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the door of room 308. Phu opened the door and motioned Tinh inside.
    â€œHello, Anh hai ,” Tinh said, as he entered. Looking around the room, Tinh saw worried looks on the faces of Tommy Vu, Jimmy Wong, Sonny, and others who were there.
    David Thai stood up, walked over to Tinh, and brusquely slapped him across the face. Then he kneed him in the groin. When Tinh fell to the ground in pain, David began kicking him.
    â€œMotherfucker!” screamed Thai, kicking and kicking. “You motherfucking motherfucker! How dare you steal from me! How dare you steal from BTK!”
    â€œSorry, Anh hai ,” cried Tinh, between blows. “I know I make mistake. Please. Sorry.”
    When Thai finally stopped kicking, Tinh pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and thrust it toward David. “Here, Anh hai , this all themoney I have. I know the mistake, Anh hai , so I won’t make mistake again.”
    David was breathing heavily from the exertion. He took the money from Tinh and turned to the others. “Who take care a this guy?” he asked. “Who does he follow?”
    â€œUh, I take care a him,” answered Jimmy Wong, Tinh’s official dai low .
    â€œJimmy, take this guy home. Take this motherfucker outta my sight.”
    Jimmy Wong walked over and helped Tinh to his feet.
    Wincing in pain, Tinh glanced around the room at the others, who looked chastened. For good reason. Whether David Thai knew it or not, it was a common practice for gang members to skim money from robbery proceeds if they thought they could get away with it. Tinh had seen others do it, including many of those standing by as he took his beating.
    â€œSorry, Anh hai ,” mumbled Tinh one last time as he was led to the door.
    In the days that followed, Tinh nursed his cuts and bruises. He figured it was Phu who had squealed on him. He knew he should be mad about it, but he wasn’t going to worry for now. After all, the incident had taught him an important lesson. He had seen the iron fist in the velvet glove. To Tinh, the moral was as plain as the hair on Ho Chi Minh’s chin.
    Unless you had a taste for punishment, you didn’t fuck around with David Thai.

Chapter 3
    I t was just after five o’clock on the afternoon of August 5, 1989, and traffic on Canal Street was backed up as far as the eye could see. Huge trucks and commuter vehicles idled their engines, some waiting to head west toward the Holland Tunnel, others due east toward the Manhattan Bridge. Many motorists, their vehicles belching noxious fumes, angrily honked their horns and screamed obscenities. Others sat comatose, resigned to their fate as victims of a predictable New York City horror: rush hour congestion in Chinatown.
    At 271 Canal Street, in front of the Asian Shopping Mall, two teenage males approached David Thai, who was chatting idly with a few associates. The two boys were both members of the Flying Dragons. It had finally become clear to the larger, more established gang that the BTK was a force to be reckoned with, especially here on Canal Street. Accordingly, the Dragons had been harassing Born to Kill gang members throughout the city.
    â€œYou think you big man,” said one of the boys,fifteen-year-old Duc Ly. “You think you important guy. But nobody respect you, David Thai. Nobody respect BTK.” With Duc Ly was an equally young companion named Thanh Lai. Together, they stood on the sidewalk taunting David in broken English, as throngs of rush-hour shoppers obliviously passed by.
    The BTK leader was clearly annoyed. “Hey, little boys,” he replied, “go home. Your mothers call for you.”
    Then Duc Ly did something everyone knew spelled trouble. He spit on the sidewalk, a gesture of disregard for BTK territory, the BTK, and David Thai himself.
    For a moment, Thai froze, so startled he was unable to think of an appropriate response. Then he turned and abruptly stormed toward the rear of the shopping mall.