Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 156 is no longer about ordinary people.

Reserve officers remained at the pre-planned ambush point to apprehend those who had escaped from the community.

All the officers received a major upgrade to their equipment, and they were all eager to try it out on drug dealers—of course, since these officers weren't Milton's own men, the equipment was only "borrowed."

On the armored vehicle, Flora stroked the "Stinger" as if it were a javelin, and clicked her tongue, saying, "Not bad, this thing is really good!"

“As if you can’t handle it.” Milton glanced at the fearful eyes on the street through the thick bulletproof glass. “If you can get your hands on a ‘javelin,’ a ‘sting’ weapon is definitely no problem.”

“That’s different.” Flora turned her head and shook her head vigorously. “The ‘javelin’ is only good for shooting down ground vehicles. It’s unlikely to be used to shoot down aircraft. If it is used, it’s fine, but it won’t cause any big news. The ‘sting’ is not impossible to get, but the risk is relatively high. After all, they are providing me with weapons… If I manage to shoot down something big, that would be a disaster.”

"Therefore, the approval process for things like anti-aircraft missiles is quite long."

“Actually, the company has already ordered one, it’s just going through the procedures…” At this point, Flora suddenly realized something, and she turned her head again, this time with a hint of anger, “Wait, you don’t think my weapon is smuggled, do you?!”

"All weapons in my company are legally sourced and registered! We are a legitimate PMC company. Even if they are the same 'Stinger' missiles, mine are far more prestigious than this one!"

Milton complained, "That's why the process is so slow. By the time your process is finished, our house has already been bombed twice."

“It’s alright, you’re here for me.” Flora tapped the missile. “In an emergency, smuggling a little bit of weapons for self-defense is an industry norm. Since we’re in PMC, we can be flexible and not worry about those unnecessary things.”

"..."

As they spoke, the armored vehicle returned to the police station.

At this time, a number of people were gathered in a line at the entrance of the police station. They were all dressed in thin clothes and looked like the "first batch of employees" who had come for an interview.

The police officers guarding the door were extremely tense until they saw the armored vehicle return safely, at which point they relaxed somewhat.

“Being a police officer here is really nerve-wracking.” Milton took in these reactions and shook his head. “You have to be on edge every moment, worried that a bullet might come from nowhere and kill you.”

Brandon immediately chimed in, "Boss, we used to be like this too, but it's much better now. It's so much better that I often scold the new officers for being so careless."

"This is a sign of good public security... and of course, it's also a sign of our strong firepower."

The armored vehicle came to a stop, and Milton and his group got out.

The Mexican police officers guarding the police station breathed a sigh of relief and hurried over to see if they could help carry some things—they couldn't just stand by and watch, could they?

Milton immediately noticed that something was off about their demeanor and, without mincing words, asked, "What's wrong with you? The atmosphere is strange. If you have any questions, talk to your chief."

Not far away, a police inspector was also helping to move things. After hearing this, he gave a wry smile: "It's precisely because you and our chief are both out that we're so nervous."

Milton was taken aback—Omar had gone out?!

The original plan was for Milton to lead his men out to fight, while Omar would come to protect the police station. How come he just left without saying a word?

"Tell me, what's going on?"

In the city police department, a police inspector is a relatively high rank, possibly even a deputy chief, so he would definitely know what Omar was doing.

“‘Mr.’ ‘Father,’ it wasn’t that Chief Omar intentionally broke his promise.” The police inspector first explained, “It was just that things happened so suddenly… Shortly after you left, a large group of reporters suddenly blocked the entrance to the police station, demanding that we explain something about firing on the residential area.”

Reporters, television stations...

Milton frowned.

The police inspector continued with a wry smile, "Then, whether it was intentionally organized or not, a lot of people gradually gathered around."

“Mr. Omar felt that they couldn’t be allowed to gather near the police station, otherwise it would be easy for big problems to arise and for drug dealers to exploit them. So he suggested holding a press conference in Central Park.”

"After that, he put on his gear and led his men over there."

"The chief said that even if something really happens, he said... it's better for him to be the only one to have an accident than for the police station to be destroyed by drug dealers in the chaos."

Milton frowned. "What if he really gets shot?"

The police inspector sighed and said, "If something unexpected happens, he has designated me to succeed him as chief... I am the deputy chief, but how could I possibly have the ability?"

The closer you get to the position of bureau chief, the more you realize how terrifying it is to be a bureau chief in such a godforsaken place, and how difficult it is to coordinate all parties.

They also had to constantly risk being shot.

It's definitely a tough job.

Milton thought for a moment, then asked, "Did he bring any equipment?"

