Victor still had his pride.
At least he hadn't used a troop transport to haul these American "pigs."
When the motorcade entered Tijuana from the airport without police escorts or crowds lining the streets to welcome them, Diane Rodham was irritated, as she relished being respected by everyone.
Sitting in the car, she vigorously wiped her face with a wet wipe, especially where Casare had touched, grinding her teeth, "I'm going to chop off his claws!"
Donald Rumsfeld was in the same car as her and glanced at her but said nothing. Did she really dare chop off Casare's claws?
Tomorrow would make her understand what it means to be skilled.
Did she really think this was the United States?
He looked out the window at Tijuana in the distance. It was bustling... really bustling.
This wasn't his first time in this northern stronghold, but during his last visit, one could see little thugs smoking on the roadside railings, and drug traffickers openly dealing on pickup trucks.
But now...
