Soon, as expected, Ganard hung up the phone and agreed to Song Heping's demands.
Right.
Demands.
Not requests.
For Mexico, they lacked the power to contend with the Americans.
Song Heping, now playing the CIA card, was someone no one dared to challenge.
Shorty was quickly brought out, and when he saw Song Heping in the windbreak hall, he was clearly taken aback.
He never would have imagined that the guy who got him jailed would have the guts to meet him in prison.
"Don't look at me as if you want to eat me alive; I'm here to save you."
It was only after the guard left and the two of them—Song Heping and Joaquin—were alone in the airing hall that he revealed a smile and said.
"Are you coming here to show off to me? Don't think I can't do anything to you just because I've been caught. Let me tell you, kid, you're dead!"
Joaquin's face was gloomy, his eyes filled with ruthless light, staring intently at Song Heping.
There was no doubt that if he weren't shackled, he probably would have already charged at Song Heping with all his might.
"Shorty, perhaps you're still unaware of the situation you're currently facing."
Song Heping gestured around.
"You've been in here before, haven't you?"
Shorty's face was sullen, and speaking through clenched teeth he said, "So what if I have, you think this place can hold me?"
"I know you've got money, the first time you escaped from here, you bribed all the guards and lay comfortably hidden in a laundry cart out of prison," Song Heping said with a smile: "So you think you can do it again."
Shorty said, "Money is a good thing, so are guns."
There was deep meaning in that statement.
Money can buy people off, guns can kill.
In Mexico, Shorty had billions of US dollars worth of fortune, countless cash vaults, and he shared his wealth by helping the poor.
On this land, he was a king without a crown. Many people didn't dislike this drug dealer; they even considered him a hero.
For many years, the Americans have wreaked havoc in Mexico, and the Mexicans think that drug lords trafficking drugs into the United States is just tit for tat, nothing excessively heinous.
Shorty's confidence was rooted here.
If the police came after him, he fought the police until they feared him.
If a congressman tangled with him, he tangled back—assassinations, kidnappings, wiping out families, until the congressman yielded.
If a mayor wanted to enforce drug abatement, then send the mayor to discuss it with God first; if they come back, then they can talk drugs.
Shorty had many ways to deal with Song Heping.
At the very least, his money could hire a military force of assassins to take out Song Heping.
"Sigh..."
Song Heping said, "You've been in Mexico for so many years, and yet you haven't learned a thing? It's a wonder how someone like you has lived this long."
He looked around again and then asked Shorty, "Haven't you noticed everything has changed since you were brought in these few days? Can you see anyone other than the prison guards? Can you speak a word to anyone? Have you not noticed that the guards watching you are all wearing masks? What kind of cell did you stay in the first time you were here? What kind of treatment did you get, and what about this time?"
A series of rhetorical questions made Shorty's eyes twitch slightly.
Song Heping wasn't wrong.
This time was indeed incomparable to his previous imprisonment.
Not to mention the prison guards, he couldn't even speak a word; even the cell conditions were vastly different.
Previously, when captured, he stayed in a luxury cell he had renovated with his own money—it had a phone, TV, air conditioning, and a big bed; aside from being locked up, it was no different from being outside.
But this time, he had to wear shackles in the cell, in an open-style cell with no cover, anyone could easily see everything inside; he was constantly under the watch of the guards.
The president who took office last year swore to eradicate the drug scourge; it seems he's serious.
Song Heping continued, "Wake up! The Americans are currently negotiating with the Mexican government to extradite you back to the United States for trial. Your money is very useful here, but it may not be omnipotent in the United States. Considering your crimes, in the United States, you'll get at least life imprisonment for several hundred years without parole. Do you think your money is still useful?"
Song Heping had already studied Shorty thoroughly before coming.
This guy feared nothing in Mexico.
But he wasn't without fear—he was truly afraid of being extradited to the United States.
In the United States, his influence was completely incomparable to here.
So, no matter when he was captured, Shorty and his lawyers had only one line—no matter the cost, they absolutely must prevent his extradition to the United States!
Previously, he believed his lawyers could handle it.
That's because he hadn't offended the CIA and DEA; there were still financial ties.
But this time, things were totally different.
He took the initiative to align with other Cartel Groups and families to turn against the CIA and DEA.