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Find Big Fat Fanny Fast - The Mayor of Chinatown

Find Big Fat Fanny Fast - The Mayor of Chinatown

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Published by Joe Bruno

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Published by: Joe Bruno on Jun 26, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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05/23/2012

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Hung Far Low, all 300 pounds of him, sat alone at a two-seat table, in a coffee shop on PellStreet. Wearing his omnipresent three-piece white suit, he looked like a Chinese version of SydneyGreenstreet's Senior Ferrari in Casablanca. He chomped on a pork bun and washed it down with greasyChinese coffee, coffee so vile, no non-Oriental would ever dare swallow it.Hung Far Low had a decision to make and it was not going to be an easy one.Junior Bentimova, the son of Tony B, who was still holding on tightly to his chintzy ItalianBoss of Bosses crown, had done something of great disrespect. Despite what the police report had said, Norman Chung had not slit his own throat, stabbed himself three times in the back and thrown himself off the Knickerbocker Village roof. As witnesses reported back to him, the killer was one of Junior'shenchman, a creep named Billy the Blade. Hung Far Low knew for sure the official police report on Norman's death was pure garbage, written by crooked cops on Tony B's payroll.Hung Far Low intended to get even. If he didn't get even, the Dagos might think they had evena slight chance of regaining power in Chinatown. The neighborhood had gone from Lasagna toChicken Chow Mein and Hung Far Low was going to make sure it would stay that way forever. Or atleast while he was still alive and kicking.The Italians had ruled Chinatown since the early 1900's. In 1923, an Italian ex-boxer and boxing promoter named Johnny Keyes, real name Canonico, had somehow been voted Mayor of Chinatown. The story on the streets of Chinatown was that Keyes and a few hundred of his greaseball buddies, cracked some Chinaman heads in order to win the vote, even though, at that time, theChinese outnumbered the Italians 3-1 in the neighborhood.As the years went by, the Italians treated the Chinese like crap. Even up until the late 1960's, if the Chinese even dared to try to play football, soccer, or basketball in Columbus Park, the Italianswould beat them up and stab the heck out of their ball, telling the Chinese to, “Stay the f**k out of our  park.”All this began to change in the late 60's, when Chinese businessmen finally started to get smart.They combined their money and they approached the Italian tenement landlords in Little Italy, one at atime.“How much do you want for your building?” they'd politely ask.“I ain't selling to no Chinks,” invariably would be the Italian owner's first response.“But sir, if you were selling, how much do you think your building would be worth?” Now here's where the Dago's greed got the best of them.“Hey, I bet my building's worth half a million bucks.” Now the Chinese already did their real estate comps, and they knew the building was worth300G's, tops. But now was the time to drop their hook.“Really sir. How about if we offered you one million dollars for your building, would you sell
 
