Chapter 246: Have Americans Gone Crazy from Poverty?_2
Reynaldo was startled, and immediately understood what the other party was worried about.
Fearing that after the little girl ate the candy, she would be accused of theft, and then... snap, the Sinaloan drug traffickers and local police liked to handle things that way.
Reynaldo smiled, tossed the rainbow candy into the little girl's arms, and with his right index finger pushed up his sunglasses, "Ladies, Victor's soldiers are different from those bastards."
"We, Servir a la gente (Serve the people)."
The bewildered residents lifted their heads to look at Reynaldo, who with the sun behind him seemed to be shrouded in it, suddenly becoming imposing!
When had Mexicans ever heard that slogan?
"What are you doing? We surrender! We surrender!"
The group of bound mobsters shouted loudly, but what greeted them was John Rambo's machine gun.
Mowed down in a sweep!
"Victor's Internal Wartime Regulations," any person who riots with weapons in a military occupation zone and disrupts the police's execution of explicit orders is allowed to be dealt with on the spot.
(Suggestion from Kennedy Heisenberg, the Anti-Drug Force senior Commander and four-star police chief, when it's impossible to carry prisoners, execute on site!)
These regulations were circulated internally.
Where were there prisons in a wartime occupation zone? They could only drag them all away and kill them.
Reynaldo turned his head to glance and quickly looked away, just in time to see the little girl was still staring, "Aren't you scared?"
"Mama said, it was that man who killed my daddy." The little girl pointed to one of the mobsters not far away, who was still twitching on the ground.
"What does death mean?"
"Will I see him again?"
"He promised to take me to Tijuana to play, he also told me who Victor is. My daddy was a teacher; he told me that Mexico needs real leaders, that he was a true warrior, that he was like... something from the East..."
She suddenly got stuck as she spoke, scratching her head, struggling to remember the name.
The little girl furrowed her brows, her eyes twinkling with innocence. She struggled out of her mother's arms, mimicking the demeanor of a learned gentleman, her expression very serious, "Hey! Victor!"
"My father told me that Victor could save my country and my future!"
"Uncle, what is the future?"
Reynaldo, looking at her expression, felt like something was stuck in his throat, his mouth half open.
"The future... a Mexico without drug traffickers, where you can grow up safely, get married, have children, where you can stand in the sunlight and greedily enjoy life, where you can pursue the profession you want."
"You can..."
"Live happily."
"Reynaldo! Let's go!" The captain shouted from afar.
He nodded, thought for a moment, then took off the necklace hanging around his neck and placed it on her.
"May Victor bless you, Amen."
The little girl actually crossed her hands and assumed the pose of prayer.
"Amen!"
Reynaldo, looking at her devout appearance, suddenly envisioned a scene.
The Pope of Vatican being pulled down from the altar.
Victor holding an AK in his left hand, and a nuclear weapon's suitcase in his right, saying to the believers below, "I want... world peace!"
He shuddered, wasn't that just fucked up?
"Quick!" urged the captain.
Reynaldo hurried onto the vehicle but waved at her before leaving.
The little girl also waved, "Goodbye."
"Rambo, I suddenly realized our purpose."
The brawny man with the machine gun glanced at him, "What?"
"To cleanse this filthy world!"
...
Meanwhile, Victor was being interviewed on a live connection by the Cable News Network, also known as CNN.
It was so sudden…
They had contacted Tijuana in the morning, and by afternoon, were broadcasting live.
To be honest, it was completely disrespectful.
At the very least, they should have given two or three days' notice.
But Victor decided to accept the interview, as a leader, he had to learn to "promote" himself frequently.
He even changed into a suit specifically for the occasion, sporting a dark blue tie, he looked energized.
But as soon as the live broadcast started, the female host's first question was filled with hostility.
"Victor, the Mexican Congress has passed the proposal for you to be the Northern Governor, is there any fraud involved in this? You should know you're just a few months shy of 30."
"It's the people's choice," Victor replied with a smile, "I'm just working for over thirty million people in six northern states. I serve them, and they recognize my service, that's all there is to it."
