Chapter 253 Victor: Yes, the dwarf was injured by me!
In the end, the organizer came out to coordinate.
Pull the two parties apart, put one person in a corner, and send the injured person to the hospital.
"TMD, find their hotel." Casare was obviously furious.
"Sir, do you really want to kill them?" A colleague asked in shock, lowering his voice.
"Let our gang of "society members" kill them. No one can say sorry and end it after making me unhappy."
Then why use violence?
Isn’t violence just about letting your anger flow a little easier when you are still angry?
Casare himself is very fat. What if he gets enlarged breasts due to anger?
This is North America!
My hometown is next door, and I can call hundreds of people every minute to come over and hack you to death.
Spain?
A place with big boogers.
Casare admired Mozi, the founder of European "Legalism", for his "Love without aggression".
Annex the Aegean Sea and attack Africa.
But sometimes I think about it...
Victor is inciting emotions and delivering speeches that inspire people. Anyone can go to the battlefield for him, does he look like a Bavarian boy?
There is another difference between Casare and the Mohist founder of the small town of Predapio, that is, the other party is very lustful.
I worked as an educator twice, but was fired both times for having affairs.
It is said that when he was in politics, he wrote love letters to every woman he met, and he wrote 30,000 love letters in his life.
One of the Spanish soldiers there happened to turn his head and look over. Casare made a motion of slitting his throat towards him, which shocked the other person and quickly looked away in panic.
Little thing, I know I’m scared.
"Get down to business first, and when you're done, go and trouble them again!"
A group of people started to get busy.
Around 9:10 am.
I saw about twenty buses driving outside the Military Retirement Center, with densely packed American soldiers in military uniforms getting off them.
Detroit is not a simple place.
Speaking of Detroit, you may think of cars and famous brands such as Ford, Chevrolet, and Cadillac.
But during the smoke-filled years of World War II, Detroit was not only the capital of automobiles, it was also the "home front" of the Allied forces and the "arsenal of democracy" that supported the entire European battlefield.
More than 90% of U.S. Army helmets are stamped and formed in Detroit.
Chrysler's Detroit tank factory in Warren produces half of the tanks made in the United States, and Ford's Willow Run factory can assemble a B-24 bomber every hour.
Even the U.S. Army’s Abrams tanks have a factory here.
And these technicians are liked by the tycoons in Area A.
But there are also some small military bases surrounding these arsenals. These people who wield swords and guns are the first choice of some small companies and small countries.
A group of "soldiers" were wandering around Area A, all wanting to enter a big factory.
Large companies have high benefits, high remuneration, and high jumping rates.
Work in a small factory is easy, you can catch a lot of fish, and you will change jobs if you don’t agree with them.
Each has its own merits.
The flow of people followed Area B and then slowly entered Area C.
Casare almost yawned.
If I had known that bringing two women over to dance, the best way to attract men would be sex.
Sexy dealer, dealing cards online.
"Hello!" Just when he was feeling sleepy, an American soldier sat down, a little restrained, but quite tall.
At least 1.9 years old and covered in tendons.
He was sitting upright, but his face was full of sadness that could not be resolved.
"This is my resume."
Casare took it and looked at it,
"Damien Jarvis?"
"31 years old... "
Suddenly he raised his head in shock.
"Are you a psychology graduate from Michigan State University?"
"Yes."
This introduction is very exciting. It belongs to the 551st Special Operations Group of the Selfridge Air Force in Michigan. Chief medic of the squadron.
Have participated in many frontline battles, and also solved psychological problems for about 600 soldiers and soothed their post-war trauma.
Military rank Major!
Oh, still an officer.
The school officer is no longer low.
Do you think everyone is like the general level mentioned on the Internet?
Per capita Ferrari and monthly salary of hundreds of thousands?
"With your conditions, you should have more choices. Why did you go to Mexico?" Casare asked curiously.
The other party was quiet for a moment, looked at him directly, and asked, "Does the Mexican Foreign Legion belong to Mr. Victor?"
"Of course, it says so." Casare stood up and pointed to the advertisement on the stall. , subordinate to the Governor-General of the North of Mexico.
Food and accommodation are included, favorable treatment is provided, five insurances and one housing fund are provided.
A trace of pain flashed in Damien Jarvis's eyes, "I want revenge!"
