Chapter 50: Tax Collection Only Within Machine Gun Range! Chapter 48: Gunshot

·

·

·

Protagonist:

Milton

Mins

After these words were spoken, even Flora — who appeared relatively cold and stern, her expression not fluctuating all that much — revealed a deep shock on her face.

"You... military contracting project..."

Even though she could barely control herself from standing up, Flora still forcibly reined in her thoughts and calmed herself down.

She pointed out a massive problem.

"But you're just an Inspection Supervisor; what project could you approve for us?"

Milton glanced around, confirming no one else was there, then said: "It won't be long before I take down the Checkpoint and become Station Chief. A small Checkpoint doesn't have many projects, but it's enough for the three of you to earn more than before, and more safely."

These three came from developed countries, were regular military veterans, had broader experience and strong discipline; when completing many military projects they could provide better solutions and higher efficiency, saving Milton a bit of budget.

In other words, a win-win.

And there was one more most critical point: Milton himself is Guatemalan; theoretically he cannot interfere too much in affairs on the Mexican side.

But if he puts on a layer of PMC skin, that's a completely different matter.

Pas State is also experiencing an armed uprising; he can manufacture many, many reasonable excuses, and under the pretext of PMC commissions launch military actions toward the Mexican side without triggering any diplomatic issues.

As a Guatemalan official, rushing into another country to violently collect taxes and fines — the optics are very bad.

But if he leads or dispatches PMC employees to Mexico to execute security missions? That problem disappears instantly.

If he can indirectly control a legitimate PMC company, the benefits are unimaginable — even weapons import channels would multiply.

These three people not only have strong combat power, able to help Milton handle the current crisis, they can even become a piece of the puzzle in Milton's future plans.

Absolutely cannot let them go!

Flora was already tempted, but she still maintained a trace of doubt: "But how will you become Station Chief?"

Milton said calmly and at ease: "That's my business. You can choose to keep earning that impossible-to-earn mercenary money, or cooperate with me and truly step onto the road to getting rich — choose."

Flora struggled for a good while, stood up: "This is a major matter; I must discuss it together with my teammates."

"Reasonable, go ahead."

"..."

Flora pushed the door and went out, and began communicating with her teammates who had been waiting impatiently.

A man saw Flora come out empty-handed and laughed: "Talks collapsed? I said how could a 'Hell Tax Collector' possibly afford such expensive commissions? Let's go, we might as well return home."

"Shut up." Flora waved her hand, "It didn't collapse. Milton gave us two choices. The first one is..."

"The second one is..."

Flora briefly explained Milton's proposal just now.

Upon hearing the figure of 120,000 per month in the first proposal, that burly man's mouth corner twitched — if not for the company's poor financial situation, urgently needing cash flow, 120,000 also wants to hire them?

This price is so low that sharks in the Gulf of Mexico would drool hearing it.

But when they heard the second proposal, both their expressions changed.

The other party actually promised project contracting?!

After Flora finished explaining, she asked eagerly: "How about it? Which one?"

The other two's faces fluctuated; one reluctantly spoke: "But he, what he promised is just the future, right?"

"Aren't you talking nonsense?" The other burly man was very excited, "How could a ready-made one fall to us? Boss, I think this can be done, absolutely can be done! The 'Hell Tax Collector' is right — being a mercenary fundamentally can't earn big money!"

"I've heard of Milton's story; I believe his future definitely won't stop at an Inspection Supervisor! This future is absolutely worth us risking our lives for! Agree to him!"

"Rather than on the battlefield, being a mercenary risking lives for that bit of petty money, better to gamble on Milton. As long as he can control the Checkpoint, casually approve a few projects for us, we'll earn big money!"

The other man was a bit hesitant, but in the end temptation still overcame hesitation; he nodded: "Mm... then okay, I agree too."

Flora took a deep breath: "3 to 0, very good, then it's settled."

Finished speaking, she turned and returned to the restaurant.

Milton was leisurely eating noodles watching TV news live broadcast, as if everything was under control.

No one knew that Milton's mood was also extremely uneasy and tense.

Hope that big pie he drew can fool these three people, hope their company's cash flow is even tighter.

This down-on-its-luck yet legitimate PMC — once missed, it would be very hard to encounter again.

Flora walked before Milton, extended her right hand once more: "Your second proposal is very tempting, but we have one small request... if you cannot fulfill the second promise on time, you still have to pay 120,000 US Dollars a month in commission, okay?"

