Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 8: Use and discard.
Wow…

In a street piled with garbage, dilapidated and stinking, several figures came and went, carrying bottles and cans, walking quickly through the black wastewater.

They all deliberately hunched their backs and shrank their bodies, unwilling to let others see their faces, and subconsciously adopted a defensive posture.

This is the poorest, dirtiest, and most chaotic place in Malakand... but it's also the black market with the most abundant goods.

Everyone calls this place "Old Street".

Countless items that cannot be purchased through normal channels, or are simply illegal, are brought over by smugglers from all walks of life.

Even many of the "customers" here come from other cities.

Desire, money, despair, corruption, sin...

They all thrive and spread within this stench.

In the black market, nothing is off-limits.

Everything, including life, has a price tag.

Boom boom boom!
A man in a trench coat waded through the sewage to a rusty iron gate and knocked three times rhythmically.

Five or six seconds later, the small window on the iron gate was pulled open, making a piercing hissing sound.

A hoarse voice, tinged with extreme caution, rang out: "Who?"

"I."

"Brandon?!" The person inside was clearly surprised by the visitor's identity. "Why are you here so early today? Aren't you afraid your colleagues will find out?"

Brandon! The officer who just bumped into Milton at the fruit stand!
He didn't "patrol" at all; after leaving the fruit stand, he went straight here!

The "sleazy" and "corrupt" look on Brandon's face vanished, and he said in a slightly somber voice, "There was a bit of an accident today. My colleague was sent away on a last-minute task."

The man inside grumbled as he opened the iron gate, glanced around to make sure there were no tails, and then let Brandon in, complaining, "Even if your partner is gone, there are other cops."

“No, most of the police force will be diverted to another major event soon,” Brandon replied. “We’re safe. Sean, I’m much more professional than you, don’t doubt me.”

As the two were talking, they arrived at the entrance to a sewer.

"Alright, alright..." Old Sean shook his head with a wry smile, bent down to unlock the door, "What's this big deal you're talking about?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than an explosion from afar reached everyone's ears.

Old Sean turned around in astonishment and saw billowing black smoke and flames!
Immediately afterwards, several piercing sirens wailed past!

Sean looked at him like he was a stranger, and exclaimed in shock, "You...this, you did this?"

“It wasn’t me, but I got a little information from Van Conn’s gang beforehand,” Officer Brandon said. “Anyway, he’s a scumbag. Your daughter will be happy to hear this, won’t she?”

The reason his partner officer gave him that lewd look when Brandon said "Old Sean's daughter" at the fruit stand was because that partner was a rapist.

That police officer is also the culprit behind Sean's daughter still needing medication.

Upon hearing this, Sean's expression changed, showing pain and gratitude, but not a trace of the satisfaction of avenging a great grudge.

Too late.

Moreover, this rare good police officer in front of us seems to be getting deeper and deeper into trouble.

“Brandon, you’d better stay away from Van Cameron’s gang…otherwise, you’ll get dragged down with them sooner or later. They’re not good people.”

“If I stay away from them, who will get the medicine, who will ask for information, and who will be your protector at the police station? There were problems at border control, and the price of medicine has increased many times over. I can’t afford any more accidents on my end.” Brandon shook his head. “Besides, it’s too late. I’ve already been dragged into this.”

There was a problem with border control...

Smuggled drugs can't be brought in anymore—the inspector we just met seized a package of confiscated drugs.

Products sourced through other channels are not only expensive, but also have a very limited selection.

Everyone could sense that a storm was about to break.

After navigating the winding, narrow paths and venturing into the last room of the sewers, Brandon waved his hand: "That's enough for now. I need to talk to the 'boss' about what to do next."

Sean, hunched over, slowly walked away, saying, "Officer, take care of yourself..."

Brandon was silent for a moment, then pushed open the door and entered.

Before me was a figure whose face was obscured, its entire being hidden in the darkness.

He was also the biggest drug dealer in the area. Nobody knew his real name; they only knew him by his code name, "Boss."

The "boss" asked briefly: "How's the drug import situation going? When will things return to normal?"

"It's stabilizing, but there will be big moves, things that happen within border control," Brandon sighed. "The problem is, our network of connections within border control might all be rendered useless."

It was because they had connections with Maynard and Van Conn that they were able to smuggle so many drugs.

It wasn't until a vehicle loaded with drugs was seized, causing Maynard and Van Cong to suffer heavy losses and directly leading to turmoil at the border checkpoint itself, that their smuggling costs skyrocketed.

