Urban Lore

China White, China Noire


ChinaTown. Wow. Organized.  High-Level. Commish at the neighborhood adjacent: stylish SoHo. D’s in plainclothes everywhere — that’s always safe to assume. At the least there were those two in the car parked round the corner from where the action went down. Watch Spot. Now what street was that? Anyhow. Thorough. Lots of resources. Official Involvement. Work by the some of the same Officials who solve it. What club was it? Some Punk Rock show or something. You know the crowd. Right next to where the D’s sat silent. Pateint. Watching. What was the name of that club? Fontana’s Bar. That’s it. Right up on Eldridge Street. Gangsters squadded up around the corner, down the main boulevard. Grant Street, it was. Who knows how many Chinese Mafias are out there operating. Five or six big men — must of been. Standing, real casual-like.  Maybe puffing a cigarette. Right under the scaffolding on Grant Street.

Then — One Shot.  Unmistakable.  Must have been a .22, right through the temple.


Definitely not a .45 caliber or anything that can’t be carried casual.  So they had this guy tied up something. Or else completely vulnerable and at ease somehow. Maybe poison? Maybe kidnapped, kept in the freezer. Or else completely exhausted.  Now he can rest.

Nobody moving.  Gangsters Casual.   The shot popped.  Some moments spent posted up around the corner.  Right next to the Punk Club.  Then back, toward the shot, toward the danger.  Into Action.

Then stepped through the shooter.  Absolutely.  He did it.  He eyes said it all — one shot, one dropped, one more killer on the block who thinks he can’t be stopped — and maybe not.  His eyes said it, screamed it — because for sure his mouth couldn’t.  Not at that time.  One look, quizzical, adrenaline like lighting bolting through our Bodies.  No feeling like this.

The shooter, the shot, the gang, and the Finest.  All in on it. Planned. Green-lit. Supervised. Executed.  More D’s on damage control.  Feints and whispers: “What did you see?  What didn’t you see?  What do you know?  But what can you prove?” Nothing that can stand up in court, Detective. “That’s exactly what I thought.”  Now pack it in.  Good Knight.


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