But as long as we have the firepower and the manpower, everything will be easy to handle. There’s no risk flying domestically, it’s all about being prepared for any situation.
Soon, more than three hours had flashed by, and Old Jack flying the private plane arrived over Laredo, Texas. He contacted the control tower of the rural city airport to report his landing, and after getting a response, picked an empty runway to land on.
Allen Zhang stretched lazily, glancing out the window only to see darkness had fallen.
The airport right in the middle of the city center was clearly run-down, with facilities and management comparable to some rural airstrip in the Qiliye Mountains. It was just as you’d expect from a blend of city and countryside.
After disembarking from the jet, no airport staff came forward to greet them. The airport security guards stood by, too lazy to even glance at them.
Blitz explained, "This public airport doesn’t charge extra for services beyond leasing hangar space, storing aircraft, and refueling. I specifically chose this free-use airport because international airports not only charge fees but local police also check personal belongings. Though they’ll let you through as long as you pay them, the process can be very troublesome."
Allen Zhang commended him for his reliable work.
They had Old Jack find an airport employee, paid for a full tank of gas for the plane, grabbed a few cups of coffee to perk up, and also bought Mexican chicken burrito meals to fill their stomachs.
They also rented an old, beaten-up Highlander from the airport car rental, not caring how many hands it had gone through.
Leaving the jet parked at the open-air airport, the three men boldly drove the vehicle loaded with cargo out of the airport and into the town.
Laredo’s night was filled with flickering neon lights, and streets were bustling with Latinos and Mexicans sporting Mohawks and buzz cuts, their skin covered in tattoos and pierced noses, looking like the type who wouldn’t back down from a fight.
Around them, groups gathered, puffing on cigarettes, and openly trading substances right on the street, money exchanged directly for goods.
Old Jack was perfectly at home in this environment, relaxed and leisurely, as if he’d arrived in heaven.
Traveling through an intersection, a car accident suddenly occurred ahead – two vehicles collided, smashing their front bumpers and headlights instantly.
A white Texas driver and a Mexican driver lowered their windows, hurling accusations and cursing at each other, neither willing to back down as they got out of their cars and began to fight, their fists and feet flying.
Many bystanders saw the spectacle, taking out their phones to capture the moment, whistling and cheering.
The white Texas driver was clearly outmatched, unable to beat the Mexican, and stormed off to his car to retrieve a fire axe from the trunk, charging back to chase the Mexican in a hacking frenzy!
The Mexican panicked, dodging and darting away, scrambling back into his car. But the Texan was relentless, hacking away with the axe, shattering the windshield after several blows. Then, brandishing the axe, he furiously cursed at the Mexican, his spit flying everywhere.
But the Mexican wasn’t one to be trifled with either, he pulled out a gun called Truth and fired several shots at the white driver, without hitting him. Seeing gunfire, the crowd scattered in all directions.
Yet, some were indifferent, munching on leaves, dazed and continuing their business as usual.
Street cops were each holding a cup of hot tea and Donuts, chatting and laughing among themselves, completely ignoring what was happening nearby.
It was only after being scolded by someone dissatisfied that they put on stern faces and moved towards the scene of the incident, starting off by demanding a management fee.