“Everything is ready. The Level 4 bulletproof vests you gave us, everyone who went over there has taken them.” The police inspector said, “And helmets… The people over there will definitely try to check the equipment carried by the reporters, and will be intentionally guarding against snipers, but, sigh… I’m still uneasy, after all, there are too many people.”

This deputy director acted like Milton's subordinate.

Before Milton arrived, many officers were negative about Chief Omar's move to cooperate with a small warlord in a neighboring country—no one thought Milton could solve their problems.

As soon as Milton arrived, he unleashed a dazzling wave of carnage.

Everyone was convinced, especially since he brought so much equipment and even a lot of good food to the police station. Now, many people consider him the second chief.

“Your concerns are valid,” Milton said as he walked toward the police station. “My armored vehicle didn’t fire much during this mission. Have someone drive one to a safe spot near the park, ready to provide support at any time.”

"I have medical helicopters on standby at all times."

After saying that, Milton turned to the side, pointed to the people queuing at the door, and asked, "Are those people outside here to apply for jobs?"

“Yes.” The inspector nodded. “A basic check has been conducted. They are not carrying any weapons. Would you like to let them in?”

“Come in,” Milton said, walking into his office. “Make arrangements so that the interviews can be conducted in an orderly manner.”

"it is good!"

Just as Milton was about to sit down, Brandon quickly came over and arranged the office desks and chairs in a simple asymmetrical layout.

"You're doing it again..."

“Boss, you don’t understand.” Brandon persisted in fiddling with it. “This is how you show your terror.”

“Am I scary? I’m not scary at all,” Milton retorted, sitting in his chair. “Go to my territory and grab anyone and ask them if they say I’m scary.”

"...Doesn't this just highlight how terrifying you are?"

"From 'Hell Tax Collector' to 'Godfather', to 'Father of Love' here... sigh."

Brandon nodded vigorously: "It's great, I think it sounds really good! The 'Godfather' of Guatemala, the 'Father of Mexico,' it's really awesome!"

"How old are you to still pull this kind of stunt?"

"..."

As they chatted, the first interviewee soon walked into Milton's office.

As soon as the man entered the office, he felt a very strange, indescribable sense of unease and terror. He immediately straightened up and said, "Mr. 'Kind Father'."

Milton looked down at his book.

Brandon then spoke up for him, asking, "The job requirements are all clearly stated. Now, in the simplest terms, tell Mr. 'Kind Father' what your skills are and why you want to join him."

“I can shoot!” the man said immediately. “And I’m very accurate. I’ve taken down a lot of people.”

Brandon paused for a moment: "What did you do before? Why did you kill so many people?"

The man said matter-of-factly, "I used to be a member of the Razor Gang on Station Avenue... We collected protection money so that the shops on the street could do business normally. We took down a lot of drug dealers!"

"Join you, uh, because of you, to fight drug dealers?"

This is a lack of power at the grassroots level.

Power doesn't disappear, it just changes.

Brandon was also taken aback. He hadn't expected this man to be so direct, so he asked again, "You were a gang member? Why did you leave the gang? Why are you fighting drug dealers?"

“It wasn’t that we left the gang…” the man spread his hands helplessly, “It was that after those big drug lords from the north sent their men over, we were no match for them and were completely wiped out.”

"As for cracking down on drug dealers, well, I don't really know much about it. But I see that most people are completely ruined after taking those 'drugs,' unable to work, unable to do business, and even have violent tendencies... This really affects the normal business in our neighborhood, so we definitely have to crack down on it."

“But I can’t beat them all by myself. I heard you guys are hiring and even provide food, so I came here…” At this point, the man noticed that Brandon’s attitude was a bit strange, and his tone became somewhat anxious. “Do you think I was a gang member? I swear, I’ve never killed any innocent people. They all have to pay us protection money. I won’t kill them! I only killed drug dealers and people from rival gangs!”

"If you don't believe me, you can go ask the shops on the train station avenue. Our gang has a very good reputation."

"Many police officers can also testify for me; I know them!"

Being allowed into the interview as a gang member already speaks volumes.

Milton didn't think the man was lying, so he nodded slightly.

Brandon understood immediately: "Very well, but... this isn't a gang. If you want to work under 'Father,' you must obey orders absolutely. Any questions?"

Without a second thought, the man replied, "No problem!"

After confirming that this man was a teammate, Milton nodded again.

Brandon said, "Go to the next room, read the rules, grab your gear, and be ready to receive orders."

The man rubbed his stomach, then excitedly and earnestly saluted, saying, "Yes, sir!"

In reality, he didn't really care about the benefits or salary—as a former gang member, and one who fought against drug dealers, he was lucky to even be alive. No organization, merchant, or company would dare risk offending the drug traffickers to hire him.

