Milia Mirés Gorostiza had a very long dream.
She dreamed her brother grabbed her hand, then touched her head, telling her he was going to a very, very far place.
"Will you come back?"
"Where there is light, I will always be there."
"What defeats you is despair about life. Live on, live better!"
Milia suddenly felt her brother was lying to her. She pulled him crying and shouting not to leave, but he walked farther and farther away. She saw her parents, grandparents - they all smiled and waved at her.
"Brother!"
Milia spat out water and slowly opened her eyes. In her haze she saw a figure, also wearing a uniform, eyes equally clear. She murmured, "Brother."
"She's awake! She's awake!" An officer beside her shouted happily.
"Rookie" Giancarlo breathed a long sigh of relief, taking off his jacket to put on her. "Feeling better? Still cold?"
Milia's face was wet. Looking at the adults before her, she was obviously a bit nervous but still nodded. "Thank you."
She looked around and got up anxiously. "Did you... see my brother's clothes?"
The little girl was about to cry.
"That's my brother's last piece of clothing. When he comes home tonight, he won't have anything to change into."
Giancarlo squatted down halfway. Hearing this, his eyes reddened slightly. He hadn't met her brother, but when a child was sensible enough to break your heart, it always touched the softest place inside.
"Brother, do you know my brother?" Milia suddenly asked, raising her head. Those eyes were large and bright. She had been cared for well.
"Do you want to see him?"
Milia hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
"Then let's go change clothes and bring your brother along." Giancarlo touched her head.
Milia nodded happily, picking up the wooden basin and leading them home.
The rich world plays differently, but the poor world lives the same.
Urine smell everywhere, even seeing rats as thick as forearms running past. Hearing footsteps, they'd stop to look left and right, very bold.
Milia lived in a very remote corner, garbage piled outside. At the doorway, a thin figure stood timidly, barefoot, wearing a short shirt, eyes eagerly looking into the distance. Seeing Milia, he quickly ran over, calling in a childish voice, "Sister."
"You weren't good. Didn't I tell you to wait at home?" Nine-year-old Milia was very much a big sister.
The little brother nodded, pulling out something shaped like "jerky" from his pants pocket, preparing to bite down.
"You can't eat this." Giancarlo quickly stopped him, squatting down and pulling out chocolate to hand him. The boy was obviously afraid of this stranger, hiding behind Milia.
"He's very timid."
Milia smiled, patting her brother's head. "Get dressed. We're going to find brother."
Brother!
The little boy's eyes lit up at this word. He ran into the house.
"Aren't you going to change clothes?"
Milia tugged at her dress and smiled. Her eyes were beautiful, like crescent moons, truly beautiful. "This is a gift my brother bought me. I really like it."
Giancarlo looked at her faded dress, raising his head to prevent tears from falling. Girls actually all liked new clothes.
When little brother ran out, he wore clothes from who knows how long ago, the cartoon characters on them quite old.
"Let's go! We'll go see your brother."
Giancarlo took them to the vehicle. First time in a Humvee, the two were very happy. Wind blew past their temples, faces finally showing the innocence belonging to children.
But as the Humvee turned a street corner, Milia suddenly felt her heart ache terribly. Faint crying sounds came, like a hammer pounding on her body.
Getting closer and closer.
She finally saw it - an open-air memorial hall with dozens or even hundreds of coffins. Many people collapsed on the ground, eyes cried red.
"Where... where's my brother??" Milia had a bad premonition in her heart, but she still raised her head to ask Giancarlo. The latter pursed his lips, leading them to walk to the deepest coffin.
Inside lay the second lieutenant, wearing his beloved military uniform, covered with the Mexican flag, face peaceful.
"Brother!" Milia's whole body trembled, tears flowing down instantly.
Young as she was, she already understood death. Mexico had made her endure it many times very early.
"Brother, get up, brother."
The little brother beside her also cried. He perhaps didn't know death's meaning, but he understood he seemed to have lost the most important person.
In the memorial hall.
Milia cried out loudly...
But that brother who loved her most could never get up again.
Milia looked up crying, tears falling into the coffin, crying until her throat was hoarse, eyes red and swollen.
Giancarlo was afraid they'd cry themselves sick, embracing them both with his arms. "Your brother is watching you. Children who love to cry won't grow up."
Milia hugged his neck. Hearing this, her voice paused. In her mind echoed when she fell, knee scraped, crying floods of tears back then. Her brother also said this to her.
"Children who love to cry won't grow up."
Milia held Giancarlo tightly, biting her lip, but her shoulders trembled.
"Brother, I'm very good."
...
"Vaquero mexicano (Mexican Cowboy)"
This should be Mexicali's most luxurious hotel, property of the Tijuana drug cartel. Now... it should belong to Victor's "Hope" Group.
