Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 675 The lion is dead, and the remaining beasts can only kill each other.

Zhang Quan's leather shoes crunched over the stray hairs on the carpet. The bloodstains from the prostitute's fingernails burned on his cheeks. The two women were still cursing. One of them grabbed a glass vase from the dressing table and smashed it over his head. The vase missed and shattered against the wall, shards splashing all over Zhang Quan's neck.

"You fucking bastard, you're asking for it!"

Zhang Quan's last bit of patience had completely burned out.

He lunged forward, grabbing the woman's throat with his left hand and grabbing the brass ashtray from the bedside table with his right, smashing it down on her temple.

"Boom!"

The dull thud sounded like something hitting wet mud. The woman's cursing stopped abruptly, and saliva mixed with blood dripped down her face. Like a dead fly.

Another prostitute wearing a tank top was so frightened that her legs went weak. She turned around and tried to run out the door, but Zhang Quan grabbed her ankle.

He yanked her back sharply, and the woman fell heavily onto the carpet, her head hitting the bedpost with a crisp cracking sound. Before she could get up, Zhang Quan was already on top of her, pressing her face down hard with both hands and slamming it against the floor, once, twice, three times…

"You bitch! You bitch!!!"

The room fell silent, save for Zhang Quan's heavy breathing.

He stared at the two twisted corpses on the ground, his chest still heaving, not out of fear, but because the anger from being offended earlier hadn't dissipated.

He grabbed the white sheet from the bed, wiped the blood off his face and hands haphazardly, and then pulled his torn suit jacket up, trying to cover the scratched flesh on his arms.

When I opened the door, the carpet in the hallway was stained with blood and felt soft underfoot.

He walked toward the elevator with his head down, half a woman's fingernail still stuck to his collar, which he had forcibly torn off during the fight.

"Mr. Zhang...?"

The shop assistant, Kai, peeked out from behind the counter and his eyes widened immediately.

Zhang Quan often came to this "leisure hotel" hidden in the old alleys of Chiang Mai. He was always impeccably dressed, and the Patek Philippe on his wrist was dazzling. But today, the front of his suit was torn into strips, his hair was a mess, and there was a bloodstain on his face.

Ah Kai swallowed hard, feeling a chill run down his spine.

He watched Zhang Quan enter the elevator, then quickly grabbed the intercom on the counter and said in a low voice, "Ali, go check room 308. Mr. Zhang just came out of there, and he didn't look right... Don't knock, use the spare room card."

Ali's nonchalant voice came from the other end of the walkie-talkie: "Brother Kai, what could be wrong? Brother Zhang always keeps us up half the night when he comes over..."

"Stop talking nonsense! Just go when I tell you to!" Akai shouted in a low voice.

Less than half a minute later, a scream suddenly rang out from the walkie-talkie, followed by the sound of something falling to the ground.

“Kai… Brother Kai!! Someone’s dead! Room 308, two women are lying on the floor, their heads are smashed! Blood… there’s blood everywhere!” Ali’s voice trembled like a leaf, and his rapid breathing could be heard over the walkie-talkie. “The ashtray was covered in brain matter! Damn! Damn it!”

Akai's face turned completely white in an instant, and the walkie-talkie in his hand clattered onto the counter. He looked up at the door, but Zhang Quan was nowhere to be seen.

He suddenly remembered Zhang Quan's eyes earlier. That look wasn't the annoyance of being scratched by a woman; it was the ruthlessness that hadn't faded after killing someone.

"Quick...quickly hide the spare room key! Don't tell anyone!" Akai hurriedly picked up the walkie-talkie, his voice trembling.

"Do you want to call the police?"

Ah Kai paused for a moment. Remembering Zhang Quan's identity, he didn't dare argue with him, but someone had died, and he couldn't just not call the police…

"Never mind him for now. In two hours, find someone to collect the body. Oh, and find those Chinese people on the street; they can handle it."

The rain outside the hotel hadn't stopped, and the cold wind after the typhoon, carrying moisture, blew into Zhang Quan's collar, making him shiver.

He leaned against the door of the black Mercedes, took out his phone, and dialed his wife's number. Only a monotonous "beep beep" sound came from the receiver. After ten rings, the call automatically ended.

He called his son again, but no one answered.

"Oh shit!"

Zhang Quan slammed his phone onto the roof of the car.

Something happened to your family?!

He bent down to pick up the phone, wiped the mud off with his sleeve, and dialed another number, this time to his subordinate.