"My wife is a very good woman, but on the way to the mall once , she was involved in a deal with a local drug dealer..."
"I held the microphone and listened to the other party shooting with my own ears. My wife begged, but..."
"When I called the police and the police found out, she had been stuffed into a barrel. She was very She was afraid of pain, but the drug dealers shot her 27 times, and her eyes were gouged out.”
Damien Jarvis’s scars were reopened, and he pulled his hair. , "I am a psychiatrist, but I can't save myself. Every day when I get up and look at the familiar environment, it is a kind of torture. I tried to believe the police, but the drug dealers were arrested within three days. Released, you know what they say?”
He raised his head sharply.
"The US government can't help me! They say there is no legal evidence to prove they are the murderers, fuck the law!"
Damien Jarvis stood up immediately and shouted loudly.
The people next to me risked their heads to look over.
The bodyguard standing next to him also wanted to come up, but Casare stretched out his hand to signal him not to use it, took out a cigarette from his arms and handed it over.
"I'm sorry~" Damien Jarvis raised his hand to apologize, took the cigarette, and held it in his mouth tremblingly.
“I know about Mr. Victor’s deeds from TV. I know clearly that if anyone can help me, he is the only one. I am desperate.”
Casare stood up and lit a fire for him, "No need to apologize, you want to take revenge on them?"
"But there is no... no evidence!"
"We never need any bullshit evidence to do things. When it comes to drug dealers, we always prefer to kill them by mistake. Do you know which gang they belong to?"
"The Lucchese crime family in New York!"
"They The army forced me to retire!”
The abilities of American gangs are not small. The "National Gang Intelligence Center" under the FBI published the "Gang Threat Assessment and Analysis of New Trends" report stating that there are 33,000 confirmed gang organizations in the United States with approximately 1.4 million members, which is close to the size of the regular army. Controls 48% of urban crime in the United States.
In the eyes of some gangsters who are preparing to take the international and chain route, the military is always the best springboard. As underworld activities become more and more covert and pervasive, there are at least 53 underworld organizations that have entered the US military.
It can also be said that the US soldiers fighting in hot spots are actually TMD street gangsters. What good discipline do you want them to have?
Gangsters = US military = bandits, this equation is not wrong at all.
This kind of paper tiger must be destroyed by him!
Yankees will turn into dragons sooner or later.
"Oh? American Mafia." Casare raised his eyebrows and nodded, not caring at all.
"No problem, your resume meets our requirements very well. What salary do you need?" Damien Jarvis looked at him, "You... aren't you worried?"
"What are you worried about? Are you worried that these stinky rats will go to Mexico to assassinate Mr. Victor? Or are you worried that they will wipe out Mexico with nuclear weapons?" Casare laughed mockingly.
"Perhaps, I think you should be worried, Mr. Casare."
Just after Fatty Kasa finished speaking, a voice came. He raised his head and saw a man wearing a suit and a red tie. The white man came over with his trousers in his pockets, looked at the two people condescendingly, and then glanced at Damien Jarvis, with uncontrollable sarcasm in his eyes.
"His life is at stake in our Luckese family, and I hope we can give him some face." The young man knocked on the stall.
Casare hates men who are more flashy than himself.
“You are so proud!”
"What face do you have?"
"Is your father Jesus, or is your mother Maria?"
Casare said to Damien Jarvis, "Don't worry, After you sign the employment contract, you are ours. If you die here today and let the head of the American Mafia leader be placed in front of your grave tomorrow, we have no ability."
"We know how to hold grudges. Revenge."
"What kind of cats and dogs are coming here to give me face?" Casare narrowed his eyes.
This decommissioning center really lets everyone in.
Opening up to the outside world is not good.
The other party pointed at Casare, his mouth turned white, and he kicked the stall, "Damn Fatty!"
"Oh, you hit me!" Fatty Ka pointed at Dami. En Jarvis asked, "Did he hit me?"
The American soldiers were confused by the question and nodded subconsciously.
Casare jumped up and threw the chair over, "Hit me, beat him!"
He rushed up with his bodyguards. There were five or six of them, punching and kicking one person. Kick, Damien Jarvis hesitated, then rushed forward and kicked the opponent in the face.
Vent out the anger that has been suppressed for a long time.
“The fight started again, the fight started.” The “onlookers” next to them jumped out again.
