"To Trust in Actions, Not Words"

Juice left the men's washroom in the SCPD downtown precinct with a small cylindrical bottle. He was surprised that his parole officer actually wanted him to take a piss test this time. He was on federal release and tests like these ensured that he lived up to his bail conditions.

About a dozen heavily-armed SWAT tactical officers marched past him. He felt tense as a few of them glanced at him before moving on.

He was expecting to see Capt. Lance waiting for him, but instead it was the pretty assistant district attorney Laurel Lance waiting outside.

Laurel motioned to a uniformed officer. "Take Ortiz' urine sample down to the lab for processing. I'll follow up with his p.o."

"Here to remind me about my family tree again?" Juice said, scowling. He didn't trust lawyers.

"No," Laurel said. "My father had to answer a call. Some dust-up in the Latino district this afternoon. The Shanghai Boys are bumping up against Los Diablos territory again. We can't have the local street punks making headlines during the big charity bike rally this weekend."

Juice was surprised. "How the hell do you know about the Glades bike rally?"

"I've done legal aid work in the Glades and I've volunteered at the rally for a few years," Laurel said. "I'll be there again this weekend. It's all about helping the kids, right? But I guess I don't need to tell you and the MC that – it's the whole reason you're all up here, instead of down in NorCal."

"Look, I'm not sure what you're getting at here," Juice said.

"The Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club is the main arms dealer for the criminal underworld in this city," Laurel began. "The Irish Kings are your main supplier. The bigger players tolerate the MC – even respect you – because the club deals with all sides. But I don't need to tell you the balance is changing, rapidly. I'm afraid that the Reaper might not be able to stay neutral this time."

"Things were running smoothly in this town," Juice said, "until the Arrow vigilante showed up! He upset the balance. Now, everyone is freaking out." He stopped talking, uncertain if he had already said too much.

"You can relax, Juice," Laurel said. "We're off the record. Maybe the Arrow's tactics aren't always above board, but when the Glades loses one of its own – an innocent security guard - to gang violence, this puts the heat on everyone: the mob, the triad, the street gangs, the politicians, the cops, the Arrow. Everyone."

Juice thought of the dead security guard at the port. And his widow. Both were from the Glades too. The MC was supposed to look out for the Glades and the Reaper had failed them that night.

"The MC had nothing to do with the port killing!" he protested.

"I believe you," Laurel said. "Did you know that the guard's widow is pregnant? Her baby is going to grow up without a father. I'm not out to pin this on the MC. Or even the Russians at the port, though God knows they probably saw what went down. Someone knows who is responsible. My father and the hawks in the force want to go into the Glades, with guns blazing. But all that's going to do is drive the gangbangers underground, and we'll never get justice."

"What happened at the port – that's wrong," Juice said. "SAMSTAR had nothing to do with it. That's all I know, I swear."

"Well, someone knows," Laurel said. "And my gut tells me the MC is the only one who can find out who it is. Just point me in the right direction, and maybe I can keep the Reaper clear of the fallout."

"Are you thinking it was the Yakuza? Or the Chinese?" Juice said. He suspected one of these groups was responsible for killing that security guard. At this point, the MC knew about as much as the authorities.

"We have our suspicions," Laurel said, revealing nothing. "The Glades look up to the Sons of Anarchy. John Teller helped to get the charity bike rally off and running. The children's hospital was the result. That faith was shaken at the port. Give that poor widow some peace of mind that her husband's killer will be brought to justice. Help us out and we can help the MC out. And you can help yourself too."

"I help you – or you'll tell the MC that my father is black," Juice said. "That's no choice."

"It's not like that at all," Laurel insisted. "My boss and my father's boss may need to play the race card with you," Laurel said, "and - officially - I have to roll with it. This doesn't mean I have to like it. It's wrong. And my father, the police chief and the District Attorney shouldn't have to wade in the muck in the name of justice. Playing the race card? Crap like that taints us all and makes a mockery of the justice we're trying to uphold."

Laurel checked her watch. "I have to be in court soon. Just think about what I said, okay?"

Juice was puzzled. Why is a lawyer being nice to him? "Why should you give a shit about some outlaw biker?"

"Because I'm worried that this outlaw biker may be running out of friends," Laurel said over her shoulder. "He's getting a raw deal, and I may be the only friend he can trust in this town."