"But according to insiders, they were coerced..."
"Can you bring these insiders forward to confront me?" Victor countered, frowning but then relaxing.
The female host looked at him, not saying a word.
"Obviously, it cannot be. Then do you mean to frame me and Mexico? To insult the representative of 128 million Mexicans? Can I regard it as racial discrimination, or let's say..."
"OK, OK!" The male host next to her, following the instructions from the director in his earpiece, hurriedly stepped in to break up the fight. If this baseless accusation was given any credit, the female host would have to step down.
"Mr. Victor, please don't be nervous. This is just a simple interview," he intervened.
"I and Mexico don't accept these meaningless speculations," Victor responded.
The male host offered an apologetic smile, but he was no pushover, "I have a report here from the capital of Sinaloa, Culiacán. The locals have accused you of bombing civilian facilities and, moreover, there are signs indicating you've used illegal weapons in your battles with local armed forces."
"Did you see it?"
"Uh... no?"
Victor loosened his tie, clearly feeling pressured, pointed his finger at him and said, "Then please shut your filthy mouth. If you're blind, I can pay for you to get cataract surgery..."
"But my colleagues have captured the terrible state of Culiacán on film." The male host pointed to the screen behind him, showing houses destroyed by explosions and injured people lying on the ground with screams and even cries echoing around.
"No!" Victor shook his head.
"No?"
"Maybe it was a gas canister explosion."
The CNN hosts found this flagrant lying "unbelievable."
Trying to outface Victor?
This shameless little bastard has met his match.
"There's another question..."
"Wait." Victor stretched out his hand, cutting off the other, "I feel like you're trying me as a criminal. I don't like your tone. I want to say, go eat shit."
He flipped the bird, cursed a couple of times, and then knocked the camera over.
Over at CNN, the male and female hosts exchanged glances.
"Mr. Victor clearly... has a bit of a temper, maybe he needs to control his emotions," the female host said venomously, "Mexico won't get better under someone like him. We call for everyone to stop the war, particularly Victor. He needs to calm down."
"All right, up next is our next guest..."
"This woman's mouth stinks."
Victor was sitting in his office, frowning. He was still pissed off.
Was he being judged like a criminal just like that?
Who could judge him!
Two reporters?
Casare poured a glass of water for the boss and noted down the female host's name. People should know better with age.
Pack up and find a new position in a flash.
The boss didn't always speak clearly, but he knew someone had to teach her a lesson.
You say the boss can't watch his mouth, then find someone to make you unable to hold your bladder!
Are some topics up for you to discuss?
Not even aware of your own weight.
"Cool down, boss. Why bother squabbling with them?" Casare said with a smile. "Reporters are of two breeds, there will always be different voices. Many inside the United States support us as well."
"Boss, Ah Gan's 'Blue Gold Society' has now exceeded 1,000 members. Our reputation in Ivy League schools is growing amongst the youth," Casare added.
"He's also hoping we could increase our sponsorship for him."
"So, he's just asking for more money!" Victor said irritably.
It wasn't until he started keeping 'dogs' remotely that he realized how tough it could be for Americans.
This whole thing... really burns through cash.
"He's asking for an additional $600,000 per month."
"What do you think?"
Casare pondered for a moment, "I think it's feasible, we aren't exactly short of funds right now."
"Fine, then when you go to the United States, you can meet with him to discuss this matter," Victor agreed.
Fat Casare nodded his head.
"What do the Americans say? Have they mentioned increasing their sponsorship? The P-51 can't dodge SAM missiles; it'd be better to get some F-14s instead."
"The Pentagon hasn't given us anything, but Grumman has responded. They can sell us F-14s, but the price is a bit..." Casare hesitated.
Victor laughed, "How expensive could it be?"
Casare extended one hand then, feeling it wasn't enough, added fingers from his other hand.
"Millions?"
Victor stared, his eyes widening as the other nodded.
"CTMD!"
"The Yanks must be going broke!"
...