"Mirage"
Oliver, masked as the Arrow, perched atop the ledge of a three-storey building across from the Soothing Hands Spa in the Little Shanghai district of Chinatown. There were at least half a dozen similar "holistic spas" in this area, plastered with window-sized posters of pretty Asian girls – all were unlicensed fronts for prostitution. A grungy Chinese take-out dive and a pair of adult video stores added to the street's unsavoury flavour. It was well past midnight.
He wanted to go alone, but the moment Laurel heard that he was gathering intel on Three Dragons activity, she suited up and nothing he could say would convince her otherwise.
"You're still new at this," Oliver said. "You still need more training."
"We kept the city in one piece when you were gone," Laurel replied. "I'm never going to get any experience if you keep me locked up in the cave every time you go out on the streets. You might want to sing from a different songbook, the tune is starting to get old."
Oliver grimaced. He still didn't want Laurel to be out in the Glades as Black Canary, but he had to admit that even he was concerned about going out alone at a time when the ground beneath the Glades' underworld was shifting. Things were about to jump off in the Glades, he could feel it.
Oliver had pieced together that the portlands shooting involved SAMSTAR, the local Russian mafia and the Yakuza. The heroin trade had picked up since the Yamamoto clan's arrival six months ago, and he was certain that the dustup at the port was connected. What was puzzling to him was that the h-trade was the domain of the Chinese triads.
Tonight's excursion, he hoped, would answer a few of these questions.
A gut-wrenching sob echoed through the hood. Below, a heavily-tattooed triad gangster screamed and cursed loudly in Cantonese at a waif-like girl, who was dressed in only a flimsy summer dress. The gangster smacked her face with such force that the girl fell onto the sidewalk. He shoved her violently back into the spa.
Laurel was about to descend the fire escape when Oliver grabbed her arm.
"Hey!" Laurel said. "We can't let that jerk smack her around!"
"We're here for information tonight," Oliver said. "Not to throw down against the entire triad on their home turf." He took a closer look at the gangster. His head was shaven bald and had only a few stubbly whiskers on his chin. He had tattoos everywhere – his hands, arms and even up to his neck.
"He's Reggie Li," Oliver said. "He goes by the name of Rocky on the streets, because he likes to beat the women in his employ. A violent thug, with connections to the Three Dragons triad. He started out by selling pirated DVD's from Hong Kong, but he's moved up to enforcer status in their organization. These spas sprang up here last year. Some of the girls they use are runaways, but they've been expanding lately. They can't all be street kids."
Laurel's gut was telling her that none of this fit the Three Dragons' m.o. She read the reports: the triad has been scaling back their drug operations over the past year and making nice with city officials. Expanding illegal brothels and bumping up against Shanghai Boys gang turf would appear to go against that.
"Rocky will tell us exactly what we want to know," Oliver said. "Follow my lead."
They watched as Rocky strolled down the street, chomping loudly on a bag of Doritos. The gangster turned a corner into an alleyway, and without warning Oliver let loose an arrow and impaled Rocky's right arm against a wooden door frame. Oliver was already in the gangster's face and Laurel had to leap off the fire escape to catch up to him.
"You're a creature of habit, Reggie Li," Oliver said in his harsh, Arrow voice. "You go to the spa to get laid every Thursday night, and then scurry off to this alleyway to take a leak. Now, you and I are going to have a friendly conversation about the Three Dragons and the h-trade in the Glades."
Rocky glanced at Laurel and turned to Oliver. "This your little girlfriend, gwai lo? Maybe she could work in one of my spas. I'll show her a good time too."
Oliver twisted the arrow in Rocky's arm, causing him to wince in agony. "You and your pals have been pushing heroin throughout the Glades in large quantities lately. Why?"
"Blow me," Rocky smirked. Arrow kneed him in the stomach and he bowled over in pain.
"The Sons MC, the Russians and the Yakuza had a meet at the port the other night," Oliver said. "An innocent man was gunned down. You're going to tell me what the h-trade has got to do with it." Rocky glowered at him in defiance.
"Check his ink," Laurel said, growing impatient with the interrogation. Oliver yanked the arrow from Rocky's arm and the alley rang with the gangster's howls. He manhandled Rocky and checked the tattoos on his arms, back and neck.
"There!" Oliver pointed at the Cantonese lettering on Rocky's neck. "It says the number three in Cantonese. And he's got a three-headed dragon on his forearm."
