Part of the reason why our Chinese restaurant was doing so much better than the others in the area was because of the ties the owner had with the Triad. The Triad, if you didn't already know, are the Chinese Mafia.
You could always tell the Triads from regular gangbangers that frequently visited the restaurant. For one, they dressed immaculately, drove the most expensive cars, and tipped like rock stars. Not all of them mind you, but the ones that talked to the owner sure were. Signifying that the boss had ties with the upper echelon of organized crime.
Let me now tell you about the time that I unwittingly became a human smuggler for the Triad.
One of the biggest schemes of the Triad is human smuggling. Poor, misguided South East Asian immigrants paid around $10,000 a head to be illegally smuggled into the US, to end up working in brothels, massage parlors, sweat shops, laundry shops, and of course your local Chinese restaurant. Ours was no exception. At any given moment, we'd have a couple of Asians working in the kitchen who had literally, just gotten fresh off the boat.
They holed these "cargo" into neighboring apartment complexes. Sometimes dozens into a small room. Every once in a while we delivered food to these apartments. One of the few times you'd see Weasel do exactly as he is told is when he is visiting these apartments. He hated going there. A member of the Vietnamese gang himself, he wasn't particularly welcomed in Triad territory.
The mob had one thing going for them though, they sure loved to spend money. Even if they ordered just $10 worth of food, they'd always pay with a roll of $100.
One time, I swear to god, I delivered about two huge boxes full of food. The doors that are always locked, were always opened from the inside by a scary looking motherfucker even before we knocked. They probably had lookouts watching the streets every second.
As I was led down the grimy halls to the communial eating area I was greeted by about half a dozen even scarier looking motherfuckers. The biggest one, got up, took my food and passed it to the next guy. Never taking his eys off me (mine looking down at the floor most of the time) he reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of 100's about as thick as my arm. And along with the roll, what slips out of his pocket but a glock. A goddamn glock. I watched in horror as the gun slowly slipped out of his pocket and on to the floor. I dont know if the gun is loaded, and for all I know it could have got off when it hits the floor. I screamed like a little bitch.
Nothing. Now all the scary motherfuckers are laughing their asses off and the big guy picks up his gun and starts waving it in front of my face. Then a smallish dude with white bleached hair on the table says something to the big guy in Chinese. I don't speak a word of it. Next thing I know everyone is pulling out guns. EVERY FUCKING ONE OF THEM! I just about shit my pants right there. I wondered, if I didn't return from this delivery, would Weasel and Dan come looking for me?
The small dude called me over with his pistol. It was huge. The smallest dude had the biggest gun. He pulled a beaten up paper bag out from under the table and pulled out a stack of 100's. Skimmed off the top two and gave it to me. He slapped the bills on the table and pointed with his big ass gun for me to take it. I took it and walked out of there with the whole group of scary mother fuckers laughing at me as they started to munch on their egg rolls.
TOTAL WRECK - crazy-eyed hound is covered in cobwebs, has a vespiary on back, graffiti on side and savage thirst for boat fuel. Frankly, I'm in over my head. He's in room 115 at Motel 6, yours free. 555-2851
Yes, it's the perfect form for surviving a car crash. But it's also the perfect form for so much more, like surviving the trauma of reading any news headline in 2016.
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