Working as a police officer in Mexico

"See that? He's wearing an OMEGA 5946.30.31 men's mechanical watch on his hand. The price tag is around 600,000 US dollars. And look at those leather shoes, Louis Vuitton men's shoes, valued at about 6,000 US dollars. This dude's loaded!"

At a nearby table, sat a group of women, each with their own style, some provocatively dressed, some conservative, but all flaunting their figures; the smallest bust size there was a freaking 34D.

The woman in the red dress spoke, her hair styled in big waves.

These people were, in fact, gold diggers.

In the bustling district of New York, there was no shortage of wealthy men, and these women looking to snag a sugar daddy could either be found singing at KTV or on the streets, eyeing their prey.

Of course, you have to be rich first.

They were all hoping to be trophy wives.

"Watch me~" A woman in purple clothing next to her, with a cigarette dangling unlit from her lips, raised an eyebrow at her friends, stood up, and sauntered over with a sway of her hips.

But before she even got close to Mike Corleone, two casually dressed followers by his side stopped her, "Sorry, miss."

The woman was startled, and then her eyes lit up even more. A guy with bodyguards on an outing was definitely a rich young master, right? She called out to Mike Corleone, "Sir, could I borrow a light?"

Click~

As soon as she finished speaking, one of the followers pulled out a lighter and lit it, leaving the woman feeling numb, but she was still not giving up. After all, it was rare to encounter such a rich catch; she was about to speak again.

"Shut up, get lost!" one of the followers snapped, cursing out loud with a frown, "Don't go looking for trouble."

The woman looked at him in shock and saw him ready to punch her. Frightened, she turned and ran, even twisting her ankle in her high heels, tears welling up from the pain. By the time she got back to her companions, she was cursing under her breath.

But she didn't dare raise her voice too much, for fear of being overheard.

That would be the end of her.

"This guy must be GAY!" she uttered a "vicious" curse, "Someday when he's in bed, it'll snap right off!"

Bang!!

Her words hadn't finished when a crisp sound like a firecracker suddenly rang out, but Mike Corleone narrowed his eyes immediately.

In the United States, that sound was gunfire!

Suddenly, a bunch of people scrambled out of the MGM Casino in a panic, shoving each other, even one man's wig fell off as he ran.

Shots fired!

Mike Corleone stubbed his cigarette on the table and rushed out the door, even paying for the coffee on his way out.

Absolutely no free meals!

As he crossed the street, he looked both ways, pushed through the crowd, and charged into the casino, only to see two groups in a standoff, and his follower was holding onto a...young man. Not sleazy, just seemed like a pretty boy.

An Asian descent, with a bloody mouth!

And both parties were at a tense standoff.

"Let's go!" Mike Corleone yelled.

"I dare you guys to leave, the guest..." a man who looked like a casino manager started to shout, but before he could finish, Mike Corleone pulled out a gun, aimed it at him, and shot him straight away.

Bang!

Shot in the head!

He fell to the ground still in disbelief.

What's with all the blabbering?

If there's a fire, just fire!

Seeing their boss act so decisively, the followers reacted very quickly and decisively pulled the trigger, preemptively killing all the adversaries.

Hesitating and dragging their feet!

When a group dragged an RB person out, onlookers at the side of the road, some had the guts to watch from a distance.

"Move! Move!" the followers fired a shot into the air and finally, even the boldest onlookers scattered in panic.

Woo woo woo~

This is the United States, after all, where people pay taxes. When the alarm was raised, the nearby patrol police raced over.

Around the corner, with a stylish drift, you could see the flashing lights on top; and as they passed an alley, suddenly, a white van burst out, hitting the police car's back corner perfectly, causing it to spiral out of control, flipping in the air twice, performing a Thomas 1000+ degree spin.

The van was now blocking the road, its door open, and inside, the "criminals" wearing balaclavas, apart from having a sharp gaze and thick calloused hands, didn't look much different from the ordinary mobsters.

Oh, and one German-made MG42 machine gun!

Just then, as a police car turned the corner, one of the criminals placed his hands on the machine gunner's shoulders to steady his body, "Shoot!"

