the K Building's roof did not connect to the roofs of the buildings on either side, someone on the roof of the K building, could break a window on the tenth floor of an adjoining building and escape through that apartment. This trick had been done in the past, so Junior wasn't taking any chances. For this reason, Junior had a walkie-talkie in his back pocket, as did his two pals situated top and bottom.
No one was answering Junior's knock on the door and this did not please Junior very much. Junior was now the chief collector for his father Tony B's bookie and shylocking operations and any disrespect for Junior was a reflection on his father, who was still the Boss of Bosses in New York City, but was so on very shaky ground. Not only was Tony B being challenged by certain Italian bosses and underbosses, but now the Chinese gangs were calling Little Italy their turf and were starting to squeeze the profits right out of Tony B's pockets.
In fact, the creep whose door Junior was presently knocking on, was a Chinaman himself, or Chinese/American if you prefer, who had run up a gambling debt of twenty G's with Tony B's bookmaking business. So Tony B, being the kind and considerate gentleman that he was, lent Norman Chung the twenty grand to pay off his gambling debt with Tony B, at three points a week, of course. Meaning Norman had to come up with six hundred bucks a week, just to stay current, which did not even one penny come off the top of the original twenty grand loan. So basically the deal was this: Norman had to pay six hundred bucks a week until he could come up with twenty G's cash all at once to settle the debt. And fortunately for the lender, in this case Tony B, this could take longer than forever.
The word out on the streets was that Norman was screwing Tony B bigtime, by now gambling with the Chinese bookies on Mott Street. And to make matters worse, Norman had conveniently forgotten to pay the twelve hundred clams he had owed Tony B for the previous two weeks.
Tony B had told his son, “Give the Chinks an inch and they'll take over the entire Lower East Side of Manhattan.”
Which in fact, was almost already the case.
One more knock on the door with no answer and Junior was fuming. Just as he was about to start kicking the door in, Norman opened the door a bit, with the slip chain still in place.
“Yes, can I help you?” the Chinaman bastard said.
Junior pushed on the door, causing the chain to creak. “Don't give me that bull. Where's my twelve hundred bucks?”
Norman smiled with cigarette-stained teeth. “Oh, is it that time again? One second and I'll get you the cash from my safe.”
Junior pushed the door harder. “Unlatch the chain. I don't want to wait in the hall.”
A few seconds later, Norman did what Junior asked and Junior entered the apartment. He came face to face with the business end of a 38 caliber, snub-nosed revolver which Norman pointed callously at Junior's chest.
“Screw you and screw your father,” Norman said. “You ain't getting paid. You're getting beat. Understand? I'm with Hung Far Low and he said you and your father can go screw yourselves.”
Now this was not something Junior had liked to hear very much. Hung Far Low was the Mayor of Chinatown and the Boss of Bosses of the numerous Chinese gangs, triads, or whatever the heck the Chinks were calling themselves these days. Tony B and Hung Far Low had an uneasy truce in place the past twenty years. But as the Italians started moving out of the neighborhood, were being killed, or sent to prison, the Chinese had surpassed the Italians in street soldiers and in firepower.
The only good news at the moment for Junior was that because of their slanted eyes, the Chinese were the world's worse shots and could only shoot their intended target by accident, as they sprayed their nines in restaurants and sometimes on the crowded Chinatown streets, killing scores of innocent people. So as Norman pointed his gun, Junior was
No one was answering Junior's knock on the door and this did not please Junior very much. Junior was now the chief collector for his father Tony B's bookie and shylocking operations and any disrespect for Junior was a reflection on his father, who was still the Boss of Bosses in New York City, but was so on very shaky ground. Not only was Tony B being challenged by certain Italian bosses and underbosses, but now the Chinese gangs were calling Little Italy their turf and were starting to squeeze the profits right out of Tony B's pockets.
In fact, the creep whose door Junior was presently knocking on, was a Chinaman himself, or Chinese/American if you prefer, who had run up a gambling debt of twenty G's with Tony B's bookmaking business. So Tony B, being the kind and considerate gentleman that he was, lent Norman Chung the twenty grand to pay off his gambling debt with Tony B, at three points a week, of course. Meaning Norman had to come up with six hundred bucks a week, just to stay current, which did not even one penny come off the top of the original twenty grand loan. So basically the deal was this: Norman had to pay six hundred bucks a week until he could come up with twenty G's cash all at once to settle the debt. And fortunately for the lender, in this case Tony B, this could take longer than forever.
The word out on the streets was that Norman was screwing Tony B bigtime, by now gambling with the Chinese bookies on Mott Street. And to make matters worse, Norman had conveniently forgotten to pay the twelve hundred clams he had owed Tony B for the previous two weeks.
Tony B had told his son, “Give the Chinks an inch and they'll take over the entire Lower East Side of Manhattan.”
Which in fact, was almost already the case.
One more knock on the door with no answer and Junior was fuming. Just as he was about to start kicking the door in, Norman opened the door a bit, with the slip chain still in place.
“Yes, can I help you?” the Chinaman bastard said.
Junior pushed on the door, causing the chain to creak. “Don't give me that bull. Where's my twelve hundred bucks?”
Norman smiled with cigarette-stained teeth. “Oh, is it that time again? One second and I'll get you the cash from my safe.”
Junior pushed the door harder. “Unlatch the chain. I don't want to wait in the hall.”
A few seconds later, Norman did what Junior asked and Junior entered the apartment. He came face to face with the business end of a 38 caliber, snub-nosed revolver which Norman pointed callously at Junior's chest.
“Screw you and screw your father,” Norman said. “You ain't getting paid. You're getting beat. Understand? I'm with Hung Far Low and he said you and your father can go screw yourselves.”
Now this was not something Junior had liked to hear very much. Hung Far Low was the Mayor of Chinatown and the Boss of Bosses of the numerous Chinese gangs, triads, or whatever the heck the Chinks were calling themselves these days. Tony B and Hung Far Low had an uneasy truce in place the past twenty years. But as the Italians started moving out of the neighborhood, were being killed, or sent to prison, the Chinese had surpassed the Italians in street soldiers and in firepower.
The only good news at the moment for Junior was that because of their slanted eyes, the Chinese were the world's worse shots and could only shoot their intended target by accident, as they sprayed their nines in restaurants and sometimes on the crowded Chinatown streets, killing scores of innocent people. So as Norman pointed his gun, Junior was
Similar Books
