Working as a police officer in Mexico.

Chapter 716 A Wise Saying: To Cause Trouble, You Need Soldiers!

It was 9:40 a.m., an ordinary weekend morning.

In the streets and alleys of Morelia, the once leisurely citizens were astonished to find convoys of dark green military vehicles, fully loaded with fully armed soldiers, roaring into the city's main thoroughfares.

The sound of the heavy tracks of the armored personnel carriers grinding against the road was so loud it sent shivers down one's spine.

The military moved swiftly and systematically, operating in platoon and company units, quickly seizing control of all transportation hubs, government buildings, radio and television stations, postal and communications centers, and banks. Highways leading out of state were blocked off, allowing only entry, not exit.

Occasionally, the roar of military helicopter propellers can be heard flying low overhead.

One of the convoys drove straight to the broadcasting and television station building in the city center.

The dark green armored vehicle roughly rolled over the meticulously manicured flowerbeds at the entrance and came to an abrupt stop in front of the main building.

Before the wheels had even come to a complete stop, the door was suddenly pushed open, and more than twenty soldiers wearing Kevlar helmets and carrying assault rifles filed out.

The security guard at the gate instinctively took a step forward, and just as his hand touched the baton at his waist, he saw the lead officer's gaze sweep over him.

The security guard's outstretched hand froze in mid-air before slowly lowering and silently retreating to the side, watching helplessly as the fully armed squad leader drove straight in, instantly leaving a trail of muddy military boot marks on the marble floor.

Being a security guard is like being a PMC (Production Management Center) employee...

Mercenaries don't fight regular armies.

A moment later, hurried footsteps came from the stairwell.

The station chief, who rushed over upon hearing the news, had fine beads of sweat on his forehead and practically ran up to the leading officer.

He tried to remain calm. "Which department are you from? What are you doing here? This is a broadcasting station!"

The leading officer, whose shoulder insignia bore the rank of major, calmly pulled a neatly folded document from his chest pocket and unfolded it in front of the station chief with a "whoosh."

"By order of the Supreme Command."

The major's voice, though not loud, echoed clearly in the hall: "Effective immediately, take full control of the National Broadcasting Station and all its affiliated frequencies and channels to ensure information security and order during this critical period."

The station director hurriedly took the document, his eyes quickly scanning the paper.

The paper was white with black text, and below it were bright red seals: one the eagle emblem of the Mexican Ministry of Defense, and the other the official seal of the Prime Minister's Office. His eyebrows shot up sharply, his lips moved slightly, and he glanced at the expressionless major in front of him, then looked around at the heavily armed and vigilant soldiers around him. A silent pressure filled the air.

Finally, the station director's shoulders slumped slightly, and he nodded, his voice hoarse:
"I understand, the radio station will cooperate and carry out the orders."

At 10:00 AM sharp, loudspeakers set up at various intersections and squares, as well as the state television and radio stations that had been forcibly taken over, began broadcasting at maximum volume a joint announcement from the "Mexican Ministry of Defense and the Michoacán State Temporary Military Control Council" regarding an "Emergency Curfew and Military Control Order":
"Attention all citizens! Attention all citizens! Effective immediately, indefinite military control and a strict curfew will be imposed on Morelia, the capital of Michoacán Oblast, and surrounding areas. The curfew will be in effect from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. the following day. During the curfew, all residents must stay at home and all outdoor activities are strictly prohibited. All businesses must close immediately. The military has the right to take immediate and forceful measures against those who violate the curfew without warning!"

The announcement, broadcast through loudspeakers, reached every corner of the city.

Inside an ordinary family restaurant somewhere in the city.

Lunch had just been set on the table, and the family was about to start eating when a sudden announcement from a loudspeaker froze the atmosphere at the table.

"What...what's going on?" The elderly mother dropped her spoon into the plate with a clatter, her face filled with panic. "The army? Curfew?"

The last time something like this was done was when Mexico was waging its war on drugs, back when Victor came to power.

How long has it been? Are the good days about to be over again?

The daughter-in-law sitting opposite her also instinctively hugged the bewildered child beside her.

The son, who is the pillar of the family, works as a clerk in a lowly department of the state government. At this moment, he is also frowning and has no appetite.

"Juan, do you know what happened?"

The elderly father, having weathered many storms, was relatively calm, but his cloudy eyes were filled with worry and doubt. He lowered his voice and asked his son, "This situation is terrifying. Could it be that someone in higher up is staging a coup?"

The worst-case scenario the elderly could imagine was that the fierce power struggle at the top had spread to the local level.

