The Charismatic Charlie Wade

In this humble roast goose shop in Chinatown, a magical and interesting scene is taking place.
The five gang members, once the terror of Chinatown, struck fear into countless Chinese vendors. Now, they knelt on the
ground, cramming bullets of yellow, orange and gold into their mouths. Swallowing 9mm pistol rounds was like trying to gulp
down fat capsules without a drop of water to ease the pain. They gritted their teeth and forced them down.
Will Johnson, in particular, suffered. His sister was a mistress to the Burning Angel boss and he himself had a ruthless streak,
rising to middle management in the gang. Chinatown fell under his jurisdiction.
In the American underworld, he was the Burning Angel’s Chinatown enforcer. But his authority did him no favors now.
The others managed to choke down the bullets, wincing through the ordeal. Theirs were at least somewhat spherical. Will
Jackson, however, faced Charlie’s own macabre concoction. Charlie meticulously dismantled each bullet, pouring the powder
into Will Jackson’s mouth, then followed with the disassembled round and casing. It was a merciless race to swallow them down.
The bullet casings, separated from their warheads, were jagged and often caught in Will Jackson’s throat. But Charlie allowed no
reprieve. He swallowed as best he could, and soon, blood mingled with the effort.
Witnessing this horrifying display, Jordan’s stomach churned. He turned away, fighting the urge to vomit.
“Jordan,” Charlie inquired, “How many times have you crossed paths with Will Jackson?”
Jordan stammered, “Mr. Wade, I... I’ve seen him maybe three or four times...”
Charlie nodded, then gestured for a plate. “Here, hand it over. What does he usually do?”
Jordan recalled, “The first time, he went to Angieda’s shop for protection money. Angieda didn’t speak English, so she chased
him out with a broom. He retaliated by breaking her limbs...”
Will, quick to defend himself, interjected, “She struck first, it was self-defense!”
Jagoan gripped Will’s wrist, exerting just enough pressure to snap it at the joint. Will cried out in agony. Jagoan’s voice remained
cool. “You walked in here today, I’m defending myself.”
Will nearly crumbled. Yet, what followed was even more harrowing. Jagoan picked up an unloaded pistol and used the barrel like
a hammer, smashing it onto Will’s right ankle. The crack was unmistakable. Pain overwhelmed Will, and he teetered on the brink
of unconsciousness. Jagoan showed no mercy, moving on to shatter the left ankle.

Ignoring Will’s frenzied screams, Jagoan turned to Jordan. “Continue.”
Jordan recounted, “The second time, he demanded three thousand dollars from me. When I couldn’t pay, he brought these men
and beat me up, saying it was my deadline.”
Jagoan surveyed Jordan’s bruised face, offering a slight nod. He seized Will by the collar, delivering four or five brutal slaps until
blood seeped from his capillaries. Then, he cast the man aside. He turned back to Jordan and asked “And the third?”
“The day before yesterday night,” Jordan began, “He was in a Cadillac, parked on the street corner. Anthony Carvin from the
Chinese Gang came out of the nightclub and was pulled into the car by his brother. I heard a gunshot, then saw blood spray from
the car’s rear door. They shoved Carvin’s body out and sped away...”
Jagoan listened intently. “Anthony Carvin, does he often terrorize people in Chinatown?”
Jordan shook his head. “The Chinese Gang is actually quite helpful in Chinatown. They do collect protection money, but they
step in when we’re in real trouble, especially for immigrants like us. We’re often targeted and they’re more reasonable about their
fees. Doing business in the U.S. taxes may be optional, but protection money isn’t. Compared to others, the Chinese Gang is
kinder.”
“Alright.” Jagoan pressed on, his voice firm. “You mentioned Will Johnson sitting in the car and Where did Anthony Carvin sit?”
Jordan hesitated briefly but summoned the courage to reply, “He was behind the passenger seat.”
Jagoan continued probing, “So, Carvin was brought into the car through the door behind the driver’s seat?”
Jordan nodded, affirming, “Yes...”
“Alright.” Jagoan paused, his gaze unwavering. “Did you see who pulled the trigger?”
Jordan shook his head, revealing his uncertainty. “Could you tell who fired the gun? It was only after Carvin was gone that the
window behind the passenger seat was rolled down and I saw Will spitting out.”
Jagoan turned his stern gaze towards Will. “Let me be clear, Will. Did you kill Anthony Carvin, the one who aided them?”
Will shook his head frantically. “It wasn’t me, I swear!”
Jagoan turned to the other four individuals, his tone unwavering. “For any one of you who tells me the truth, I’ll subtract five
bullets from your meal. But if you choose to lie or refuse to answer, you’ll feast on those bullets and see your guns dismantled

and eaten as well.”
The four of them squirmed, beads of sweat forming on their brows.
Jagoan’s mention of consuming gun parts sent shivers down their spines. Chowing down on more than a dozen bullets allowed
for a chance to pass them naturally. But devouring pistol components was akin to a direct execution, though at least it offered
some excitement.
Under this threat, several individuals corrected their stories, confirming that it was Will who had fired the fatal shot at Anthony
Carvin, the Chinese gang member.
Will’s face was drained of color. He considered defending himself, but the realization that these men had betrayed him held him
back. If he spoke up now, he might just provoke Jagoan’s wrath.
The thought of Jagoan’s penchant for vengeance, exacting double the harm for any wrongdoing, filled Will with dread. He had
killed a member of the Bloom Gang, did Jagoan intend to return the favor today?
As fear gnawed at him, Jagoan turned his attention to Jordan. “Do you know the boss of the Bloom Gang?”
Jordan nodded emphatically, affirming, “Yes, his name’s Casey Vigo. He used to visit the shop often.”
Hogan chimed in, “Young Master, Casey Vigo smuggled from the mainland to Hong Kong Island and then to the United States.
Despite his gang ties, he’s got a decent reputation.”
Jagoan nodded, then asked Jordan, “Can you track him down?”
Jordan pondered for a moment. “Mr. Jagoan, it seems Big Vigo went into hiding to lie low. Finding him won’t be a cakewalk now.”
Hogan interjected, “He can’t have strayed far from Chinatown. Maybe he’s holed up there, possibly at the Monroe Hair Salon.
He’s known to stick close to what he knows and believes that the most perilous place can also be the safest.”
Jordan exclaimed, “Impossible, Uncle Hogan! The whole of Chinatown knows the Monroe Hair Salons proprietress is influential,
a lover of Big Vigo. He wouldn’t dare to hide there now.”
Hogan replied calmly, “Don’t question it. Just head to the Monroe Hair Salon and inform the lady boss that I’ve returned. Invite
her to meet me on our terms.”