The "boss's" voice was devoid of emotion: "Starting today, drug prices will increase by 20% as a cost to rebuild our network of relationships. This is a necessary expense, as our drugs are all counterfeit and cannot go through the proper import process."

"Drug prices have almost tripled recently... I'm worried..." *Knock knock knock*

As the two were chatting, there was a knock on the door behind them, and a little girl carefully walked in.

Upon seeing who it was, Brandon's expression softened.

"Lia, here to buy medicine again?"

That's the little girl from the fruit stand!
“Uncle Brandon!” Leah smiled and nodded, in a good mood. “Good afternoon! How was my acting just now?”

Brandon smiled. "There's a slight flaw, but it's not obvious."

The "boss" clearly knew Lia. Without any preamble, he said directly, "Lia, glibenclamide, 160 qchar."

"160?!" Lia exclaimed, turning her head. "Why is it so expensive again?"

As soon as she asked the question, the "spoils" that the prosecutor had just seized flashed through her mind.

She actually knew that Uncle Brandon and the "boss" hadn't made much money off them.

But the prosecutor is a good person too...

They're both right... so who's really wrong?
The little girl's mood immediately dropped, and she asked in a low voice, "20 dollars...is that okay?"

Brandon suddenly interjected, "Where did you get those dollars?"

“That…it was given to me by the prosecutor. He said it was compensation for the fruit stand,” Leah quickly explained. “Uncle Brandon, the prosecutor is a good person. He didn’t bully me.”

I can see that... You don't have any injuries, and you're just crying. Only a lustful idiot like that police officer who was just blown up would think that Milton did something wrong.

The "boss" interrupted their conversation: "Dollar is fine."

He checked the authenticity of the banknotes and then handed over the medicine bottle.

"Go home quickly, it's not safe here at night."

Liya carefully took the medicine bottle, nodded vigorously, and turned to leave the room.

"I'll eat here and then go home!"

The iron gate was closed, and darkness enveloped the room once again.

After a dozen seconds, Brandon chuckled self-deprecatingly: "A good guy?"

The "boss" said quietly, "Good people don't live long here."

“Hopefully the storm will pass soon.” Brandon shook his head. “There’s only one thing we need to do: hide ourselves, wait for everything to end, for drug imports to return to normal, and for us to find a new protective shield.”

A "good guy" prosecutor can't solve the problem at all.

Even if he really killed Fan Kang's gang of assassins and survived the reshuffling conflict at the border checkpoint, what difference would it make?

Even if the Fan Kang gang is gone, there will still be the Fan En gang.

Even if Station Master Varta is gone, there will still be Station Master Maynard.

Apart from changing the name, nothing else will change.

While the two were chatting, another man, dressed in tattered clothes and looking tired, walked in and bought medicine as usual.

The "boss" put away the money, took out the medicine, and said calmly, "Your illness is almost cured. From now on, you only need to recuperate. You don't need to come back again."

"Okay! Okay! Thank you, boss! Thank you, Officer Brandon!"

The man thanked him profusely, took the medicine, and left, quietly closing the door behind him.

Click.

beep...

Hearing the sound of the latch locking behind him and the roar of a motorcycle engine coming from outside the block, the man's face darkened, and his expression changed repeatedly, as if he was hesitating and struggling.

He had overheard the conversation between the "boss" and Brandon while hiding in a corner outside the door.

Heard a lot.

He recovered from his illness, but he had emptied his savings and was heavily in debt in order to buy medicine.

So, he came up with a bold idea.

Could we report the "boss" and this illegal pharmacy and get a reward or information fee from the prosecutor?
If he succeeds, not only will he be able to pay off his debts, but he might even have a surplus to support his trip to the United States!
In the past, he would never have dared to have such thoughts—whether at the police station or the checkpoint, illegal pharmacies had protective umbrellas, so who would dare to have any designs on them?
But now, there's a problem at the border checkpoint, and the illegal pharmacy's network of connections there has been temporarily paralyzed!
This is an extremely rare window of opportunity. If you miss it, once the "boss" has bought off new connections, reporting him will not only be useless, but could also cost you your life.

The man gritted his teeth, then his face suddenly hardened: "Let's do it!"

As for what would happen to "the boss" and Brandon; what kind of torment those patients who lost their life-saving drugs would suffer; how the little girl would live after losing her father, whether she could only climb into men's beds, barely survive under the exploitation of gangsters, and eventually die from a sexually transmitted disease, he didn't think about any of that.

They don't care.

What does it have to do with him what other people do?
Good people don't live long here.

(End of this chapter)