Juice watched as Laurel exited the precinct. There were dozens of cops and civilian employees around him, but he couldn't lose the growing feeling of isolation in the pit of his stomach. The MC was his family, yet he couldn't tell any of them about his situation.

Juice sighed as he slowly walked towards his bike in the parking lot. Ms. Lance was right. He could trust no one, not even his brothers in the MC.

The day Eli Roosevelt revealed that he knew about his real father had changed everything. Juice wished he had never heard the name Michael Howard Cole.

This was a dilemma only he could solve. He was truly alone.


Jax and Bobby arrived at The Golden Pearl, a popular Chinese buffet in a swanky part of new Chinatown. The hood had been cleaned up over the past few years. Gone were the grimy storefronts and crime. These had been replaced with bright new shops – retail feed for the new and well-heeled residents of the Chocolate District. All of this was due to Jimmy Fong, head boss of the Three Dragons triad. (And - if emerging news reports were true – the unacknowledged kingpin of Starling City's underworld).

"We need to get the Chinese on-side with the MC," Bobby insisted. "If our sushi alliance falls through, we are gonna need our wonton big brothers backing us. SAMSTAR doesn't have a prayer if both the Chinese and Japanese crews turn on them."

"Look, I know what I need to do," Jax said, "we keep Fong aligned with SAMCRO or at least Swiss-neutral."

"Jimmy Fong knew your old man," Bobby said. "There's history between the MC and the triads. They've bought guns from us for years too. Maybe if we –" The enticing aroma of chow mein and BBQ duck wafted around them as they entered the opulent dining hall. Framed prints of feudal China decorated the walls. Servers in black uniforms buzzed around patrons. Hundreds of people were eating at tables or sorting through the buffet counters, piled high with dumplings, rolls and noodles.

"Look at that buffet," Bobby said, his stomach grumbling. "This is heaven."

Jax sighed. "Three Dragons first - food later." He told the hostess something and in moments one of Fong's well-dressed associates ushered them into a private dining hall. It was empty except for a few people.

Jax thought one of Fong's triad enforcers was putting on a martial arts display with another associate, but he was wrong.

The "sparring" partner wasn't fighting back at all and his face was bleeding profusely. The enforcer punched, jabbed and chopped until his victim slumped on the floor. Jax caught a glance of gang ink on the victim's arm.

A wiry, elderly man with close-cropped silver hair was seated atop the dais and barely watched the performance. He clapped twice and two associates collected the unconscious body and dragged it out of the hall.

"You're late, Mr. Teller," Jimmy said, as he finished his noodle entrée.

"My apologies," Jax said. "I was caught up in club business and –"

"You've been in town two whole days," Fong said, "and you've already found time to meet with both the Russians at the port and the Yakuza. I've been a loyal customer of SAMSTAR for years – have we not earned the MC's affection by now?"

"I take it you heard about the dust-up at the port," Jax said.

"Our regrets for our tardiness," Bobby interjected. "The Arrow threw everybody off their game this week. It won't happen again. Your organization is SAMCRO's number one priority in town."

"And - your number one business partner this side of the Northern California-Oregon border." Fong said sternly. "Yet Mr. Morrow hasn't seen it fit to pay me a visit. He came to my nephew's funeral, which I appreciated, but that was years ago. The Three Dragons have been a part of this city since the railroad arrived here more than a century ago. We are as American as apple pie and baseball. All I ask is that I am extended the same level of courtesy you freely give to the mafia and the Irish. Your late father understood this. With co-operation comes trust."

An associate approached Fong and whispered something in his ear. Fong nodded and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"Great, another history lesson," Jax muttered under his breath.

"Play it cool, Jax," Bobby said. "Jimmy Fong was a friend of J.T."

Fong looked sternly at them for a moment – and burst into laughter. Jax was puzzled, but Bobby merely smiled.

"Now this is the Jimmy Fong I know," Bobby said. During his trips up north over the years, Bobby had been a frequent visitor and customer of Fong's restaurants.

"I'm not going to send you to detention hall, Mr. Teller," Fong chuckled. "Quit squirming and come up to my table. Have a seat. Eat, please." Fong barked an order in Mandarin and several servers arrived with trays of dumplings, noodles, rice and egg rolls. They placed a BBQ duck in front of Bobby, who immediately carved a slice of meat.

Jax settled beside Fong and piled several dumplings onto his plates.

