Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 30 Green Vine
The center of Malacan town.

The cross on the church spire, the brand-new statues of the twelve apostles, and the sturdy paint on the walls all seem out of place in this impoverished town.

On the periphery, a "volunteer" from the Qing Teng Foundation enthusiastically distributed the supplies in his hand, seemingly showing no disgust towards the dirty, smelly poor people.

"Can pregnant women take it? Of course, ma'am! It's called troglitazone, it's an American drug, and it will be good for your baby... Oh, oh, we're a charity, we don't need to take any money... Donations? You're so generous, God will bless such a kind person!"

"The child has fallen and hurt himself? This is called OxyContin, a panacea that even Americans haven't used yet! From now on, no matter what pain you have, just take one and it will be fine... Oh, no need to thank us, it's Jesus' blessing!" (Note 1)

"..."

beep...

At that moment, on an inconspicuous street corner, a Chevrolet Caprice stopped on the gravel road not far from the Central Church, its V8 engine emitting a low-speed sound.

Milton cautiously surveyed his surroundings from inside the car.

Parking in this spot puts you in a complete blind spot from the pharmacy, and there are few pedestrians around, so unless you're really unlucky, you're unlikely to get noticed.

"You two, be sure to pay attention to your surroundings and the walkie-talkie. I'll go to the pharmacy here to ask around first."

Lutz, preoccupied with the compensation money, was a little worried: "Boss, this is too dangerous. I think I should go instead?"

“I don’t trust your brain.” Milton refused to let the roughneck do the delicate work. “You guys just sit in the car and be ready.”

After saying that, Milton picked up his loaded Luger Mark II, wrapped his tattered clothes around his neck, and walked toward the pharmacy around the corner.

Given the speed of information dissemination in this day and age, Milton believed that in just one day, the townspeople would at most hear his name, and were unlikely to remember what he looked like.

If you make yourself look sloppy, no one will recognize you.

To eliminate any clues, Milton's entire outfit was taken from a real patient at a black market pharmacy.

A few dozen seconds later, Milton arrived at the pharmacy entrance, glanced around, and confirmed that most of the people nearby were trying their luck at the charity fund and that no one would be visiting the pharmacy anytime soon before pushing open the door and going inside.

The pharmacy owner, lounging in his chair, asked as a customer entered, "Where are you from? What do you need? Do you have a prescription?"

"Just discharged from the hospital... Glibenclamide, no prescription."

Upon hearing that there was no prescription, the pharmacy owner didn't hesitate and immediately said, "1000 qchal per bottle."

“1000?!” Even though he was investigating, Milton frowned. “Why is it so expensive?”

The shop owner was very impatient: "First, you don't have a prescription, so I'll have to do some tricks to get you the medicine. Second, there's a big problem at the border checkpoint; there's a shortage of medicine everywhere right now."

Milton paused for a moment, then asked, "Are there any cheaper options?"

He wanted to test whether the shop owner was selling cheaper illegal drugs.

"Yes, there is." The pharmacy owner sneered dismissively. "You can turn around and get out right now. Look to your right, there are people giving out free medicine over at the church. Maybe you'll be lucky enough to get some free medicine. Or you can go to the black market in the old street. If you can find a black market dealer, if you're not afraid of being robbed... more than a dozen people died there yesterday. How about it, you poor wretch, want to go?"

Contrary to popular belief, diabetes is not entirely a disease of affluence. In places where sugary drinks are more readily available than water, and where people rely on high-sugar, high-calorie processed foods and mushy staples to fill their stomachs, diabetes is relatively prevalent.

Wealthy people who eat natural foods and have diets designed by nutrition experts are less likely to get this disease.

The shop owner genuinely despised the poor.

Milton glanced at the shopkeeper, said nothing more, and turned to leave.

Back in the car, the two who had overheard the entire conversation immediately started arguing.

Brandon sneered, "Ha! I heard from the 'boss' before that this pharmacy supplies some of the goods to the hospital, has no shortage of orders, and is very arrogant. Now it seems to be true."

Lutz was also furious that someone dared to speak to his sugar daddy like that: "If he knew that the person standing in front of him was the 'Hell Tax Collector' who had killed more than a dozen people on the black market, he would have wet his pants in fear!"

Milton was shifting gears and accelerating towards the next pharmacy when he heard that unpleasant nickname again. He almost lost his grip on the steering wheel and took two deep breaths to calm himself down.

