The Wind in my Heart
When it comes to gangbangers, Chinese or otherwise, it’s usually the more experienced and dangerous ones who don’t bother trying to look the part.
“I know about the Ghost Shadows,” she says. “I’ve seen the stories in the newspapers and on TV. Do you think the man who threatened me was one of them?”
I scratch the back of my head and glance at my hat on the coat rack. I’m itching to hit the street. “Ah . . . maybe, maybe not. They’re not the only gang in town. Then you’ve got the tongs that the gangs work for, and the triads . . . It’s as complicated as one of those Buddhist murals with all the gods, demigods, and demons.”
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