Meals are provided, and a salary is paid.

As for fighting—that's all he knows how to do.

In the office, Flora, who stood in the shadows acting as a "bodyguard," remained silent for a long time. After everyone left, she finally spoke up: "He's... reliable, I guess. There's no way to find a perfect employee in a place like this."

“Be content,” Milton said. “This is already considered a respectable young man.”

"Too……"

Soon after, other interviewees entered Milton's office one after another to begin their brief interviews.

Some passed, and some did not.

Milton even uncovered an undercover agent working for a drug dealer—he said he was willing to join, but the panel didn't show him as a recruit.

He was immediately held down by the crowd and thrown out of the window.

“He’s really got guts.” Milton wiped his hands and shook his head. “The building isn’t that tall, he shouldn’t have fallen to his death, right? Hanging him up outside the police station is a warning to those drug dealers.”

"OK……"

A minor hiccup occurred, but the interview continued.

"..."

After interviewing 10 people, Milton turned to Flora and asked, "'Bottle,' that's 10 people. You probably understand my interview criteria, right?"

"understood."

“Have your people handle the next round of interviews.” Milton stood up from his seat. “The company has administrative staff, right? Have them come over and they’ll be conducting the interviews from now on.”

Milton has a significant staff shortage and needs to interview at least several hundred people; it's impossible for them to do everything themselves.

Once the demonstration is done, the rest can be done by the company staff—those clerical staff can't just sit around doing nothing, can they?
“There’s an airport outside Tapachula. Have HR come over. Leave the rest of the interviews to ‘Anvil’ and ‘Poison’.”

Flora muttered, "You're one of ours! You're a major shareholder in the company now."

Milton chuckled, waved them away—the next interview would not take place in his office.

Once the first group of people had gathered, Milton planned to send the most capable fighters to the main camp for military training.

The rest will be responsible for filling in for Tapachula's side.

Milton, who was working on the planning, also turned on the office TV, switched to Tapachula's local channel, and watched the interview in Central Park.

Although Chief Omar was somewhat reckless, he wasn't going to his death. He chose a good position, with almost no angle from which he could be shot, and three armored police cars were also providing cover. If any unexpected situation occurred, he could immediately get into a car and leave to rendezvous with the armored vehicles sent out by Milton.

There were quite a few people at the scene, but they were all kept at a distance by several fully armed police officers.

Omar himself was also very vigilant, wearing a complete set of heavy body armor and a tactical helmet, which protected all his vital organs.

A very typical Latina woman, holding a microphone, swayed as she tried to get closer to Omar.

But Omar didn't look at him; instead, he pointed to another male reporter.

"Director!" The reporter who was called out immediately squeezed out of the crowd and stepped forward. "Recently, the city's public security has deteriorated significantly, and the public's dissatisfaction is about to erupt. Do you have anything to say about this?"

Omar paused for a moment—he had thought these people would immediately question him about the massacre.

He immediately said seriously, "The police have done everything they can to maintain order, but what is heartbreaking is that the city government has provided almost no support for our actions and has even threatened to cut the police department's budget, which is very disheartening."

“I urge Mr. Carmen to fulfill the responsibilities of a mayor and live up to the expectations of the voters who put you in this position.”

"Since yesterday, everyone has seen the police's operations against drug dealers. We are working hard to solve the problem, please trust us."

The male reporter immediately pressed further: "Two lawmakers who support anti-drug efforts have already been shot and killed by drug dealers. Don't you intend to resolve this issue through slightly more peaceful means? Are you determined to insist on using violence?"

Omar raised his voice in dissatisfaction: "Don't try to distort the truth here! It was clearly the drug dealers who started the violence, and now they're telling us not to use violence? Were those two congressmen shot and killed by the police?!"

"Even so, didn't Vic still stand up yesterday and publicly call on citizens to fight against drug dealers?"

"This is the courage of us Mexicans! We will not compromise, even in the face of death!"

Omar waved his hand, pointing to the female reporter who had been very proactive.

"You, you tell us."

The female reporter immediately stepped forward and asked, "Mr. Omar! Just recently, Mayor Carmen accused the police department of being controlled by terrorist forces and of carrying out a brutal massacre. Do you have any explanation for this?!"

As she spoke, she took out several photos, which showed a large number of police officers' corpses in front of the police station.

Omar sneered, “These officers are all traitors, all drug dealers! They infiltrated the police department and secretly killed countless colleagues. I just got rid of them all—I still have a lot of evidence proving that they colluded with drug dealers and Mayor Carmen.”

After saying that, Omar waved his hand, signaling the officers to take a cassette tape from the police car and insert it into the radio.