No, I have to find a way to get rid of this nickname!

Milton interrupted their complaints: "At least it proves that the troglitazone didn't come from him. Enough talk, let's investigate the next pharmacy."

As Milton left the pharmacy, he saw a blonde woman seemingly arguing with a volunteer from the Green Ivy Foundation, who appeared to be holding a camera.

But he didn't have time to worry about that; he quickly returned to his car and drove to the next investigation site. "..."

A few minutes later, Milton pushed open the door of the new pharmacy and asked the owner the same question.

The answers I received were similar.

"There's nothing we can do. It's 1000 ghats. You'll get the same price no matter where you ask. Unless you're really brave enough to go to the black market, where it's all smuggled goods and there are no taxes, you can get a much cheaper price."

Milton asked, "Are there any cheaper alternatives, or cheaper solutions?"

"Hmm... how about this, if you buy 10 bottles at once, I'll give you a 5% discount, how much was it again..."

Milton instinctively blurted out, "9500."

The shop owner tapped on the worn plastic buttons on the calculator for a while, then exclaimed in surprise, "Yes, it's 9500! You calculated it so accurately and quickly!"

Milton clenched his fist, then slowly relaxed it, and turned to leave without hesitation.

Such praise would be a great humiliation even to a junior high school student in China!

Say no more, go investigate the next pharmacy.

……

Milton got back into the car and drove toward the third pharmacy.

It was around 19 p.m., and although the sky wasn't completely dark yet, it was already quite dim.

Milton frowned and reluctantly turned on the car headlights: "At night, there aren't many places with electricity. These streetlights are practically useless."

"There's nothing we can do. How many people here can afford to pay their electricity bills? The local government doesn't care about this kind of thing; they only care whether their own houses have electricity."

Brandon shrugged: "The power company can't really collect the payment because the cost of doing so might be more than the electricity bill they collect, so they might as well just cut off the power."

"It's alright, at least there's electricity for a few hours every day, it's good enough that we're alive."

"Sigh, let's not talk about that... Let's talk about yourself, boss. What did you do before? You're such a good shooter, so smart, and even good at math! You're truly the most amazing person I've ever met!"

"Who would have thought that the 'Hell Tax Collector' not only knew how to kill, but was also a mathematician!"

Are you guys never going to stop?!
Milton finally lost his temper. He slammed his hand on the dashboard and roared, "Enough! From now on, you're not allowed to call me 'Hell Tax Collector' again!"

Brandon didn't quite understand: "Why? It's so impressive! My colleagues all approve of this nickname; it's enough to scare people to death if you call it out."

"I'm the boss, and I say you can't call me that, and that's final! Otherwise, you'll get your pay docked!" Milton immediately adopted the boss's airs, turned the steering wheel, and brought the car to a smooth stop. "Alright, I'll go first. You guys keep your walkie-talkies on!"

What a terrible thing!
With a lot of worries on his mind, Milton pushed the door open with noticeably more force this time.

He walked up to the counter rather rudely, knocked on the shopkeeper's table, and asked, "Do you have any medicine? Glibenclamide?"

The shop owner was used to it and didn't find anything unusual—that's how most of those self-important slum thugs who are actually nothing special are.

Without even looking up, he quoted a price: "No prescription? Then it's 1000 gechars a bottle."

Milton asked, as usual, "Do you have anything cheaper?"

However, this time, the shop owner did not answer immediately.

He raised his head, his face wrinkled, and stared at Milton for a while, seemingly considering whether or not to say what he was going to say next.

There's nothing wrong with her clothes or her demeanor...

Most importantly, he bribed many people, and these people in turn bribed even higher-ups, creating a chain of protection... Unless the other party's background is powerful enough to be a provincial-level official, even calling the police won't help.

How could a penniless wretch who might die tomorrow possibly have any powerful connections?

Rather than letting him take the money to his grave and benefit the scavenger, it's better to make the money yourself!
The shop owner discreetly reached under the table with his left hand and grasped a short-barreled shotgun. He glanced at the door and lowered his voice slightly: "Yes, we have a new drug, only 300 a bottle, how about it?"

Note 1: OxyContin, also known as oxycodone extended-release, is an opioid analgesic that is 10 times more effective than morphine. It can be considered the source of the current drug epidemic in the United States.

(End of this chapter)