Upon receiving Hogan’s command, Jordan bolted out in haste.

Chinatown, a maze of complexity confined to a single thoroughfare, fostered an intimacy among its denizens. A bustling street, it drew Chinese souls in droves. Here, bonds mimicked those of street-side neighbors. Despite a sprinkling of unscrupulous characters, the collective ethos leaned toward assistance and solidarity.

In the early days, newly-arrived Chinese immigrants in the States sought strength in numbers, forming close-knit groups for survival. Over time, as society evolved, so did the divisions, and the occasional alliance for mutual protection transformed into a vocation. Thus, the Chinese gang took shape.

Bloom Gang’s history told a different tale. From its inception, it was not a marauding crew preying on the weak.

Contrary to their Chinese counterparts, American gangs, largely birthed during Prohibition, thrived on anti-government ventures. They bore a century-long grudge, a doctrine that flouted authority. Huabang, on the other hand, collected protection dues in Chinatown akin to an unofficial community fee, reasonable and obliging, attending every household’s call.

Yet, the Burning Angel, collectors of protection dues, were veritable brigands. They craved only lucre, your life was spared if they got their fill. Deny them and a blade or bullet would speak.

Minutes later, Jordan returned with a middle-aged man in tow, a man of about forty.

As soon as the man crossed the threshold and beheld Hogan, he exclaimed with zeal, “Brother Hogan, you’ve returned!”

This was Casey Vigo, the overseer of the Chinese gang in New York’s Chinatown.

Spotting the thick bandage around Casey’s neck, Hogan swiftly inquired, “Vigo, what happened to your neck?”

Casey sighed, “Long story short, caught a bullet coming home. Grazed my neck. If I’d been a hair off, I’d be reporting to the Lord of Hell.”

He turned a horrified gaze to the five wretched figures in the corner. “Hogan, what in the world happened? What’s going on?”

Hogan pressed, “Jordan didn’t fill you in?”

Vigo

‘dues’ from Jordan, but

he introduced, “Mr. Jagoan, this is Casey Vigo, head of the Chinese

vicious Burning Angel bunch had been reduced to such a state by the

make the introduction. Mr. Jagoan here also wished to meet

he surmised it was no small feat to have inflicted such a pounding on these five. He promptly approached Jagoan with respect. “Hello, Mr. Jagoan. I’m

many members are in

hundred once, but now, barring the wounded and the deceased, most

a hundred, how’d you let these

“Mr. Jagoan… These five belong to the Burning Angels. Behind them are Italians. They command over a dozen

cold, “Have you ever heard of a gang brawl with thousands involved

expression, Vigo said, “Mr. Jagoan, you don’t understand… They’re ruthless. Openly or covertly, they’ve taken

many of yours have the Burning Angel

a foreign minority gang in New York, can’t take on local titans like them. We have no wish for confrontation and they’ve taken full advantage. Lay a finger on one of theirs, and they’d

“What about the ethnic minority gangs? Koreans, Vietnamese, Algerians, are they being

gaze, hesitating. “I haven’t heard

have you ever wondered? Why do these

hung his

pervaded, broken by Will, quivering. “The Koreans are armed to the

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