahhh!!!!"
Screams. And the stench—he soiled himself.
Victor calmly smoked.
Perhaps torturing servants since childhood had left Raúl with a perverse compulsion. About 31 servants had gone missing from his home.
No one knew where they went.
When their families came seeking answers, he'd turn it around—claim their daughters stole from him and disappeared.
And because of who he was, the local police wouldn't touch it.
He also played broker for traffickers. For $5 million you could have dinner with his brother.
His crime value actually reached 3,100,000!
Perhaps… the System judged the damage he caused far surpassed that of some traffickers.
Victor was a cop. If Mexico City's police wouldn't handle it, he would. Royal kin or not—who cares.
A life for a life, debts paid in kind—right and proper!
All ten fingers were snapped backward…
Victor checked his watch, walked over. "Now then—will you talk?"
Raúl howled, a silver-spoon brat who'd never suffered this kind of pain, shrieking nonstop.
Victor repeated the question. Raúl still ignored him. Victor smiled, took the cigarette from his mouth, and shoved it into Raúl's. "Take a drag—it won't hurt."
"Pff…" Raúl spat, nearly spraying Victor.
Victor's temper flared.
He took a crowbar from an officer. "You mother—don't know what's good for you?"
He swung and bent Raúl's arm to a right angle, then, still unsatisfied, broke his leg. He picked the cigarette off the ground, clamped Raúl's mouth, and stuffed the lit end in.
"Swallow it! Damn it!"
The flame made Raúl thrash his head.
Behind him, Casare swallowed hard…
Brutal as hell!
But Raúl worked with cartels—and tortured others.
Some things aren't unpunished.
Victor just hadn't arrived yet!
At that moment, the phone rang. Casare picked up, spoke briefly, then handed it to Victor. "Mr. Alejandro."
"Pah."
Victor spat on Raúl's face, passed the crowbar to Casare, and took the call.
"Is Raúl Salinas in your hands, Victor?" Alejandro asked urgently.
"No. Why—did he get lost?"
Alejandro was half-amused at the shamelessness but felt uneasy. He hurried, "The Salinas family says if you release Raúl, this never happened."
"But I'm petty. He came after me! Why hide in Mexico City and still come for me? Isn't he begging me to kill him?!"
"Tell the Salinas to send someone to collect the body."
Victor hung up. Raúl looked at him, whimpering.
"I'll give you a path. I've still got 32 methods you haven't tried. After you sample them, I'll finish you. Or there's another way—confess whether your Salinas clan has deals with the cartels, and… I'll let you walk out easy."
"Your choice."
Either way, you die!
But the process won't be the same…
Death isn't scary—being worse than dead is.
"Is Quintero hiding in the presidential residence? Do you or don't you have transactions with the cartels?"
The pain was unbearable. Raúl trembled, his voice shaking. "Yes."
(End of Chapter)
[Get +20 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Mutter"]
[Every 100 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]