"Where are my wife and children!" His voice was low, but it carried an undeniable ruthlessness.

“Quan… Brother Quan,” A Biao’s voice trembled so badly it seemed like water could be squeezed out of it, “This morning… this morning my sister-in-law took A Ming to buy amulets, and I followed behind. I just turned a corner to buy an iced coffee… and he was gone! The surveillance footage only showed a black Toyota without license plates driving towards the Mekong River. I chased it for three kilometers, and then my tire blew out…”

"Say that again, you fucking idiot?!"

"The person...the person is really gone, Brother Quan! I've had the brothers seal off all the ferry crossings, and I've even contacted our acquaintances in the Thai police, but we couldn't find any record of that car..."

"Useless!" Zhang Quan slammed his phone onto the hood of the Mercedes-Benz. The metal casing bounced up with a clang and fell into a puddle by the roadside. The screen lit up twice before going black.

Suddenly, the anger in his chest couldn't find an outlet. He raised his right leg, slammed his knee hard against the car door, and then stretched out his palm, slamming it with all his might against the horn on the steering wheel.

“Beep!!”

At the intersection 200 meters away, two Thai police officers in khaki uniforms were leaning against their patrol car, smoking.

Upon hearing the abrupt honking, one of the shorter policemen frowned, straightened up, pointed at Zhang Quan's car with his rubber baton, and mumbled something to his partner, his eyes full of doubt. This area was Chiang Mai's red-light district, known for its many disturbances.

We can't afford any problems; they get a lot of their dividends from this.

Zhang Quan ignored the two policemen's stares. He was bending down to pick up his phone from the hood when his pocket suddenly vibrated. It was another satellite phone hidden in the inside pocket of his suit. Only a very few people knew about this phone; even his wife had never seen it.

He paused for a moment.

It wasn't Ah Biao's number, nor was it the number of any leader of any force in the Golden Triangle.

My thumb hovered over the answer button for two seconds.

Zhang Quan answered the call.

There was no opening speech, only a series of low breathing sounds.

"Good morning, Mr. Zhang," the voice said slowly.

Zhang Quan's brows furrowed instantly, but he didn't let his voice betray a trace of panic.

He stared in the direction of the police in the distance, and saw that the two officers were still looking this way. One of them had already taken out a walkie-talkie. He was flustered inside, but he spoke calmly: "Who are you? Where are my wife and children?"

The other person laughed again, this time with a hint of mockery. "Your son is very well-behaved; two slaps and he's obedient. As for your wife… her mental fortitude isn't very strong. I heard you killed two women in the hotel; she was so scared she almost fainted." Zhang Quan's pupils suddenly contracted. Only half an hour had passed since the incident at the hotel, and the other party already knew. Either they had planted a spy around him, or their influence in Chiang Mai was greater than he had imagined.

"Tell me the conditions."

He cut the other person off without further ado, "What do you want? Money? Or the goods I have?"

"Money? Mr. Zhang underestimates me."

"I want you to go to the press station in Chiang Mai tomorrow morning and say one sentence to all the cameras: the recent sanitation and security problems on the Mexican border, and the leak of that batch of goods at Yangon Port, were all the work of Khun Sa and his drug cartel."

"Mexico?" Zhang Quan was stunned for a moment, then suddenly realized.

Scarred Woman Ruth!
They're all linked together!
The only person who could connect the Golden Triangle and Mexico, dare to take action against Khun Sa, and arrest his family was Viktor.

Having figured this out, Zhang Quan suddenly smirked, "You want me to help Viktor."

The person on the other end of the phone didn't deny it, but simply said, "Mr. Zhang is a smart man. He should know what's in his best interest. As long as you do as he says, your wife and children will be back with you by noon tomorrow."

"Ha." Zhang Quan laughed, his voice full of sarcasm. "I can find another wife and children, I can have more. But cooperating with Viktor?"

He paused, then his tone suddenly turned fierce, "Ask Viktor, I'm a drug dealer, do you think he'll let me go?!"

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a regretful sigh.

"Since Mr. Zhang has made this decision, I won't try to persuade him any further."

The other person's voice returned to its cold, calm tone, "Good luck to you..."

The phone was abruptly disconnected.

Zhang Quan suddenly caught a glimpse of two khaki-clad figures walking quickly towards him out of the corner of his eye.

It was the two Thai policemen from the intersection. The shorter one had his rubber baton in his hand, while the taller one had his hand on the holster of his pistol at his waist. The sound of his boots stomping through the puddles was particularly jarring in the quiet alley.