it then?”Dollar signs rolled in the Dago's eyes.“Yeah, but I'd want the contract signed for half a millions dollars and I want the other half amillion under the table, in cash.”“No problem, sir.”And this is how the Chinese began throwing the Italians out of Chinatown and Little Italy.They started buying up dozens of buildings, paying two, and sometimes three times what theywere worth. The landlords lived in fancy places in Brooklyn and Staten Island, so they really didn'tcare what happened to the old neighborhood anyway.In a few years, the Chinese owned more than half the buildings in Chinatown and Little Italy.That's when the purge started.All of a sudden, Italians who were paying 60 bucks a month, for a two-bedroom cold-water flat, got notice that their rents was being raised to $300 a month. Most Italians could not pay that muchrent, and the ones that could, thought it was dumb to live in a rat-infested tenement, when for lessmoney they could move into new digs in nearby Chatham Green, Chatham Towers, Knickerbocker Village, South Bridge Towers, or in the newly built Independence Plaza, on the lower west side of Manhattan.The apartment the Italians vacated in Little Italy solved another problem for the Chinese businessmen. Most of them were involved in an illegal human smuggling racket, headed by men andwoman called Snakeheads, who sneaked illegals into America from China, at a whopping $30,000 per head. Thousands of the illegals were coming into Chinatown every year, but they had no place to live.So the former two bedroom apartments, now rented for $300 a month, split by hordes of illegalChinese immigrants, sometimes as many 20 bodies living in a two-bedroom apartment.The floors of entire apartments were filled with mattresses for people to sleep. But illegalimmigrants were rarely inside the apartments, except to sleep, because they had to work 18 hours aday, in one of the hundreds of Chinese restaurants in New York City, at less than minimum wage, for years, just to pay the Snakeheads the rest of the $30,000 they owned them. Either that, or gets their hands cut off and they wouldn't be able to work anyway.So buying out the stupid Italians had served several purposes for the Chinese in Chinatown.They had gotten rid of the Dago slime. And as a result, they had filled the apartments for $300 bucks a pop and more, making their real estate investment quite profitable after only a few years, even thoughthey had grossly overpaid for the buildings in the first place.And most importantly for the old-timers, they gained control of the ball field in ColumbusPark.As for the buildings in the neighborhood still owned by Italians, the landlords were now werescrewed bad. They either had to sell to the Chinese at bargain basement prices, or stick it out and hopetheir building burned to the ground, so that they could collect the insurance money.
 
Which some buildings actually and sometimes accidentally, did. Now why should Hung Far Low care about the death of a mere gambler like Norman? InChinatown, even the Chinese people didn't even like Norman. In fact, it was quite possible, Norman'sown mother didn't like him too much either. Norman was surly, unfriendly, disrespectful and for thosewho cared about these type of things, downright freaking ugly.Yet, Norman Chung was something most other Chinese men were not; a decent freakingshooter with a gun. Not a great shot by any stretch of the imagination, but at least Norman shot in thegeneral direction of the people he was supposed to be shooting at. And sometimes, he even shot the person the bullet was intended for. Which was not the case with 99 percent of the other Chineseshooters on the planet Earth.Most of the Chinese gangs employed kids right off the illegal boats from China. As an initiationinto the gangs, these morons had to perform hits; kill people who the bosses said needed to be dead.Some hits were performed on crowded Chinatown Streets, but most were in Chineserestaurants, where these fools would barge in, flailing away with their nines, shooting up payingcustomers, cooks, waiters, a few Peking Ducks, and sometimes, by luck, even the guy they intended toshoot in the first place.But not Norman Chung, who Hung Far Low used secretly to eliminate the opposition, or anyone else who disrespected his gambling, drug dealing and illegal immigrant smuggling operations.When he wanted someone to die, Hung Far Low trusted Norman Chung to do the right thing withoutmessing up too much of the furniture. Norman would follow his prey, sometimes for days, and alwaysdo the dirty deed where there was no collateral damage, and more importantly, no witnesses. Now Norman Chung was dead, and Hung Far Low was out his best henchman, a killer nobodyeven knew worked for Hung Far Low in the first place.Hung Far Low was now awaiting the arrival of the second best man in his operation, Yuan DumFuk, who wasn't a great shooter either. But he made up for that fact by handing a knife pretty freakinggood. And with a knife, you can only kill one person at a time, which in Chinatown, was a good thingfor the local businesses, especially the restaurants.Hung Far Low was half way though his Chicken Chop Suey when Yuan Dum Fuk arrived.“Have a seat,” Hung Far Low said.Yuan Dum did as he was told, taking the seat on the other side of the table from Hung Far Low.To say that Yuan Dum Fuk was thin, was like saying water was wet. He wore the traditional all- black outfit worn by Chinese gangsters, right down to the waist-length, zippered, black leather jacket.His face was rodent-like and covered with so many pimples, it looked like a connect-the-dotsworksheet.“I have a job I need you to do,” Hung Far low said.“You mean 'a piece of work'”? said Yuan Dum Fuk.

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