Chapter 3: Pay Your Taxes to Me!

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Not necessarily? Could this rundown car really hold two packs of cigarettes?

“I want to see how you search every time and still find good stuff. I want to get rich following you…” Horn muttered, trailing behind Milton.

What he didn’t know was that in Milton’s eyes, inside the front passenger seat, hidden within the seat padding, lay a large package of red contraband!

Moreover, those who sneak in contraband like this usually don’t have the backing of any major power.

Groups like the Van Kang gang display contraband openly on the dashboard, and the bribed inspectors pretend not to see it.

Since this is smuggling hidden inside, it means that at least within this checkpoint and nearby area, the person has no powerful backing.

They are a suitable target for “impartial law enforcement.”

[Level 1 Contraband: Unapproved and unregistered imported drugs (non-narcotic)]

“Officer, here are my documents.” The thin Mexican inside the car smiled ingratiatingly and handed over his passport. “Nice weather, isn’t it?”

Milton took the documents, quickly checked the information, but did not return them immediately.

“This car, you actually use Nappa leather for the seats?” Milton reached over to turn off the ignition, pulled out the key, squeezed the driver’s seat hard, and peeked into the trunk. “Nothing contraband back there, right?”

The Mexican’s eyes involuntarily flicked to the passenger side before quickly retracting. “Officer, you know I’m a law-abiding citizen. Look at me…”

“Northerner, answer my question.” Milton circled the car and stopped at the passenger door. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you—if undeclared goods are found, your cargo will be subject to a 200% penalty tax. It’s more than just paying a fine.”

If you admit it yourself, then it’s only a fine.

“Officer, no, I swear on my honor and before God, I’m carrying nothing illegal!”

“Well, I’m very willing to believe you,” Milton said emotionlessly with a smile. “I’m happy to comply with any fool stupid enough to believe in God.”

The old Mexican’s face flushed slightly. “Officer, there’s no need to insult a friendly guest.”

“Enough. Let me stamp—wait!” Milton pretended to take out a stamp but suddenly fixed his gaze on the passenger seat. “You used such fine leather for the driver’s seat and back seat, but why is the passenger seat covered in cheap leather?”

“Are you hiding something underneath?”

He acted as if he had just noticed this anomaly.

The Mexican’s expression changed drastically. He forced himself not to look sideways and instinctively defended himself: “Officer, I… I just couldn’t afford to replace all the seats at once. I swear there’s nothing inside!”

Milton confiscated the documents, his face darkening, leaving no room for explanation. “Get out of the car immediately. I am going to conduct a thorough search of your vehicle. According to Article 37, Paragraph 2 of the Border Management Law, I have the authority to do so.”

…Where did this inspector come from? How could he notice such detailed things about the car seats?

The Mexican’s mind raced, planning to intimidate Milton: “Officer, this is my personal property and privacy. I do not accept this; I want to file a complaint!”

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He raised his voice, looking around to try to attract attention from others in the station.

Milton remained unmoved. “If an inspector’s misjudgment causes property damage, the checkpoint will provide full compensation.”

“Now, Milton Mins, badge number 10983, I require your cooperation. From this moment on, any unnecessary action on your part may be considered violent tax resistance, and the inspector has the right to unlimited self-defense.”

You talk to an inspector about privacy? I find that amusing…

After saying this, Milton moved to open the car door to pull out the contraband hidden under the seat and end this farce.

Other inspectors noticed the commotion but none dared approach.

No bribe, no one cares.

Since the contraband was concealed under the cushion, Milton planned to cut open the passenger seat with a knife.

From the inspector’s perspective, he knew the Mexican was unarmed and had wisely confiscated the keys earlier, so there was no danger.

Overall, Milton remained calm.

However, seeing that exposure was inevitable, the Mexican’s face twisted. Before Milton could open the door, he quickly pulled a spare car key from his pocket, started the engine, shifted gears, and sped through the checkpoint!

The whole process took less than three seconds!

Boom!

The powerful engine roared loudly as the car smashed through the barrier and fled outside.

“Damn it!” Milton nearly broke his hand trying to pull back, stepping back three or four paces, anger and shock mixed. “Rammed the checkpoint?!”

The car key was not contraband, so Milton’s system hadn’t detected it. He hadn’t expected the man to carry a spare key, nor that someone would dare ram through a checkpoint.

At that moment, the system updated the vehicle’s information.

[Vehicle status update – This vehicle committed violent tax resistance, tax evasion, and checkpoint ramming. Reward points increased to five times the income.]

[The vehicle has left the checkpoint. Status updated to “Recovery” (this entry added to the “Recovery” section for access anytime).]

[If the inspector loses track of this vehicle, points may be used to purchase clues for re-tracking.]

[Current points: 21,300]

Normally, one-tenth of the confiscated amount converts into points, measured in US dollars.

Catching this now yields five times the points, and Milton judged that this person was unlikely to be backed by any formidable force.

Pursue!

Must pursue!

Five times the points plus the hefty penalty for ramming the checkpoint—this tax must be paid!

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Moreover… after this unexpected escape, it would be interesting to see Maynard’s reaction.

Such unplanned incidents most easily disrupt the enemy’s arrangements and thinking.

“Horn, lend me your car!” Milton holstered his pistol and asked his colleague for the keys. “I’ll pay for any scratches.”

“No need… Can this junk even cover the gas? Forget it, just drive carefully. I just bought it recently!” Horn grumbled but still handed over the keys.

An ’84 Buick Grand National coupe, 3.8L, 200 horsepower, equipped with a sturdy front crash bar. Old but fast, definitely capable of catching a pickup truck.

Getting in, buckling up, starting the ignition, shifting gears, Milton floored the accelerator. The roaring muscle car and piercing horn drew many eyes at the checkpoint.

Vroom!!!

The muscle car kicked up a cloud of dust and quickly vanished from sight.

Honestly, if it had been another inspector, they wouldn’t bother chasing — chances are you won’t find anything good even if you catch up, and if the suspect gets away, so be it.

For someone who rammed the checkpoint, the cost was astronomical: an open case, photos, passport, license plates, and VIN blacklisted. Crossing the border next time won’t be that easy.

“…”

Station chief Varta happened to come out and nodded approvingly. “This is the attitude of youth, a model for you all to learn from.”

Then, Varta glanced toward Maynard, who was staring fixedly at the car, and gave a cryptic smile. He turned and got into a Hummer, heading in the opposite direction—toward Mexico.

Maynard’s men noticed and immediately asked, “Boss, should we chase after him?”

At the same time, they rubbed their necks.

Such a golden opportunity—Milton went out alone chasing a smuggler!

Perfect chance to have him “die in the line of duty”!

However, Maynard slowly shook his head. “No. We’ve survived this far by being cautious. We must not act rashly… Milton is no fool.”

He just came out of the station chief’s office and drove off alone? Could be a trap!

“Send someone to follow from a distance and see what he’s planning.”