"...Last night at eight o'clock, there were six gang shootout incidents in Casas City, resulting in 40 deaths, 79 injuries, and the firefight led to eight cars and three residential buildings being burned down. Insiders claim that the attackers were members of the Los Zetas Organization, and those attacked were members of the local Gulf Group gang..."
"...At one o'clock last night, a warehouse on the outskirts of Lakevilla City was set on fire. According to eyewitnesses, a group of masked thugs arrived at the warehouse entrance by car and carried out indiscriminate shooting, killing the other twelve gang members at the scene before setting the warehouse ablaze..."
Song Heping was brushing his teeth in the bathroom, with the news broadcast continuously coming from the radio.
Four days had passed.
Just as he had predicted.
The response from the government was all bark and no bite. The President's speech, the police headquarters' statement - they were all impassioned, vowing to engage in a life-or-death struggle with the drug trafficking groups, but in reality, they took no actual action after speaking, letting gang vendettas erupt everywhere.
In just four days, the daily death toll in shootouts was in the hundreds.
Compared to the great gang shootout two years ago, Mexico seemed to have returned to its bloody and violent past.
"Heh—spit—"
Song Heping spat out the mouthwash, and at that moment, Barrett came knocking on the door.
"The door's unlocked, come in. I'm in the bathroom."
Soon after, Barrett appeared at the door.
Song Heping glanced at Barrett in the mirror, wiped his mouth with a towel, and then turned to walk out of the bathroom.
"Just got back?"
"Yeah, just got back."
"How did things go in Texas?"
"Very smooth. The cargo for FARC and the Gulf Gang has been safely transferred, and the transportation fees have been deposited into the offshore account you specified."
"Mhm."
Song Heping nodded appreciatively: "Well done."
He picked up his phone from the nightstand and put it in his pocket, suddenly turning back to ask Barrett, "Tell me, you used to be an undercover agent for the DEA, and now you're smuggling drugs for traffickers, does it feel awkward?"
Barrett was stunned.
He hadn't anticipated Song Heping would ask such a question out of the blue.
"Boss, I don't understand what you mean..."
Song Heping said, "I worry whether you'll feel morally condemned."
Barrett felt his face getting slightly hot.
It wasn't that he actually felt morally condemned.
He had nothing to do with drug enforcement in the first place; he was still an undercover agent.
"Morality..."
Barrett recovered quickly.
"In our line of work, morality isn't worth much..."
"That's good to hear."
Song Heping smiled and walked towards the exit of the room.
"You did well on this assignment. I will arrange for the Ferrari to transfer the commission you are due to your account as soon as possible. A whole million US dollars."
"No rush, no rush..."
Barrett said he wasn't in a hurry, but he was somewhat excited on the inside.
Earning the money was stress-free.
With the CIA and DEA providing cover in Texas, they were currently targeting all drug trafficking except for the Sinoloa and the Balot Organization.
So all he did was fly back to the country and then fly back here, just like a business trip.
Just one round trip, and a million US dollars were in his account.
If he continued like this, wouldn't he be a multimillionaire by the end of the year?
Money is a good thing.
Nobody dislikes it.
Barrett's mind was suddenly in turmoil.
He thought, if he eventually completes his mission and manages to get Song Heping into jail, will all this money be seized as drug proceeds?
However, he quickly repressed his desires and reminded himself to stay in his place.
"Boss, why is the commission so high?"
"You deserve it," Song Heping said lightly, but inwardly he chuckled.
The more he gave, the more interesting things would be later on.
"Don't worry, this money has been laundered through our offshore accounts, it's clean, you can spend it however you like."
"Alright..."