Juan glanced at the faintly visible figures of soldiers outside the window, then at the terrified faces of his family. After hesitating for a moment, he finally couldn't hold back.

He leaned close to his parents and wife, his voice extremely low, as if afraid of being overheard by the soldiers outside the wall:
"Dad, Mom, don't make wild guesses, it's not a mutiny."

He swallowed hard, his eyes filled with a mixture of lingering fear and understanding. "Have you seen the news? There was a fire at the hotel in the city center, and people died."

The elderly mother nodded. "I saw it. Wasn't it supposed to be an accidental fire? Could it be..."

"Accident?"

"What a coincidence! I heard that the person who died inside was a big shot from Mexico City, an investigator personally sent down by the presidential palace!"

"what?!"

The elderly father gasped, nearly dropping the cutlery in his hands. The elderly mother was even more terrified, covering her mouth and staring wide-eyed.

Even the daughter-in-law, who didn't quite understand what "imperial envoy" meant, sensed the seriousness of the situation from her family's reactions. The number of deaths must be enormous for the army to mobilize so much to enter the city and impose martial law!
The elderly father, quick-witted as ever, immediately grasped the key point: "You mean... that fire was deliberately set??"

Juan nodded heavily, his eyes filled with fear of the unknown storm: "It must be, otherwise why would the higher-ups be so angry? They sent troops to surround our entire prefecture! The sky has fallen! Someone has stabbed the heavens in the back!"

He paused, then added in an even lower voice, "Those gentlemen in our state are probably doomed this time. Just wait and see, this is definitely only the beginning..."

The family looked at each other in bewilderment; no one could touch the delicious food on the table.

……

Michoacán State Police Headquarters, Chief's Office.

The heavy curtains were drawn tightly shut, and Nelson Gutierrez could hear his heavy breathing and the pounding of his heart.

He slumped into the expensive leather office chair, feeling as if he were sitting on a red-hot branding iron, not leather.

On the other end of the phone was the equally terrified deputy governor.

"Nelson! Did you hear that commotion outside? The army! The fucking army is in the city!"

"Shut up! Calm down, you fucking idiot!"

Nelson growled into the microphone, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him, "What's the point of saying all this now?!"

"Calm down? How can I calm down?! Gutierrez, it was your men who failed to keep an eye on that madman Alfonso! It was you who failed to control the fire on your turf! Now we're all going to be burned to death!"

“My people? My people?! The idea to set the fire was that Diego Rojas! You took the most money! Now you’re blaming me? Go to hell!” Nelson was so angry he almost crushed the microphone.

A brief silence fell over both ends of the phone call, broken only by their suppressed gasps.

A few seconds later, the deputy governor's voice rang out again, this time with a sinister tone born of utter despair: "Gutierrez, now is not the time for blame. We have one last chance, our only chance."

Nelson held his breath: "What opportunity?"

Diego Rojas.

The lieutenant governor enunciated the name slowly and deliberately, “We must shut him up. Shut him up forever. Only if he dies and takes all the blame will we have a chance. He knows everything—the projects, the taxes. Once he becomes a mute corpse, we can pin most of the blame on him. He's a local ruthless businessman, and we're the officials who've been misled by him, understand?!”

"As long as we strike first, the worst that can happen is that we go to jail for dereliction of duty, but we will definitely not die."

Nelson Gutierrez swallowed hard, his throat dry and painful. He understood perfectly well that this was a classic case of sacrificing a pawn to save the king.

“I understand.” A ruthless glint flashed in Nelson’s eyes, his will to survive overriding everything else. “I’ll arrange for someone to take care of him right away.”

"Hurry! We have to be quick!"

The deputy governor urged urgently, "While the city is in chaos and the army has just entered and hasn't fully grasped the situation, this is the perfect opportunity to strike. We must make him disappear completely before Felix Gonzalez's men find him, so that we can live!"

“I understand.” Nelson took a deep breath, as if to encourage himself. “I’ll get on it right away.”

After hanging up the phone, Nelson Gutierrez leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and tried to calm his heart, which was pounding in his chest.

A few seconds later, he sat up abruptly, a sinister grin on his face that was a mixture of fear and cruelty.

He reached for the box of expensive Cuban cigars on the table, took one out, cut off the cap with his slightly trembling hand, and then picked up a gold-rimmed lighter.

"Click...click..." His hands were shaking so badly that it took several tries to light the flame.

He took a deep breath, and the thick smoke filled his lungs, calming his nerves which were on the verge of collapse.

