Working as a police officer in Mexico

Getting closer to the Day of the Dead.

The atmosphere throughout Mexico is becoming more excited.

You can see merchants spontaneously organizing to hang colorful paper cutouts on their shops, roads paved with marigolds along the streets, and skull toys and dolls appearing at street corners, all causing cheers from children.

The Mexican Government has spent 90 million Riyal to host this festival.

After heavy advertising in the media, over 1.6 million tourists poured into Mexico City in just one week, and now there are over 11 million people in the vicinity.

Hotel prices alone have increased by nearly 120%!

With millions of people celebrating, Casare, as the Prime Minister, had to personally preside over the meeting, which lasted six to seven hours. By the time he came out of the conference room, he was somewhat drained, but still a bit reluctant to end it.

"Robert!"

He stopped the Minister of Police, Robert Bill, who looked helpless. "Mr. Prime Minister, I think I should go to the toilet now; otherwise, I might not be able to control the valve."

Casare smacked his lips, "Go ahead, go ahead."

But he was always able to find someone, seeing the Mexican Police Deputy Director, Police Chief of the capital Friedrich Karl Eberstein trying to sneak downstairs and loudly called him out.

He turned around with a face full of distress.

While someone nearby couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You're quite happy, aren't you, Alfred? You stay too, I have something to tell you."

The smile on the Civil Affairs Minister's face froze for a moment, only to shift onto others, who hurriedly ran downstairs.

Casare said to them with a very serious face, "This time, absolutely no mistakes can occur. You must understand, if another mistake happens this time, then go to California to raise pigs. Last time, the Grand Commercial Plaza explosion was something I almost had to punish you for. It was the Supreme Leader who said to give you a chance, but if you don't seize this opportunity, don't blame me for not showing mercy!"

Friedrich Karl Eberstein immediately became tense; as the Police Chief of the capital, all of Mexico City's police are under his command. This matter itself has already caused the country to lose face. If he were in South Korea, he'd have been shot by Parkakala long ago, or bombarded in North Korea.

He didn't explain either; Casare isn't one to like subordinates explaining things. Either you can do it, or you can't!

He usually smiles at you, but if his expression gets serious, then you better watch out.

"I understand, I guarantee to complete the mission!"

"Even if I die, I'll die on the front line of command."

Casare, after seeing the opponent's assurance, urged for a few more times before leaving satisfied.

The Civil Affairs head Alfred Rosenberg wiped the sweat off his forehead, "I feel like I haven't sweated this much in a long time; I almost thought the Prime Minister was going to punch me."

"What are you afraid of? I'm the one who should be afraid. My head's about to explode now, a parade of over 11 million people, I still have to collaborate with the military, otherwise, relying on the police alone won't cut it. What about your volunteers?"

"No rush, no rush, I'll definitely find a way for you."

A group of ministerial figures were busy and overwhelmed. Meanwhile, when Casare went to find Victor, he saw him reading a book.

"The Art of War by Sun Tzu!"

"Boss, reading a book huh? Why don't you read 'My Struggle' anymore?"

"What's the point of reading the book of a loser? I found that Nelson Mandela spent 27 years in incarceration cultivating himself through reading. I thought I could learn some knowledge from him, but when I discovered he advocated Mahatma Gandhi, I realized they are all idiots."

Victor closed the book, rubbed his temples, and continued, "Margaret Thatcher, deeply influenced by economist Hayler, took the 'Charter of Freedom' as the source of her neoliberal policy thought, yet during her term, the United Kingdom lost so much."

"You can tell what kind of person someone is by seeing what books they want to read."

"A bunch of people destined to be eliminated by history, what qualifications do they have for me to read their works?" Victor said this quite arrogantly; if this spread to the United Kingdom or South Africa, with their petty nature, he'd be dissed to death.

Casare listened very seriously, and even nodded, "Indeed, Thatcher was a woman who couldn't even walk steadily, floundering so much against Argentina, and now the British are like flimsy straws, looking upright from the outside, but soft inside. Now teasing them doesn't work, you have to coax."

This half-joking comment left Victor stunned for a moment. Once he reacted, he laughed so hard his tears came out, "You've become increasingly humorous lately; how are things going with Hayler?"

"Not bad, but his father doesn't like me very much; his father is a staunch supporter of the American Dream." Thinking of his prospective father-in-law gives Casare a headache, "But don't worry, I can handle it."

Victor hesitated for a moment but decided to keep quiet.

He didn't want to offer bad ideas.

"Help me have a look at my speech draft, how does it look?" He handed over the written draft on the table; at eight o'clock in the evening, he will give a televised speech to all of Mexico.

After all, this is their first large-scale gathering with over ten million people since coming to power.

Many countries don't even have ten million people.

This is basically a universal celebration.

If it was during the age of certain old men, he would have exuberantly composed dozens of poems to express his excitement. The most absurd thing was when he was eighty, he summoned 3,000 old men from all corners of the country, hosted a grand banquet, and nearly drove everyone mad along the way.