Everything indicated that he was a Three Dragons enforcer, but none of it added up to Laurel. The Three Dragons were pulling out of the drug trade, not ramping it up. Her father, Captain Lance, had mentioned that there were rumblings of discord within the triad a few months ago. The leadership remained solid, but some of the underbosses were less than pleased with the triad's move away from drugs and prostitution. Was there more to this than a turf war?
As she studied Rocky's neck tattoo, she noticed a dark blotch behind one of his earlobes. She yanked it and showed it to Oliver.
"Two lotus flowers," Laurel said. "He's a Lotus Two." The Lotus Twos were a small local street gang that was long involved in the drug and prostitution business, but until recently they only controlled a few blocks in Little Shanghai.
While the Three Dragons ruled by cunning, the Lotus Twos ran their turf through fear and violence. Now they controlled much of this hood and were threatening to engulf territory from rival gangs. They were rapidly becoming an underworld power in their own right.
Too rapidly, Laurel thought. They were getting too big, too fast. Why? How?
Maybe it was a power play by the Three Dragons, as they had no rivals in Chinatown and wanted to shore up their territory before the Yakuza swept in. In the underworld, the triad was long acknowledged as the number two organization behind the Bertinelli mob. Some of her colleagues in the D.A.'s office even speculated that the mafia had lost ground and the Three Dragons were now the dominant criminal organization in Starling City.
These were questions well above a mere triad enforcer's pay grade.
Oliver sighed. "The Lotus Twos are just a puppet gang for the triad. They do the dirty work: pimping, dealing, street muscle. The Three Dragons' bosses are calling the shots here … isn't that right, Rocky?" Oliver brandished a new arrow menacingly. Rocky's face paled with fear.
"Nothing happens in Chinatown without Jimmy Fong's say-so," Rocky blurted. "We answer to him. We always have. Heroin is big money. He don't wanna lose the h-trade to the Yakuza."
"Good boy," Oliver said, petting Rocky's face mockingly. He turned to Laurel. "You want to ask him anything, Black Canary?"
Laurel kicked Rocky in the groin. The gangster moaned and passed out.
Oliver raised an eyebrow at Laurel.
Laurel grinned. "Well, he did say he wanted a good time."
They ran up the fire escape and disappeared into the night. They failed to notice a black van, parked outside the take-out spot.
Rocky came to his senses. The arrow wound hurt like hell and he bent over, still recovering from Black Canary's kick to his groin. He tried to limp back to the main street. He didn't even see the punch Happy had thrown at his jaw.
Hours later, he woke up in a dark and deserted rural field far away from the city. A black van and a Harley were parked a few yards away. He was now face to face with a pair of SAMCRO bikers. He spotted the vice president's flash on one of their cuts and he blanched.
"Well it looks like Robin Hood and his leather-n-lace Marian got what they wanted from you, eh, Rocky?" Jax said. "Guess what – SAMCRO wants more from you! A lot more." Rocky looked at a filthy tarp on the ground, covered with a variety of tools: blades, pincers, metal rods and screwdrivers.
"You're going to tell my friend over here – exactly – what went down at the port between the Russians and our new samurai friends," Jax said. "A little crow told me you and your little buddies were there too that night, when a security guard was capped. You saw what went down. Don't leave anything out, or Happy over here is going to turn your insides out. He's very good at what he does … and he has all night."
"Get what you can out of him," Jax mumbled in Happy's ear. "We need some answers and we're running out of time." He thought of Rocky beating the crap out of that poor girl outside Soothing Hands Spa. "Then let him bleed out. You know what to do with the body."
Jax strolled towards his Harley and rumbled out of the field, his thoughts already drifting to this weekend's Glades Memorial bike rally. Rocky's fate was already a fading memory.
Happy said nothing, but a sadistic grin slowly enveloped his face.
Reggie "Rocky" Li had lied to the Arrow about the Three Dragons, about triad boss Jimmy Fong, about all of it.
He knew in this moment that he had run out of lies.
In the morning, Roy walked down the street towards Jim's Auto Works, the legitimate business of SAMSTAR's president Jim McIntyre. The spare parts for his Harley were ready for pickup. He was about to turn a corner when he spotted an unmarked SCPD sedan in front of the garage.