He watched the wisps of smoke rising, muttering to himself with a twisted smile, "Diego Rojas, my friend, don't blame me." He grinned maliciously, as if he could already see Diego Rojas lying dead in the street.

He put down his cigar, reached for another internal encrypted phone on the table, and prepared to call his most trusted confidant, the police captain, to carry out this "urgent cover-up mission."

Just as his finger was about to touch the button—

"Buzzing...buzzing..."

His personal cell phone, which was on the table, suddenly vibrated violently without warning, and the screen lit up.

Nelson paused, glancing instinctively at the caller ID.

The name flashing on the screen was none other than Diego Rojas!

Why did he call first?
Nelson hesitated for a full five seconds. He took a deep breath, pressed the answer button, and held the phone to his ear, speaking in a tone that was as calm as possible but couldn't hide his nervousness: "Diego? Where the hell are you? It's chaos outside! The army..."

Before he could finish speaking, he was interrupted by Diego Rojas's voice on the other end of the phone.

Unexpectedly, Diego's voice sounded unusually calm, even with a sense of relief, completely lacking the panic or hysteria he had anticipated.

“Nelson, my dear Police Chief friend,” Diego’s tone was even somewhat lighthearted, “to make a long story short, don’t bother. I’m calling to tell you that I surrender.”

“…What?” Nelson Gutierrez didn’t react for a moment, his mind a little slow to process what was happening.

He had anticipated all sorts of terrible scenarios, but this was not one of them. "What did you just say? You surrendered? Surrendered to whom? The army?"

“What else? Surrender to the taco vendor on the street corner?” Diego chuckled on the other end of the phone. “That’s right. About twenty minutes ago, the moment I saw the tanks drive into the city, I knew the game was over. So I drove to the army checkpoint outside the city, raised my hands, and said to them, ‘Hey guys, this is Diego Rojas. I have important intelligence to report. I need to see your officer. I surrender.’”

Nelson Gutierrez felt his blood pressure surge to the top of his head. He roared into the microphone, his voice distorted with extreme shock and rage: "Are you fucking insane?! Diego! You complete idiot! Moron! You surrender?! You think you can live if you surrender?! Huh?! They'll tear you to pieces! You'll die in prison! Or you'll be dragged out and shot! Are you fucking scared out of your wits?!"

Faced with Nelson's rage, Diego Rojas remained calm, even with a touch of philosophical detachment: "Nelson, calm down. Shouting won't solve anything. Let me ask you, a smart man, a question: If I don't surrender, will I live?"

“I…” Nelson was speechless for a moment, completely stunned by the question.

Diego continued slowly, as if discussing the weather: "Look, here's the thing. If I don't surrender, you'll definitely try to kill me to save yourselves, just like you're about to do, right? Don't deny it, I know you bureaucrats all too well. Either I'll be silenced by you, die an unexplained death, or be publicly executed on charges of treason, murder, and a whole host of other crimes. Either way, I'll die."

He paused, his tone carrying a hint of smugness as if he had seen through everything: "But if I surrender voluntarily, cooperate willingly, and tell the investigation team everything I know—who took my money, who ordered me to set the fire, whose son likes to play with underage girls—telling them everything truthfully and in detail, and becoming a tainted witness, then perhaps, just perhaps, my children and wife will at least still be alive."

Nelson Gutierrez held his phone, mouth agape, like a fish out of water, unable to utter a sound for a long time.

My first thought was, "Damn it, you surrendered without even telling me?"
Are we still brothers?
My second thought is, if you surrender, what do we do?
As everyone knows, the first person to surrender and the second person to surrender receive completely different treatment; the first person gets to eat crabs, the second gets to eat bullets.

“You…you despicable traitor! Bastard! We’re in this together!” Nelson cursed through gritted teeth.

"Oh, come on, Nelson."

Diego's tone was full of disdain. "We've never been grasshoppers. I'm just your wallet and cleaner. Now that the rope is about to break, it's up to each of us to save our own lives. By the way..."

“I’ve already spoken with the investigation team. They’re very interested in the information I provided. So, my dear Chief, and the esteemed Lieutenant Governor, and all the respectable people in your little circle…”

"Good luck with that, and may you have the best of luck."

After saying that, without giving Nelson any chance to react or curse, the phone went dead with a crisp "beep...beep...beep..." dial tone.

Nelson Gutierrez stood frozen, his phone still pressed tightly to his ear, as if that would somehow swallow back what he had just heard. The air in the office seemed to freeze, save for the silent burning of his cigar in the ashtray; he hadn't even noticed he'd stubbed out his expensive cigar.

