The anti-American vanguard starts in Mexico!

"I have no other requests. I hope that the announcement of my appointment can be postponed for two days. I need some time to prepare."

"Okay." Carlos clearly understood Qi Yun's thoughts and agreed immediately.

Qi Yun didn't say anything more, saluted, and turned to leave.

But as he reached the office door, he suddenly stopped, turned around, and casually said, "Chief, I remember Leon saying that Harris seems to be getting quite close to the Cripples."

Carlos paused, holding his water glass, and looked up at Qi Yun: "What are you trying to say?"

"It's nothing." Qi Yun's face was expressionless. "I just suddenly remembered it and mentioned it casually."

He opened the door and went out.

The door closed behind me.

Carlos stood behind his desk, staring at the closed door. His brows furrowed slowly, then he let out a long sigh: "I hope you can bring me some surprises."

...

Qi Yun retrieved the information on the reserve police officers from the archives and quickly left the police station.

Harris from that ditch had looked at me strangely earlier, and he might have secretly leaked the news of my presence at the police station to the Crippled Gang.

At this point, there was no need to worry about fleeing in disarray; a true man can bend and stretch.

Once I've assembled my own team, I'll wipe out this group of drug dealers in a bloodbath.

Qi Yun flagged down a taxi on the roadside and headed straight for the butcher's illegal clinic, as he hadn't yet paid the cleaning fee he'd promised to deliver.

I'll also ask that guy about something.

In the basement, the butcher was sitting with his legs up, reading a crumpled pornographic magazine, with a piece of leaf in his hand.

Hearing the noise, he got up, opened the door, bumped fists with Qi Yun, and let him into the house.

"Dude, it's so good to see you. I thought I'd worked for nothing."

"Hmm?" Qi Yun raised an eyebrow, pulled out a chair, and sat down. "What do you mean? You think I'm a person who doesn't keep their word?"

"No, you've misunderstood. I thought you'd hung up..."

The butcher chuckled and sat back down in his chair. "I recently heard that the Vanderbilt gang in Florida has issued a warrant for an Asian police officer, offering a $10,000 reward. That person must be you, right?"

From his perspective, this is not hard to guess. There are very few Asian police officers in Tijuana to begin with, and Qi Yun just happened to have been shot.

"Van der Braun?"

So the group that traded with the Cripples in the warehouse came from the Vanderbilt gang?

And they even issued an arrest warrant?

Qi Yun almost laughed out of anger...

Drug traffickers issued arrest warrants and offered rewards to police officers.

Is there no law left?

Are there any laws?

The Florida district is a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of the city, a place with complex terrain, rampant gang violence, and a frequent site of clashes between drug cartels.

And this Vander gang is the most powerful gang in the Florida district.

They not only ran a flour wholesale business, but also engaged in human trafficking, arms dealing, and other heinous crimes.

The butcher took another sip of his leaf: "Buddy, those guys are not to be trifled with. If you need to run away, I have a way to contact the smugglers and get you directly to San Diego, California for just a thousand dollars."

This guy talks about money all the time.

But Qi Yun didn't mind; this kind of transparent relationship was actually the most reassuring.

He quietly observed the butcher's reaction until he was sure the man wasn't acting strangely, then he took out five hundred dollars and handed it over.

"We'll talk about running away later, but I do have other needs. Do you have any suitable candidates you can introduce to me?"

"I'm about to be transferred to checkpoint 4 in the La Mesa district as sheriff, and I need a few reliable people under my command, preferably retired Army or Marine Corps personnel."

The butcher used to work in the military medical corps and is well-informed; he might know the people he needs.

The butcher took the money and exhaled a puff of smoke: "Marine Corps?"

"Bro, someone like that would either have joined a drug cartel or gone to a PMC company in America long ago. Only a fool would become a cop and earn a pitiful few hundred dollars."

As soon as he said it, he realized it wasn't appropriate to say it in front of Qi Yun, so he scratched his head and added, "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it."

"I mean... people like that usually look down on the meager salaries of police officers. They either work as bodyguards for drug dealers, or at the very least, they guard the homes of wealthy businessmen, earning at least two or three thousand US dollars a month."

"The police don't even have enough money to fill their teeth."

Just as the butcher said, Qi Yun didn't have high hopes for the information on the candidate police officers in his hands. The truly capable people wouldn't be here to earn a few hundred dollars.

Therefore, he needs a few reliable characters, the kind of warriors who dare to fight with a gun, soldiers like himself!

Since it's a dangerous job, it's perfectly reasonable for them to ask for more money.

"So, do you know anyone like that? Money is no object; I can personally provide the funds to them, as long as it satisfies me."

Upon hearing this, the butcher's gaze towards Qi Yun became somewhat strange: "Hmm...buddy, it seems you really have struck it rich."

He seemed to have guessed something, but didn't say it aloud, leaving it at that.

"Are you sure you want to fund a team out of your own pocket? Is it really necessary? Wouldn't it be better to take your money and enjoy life in America? What's there to miss about this godforsaken place...?"

This is the thinking of most Mexicans.

They were utterly disillusioned with the country and felt no sense of belonging.

Given the choice, I will leave without hesitation.

Qi Yun lit a cigarette, revealing his deep profile, and said in a deliberately profound tone, "Some things just have to be done by someone."

"This country is rotten, but our descendants should not live in such an environment."

"I am willing to lead from the front, even at the cost of my life..."

The butcher was stunned. He stared at Qi Yun for several seconds, then suddenly said very seriously, "Buddy, you've earned my respect."

"I admit I underestimated you before. You're different from those cops. From now on, I'll give you a 50% discount on treatments when you come to me, as a sign of respect."

Qi Yun, enjoying the other party's admiration, said indifferently, "No discount needed, you can wish me well."

"So, can you help me find the person I need?"

The butcher sat up straight and stubbed out the leaf in his hand: "I have two comrades who can meet your conditions, but they are both in California. I need to make a call and ask."

"Contact me now. You know my situation; a lot of people want me dead." Qi Yun said, then took out five hundred US dollars from his pocket, placed it on the table, and pushed it over. "This is your reward."

The butcher grinned as he saw another five hundred dollars on the table, then stuffed it into his pocket without hesitation: "You know, although I respect you, business is business."

He picked up his phone, got up, and went to the inner room to make a call.

Qi Yun didn't eavesdrop on how the butcher communicated, but he could see from the crack in the door that the other party was trying to persuade him.

About ten minutes later, the butcher came out of the inner room with a smile on his face: "All done, two people, they'll be in Tijuana tomorrow."

"But they want to talk to you first before deciding whether to do it or not."