Working as a police officer in Mexico
Chapter 934 - 489: What do you want? What are you looking at! _2

Produced by the Mexican military: RMK30 automatic recoilless artillery!

What do you use to fight?

You drug traffickers have no future...

Rumor has it that Ye Zhenli ran to Guatemala with his crew, or maybe the United States, who knows, but his "Hell No.1" has earned him quite a fortune.

The global drug traffickers are celebrating!

If you transport the 10 US Dollar Hell No.1 into Northern Mexico, its price jumps 60 times, and if you take it to Cuba it goes up by 130 times, of course, provided you survive.

Yet there are never shortages of daredevils in this world.

When did Clinton start using drugs?

Probably during his school days. (True story, he used drugs.)

"Hell No.2" comes in several modes; once opened, it contains syringe needles. Clinton just jabbed one into his arm...

"Ah~"

A soul-stirring voice longingly escaped from his mouth.

Ruined!

Really ruined...

The President of the United States doing drugs in the office!

One wasn't enough; he opened another two...

The dosage was a bit excessive, and suddenly took over the high ground of his reasoning. He felt hot, groggy, he started stripping off his clothes, his eyes turning blurry...

In front of him appeared hundreds of women he messed around with...

They wore bikinis, smiling at him...

Clinton stood up, his face showing a dissolute grin, he reached out wanting to embrace them, but they dodged and beckoned him.

He took off his clothes one by one, just went out stark naked...

And then he opened the door and stepped out!

This was the West Wing office, outside was a cluster of office areas, a bunch of White House staffers working there...

"Anna, can you get me a coffee, thanks..." A white woman wearing glasses was busy at her computer, calling her assistant, but there was no response. She turned around puzzled, seeing her standing, staring in horror in one direction.

The white woman stood up in confusion...

Seeing Clinton walk out naked, laughing silly and giggly.

"OMG!"

A black man by the window seat took out a camera from a drawer... click, the sound was crisp at this moment.

"No photos! Everyone sit down!"

Special Service agents, alerted, hurriedly took off their suits to cover Clinton, but he was completely high, directly embraced and started kissing his counterpart.

"Sir, sir..."

"OMG! OMG! Pull him away, damn it..."

"Quick, damn, he's taking my pants off!"

Special Service bodyguards frantically pulled Clinton away, Richie Miller witnessing this scene felt utterly disillusioned.

Clinton...

He's a total waste!

"Drag him back to the office, call a doctor." He gave decisive orders, then looked at the staff in the work area, squinting, "Nobody is allowed to leave temporarily, and if anyone took photos, they must be deleted."

Finished his orders, he went to check on Clinton with a sullen face.

The staff exchanged glances...

Wow!

Watched a free show.

The President streaked in the office area.

"I feel like America has no future, I have a sudden urge to leave the United States," an old hand shook his head, talking to himself.

The voice wasn't soft; many heard it.

No one argued...

Didn't have the energy to argue.

Richie Miller entered the office, saw needles on the ground at a glance, his rage boiling, he fiercely slapped Clinton left and right, making him bruised and bloody.

The Special Service bodyguards nearby didn't dare to intervene, only exchanged glances.

After getting tired of hitting, Richie Miller let go, tore off his work badge pinned on his chest, tossed it on Clinton's face, and walked out without a word.

"Director... Director, what are you doing?" A bodyguard couldn't help asking.

"I'm quitting, it's disgraceful!"

Richie Miller just left, seeing him walk out, the staff who were whispering suddenly quieted, everyone shut their mouths, but their eyes were full of gossip.

Alas...

No shame from top to bottom.

He went downstairs, stood at the door, looking upwards at the hazy sky, feeling momentarily bewildered...

Just then, the phone in his underwear rang.

He didn't want to answer but the caller was relentless...

"Hello."

"Richie, long time no see." The familiar voice made his pupils contract.

"Angel..."

"Do you find Clinton's wiener very ugly, hahaha, I couldn't imagine a President would use drugs to this extent either."

?!!!

"How do you know!" Richie Miller said, shocked.

Angel sat in the office, holding a cup of coffee, "Mexico's greatness is intoxicating naturally many want to join us in overthrowing tyranny."

Who in the world doesn't connect with Mexico!

Richie Miller genuinely felt fear, his order for lockdown, yet the other party immediately knew, what does this imply?

It implies the Special Service, even the President's side, are Victor's people.

Is this bearable?

Turns out all my efforts under his gaze felt like sarcasm.

"Come to Mexico, Richie, you're only 40, America can't fulfill your political ideals, but Mexico can. Come, I've already requested General, he's very welcoming of you, you can train special soldiers in the military, or join the North American Affairs Bureau as Deputy Director."

Angel invited him sincerely.

"I'm American!"

"Your grandfather is French, your mother is Nigerian, brother... you're an immigrant, genuine Americans have already become scalp exhibits in museums."

"..."

"You've resigned, do you think Clinton will spare you? No, he won't spare everyone who knows this secret today, you… not far from dying!"

Richie Miller's pupils shrank.

"You dying doesn't matter, but your kids, your wife, like me, hahaha!"

Angel's laughter sounded just like a villain's.

"You better think it over, not much time left, make it quick though, our intelligence department won't rescue a dead man."

Finished speaking, he hung up.

Richie Miller's hand remained by his ear, his eyes somewhat dazed.

Angel's Office.

Casare was sitting on the sofa, raising his eyebrow, "Will he come?"

"Who knows? We gave him the pathway, whether he comes or not is up to him."

Fat Casare nodded at these words, shifting the topic, "Has the buy-off list for the United States and Canada been completed?"

"Still compiling, I need funds."

"Okay, will allocate 600 million US dollars for you, hope your North American Bureau performs superbly, most importantly the General wants to make a big move, let's first take down the Canadians, that place is too peaceful, doesn't fit our interests, stir them up."

"All North America needs is a stable Mexico."

Angel nodded vigorously, "Leave it to me!"

A true "American traitor" is indeed useful, no, should now be called Mexican comrade!

...

New York City, Manhattan, USA.

Intersection of First Avenue and East 42nd Street.

Joachim Ribbentrop raised his head looking at the United Nations Headquarters building up front, the Mexican representative to the United Nations had a smile on his face.

Behind him followed thirty to forty men and women wearing black suits, each with pride on their faces, they fought back!

"Mr. Joachim, what does Mexico's reentry into the United Nations signify?" A journalist beside him forwarded the microphone.

"Signifies the influence of hegemony on the world is like dog crap, we told everyone, the United States is just a paper tiger."

Such strong aggression.

Journalists still wanted to ask, but were pushed away by bodyguards.

Joachim Ribbentrop led his team inside, the neat footsteps caused many to turn their heads.

He led his team into the depths of the corridor, where there were no journalists.

And witnessed a scene...

Cubans and Americans facing off at the door, the atmosphere somewhat tense.

"Are you welcoming me? Gentlemen!"

Joachim Ribbentrop called out, walking over.

Seeing Mexicans, the Cubans suddenly became pleasantly surprised, while Americans just looked sullen.

"Hmph!" The American representative snorted coldly.

"Are you dissatisfied?"

The Cuban representative suddenly called out, "Mr. Joachim, he's showing disdain for you!"

"Oh?"

Joachim Ribbentrop raised his eyebrows, walked over; he was already tall, standing opposite the Americans, squinting with a fake smile, "You don't respect me?"

The Cubans stood beside him, head raised, pointed at the Americans, looking like they wanted to curse.

See...

My big brother is here!

What do you wanna do, what are you staring at!

...

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