There had been increasingly growing pressure for stricter federal border security mainly due to the terrain where Jaguda and his ilk reigned supreme. What started as a small loophole in the national security framework had eventually grown into a giant eyesore painfully obvious on the face of the federal government. They had to step in at some point and Jaguda knew this. This was the reason why he spent the last few years trying to introduce some level of sophistication or at least decent organisation into what was rapidly becoming a free for all situation where almost any Tom, Dick or Harry could swagger into town and grab a piece of the lucrative pie.

Jaguda had subsequently made a lot of enemies among his peers, some of whom had to exercise all their willpower in refraining from putting a bullet through his bald head. Often, these men were the callous impetuous brutes with little more than thick skulls and trigger-happy fingers who survived and even dominated their competitors through sheer bravery and raw luck. These were the types who lived through poverty and violence but somehow managed to drag themselves into the power they now serendipitously held. Violence was the only language these men spoke. The more lascivious of them, added sex to that dictionary. There was certainly no shortage that business around those parts. Money to these men, was at best a consequence of their occupation. Life on the edge, the thrill, the gore, the dalliance with death every now and again was the blood that flowed through their veins. Everything else, to them, was nothingness. Boredom at best. These men were the devil’s playhouse. Jaguda could barely hide his contempt for them.