Dual Transmigration: American Prison, Surviving to a Fantasy Development Stage

"Sir, my name is Vidio."

The police chief who had received the tip nodded slightly, gave his name, and felt the weight of the US dollars in his pocket. His smile grew even brighter.

Lin Feng rolled down the car window, smiled casually at him, and said, "Mr. Vidio, it's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your hard work."

As soon as he finished speaking, the window of the red Ferrari rolled up silently, then turned into a streak of red light and disappeared at the end of the street.

Vidio's smile faded, and he turned and quickly returned to his police car, opened the door, and got in.

"Boss, who's that Asian kid? Why is he so arrogant?"

The young policeman sitting in the driver's seat couldn't help but ask, his eyes still lingering with envy for the Ferrari.

Vidio didn't answer immediately. Instead, he unfolded the stack of green banknotes in his hand under the dim car lights and quickly counted them. It was exactly one thousand US dollars.

He pulled out a few bills, handed them to his companion in the driver's seat, and gave some to the two people in the back seat, keeping the largest portion for himself.

A suppressed, excited murmur suddenly rose from inside the car.

"Who cares where it came from," Vidio carefully tucked his own bill into his inner pocket, feeling the solidity of the thick banknotes before slowly lighting a cigarette.

"If you have money, you're the boss."

This extra money tonight is equivalent to more than half a month's hard-earned money.

"Tsk tsk, they're fucking rich."

The young policeman counted the banknotes with a smug look on his face and clicked his tongue, saying, "He doesn't look that old, a rich second-generation Chinese."

"Coming to a place like Tijuana looking for thrills?"

A more experienced policeman in the passenger seat took a drag of his cigarette, squinted, and said, "Judging from the accent... it's a bit strange. He's definitely a native Mexican."

However, his face was unfamiliar; I'd never seen him in this area before.

"This car looks familiar, it seems to be Daniel's."

"How dare a Chinese person drive Daniel's car?"

"It's Daniel's."

These words surprised everyone.

"He actually dared to drive Daniel's car?"

"Either they are truly fearless and have an incredibly powerful background, or they are just ignorant idiots who don't know what's good for them."

I think...it's more like the former.

"Very likely. Recently, a drug cartel member from China was arrested. The Chinese should not be underestimated."

"Let's follow them and see." Vidio flicked his cigarette ash and made his decision.

It wasn't that I suspected anything; it was purely a professional habit plus a bit of curiosity. I wanted to see where this mysterious tycoon lived, hoping there might be opportunities for cooperation in the future.

Of course, more importantly, after receiving the money, one must maintain appearances. In case this gentleman encounters some petty thieves on his way back, they can show their skills since they are nearby.

The police car started discreetly and sped off in the direction the Ferrari had gone.

Lin Feng drove very fast, but he couldn't fully utilize his speed in this intricate old town area.

Just as he was about to leave the neon-lit area, a series of rapid clicking sounds suddenly came from a fork in the road not far ahead.

It is the burst fire of an automatic rifle.

Immediately afterwards, blinding flames erupted at the street corner.

The strong smell of gunpowder could be faintly detected even from a distance.

Two gangs are engaged in a violent street fight, with bullets flying and the scene chaotic.

Lin Feng glanced at the vehicle, his expression unchanged, and he didn't even slow down, perfectly avoiding the firefight zone.

This is a common trope of lower-level gangs fighting for territory.

Vidio and the others who followed behind naturally witnessed the fierce battle.

"It's the 'Subway' gang and those bastards from 'East Side Kids'," the young policeman peeked out, clicked his tongue, and said, "Probably another fight over the drug retail rights on that street. This is the third time this month."

"Don't worry about it," Vidio said calmly, leaning back in his chair and even lighting another cigarette. "That area has always been a no-man's-land."

It's good that they killed or maimed them.

This is the reality in parts of Tijuana.

The scope of police duties is limited, and they often choose to turn a blind eye to neighborhoods where order has collapsed and gangs have completely taken control.

As long as the war doesn't spread to respectable areas and doesn't affect "normal" tax revenue and tourism, let them consume internally.

The police car trailed Lin Feng's Ferrari at a distance, watching him skillfully navigate through several streets before finally entering the entrance of a quiet and well-secured villa area.

Vidio noted the location but did not follow.

"Alright, that's a wrap."

Vidio patted his pocket full of US dollars with satisfaction. "Good luck tonight. I'll ask around later if there are any newly moved-in Asian wealthy families in this villa area."

The police car turned around and disappeared into the night.

The extra two thousand dollars earned tonight made the atmosphere in the carriage quite pleasant.

Back at the villa, Lin Feng told Ivana to go and rest, while he sat in the living room, took out his phone, and sent Juan a brief message: "Keep an eye on the recent movements of the FBI in Tijuana. Find their hotel and message me."

Of course, although Lin Feng is comparable to Lü Bu, he is still evenly matched when facing the Three Heroes fighting Lü Bu.

The next day, in the afternoon.

Juan then sent Lin Feng's phone the detailed hotel information, license plate number, and general activity range of the four people.

Lin Feng glanced at it and memorized the address.

That night, it was late and quiet.

In a decent business hotel in downtown Tijuana, the four FBI agents who were tasked with investigating the disappearance of ICE agents and secretly tracking Lin Feng vanished without a trace, as if they had evaporated into thin air.

All their belongings disappeared as well.

There were no signs of a struggle in the room, no bloodstains, and no other guests or hotel staff were alerted.

The hotel's surveillance system also failed to detect any clues, and didn't even capture where the four people went.

It wasn't until noon the following day, when the local police sent someone to contact them, that they discovered the four FBI agents had disappeared.

Upon receiving the news, Juan's first reaction wasn't to go to the scene, but rather to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, a chill running from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head, and his scalp tingling.

Four well-trained, armed FBI agents were killed in a relatively heavily guarded hotel with a lot of people coming and going.

Neither alive nor dead?

Murder is not difficult in Tijuana.

A submachine gun, a magazine of bullets, or even a machete can all be deadly.

The difficulty lies in doing it so cleanly, thoroughly, and mysteriously.

There was no movement, no trace, and even the surveillance cameras couldn't capture any useful information.

This requires an incredible level of operational capability, and the follow-up handling is even more extraordinary.

Juan sat in the car, holding his phone, his fingers growing cold.

He simply couldn't imagine how Lin Feng had done it.

This has gone beyond his entire understanding of force and assassination.

Last night, Lin Feng only asked him for his address, and that was the end of it.

Four perfectly healthy people, just like that, gone.