Like nothing happened, César just went down to the lobby, smiled at the receptionist, who didn't even have a single clue what had just happened at their hotel, that soon they would find two bodies lying in a room… but for sure, that couple hundred of dollars shut her. She didn't even look after César as he left, no, she was good on her own.
And well, César too was good. No, more than good, he was happy as he went straight to the police car and opened it up, and there it was. Between the two front seats, the AR, and in that moment there was nothing more that could make the situation happier. He was truly flying up in the skies.
Though there was a big problem with his plan.
"It has a tracker, huh." He whispered as he just calmly sat in the driver seat of the patrol car. "Fuck me, everything just so hard…" The happiness disappeared in an instant as he realized he couldn't use the car and, moreover, that he needed to leave the assault rifle behind, as it didn't fit in the bag.
In his past lives, the patrol cars were the fucking treasure chests. Every single gang or newly founded mafia and cartel aimed at them because it was an easy hit, and the assault rifle in there and the officer pistols were easy to just get off the dead bodies. Fuckers even stole the patrol cars or modified them and used them on their own, like a fucking trophy. Nobody gave a fuck about the trackers, but this is different reality than those.
My experience with the past life helps nothing in this fucking piece of shit reality…
"System suggestions?" He asked, though he wanted to get the answer himself, but he was just used to everything going smoother. He killed a couple of people, and the fucking party began.
[System: Leave the area as fast as possible. The police might already be on their way, as the two officers did not report back on their radios. Hide in another hotel.]
"Like a rat… I feel like a murderer rather than the cartel leader."
[System: That is right. You are nothing but a murderer currently.]
"Thanks." César replied as he got out of the car, looked around, and just left, and indeed the System was right.
As he was walking, looking for another hotel, at least four police cars wheezed past him, going straight to the hotel, but in that way at least his plan was working.
They will indeed notice him. With the two bodies and their discovery, he will plant that seed in the chief's mind that he is truly somebody who is up on the ladder… and that was what he needed the most, and well, after a few hours passed, it was working.
"Both of them died by gunshot. Erik was hit in the forehead, while Kevin in the throat."
"The same man who helped that fucking judge?"
"Exactly. They followed him to the Dream Hotel and died there. Not just died, but he grabbed all the equipment off their bodies."
The chief fell silent, sitting in that big-ass leather seat that looked more like a throne, but for the first time, he felt small in that chair. His ego was shattered, and the fear inside him finally grew bigger than ever.
"And who the fuck is he…?" He whispered as he tried to keep it in, forcing himself to stay calm, though his hand clenched into a fist as he stared at the detective in front of him.
"We don't know but he said that Givonno is under the protection of the Sierra cartel and—"
The detective couldn't finish it as well… the chief struck his fist into the table.
"There is no fucking cartel in the city, not even the fucking mafia is present, all of them are on the fucking border!" He shouted, spitting everywhere. "And we never even heard about him, not even a case about him, not even any information?!"
"Nothing, but I am sure of it that he is an ex-soldier or had some training, as he aimed for the head knowing the vest would catch the bullet." The detection continued unfazed by his boss. " Moreover, he picked up the shells in the hotel, and used a small caliber pistol so as not to alert anybody else." He explained as looked into the chief's eyes. "He might be a sicario of the Sierra cartel he talked about, and they're making their way into the city."
Once again, silence, as the only thing the chief could do was breathe heavily, feeling pressure for the first time in years. The whole concept that the capital was free of these motherfuckers existed for one single reason.
Once again, silence, as the only thing the chief can do is breathe heavily, feeling pressure for the first time in years. The whole concept that the capital is free of these motherfuckers exists for one single reason.
He can control the gangs, as they are nobodies. Even if they try to gain more power, he just arrests some of them to show he is still the boss. But… if there are mafia in the city, moreover a cartel that doesn't give a fuck about anything… he is nothing but a fucking dead man.
"A sicario… but why?!" He asked as he looked up at the detective. "Why would they move now?! Moreover, why have we never heard about them, not even a word?! The cartel makes names by butchering people up… why would they send a sicario to defend a random judge?!"
"It was a strategic move." Another detective joined in who was sitting in the back. "Just think about it, Hoffa. It is not an accident but a well planned action. They send a sicario to put Givonno under their protection, which means they know about our deal already, which means they have the upper hand over us." He looked at the chief as he said it. "And something tells more to me."
"What?" Hoffa asked back as his head was juts straight red, like about to blow the fuck up,
"Maybe we never heard about them, but they only sent one sicario to deal with the whole police… and he did."
"We don't know that—"
"Oh, Jimmy, you think that judge isn't going to speak to the cartel?" Peter giggled as he shook his head. "All of us would speak, because they do the worst fucking torture if we didn't. How funny is that?" He looked back at Hoffa. "One single man came and, in three hours, did what many journalists tried to do for years. One single motherfucker fucked us in the ass. I guess the time has come to hand in my resignation, because I'm sure the feds will be knocking on the door too."
"They will not." Hoffa said as he finally stood up from the chair. "Jimmy, grab one of the guys from the 21st Street gang and bring him to the hotel in silence, without anybody seeing, and kill him. We will go with the narrative, it was him. We hide everything and try to find that fucker."
"Ohh… I wouldn't do it, Hoffa." Peter spoke again as he looked back from the door, staring into the chief's eyes. "The cartel doesn't make threats with words. No, they cut down some heads, maybe our family's heads, and that will be the threat."
"Are you even on our fucking side…?" Jimmy asked, turning back and staring at Peter.
"I'm on the side of justice." Peter smiled, but it quickly disappeared from his face as he stepped to Jimmy. "…and if the cartel says they are the justice… you know what side I am on."