"I heard about your altercation with the Arrow," Fong said. "This vigilante has upset the natural order of things in this city. The mafia and I have kept things in balance for decades, but this man has taken it upon himself to disrupt the peace in the Glades. He's making everyone from the mafia to the local street punks very concerned. He's bad for business, and bad for this city."

"I know," Jax said. "But I think we have a more pressing problem today. Word on the street is that another player wants to cut into the heroin trade."

"I still control the h-trade in this town," Fong said, "and if anyone wants to cut into my business, it will be one of my choosing. Anyone who thinks otherwise will pay dearly."

"Understood," Jax said, "but you might want to pass along that message to your street crews." Jax glanced at the bloodied spot on the floor below. "Maybe that kung-fu display had something to do with it."

Fong frowned. "You're far too perceptive for a mere biker. I should have expected no less from John Teller's son. I can see now how you rose to your rank as the MC's vice president."

He paused to carefully wipe his mouth with a napkin and continued. "Some of my crews have been reluctant to give up the businesses I must now distance myself from. It's no secret I've been moving towards a more legitimate direction. Real estate and technology are my interests now. That messy interlude earlier was indeed a message that, even on the street, my crews have to be on the same page. I will need loyal soldiers … if or when the Japanese or any other rival intrudes into my territory. I also know all about the Yamamoto clan and the MC's growing relationship with the Yakuza."

There's the rub, Jax thought.

"The MC's partnership with the Yakuza is strictly a business deal," Jax insisted. "We're not taking sides in the Glades. We sell guns to all crews. We have no horse in this race. You and the mafia are the top dogs and we're cool with that. It sorta makes us the honest brokers in all this."

"Yes it does," Fong observed. "Or, it makes you the potential king-makers. You control the firearms trade in the city. The Japanese would make wealthy and politically connected allies for anyone willing to cut them the right deal. Including SAMCRO. My closest friends share in my prosperity – but my enemies regret the day they cross me. And I always win."

The Three Dragons had strong ties in the community, an army of associates here and overseas, city and state officials in their pockets, law enforcement contacts and deep pockets. And with the growing aura of legitimacy around Fong, he had the ways and means to cripple and destroy any one of his underworld rivals on a whim. Only the Italian mob had the strength and clout to check Fong's power in the streets and Jax wasn't sure if this was still the case.

Jax had to acknowledge that Mr. Fong was the most powerful man in this city, let alone in this room. "I can clearly see how you've risen to your status as the number two underworld boss in Starling City, sir."

Fong picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks. "It is respect, respect alone, that has won me my status. Fear? Violence? Greed? These are but tools. Respect is the endgame. Make it yours, Mr. Teller, and you'll go far. And for the record, I am the number one kingpin in town, though the Italians may dispute this. The Bertinellis have no lack of successors; they produce more dons than a Catholic cat in heat! Just don't tell that to Marco Bertinelli. He's a good man, but he has a fragile ego."

Jax looked at the bloody stain on the floor again. He knew that some of Fong's puppet gangs were taking on side trade that the Three Dragons boss knew little about. Either Jimmy Fong was playing him – a real possibility – or there was an external threat trying to stir up trouble for the Chinese. He had theories of his own about this, but he chose not to share them with a man who may yet declare war on the club.

Fong counted his old man as a confidant and friend in the past… but did this include Jax and the MC in the present?

Bobby belched and looked around for take-out containers. "We have got to bring some food back with us," he said. "The duck is superb!"

"Take as much as you can carry, Mr. Munson," Fong said. "Consider it a token of goodwill. I only desire a long and mutually beneficial friendship with the Reaper."

"I've got some last minute details to deal with for the Glades bike rally this weekend," Jax said as he shook Fong's hand. "Maybe I can help you with our hooded outlaw problem too. I'll keep you posted. We'll talk again, Mr. Fong. I promise."

"We will," Fong said. "I will always extend my friendship to those who show me respect in return. Remind Clay Morrow that the Three Dragons triad is the best friend the MC could ever have in the Glades."

And its worst enemy – if the Reaper dares to cross me, he thought. And I always win. Always.

NEXT: Rev up your Harley, strap on a helmet and let it roar. It's the annual Glades charity bike rally weekend. All the main players will be in attendance. Jax Teller will be there. So will Oliver Queen. Tara and Felicity too. Maybe nothing will happen? (Yeah, right.)