Chapter 496 - 325: I’m Still a Little Scared

Chapter 496: Chapter 325: I’m Still a Little Scared

He took the report he had written last night, placed it in a manila envelope, and tucked it into his uniform pocket.

At 8:00 AM, he rode his old Honda motorcycle to the police station.

He didn’t hand the letter directly to the chief. He wasn’t sure if the chief was in, nor was he sure if the chief could be trusted.

The person he was looking for this time was named Carlos Hernandez, his father’s former partner. Carlos had worked his way up to deputy head of the criminal investigation division, making him a mid-level officer at the station.

He was seeking him out because Carlos had often looked out for Raphael at the station. In the years after his father’s death, Carlos was the only one of his colleagues who would still visit their home on the anniversary of his death and bring something for his mother.

"Uncle Carlos." Raphael knocked on his office door.

Carlos was sitting at his desk drinking coffee. He paused for a moment when he saw Raphael, then waved him in.

"Little Raphael," he said, putting down his coffee cup. "What brings you all the way up to Criminal Investigations? Isn’t the patrol division on the first floor?"

Raphael glanced around, and after confirming there was no one else in the office, he closed the door. He took the manila envelope from inside his jacket and placed it on the desk.

"What’s this?" Carlos asked, looking at the envelope.

"Kuchilo’s stronghold in Santa Catherine," Raphael said quietly. "Location, sentries, vehicles, routes—I’ve written it all down inside."

Carlos’s hand, holding the coffee cup, froze in mid-air.

"You’re insane," he said, slowly lowering the cup. The smile vanished from his face.

"I’m not insane," Raphael said, taking a deep breath. "Uncle Carlos, the federal government and the DEA said they’re launching a joint operation against drug crimes. I saw it on TV. This is an opportunity."

"That’s all just talk for Washington’s ears," Carlos said, lowering his voice. "Whose pockets do you think the money the DEA allocates to Mexico every year ends up in?"

"Please, Uncle," Raphael pleaded. "Just help me pass the information up."

Carlos was silent for a few seconds.

"I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear anything today." He pushed the envelope back.

Raphael resolutely pushed it back again.

"How about a change of position? Patrol only pays 6,000 Pesos a month, right?" Carlos said, annoyed. "Do you want to come to the criminal investigation department? I can arrange the transfer. You wouldn’t have to walk a beat anymore."

"My father died at Kuchilo’s hands, Uncle Carlos," Raphael said. "You know that."

Hearing this, Carlos closed his eyes and thought for a moment.

"Leave it," he said, opening his eyes. "I’ll find the right time to report this, but it might not be to the chief."

"Thank you, Uncle Carlos," Raphael said, overjoyed.

"Be careful from now on," Carlos said, standing up and patting Raphael’s shoulder. "Take time off if you can. Try not to go out alone."

Raphael nodded, still unable to hide the joy on his face, and turned to leave the office.

’I can’t believe Uncle Carlos actually agreed.’ This gave him some comfort. ’Looks like I’m not fighting this alone after all.’

He walked out of the police station and began his day’s patrol.

He saw two Land Cruisers heading toward the outskirts of the city, which caught his attention for a moment. Other than that, nothing much worthy of his notice happened during his morning patrol.

"Pah!" He spat in the direction where the Land Cruisers had disappeared. "Damn rich people. God knows how much of the people’s blood and sweat they’ve stolen to afford a procession like that."

After making one round on his patrol, he glanced at his watch.

It was just past 12:00 PM. Normally, he would have made another round, but an immense hunger washed over him, forcing him to head back near the police station for lunch and a break.

’Mustn’t waste food,’ he thought. Right now, he felt like he could eat an entire cow.

He decided to go to the small restaurant across from the police station. After carefully comparing the options, he chose the cheapest combo meal.

"One roasted meat and rice combo, thank you," he said, handing over a few Pesos. He then asked, a little embarrassed, "By the way... could I have a little extra rice?"