Tijuana's destruction brought Victor considerable "real estate." In Mexicali alone: 7 hotels, 4 resorts, 171 shops, and 7 mansions. Others countless.
Think how many in all of Baja California?
This further strengthened Victor's idea of seizing the entire former Tijuana territory. Unfortunately, troops were currently insufficient.
What?
Someone wanted it?
Stick your face over here so I can see if your shoehorn is stuck on it.
Victors had the power to distribute the cake.
Just like the world was a makeshift troupe, not everyone could get on stage as an actor.
Victor's face (caliber) was thick enough. He was hosting fallen military police families here. No celebrity in Mexicali dared not give face.
Outside the hotel, luxury cars everywhere.
Which company's executive arrived, whose mistress came.
Men wore suits, looking gentlemanly. Women wore gold and silver, quite a wealthy appearance.
Casare greeted guests outside.
Victor sat in the main seat, smoking a cigar. Beside him sat department heads still alive.
"I'm very open-minded. You can eat at the table, but vote for Mr. Alejandro to be Baja California governor." Victor pointed at his former superior, telling others.
Alejandro was called over. Dividing the cake!
Others looked at each other, not knowing how to answer.
"Mr. Victor, this Alejandro just got promoted to Baja California Security Chief. Going straight to governor doesn't follow rules. Moreover, several departments are involved. People who count are in Mexico City. We... don't have that qualification." A silver-haired middle-aged man smiled bitterly.
Promotion had to follow rules!
Unless you could really blow rules up with one punch.
But...
He was currently police. If he led troops knocking at gates, he'd become rebels. Then 200,000 troops nationwide would be no joke.
Victor had too few people he could "use" under him.
He sat in his chair, hand lightly tapping the table. Officials at table edges all dared not move, sitting properly.
"Mayor's no problem, right?"
Victor spoke. That group looked at each other. Still the white-haired middle-aged man. "As long as election procedures comply, it's fine."
"Then I want 4 spots in Baja California! You divide the rest."
Only 6 cities total...
But getting the remaining two cities' "voice," those present were quite happy. They thought Victor would eat alone.
"Yes, yes, thank you, sir." The middle-aged man nodded repeatedly, standing and bowing to raise his glass.
Victor extended his hand, butt not moving an inch.
No matter when, big fists were truly big.
Clang!
Just then, a smashing sound, then cursing.
Drew everyone's eyes in the hotel.
They saw a drunk middle-aged man holding a wine glass, kicking a boy down with one foot, pointing and cursing. "Crowding! Haven't you eaten?? The stink on you could sicken me to death."
"Brother!" Milia ran over, hugging him. The boy trembled in fear.
"Bastard!"
The drunk middle-aged man looked at his suit, unsatisfied, and splashed his wine on Milia and others' faces.
"What are you doing!"
"Rookie" Giancarlo and his three teammates rushed out. He pushed the man down, glaring. "You want to die?"
This man was drunk, couldn't get up after a few tries, still hiccupping.
Everyone mocked racial systems, but where was there no discrimination?
"Riccol!" An old man ran over, looking at his disappointing son, hurriedly apologizing to Giancarlo.
"Damn, bastards!" The middle-aged man finally got up, pointing at the little boy. His father backhanded him with a slap, cursing angrily. "Shut up!"
The old man's gaze looked toward the head table, seeing pairs of eyes looking over. He immediately felt miserable. Soon he saw Victor say something to the nicknamed "Fat Tiger" Casare beside him. The latter stood up and walked over.
"If he's drunk, sober him up. Making trouble at the boss's place - drag him out, break his hands and legs. Next time he won't drink so much."
The old man panicked hearing this. This was his only son. He quickly raised his hand pleading. Seeing Casare had no reaction, he shouted toward Victor. "Sir, sir, my son didn't mean it. Please spare him."
"My son is still young."
Saying this, almost everyone couldn't help it. Looking forty-plus, still young?
Victor also laughed and walked over, lowering his head to look at the Milia sisters. They also looked up at him.
"Do you know how old they are?"
The old man was immediately speechless.
"I know you. Milia, Ruskinya." Victor touched their heads. "Your brother was a warrior. He was a true soldier."
"Under my nose, you insult sacrificed military police families. You insult me!"
"If I die later and go down to meet brothers, they ask me, how do I answer?"
"Drag him down, pull out all his teeth, cut off his tongue. I want him crippled!"
So harsh?!
Everyone's hearts trembled. The old man grabbed Victor's arm. "Sir, sir, this is my only son. We'll pay money. You have to be reasonable!"
"Be reasonable?"
Victor smiled. "Tell the weak about fists, tell the strong about reason?" His smile faded. He went up and viciously kicked the middle-aged man in the chest, kicking him flying.
"I tell you, I, Victor, am reason!"
"When I want to reason, then it's reason. When I don't, it's a pile of waste paper. Old man, have another one. This one's废了."
(End of Chapter)
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