Milton let out a long sigh of relief in his heart: "Pleasant cooperation, let's sign the contract. You brought the seals and all that, right? Documents we'll print at a nearby print shop."

"Wait a moment, I'll go get them..."

"..."

After busy work of over half an hour, both parties finally signed and stamped the contract.

The employment contract takes formal effect from now on.

After matters were settled, both Milton and Flora let out a breath of relief in their hearts.

They both were counting on this cooperation to turn things around; neither wanted to see the other go back on their word.

Coincidentally, Flora's squad hadn't eaten either; the four returned to the restaurant, ordered some food casually, and sat at a table with Milton.

Flora glanced at the boring Police Station Commendation Conference on the TV program, immediately looked away, and chatted: "Right, during leave, I hope you'll allow us moderate drinking and other healthy entertainment; we also need to relieve stress."

Milton waved his hand: "What you do during leave is your own business, nothing to do with me, as long as it doesn't affect official business."

At this time on TV the Police Station Commendation Conference, that quite decent Sheriff was on stage with his wife and daughter giving an impassioned speech.

Brandon, already promoted to sheriff, stood to the side, occasionally stealing glances at his handsome new badge, his face full of pride.

Looking all proper and polished...

Milton watched the news, chewing crackers, while taking a jab at Brandon.

Flora swallowed a piece of orange chicken and said indistinctly: "Mm... right, when we act together, we'd better call each other by our nicknames; it's simpler and faster. I'm 'Medicine Bottle,' a breakthrough specialist; the burly one is 'Poison,' a precision marksman; the tall one is 'Iron Anvil,' skilled in various supporting firepower, including artillery."

"Of course, we're all proficient with many kinds of weapons, so we won't be so rigid about it in actual combat."

After introducing her own people, Flora sized Milton up and down and smiled: "What's your name? Boss?"

"Poison" said without thinking: "What else could he be called? Definitely 'Tax Collector'!"

Hearing this nickname, Milton nearly tore up the contract he'd just signed on the spot.

Why was everyone bringing up that ugly nickname?

Milton emphasized: "I've never said I'm any 'Hell Tax Collector.'"

"But everyone's nickname isn't chosen by themselves; others give them, and I think 'Tax Collector' is pretty good, very cool!"

Milton intended to forcibly suppress this crooked trend with his identity as boss: "I..."

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

Before he could finish speaking, continuous, crisp explosion sounds suddenly came from the television.

Milton and Flora's faces changed drastically, and they abruptly turned to look at the screen—they both recognized it as the sound of an AR-15 firing!

What's going on?!

Wood chips flew on the podium, and the sheriff holding the microphone was stunned for half a second, subconsciously turning his head.

The next moment, a Remington bullet shattered his skull, and brains and blood splattered all over his wife and daughter behind him.

And the gunfire still hadn't stopped; Brandon, standing behind, hadn't even managed to stand up before his left leg burst into a cloud of blood mist, and the clothes on his chest were immediately torn apart by a tremendous force, quickly turning red.

Brandon fell heavily into a pool of blood.

Only then did terrified screams erupt at the scene, and the other police officers finally reacted, raising their guns to counterattack!

The television screen was in complete chaos.

"......"

Crash!

Milton directly crushed the plate in his hand, abruptly stood up, and extreme anger appeared on his face for the first time!

He had already anticipated there might be an assassination and arranged cover... but he didn't expect this assassination to be so crazy, to actually dye the commendation ceremony red with blood right before the television!

Gunfire! They actually dared to broadcast the gunfire at the commendation conference live!

Is this Guatemala, where governance is even more of a failure than Mexico, and madness approaches Haiti?

Brandon...

Fan Kang Gang, Police Chief Pedro, Station Chief Varta...

Damn it!

At this time, it was Flora who first regained her composure; she saw that the police officer on television was related to the employer, grabbed Milton's arm, and said: "'Tax Collector,' calm down. The wound on his chest should have been caused by a bullet hitting something, shattering, and then striking this officer—not a direct hit; he might not be dead yet."

Milton immediately calmed down.

Luz was nearby; he should be able to arrive first and briefly protect the severely wounded Brandon from being finished off by ill-intentioned people.

If he didn't calm down and act faster, Brandon would really be dead!

Brandon had said before that there was a black clinic in the black market on Old Street, and the doctor there was very skilled at treating gunshot wounds...

Milton walked out of the hotel with a grim face and gave the order: "Flora... 'Medicine Bottle' rides in my car; the other two take their own cars. Depart, head to the police station, make it fast."