"Broken legs! Broken legs!"
Casare shouted.
A bodyguard next to him raised a stool and smashed it down on the opponent's knee.
The sound of broken bones was clearly audible.
"Ouch!" The other party hugged his legs and screamed as he rolled over.
"Stop! Stop!" A group of American soldiers maintaining order ran over, their mouths were filled with anger, "Casare! Why are you fighting again? You have seriously disrupted the order of the scene!"
"He hit me first. This is a witness. He is just his own. He can't beat us."
"I must report this to the superiors. You have no respect for our order at all." Leading the team said Captain America.
Casare asked the bodyguard, took the phone, and dialed a number, "Here, this belongs to my boss. You can file a complaint with him."
There is a way to call the parents after a fight. look.
"Hello~" Victor's voice sounded from the other side.
"Boss, a member of the Lucchese family of the American Mafia threatened me and beat me..." Casare had a naturally aggrieved expression, as if... he was complaining.
"How are you? Are you injured anywhere?" Victor asked nervously.
"No, but a few of us beat him down. A few American soldiers said that I deliberately disrupted order."
"Okay, I understand, I will report it to the FBI Those who called, asked them to contact the Pentagon, be careful yourself, you have never heard of this bullshit Lucchese family, tell them that criminals should behave like criminals, and don’t jump too much."
After saying that, he hung up.
Casare smiled and said, "Captain, your leader will contact you. Now please take this piece of shit out."
After saying that, he kicked the other person and faced Damien Jia. Weiss smiled and said, "How much salary do you want? Sir."
…
Tijuana Gettle Hospital.
The best hospital in northern Mexico, bar none.
It covers an area of 21,210 square meters and can accommodate approximately 2,000 hospital beds.
You can see a lot of Americans here.
American medical care is not as great as it is said to be. Is it free for everyone?
Your head was kicked badly by "Yilin".
Can those capitalists let this piece of cake go?
Every year, many people go bankrupt due to medical treatment, but when you are sick, you have to treat your illness, so many Americans have no choice but to go to Mexico next door.
This hospital treats approximately 300,000 Americans every year.
Medical care is very saturated.
At this time, the inpatient department was guarded by security guards on three floors inside and three outside.
"Who is here? What's going on?" In the ward on the second floor, a bunch of people gathered around the window and asked each other.
"I don't know, but he must be some big shot."
"Big shots still come to the hospital? Aren't they all private doctors?"
In the eyes of the "audience" who are eager for knowledge, A black nanny car parked at the hospital, and the director and several administrators trotted over.
"It's Governor Victor!" There were people looking at the windows on every floor, and no one knew who shouted, "Mr. Governor!"
The whole hospital cheered. .
Victor smiled, raised his hand and shook hands with the dean, "Excuse me."
"No, no, it's the hospital's honor that you can come." The dean said with a smile, "I'm in the inpatient department. On the top floor, I asked the best nurse to accompany me.”
The group got into the elevator and went straight to the ward.
But when he entered, he paused and glanced at the accompanying reporters. When he saw the machine was on, he walked in with a sad look on his face.
This ward is really nice.
There was a TV, a sofa, and even a bay window inside. The two female UN officials stayed inside and were obviously confused when they saw a group of strangers coming in.
"I'm very sorry, I'm late!"
"Excuse me, are you..." The female official was startled.
"This is our northern governor of Mexico, Mr. Victor." The dean said hurriedly from the side.
Victor held the hand of one of them, "We are concerned about your experience, and please rest assured that the Northern Governor's Mansion will definitely make the drug traffickers pay the price for this operation!"
"Any trampling on life will pay a price."
"After hearing that you were attacked, we have sent people to bomb the areas controlled by drug traffickers, killing several leaders, and Guzman was Sent to the hospital."
"Please believe us."
Jason Bourne glanced at the reporter next to him. The boss really knew what he said. He was sent to the hospital. But he didn't say he was bombed into the hospital.
This directly turned the other party's joke about cerebral hemorrhage into political propaganda.
Ordinary people really can't say this.
Can you point to the mustache that committed suicide and say you killed it?
However, Guzman seems unable to prove it himself.
This is an endless loop.
This "accomplishment" will definitely make it onto the evening news.
Victor looked at them, "Excuse me, when will the leaders of the United Nations come?"
......
(End of this chapter)