After a few seconds.

"boom!!"

With a loud crash, Nelson Gutierrez, like a raging beast, slammed his phone against the state trooper badge hanging across the street. The phone shattered into pieces, shards flying everywhere.

"Ah—!!!" He let out a desperate and angry howl, and slammed his hands over the heavy solid wood desk.

Documents, computers, cigar boxes, decorations... scattered all over the floor, a complete mess.

He slumped in the ruins, his eyes empty and lifeless, his face devoid of its previous ferocity and sneer, replaced by utter, lifeless desolation.

It’s over.

It's all over.

That cowardly bastard Diego Rojas sold them all out. And he did it so decisively and thoroughly.

He stood up unsteadily, and just then he heard a sharp but brief screech of brakes from downstairs, and the dull thud of a car door being flung open and shut.

He darted to the window like a startled rabbit, pulled back a corner of the heavy curtain, and peeked down. He saw two dark green military jeeps parked roughly in front of the police headquarters building. A dozen soldiers wearing helmets and carrying assault rifles jumped out of the vehicles and, under the brief hand gestures of an officer, rushed into the building without hesitation, like wedges!

They've come looking for me!
They must have received a confession from that traitor Diego, and that's why they came to arrest me!
This thought instantly pierced Nelson Gutierrez's last psychological defenses.

The thought of being interrogated, tortured, and almost certain to be publicly executed amidst public condemnation after being arrested, and even the possibility of implicating his family...

An overwhelming fear engulfed him like a tidal wave. He could not bear the humiliation and pain, absolutely not!
He wandered around the messy office like a headless fly, his gaze finally settling on the locked lower right corner drawer of the desk.

He practically lunged forward, frantically pulling a small key from his suit's inner pocket. In his extreme panic, it took him several tries to insert it into the lock.

With a "click," the drawer popped open.

Beneath a few insignificant documents lay a gleaming handgun, an HK P30L 9mm pistol manufactured by the German company Heckler & Co., one of his favorite sidearms.

He reached out his hand, trembling, the metallic touch sending a shiver down his spine, and gripped the familiar polymer handle tightly.

He looked up and his gaze fell on a family photo framed right next to the table he had overturned. In the photo, he and his wife were smiling, their young son was in the middle, and the background was a sunny beach.

A fleeting moment of warmth and immense regret crossed my mind, but were immediately swallowed up by a deeper despair.

Outside the door, clear and hurried footsteps approached from afar, accompanied by the soldiers' deep shouts and the secretary's terrified screams from the outer office, finally stopping outside his office door.

Immediately following was a violent banging on the door and a command: "Nelson Gutierrez! Open the door! You are under arrest in the name of the Military Control Council!"

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The door groaned in pain from the impact, and the wood chips at the latch began to crack.

Nelson Gutierrez gave a bitter smile, all the muscles in his face contorted in a mixture of fear, regret, resentment, and a strange sense of enlightenment.

With his last ounce of strength, he pressed the cold muzzle of the HK P30L against his right temple, his sweat- and dust-covered finger on the trigger.

In the moment before his consciousness faded, he seemed to have used all the experience of his life to squeeze out a hoarse, mocking sound, tinged with blood and foam, from deep within his throat:
"Trouble...we need soldiers!"

Almost at the same moment he finished speaking—

"boom!"

The heavy solid wood door of the office was violently smashed open by the soldiers! Amidst flying sawdust, several fierce-looking soldiers rushed in with guns at their ready.

In that very instant—

"boom!!"

A crisp yet muffled gunshot rang out in the closed office of the bureau chief, drowning out all the other noise.

The soldiers who rushed in only saw the state police chief, who had been in control just moments before, suddenly lean back and slam heavily onto the floor. Crimson blood and grayish-white brain matter quickly seeped from the carpet beside his head, forming a gruesome pattern.

The exquisite HK P30L pistol in his hand fell to the ground beside him with a clatter, a faint wisp of smoke still visible at the muzzle.

In Nelson Gutierrez's eyes, the entire world instantly lost its color and sound; all the light rapidly converged and dimmed, ultimately fading into eternal, boundless darkness.

The last thing he saw was the soldiers rushing in, their figures blurry and desperate as they rushed toward him, but all of that was no longer relevant to him.

Seriously... speechless.

"Quick, quick, get him to the hospital!"

These were the last words Nelson heard.

……

(End of this chapter)