And the cop sitting inside, especially the sergeant in the passenger seat, had sharpness in his eyes. He growled, "Back up! Back up! Back up!"

The driver next to him was equally fierce-looking, trying to reverse away.

Thump~

Thump, thump, thump!!

The MG42 machine gun theoretically could fire 1500 rounds per minute, commanding over 1000 rounds in combat, its high rate of fire, sustained firepower, was a nightmare for opponents, and its reliability and suppressive capabilities were extremely high, changing the barrel took only seconds, ensuring firepower in battle.

This thing is a "firepower beast!"

During the Normandy landings, a German soldier used an MG-42 in a French Omaha Beach bunker to conduct a frenzied sweep, and aside from changing the gun barrel, he did not stop at all. In those insane nine hours, he fired 12,000 rounds. Read new chapters at My Virtual Library Empire

Ultimately, under Hain Severo's gun barrel, more than 4,000 United States soldiers died. Though Severo believed he might have killed over 1,000, definitely not exceeding 2,000, World War II historians think Severo likely caused between 3,000 to 4,200 American casualties.

This may be the highest record in human warfare history, and it was set by an MG-42 general-purpose machine gun.

"Normandy Priest"—Hain Severo's claim to fame.

Even now in Africa, there are people still using it, showing how truly simple it is to operate.

Bullets hit the Jeep Wrangler's front hood, just a burst's worth, Boom! The cover of that Jeep Wrangler flew right off.

And it itself was ravaged by bullets beyond recognition.

The people inside didn't move anymore.

At that time, Mike Corleone took his people and left, the whole Bronx District turned into chaos.

New York's "Heavy-Armor Police" were directly deployed, but by the time they arrived, everyone had run off. At that time, there was no such thing as "monitoring and deployment," and most importantly, the New York Police were notoriously good at... disappearing.

According to reports, there were 100,280 incidents in 1990, with 44,122 being felonious assaults, an all-time high.

Bank robberies, street murders could not be said to be everywhere, but were not rare either.

"F***! These are general-purpose machine gun rounds! What is this? The army? Holy shit! Do we have an army hidden within New York?!"

FBI Director Floyd I. Clarke, holding a bullet casing in his hands, asked incredulously.

"Is Texas declaring independence?!"

Pearson coughed, "Director, this is clearly a gang shootout."

"What kind of gang uses an MG-42? A Nazi gang?" Director Floyd I. Clarke roared at him.

He just couldn't hold it in anymore.

Who cared about whatever damned gentleman he was?

The problem with the Lucchese Family hadn't been sorted out yet, and now this happened, making one think the Germans had invaded.

This isn't 1940!

Pearson looked slightly embarrassed.

"Look it up! Find it for me, or else, all of you can get out of the FBI." Floyd I. Clarke's eyes were red with anger.

"No, I'll send you to Mississippi to guard reservoirs!"

He hadn't even settled into his seat yet.

I don't want to step down!

I can still do this job!

He continued to rant even after getting into his car.

"Yes, sir!" The local FBI could only salute stiffly.

Watching the boss's car drive away.

A senior female police inspector in charge at the scene glanced at Pearson, who waved his hand, "Follow your procedures."

"Whose turn is it now?" the woman asked.

"MS-13," a colleague next to her said.

"Then let them hand over the people. Three days, if they don't produce someone in three days, let them take the fall." the female inspector said, her brow furrowed.

The local gangs had to play the role of "guiding lights" and "scapegoats;" otherwise, who would think the United States was easy to deal with?

As long as someone takes the blame.

After all, the U.S. Government wasn't going to genuinely crack down on crime.

The biggest criminals are sitting at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue!

Pearson, standing by, heard it all, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest; such things were too common, and he had done them too.

However, as an FBI agent of many years, he still keenly felt that there was a problem.

These weapons were definitely smuggled in.

This means the other side has a very hidden smuggling route!

He wondered if it was that Tyrant from Mexico he had an issue with.

He always thought it was his doing.

Last time, because of the Lucchese Family affair, he had also made a phone call, but the other side had directly rebutted.

Making him sound like a pure white lotus.

"Son of a bitch!"

Pearson muttered quietly to himself, though it wasn't clear who he was cursing.