Chapter 340: Intelligence and the End of the Farce
After Ron identified drug dealers as his new target, he naturally didn't forget to seek out professionals to gather intelligence. Ron's intelligence sources in the underworld were mainly three:
First, street racers were always among the most diverse sources of information in any city. Some drug lords would recruit drivers from among them to transport product, but after Toretto's rise to fame, this became extremely rare, so it didn't provide Ron with any useful leads.
Second, there was the South Side neighborhood where Carl lived. The poor folks in these areas rarely had legitimate jobs; most did "side work" related to drug trafficking, and the Gallagher family was no exception.
However, since Fiona, the eldest sister of the Gallagher family, got together with Ron, the entire Gallagher family received preferential treatment, but also distanced themselves from their former neighbors. At least, they would no longer share in these money-making opportunities reserved for the desperate. This divide became even more pronounced after members of the Gallagher family became a federal agent and a cop.
So, left with no other choice, Ron could only go to the place in Los Angeles where he had struck gold and where his biggest source of income was—Los Pollos Hermanos' Los Angeles flagship location.
"Sir, here's your chicken. Are you satisfied with our service?"
Gus, the owner of Los Pollos Hermanos, brought Ron's freshly ordered meal to his table.
Gus wore a standard, business-like smile, looking like a kind and gentle middle-aged entrepreneur, but only Ron knew that this seemingly harmless man was actually a major drug kingpin who controlled a significant portion of California, and even the entire Southwest, meth market.
"Of course I'm satisfied," Ron looked up, gesturing with a knowing smile to the seat across from him: "However, I have some feedback for your establishment that I'd like to discuss with you. Mind sitting down?"
Whether intentionally or not, the seat Ron was occupying was the very place where he and Gus had first met, where Gus had tested him with veiled threats. Gus certainly didn't have fond memories of this spot.
But he obediently set down his tray and sat across from him: "I've already arranged for someone to pay last quarter's taxes. You'll probably have to wait a while longer for this quarter's, but if I remember correctly, there's still plenty of time until your deadline."
"Of course I know that. Andy has already reported it to me. Congratulations on becoming a model taxpayer. Of course, I didn't come to talk about that," Ron said, tossing the crime scene photos on the table.
"I came to talk to you about this. I figure you can't be completely ignorant about your competitors operating in your territory, right?"
Gus immediately recognized the type of narcotics in the photo and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I really don't know anything about them. Perhaps you misunderstand my business model. The product I deal in is methamphetamine, a chemically synthesized substance, and also the most cost-effective drug on the market.
What you've shown me is heroin. They need farmland to cultivate poppies, extract the raw materials, and then process them into product. We're in completely different markets. In fact, our customer bases are worlds apart. To put it bluntly, they're like the Louis Vuitton of drugs, while I'm dealing with Costco and Sam's Club. You follow?"
"Of course I follow, but I remember that your file shows you're a Chilean immigrant. I think you should be familiar with this stuff, or perhaps someone back in South America is still in contact with you, right? Mr. Fring of the Juárez Cartel?"
The Juárez Cartel was the name of the drug trafficking organization Gus originally had ties to. Ron had obviously done his homework before coming.
Ron continued to scrutinize Gus with a knowing smile. This was a chess match, and Ron held all the pieces. Sure enough, after a brief staring contest, Gus quickly folded.
"Okay, I'll level with you. I still have some contacts with those people, but heroin profits are nowhere near as high as methamphetamine. I haven't touched that product in years. In fact, I assure you, there isn't a single gram of Juárez heroin in all of Los Angeles right now.
In fact, I've eliminated the entire Cartel connection. From now on, there will never be another Juárez pipeline in this city."
Ron's eyes lit up. He finally caught something useful in Gus's words: "You took them down? So where is all this stuff coming from? It couldn't have just materialized out of nowhere, could it?"
"Of course not. In an industry as lucrative as narcotics, even without the Cartel, other organizations will immediately grab their market share and continue operations. If I'm not mistaken, it should be coming from Bobbi."
"Bobbi?" Ron was unfamiliar with the name.
"Yes, a newly risen drug queenpin who, through brutal tactics, controls nearly all of the world's opium-producing regions, and has her own team of chemists. Her new product has nearly doubled heroin's addictiveness.
If you're planning to go after her, how about I pay double taxes next month?"
Gus said, unusually enticingly.
Ron knew, of course, that he wasn't being altruistic; he simply wanted Ron's team to take out Bobbi. But so what? Ron didn't think some underground drug dealer posed any real threat.
"No problem. Seems like the tax rate I set for you before was too low anyway. Maybe we can renegotiate after this matter is settled," Ron agreed easily. "Of course, besides the money, I also need some intel from you. If I want to trace Bobbi's distribution network, where should I start?"
"Los Angeles Police Department," Gus said almost without hesitation, giving the most unexpected answer to Ron. "As far as I know, Bobbi has been running drugs through corrupt LAPD officers. Bobbi supplies the product, and the dirty cops on her payroll help her transport the drugs directly into the city.
Sometimes, the drugs are stashed right in the police station's evidence room; it's practically an open secret in certain circles."
Well, if Ron initially felt confident, he was now starting to get a migraine. To be able to openly use the evidence room as a drug warehouse definitely wasn't something a few beat cops could pull off.
There had to be someone higher up the food chain involved.
Seeing Ron remain silent for so long, Gus asked provocatively, "So? Getting cold feet?"
"Cold feet?" Ron scoffed. "The phrase 'cold feet' isn't in my vocabulary. But before diving into this mess, I think I need to handle some loose ends first."
(End of Chapter)
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