The moment the extremely detailed transaction information was revealed, an uproar erupted at the scene.

Omar scoffed, "The physical evidence is all at the police station. You're welcome to come and investigate anytime you want to see it. Next question!"

In fact, such torture was completely against procedure, and the behavior on the playground was absolutely a massacre, but... when arguing, you don't need to care about these things, you just need to shift the focus of the argument.

The female reporter nodded, took two steps forward, and squeezed through the crowd: "According to the information I just received, yes, just now, around 6 a.m. this morning, the police department, in conjunction with forces declared rebels by Guatemala, carried out a brutal massacre in a residential community in this city. Mayor Monroe accused the police of betraying the country, causing a very bad diplomatic impact. Do you have any explanation to offer?"

"Ha...is he mistaken about something?" Omar sneered. "What rebel forces? It's just that we've been short-staffed lately, so I placed an order with a multinational PMC company to send people to protect our officers. It's a legitimately registered company with all the legal business licenses. I can release the contract details later to ensure there are no irregularities."

"Everything, including work visas, is legal."

"As for the community you mentioned... I'd like to ask the mayor, Mr. Monroe, which civilian would own an armed helicopter?!"

"As mayor, you colluded with drug dealers and condoned all sorts of tragedies—police officers are sacrificing their lives on the front lines every day. How can you face their sacrifices?"

"He has no right to accuse us. Everyone has seen how badly drug cartels have ravaged our homes! I urge everyone with a conscience to stand up, come to the police station, and join our great cause. If you have any concerns, just sit quietly at home and wait for us to wipe out all the drug dealers. Absolutely do not become criminals against the country!"

Just then, Milton frowned. He saw the female reporter suddenly try to turn the microphone sideways, as if she wanted to point it at Omar's face!

Milton saw it clearly on the screen; it was a PSM pocket pistol!

The officers' expressions changed drastically.

Omar, on the other hand, remained remarkably calm. This bureau chief, who had publicly fought against drugs yet survived to this day, was extremely experienced. He suddenly stepped forward, raised his hand to cover his face, and simultaneously grabbed the female reporter's microphone with his other hand, preventing her from aiming at it immediately.

boom!
A bullet was fired from the microphone and grazed Omar's bulletproof helmet!
In that split second, the officers pounced. One grabbed the gun, another dislocated her jaw, and the rest formed a human wall, preventing any remaining assassins from getting a firing angle.

Without a word, Omar was forcibly shoved into the police car.

In the car, Omar turned around, looked at the woman who was now firmly restrained, and frowned as he looked at the pills being pulled from her mouth. He asked, "Why?"

Several police officers put her jaw back in place.

The woman said bitterly, "You will leave many people without food, you will cause many people to lose their jobs, you will cause the schools that have been painstakingly built to close down, and children will not be able to go to school! This is the road we depend on for survival, and you want to destroy it... Then we will just destroy you first!"

Omar's anger immediately turned into astonishment.

This is why Mexico's fight against drugs has been so difficult.

After a long silence, he finally spoke: "If your work and your wealth are built on the destruction of countless families and the deaths of countless people, then let them be destroyed. Because this is the wrong path... Don't pretend to be virtuous or innocent, you know what you are doing."

“I allow you to steal bread because you are hungry—but that doesn’t mean you can eat people without feeling guilty.”

Omar looked at the armored vehicle approaching from a distance and said in a deep voice, "Take it back and find out who ordered it."

Milton, who was watching TV, also looked uneasy—he wasn't afraid of the drug dealers' violent resistance, but he was afraid of their subtle tactics.

Milton turned off the television and went to the cafeteria.

The newly recruited soldiers were eating while reading the notices posted on the wall.

"A $5 meal allowance per day? And an extra $10 combat nutrition allowance if we're in combat?!"

"A weekly wage of $380?!"

"Today's meals will be the standard for future meals?!"

Just as Milton was about to say something encouraging, a police officer suddenly rushed up, panting, and shouted, "'Mr. Father,' something terrible has happened! A large group of people have suddenly appeared at the police station, holding all sorts of flags and signs, saying they are protesting the police's brutality against the residential community! What should we do?"

“These kinds of demonstrations can easily escalate into riots…”

Milton frowned: "Didn't you try to drive them away?"

"We tried to drive them away, but it didn't work... We didn't dare to just open fire like that."

“Not even afraid of guns? This is definitely not an ordinary citizen.” Milton’s tone turned serious. “They are people planted by drug dealers, or even drug dealers themselves.”

Just then, the "new employees" who were still eating suddenly put down their plates and stood up—still holding the batons that had just been given to them.

A fierce glint flashed in their eyes.

(End of this chapter)