"Damn it, what bad luck!" Zhang Quan cursed under his breath, hurriedly bending down to pick up his phone that had fallen onto the hood. The screen was shattered into a spiderweb pattern and it couldn't be turned on at all.

The short policeman had already walked to the car and was shouting something in Thai, his tone full of warning. He slammed his hand on the car window twice, his knuckles making a thumping sound on the glass.

Zhang Quan wasn't listening at all. He twisted the key to the right. Usually at this time, the Mercedes S-Class engine would emit a smooth, low hum, but today, when he turned it all the way, there was only a crisp "click," as if the gears had gotten stuck in scrap metal. This was followed by a series of ear-piercing, intermittent "sizzling" sounds, like the sparks from a short circuit.

Not right.

Zhang Quan's heart sank, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

He's been driving this car for three years, and even during typhoons when it gets damp, it never makes this strange noise.

Zhang Quan's heart was pounding so hard he felt like his ribs would shatter. He suddenly realized something. The "good luck" the other person said when they hung up wasn't a sign of sympathy, it was a death sentence!

A muffled thud suddenly came from under the hood, like a pressure cooker exploding.

The next second, flames shot up from the front of the car.

"Boom——!"

The loud noise shook the entire alley.

The hood of the Mercedes-Benz had been blown open, with fragments and sparks flying everywhere. Blue flames shot up along the floodwater towards the alley entrance; some of the debris hit second-floor windows, shattering into pieces that fell on passersby's heads, eliciting screams.

The passersby were already in chaos. A woman in a floral dress screamed, threw her phone on the ground, covered her head, and crawled into the alley. Some people tripped and crawled forward in the puddles, splashing water and sparks, leaving black marks on the ground.

Three hundred meters away, at the "Café Chao Phraya" on the street corner.

Behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, a man in a dark gray trench coat was leaning back on the sofa, a half-burnt Cuban cigar between his fingers, the ash falling on the rim of a bone china coffee cup without making a ripple.

The man slowly exhaled a puff of smoke, which dissipated in front of him.

A thin layer of ash had accumulated on the rim of the bone china cup. The man raised his hand and gestured with his chin toward the bar, his deep voice carrying a hint of mixed-race hue: "Check, please."

The man pulled a stack of brand-new Thai baht from his inner pocket and left.

His footsteps were so light as he descended the wooden stairs of the café that they were almost inaudible.

The red lights of the fire trucks were still reflected in the puddles at the street corner. Several firefighters in orange uniforms were carrying hoses and rushing into the alley. The sound of the hoses dragging across the ground, mixed with the screams of the crowd, became the best background noise.

The man walked to a crooked banyan tree and made a phone call.

"The situation in Chiang Mai is all settled."

……

That evening, all the local newspapers in Chiang Mai featured the photo of the Mercedes-Benz blackened by flames on their front page.

The Chiang Mai Daily headline, in bold black font, read: "Explosion in red-light district kills Chinese businessman on the spot – police preliminarily determine it was an accident caused by car malfunction." The accompanying photo showed firefighters carrying a body covered with a white sheet on a stretcher, with half of a bloodstained wrist visible at the edge of the sheet, and half of a deformed watch still attached to it.

In the press conference room of the Mexican police headquarters, the lenses of more than forty cameras, like countless gun barrels, were all pointed at the man in front of the stage.

Police Minister Robert Bill.

He was wearing a navy blue uniform that was pressed without a single wrinkle.

"Everyone."

Robert's voice, carried through the microphone, echoed throughout the venue. His deliberately lowered tone concealed a barely perceptible excitement: "Mexican intelligence has successfully killed Khun Sa, the head of the Golden Triangle drug cartel, and 37 of his core members."

As soon as the words fell, the scene exploded.

The flashes of cameras created a blinding sea of ​​light in front of Robert Bill, and the sound of shutters, like a dense raindrop hitting metal, mixed with the shouts of the reporters, made the temperature in the press conference room extremely high.

"Minister Bill!" A reporter in a beige suit in the front row suddenly stood up, his notebook rattling in his hand. "According to local sources in the Golden Triangle, Khun Sa was still showing up along the Mekong River last week. Why did the Mexican police suddenly choose this time to take action? Did they communicate with Thailand or Myanmar in advance?"

“We don’t need to give feedback to anyone; we’re just retaliating.”

Robert Bill: "The recent public health and safety incidents are all the work of the Khun Sa Cartel and some drug cartels!"

! ! ! !
……

(End of this chapter)