"Piss off!" Chibs said to Quentin. "Juice ain't goin' anywhere."
"Hey, don't blame me," Quentin said. "His parole officer wants a piss test."
"This is bullshit!" Juice exclaimed.
"You should go," Opie said, "if only to keep him out of our hair. Hey, we got a charity bike rally to prepare for, Captain Lance."
"I haven't forgotten," Quentin said. "The SCPD will be there to show support. In force. Follow me back to the precinct, Ortiz." Roy warily walked towards them.
"What the hell you lookin' at, preppy?" Juice said to Roy, scowling. Opie rolled his eyes. "Just go, Juice."
Roy watched the sedan and Juice's Harley pull away from the garage.
Opie clapped Roy's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. It's cop shit. You lookin' for Jax?"
"Yeah, he was saying the spare parts for my Harley project were ready." Roy noticed that Opie was wearing the overalls of an Auto Works mechanic and, besides Juice, none of SAMCRO's members were wearing cuts. A stack of steel plates were leaning against the wall and Roy assumed it was for auto body repairs.
"Jax's isn't here yet," Opie said. "His old lady's in town for some medical conference." He looked around the garage and spotted a box with Roy's name scribbled on it.
"How much I owe you guys?" Roy said.
"Nah, it's on the house," Opie said. "Jax says so. Let us know if you need more parts." Opie went to an office drawer and pulled out a brown paper bag. "Your vodka, courtesy of the Russians. If you need help polishing it off, I'm sure you can find more than a few volunteers here … isn't that right, Bobby?"
Bobby, stuffing his mouth full of a burrito, shrugged. "Why are you lookin' at me?"
The roar of a Harley distracted them, as it rolled into the garage. Jax leaped off his bike and shook Roy's hand.
"I see you got the parts," he said. "You need anything more, just let us know. You're coming to the bike rally this weekend, right?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Roy said, genuinely pleased that SAMCRO was going to be there to continue John Teller's charitable legacy in the Glades.
Jax smiled. "I've still got some loose ends to tie up for the rally, so I guess I'll see you on Saturday."
When Roy walked away, Opie pulled Jax aside.
"You're already running late, Jax," he said. "Jim is waiting at the Golden Pearl, with the Chinese."
"Right," Jax said. He spotted Bobby, gorging himself on corn chips. "Bobby Elvis, you're with me. Time to meet the Glades' Oriental godfather. The Golden Pearl is in the Chocolate District."
"The Chocolate District?" Bobby scoffed. "Do I need to put on khakis and a henley, or something?"
Jax called Bobby over. "Happy's back from Northern Cali. I want you with me, 'cause we need to sort out some stuff with Jimmy Fong and the Chinese. I just found out that there were some wonton gangbangers at that meet in the port, when the guard was killed."
"Shit," Bobby said. "The Chinese were there too? Why? How'd you find out?"
"It's best you didn't know," Jax said. "Our job today is to make damn sure the Sons don't land in the middle of an Asian turf war over heroin. And, if we're lucky, we land on the winning side."
"Drugs, eh," Bobby said. His mood soured at the mention of heroin. He had voted against the Galindo muling deal and was convinced it was the wrong direction for the club. "As if we don't have enough problems keeping the Mexican cartel happy!"
"Just get on your bike, Jabba," Jax said. "We're late enough as it is! You can stuff your face full of dim sum there. The Golden Pearl is a restaurant."
Opie ran up to Jax. "Oh, by the way, that special project you had us working on? We're almost done. We just need to do some welding. We'll be done by tonight."
"That's good," Jax said. "The Arrow got the drop on us last time. It won't happen again." The roar of the Harleys drowned out Opie's reply.
If what Happy had learned from the triad gangbanger was true, then this meeting with the head of the Three Dragons triad could set the tone for the club's underworld relationships in the Glades for the next few years. The MC - wrapped under the protective wing of the most powerful triad in the Pacific northwest - would be the best result.
If they didn't play their cards well in the next few days, SAMCRO would risk being on the losing end of a protracted heroin war between the triad and the Yakuza. The Chinese were entrenched here – but the Japanese were immensely wealthy and connected.
It wouldn't matter what happens with Galindo and the Irish then. All of Jax's plans for the MC, for Tara and their boys would go up in smoke.
If things go really badly, this meet could cost the Sons of Anarchy everything.
They could be crucified.