As he was walking back with his food, a dark black, unlicensed Chevrolet pickup truck drove over from the end of the street.

Raphael didn’t notice it at all, still walking toward the police station just a few steps away, carrying his food.

Suddenly, from behind him, the pickup truck accelerated violently. The roar of its engine shattered the quiet street, and its tires shrieked against the pavement.

The truck was ramming straight for him!

Raphael dove forward, dodging the impact. But before he could even turn around, a door was thrown open with a BANG.

Three men in balaclavas jumped out. The one in front was holding an AK, its muzzle pointed at Raphael’s head.

"Don’t move," the man under the mask said.

Raphael’s right hand instinctively went for his service weapon, but the man next to him was faster.

He landed a flying kick right on Raphael’s chin. Another man lunged forward, grabbing one of his wrists from behind and twisting it behind his back.

"Let me go!" Raphael struggled desperately, trying to kick the person behind him, but his weight and strength were nothing against these three trained thugs.

The man on his left cleanly yanked the gun belt from his waist.

"Stay still!"

Raphael did not stay still.

"Carlos!" he roared. "Carlos Hernandez!"

He slammed his shoulder backward, trying to break free from the man’s grip, but was answered with a vicious knee strike that nearly bored into his ribs.

Then a hook smashed into his left cheek, making his head snap to the side and filling his mouth with the taste of blood.

The roasted meat and rice in his hands fell to the ground, scattering everywhere.

"You can’t do this!" Raphael yelled, kneeling on the ground but still struggling. "I’m a police officer! I’m—"

Before he could finish, one of them grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into the pavement.

The other two deftly bound his hands and feet behind his back with a nylon zip tie, then dragged him and threw him against the pickup’s rear door.

His police badge, pinned under his chest, scraped continuously against the pavement, making a harsh, grating sound.

His left eye was already starting to swell shut, his vision blurring, but he desperately kept his remaining right eye fixed in one direction—

The main entrance of the police station.

Right at the entrance.

On the steps of the main entrance, seven or eight uniformed police officers were standing right there.

They all saw it. They were less than ten meters away.

But not one of them stepped forward. Not one of them shouted for it to stop. Not one of them drew their weapon.

It was as if they had all disconnected from reality, ignoring the scene unfolding before them, pretending not to see.

Some turned away to study the fire safety notice that had been on the bulletin board for half a year. Others squatted down to untie and retie their shoelaces.

An overwhelming sense of grievance, fury, and indignation washed over Raphael.

’How could this be happening? Who sold me out? Who betrayed me?’

Everyone had sold him out. Everyone had betrayed him.

"You see this!" he screamed toward his colleagues at the station entrance with all his remaining strength. "You all see this!"

The man with the rifle impatiently smashed the butt of his gun into the back of Raphael’s head. The other two stuffed him into the back seat of the pickup like a piece of luggage and SLAMMED the door shut.

The engine roared to life again. The pickup made a U-turn, kicking up a cloud of dust, and sped off toward the north side of the city.

...

「At the same time, in the Monterey Industrial Park.」

Two dark-colored Toyota Land Cruisers pulled up in front of a massive industrial factory.

A sign hung on the factory’s exterior wall, displaying a name in both Spanish and English—Nortek Group.

It was one of the largest beverage bottling groups in Monterey.

Li Wei stepped out of the car, with Jin Heon close behind. Chen Haisheng and Don Quixote got out of the other vehicle. Four Mercenaries split into two groups: two followed Li Wei and the others, while two remained by the cars.

A group of people had clearly been waiting for some time at the factory gate. Leading them was a middle-aged Mexican man in a white polo shirt, who walked over with a broad smile.

"Mr. Li Wei! Mr. Don Quixote Cervantes! Miss Jin!" he said, extending his hands to enthusiastically shake hands with each of them. "Welcome, welcome! I am Fernando Treviño, the Operations Director for the Nortek Group. I’ve been the one coordinating with Miss Jin."