Read Online No Good to Cry by Andrew Lanh - Free Book Online

of Canal Street in Chinatown. They challenged the local Chinese tong gangs. The FBI moved in—closed them down. Murder without remorse—that bunch.”
    â€œBut years back, no?”
    â€œShadow gangs still pop up. Phantom gangs.”
    â€œAnd Little Saigon in Hartford?”
    â€œYeah.”
    Mike added, “Lost boys hanging together, stealing stuff from groceries, trafficking drugs, flipping off the cops, extorting money from old Chinese and Vietnamese store owners, payoffs from scared shopkeepers, that sort of thing. They just rob their own. Intimidate, frighten.”
    â€œHow many gang members?” I asked.
    â€œDunno.” Mike looked off as though thinking. “Mostly Vietnamese, some Chinese, some troubled white boys. Ex-cons. But my Simon found his way there. Lots of street boys do. You know, I followed him there one time. Some old industrial building, closed up. The thugs want young kids—do their bidding, follow orders.”
    â€œSoldiers,” Hank went on. “Street soldiers.”
    Mike was animated now. “Not in school but hanging in the front room of an abandoned store on Russell, off Park Street. VietBoyz. With a z. One word. You see the graffiti on the wall.”
    â€œSimon’s a member?”
    Mike didn’t like that. “No, no. He, well, stops in there. Him and Frankie.”
    â€œBest buddies?”
    He sighed. “I guess so. Simon and this Frankie got caught up in street stuff, the two of them like brothers, running the streets, dressing like punks. I forbid him to leave the house but he…runs off. He wanders back. I can’t control him no more. I guess they mugged this one old Chinese guy, asked for his cash but didn’t take it, pushed him around. Then, drunk with it, did more and more and more. Shoving, just pushing folks around, knocking into people. But the drugs. Shoplifting. Worse and worse. Stealing cigarettes from a gas station.”
    â€œThen the police caught them in the act.” Lucy drew her lips into a thin line. “Thank God.” She whispered again, “Thank God.”
    Mike let out an unfunny laugh. “Simon confesses. Blabs the whole thing. Like he’s proud. The judge sentenced them to four months at Long Lane. Simon tells us he hated it there. Rough boys, fights, cruelty, mocking by the authorities, everybody telling you you’re a piece of shit. Back home, he still runs the streets—it’s like it’s in his blood—can’t help himself.”
    â€œBut he still goes to…VietBoyz?”
    â€œYeah, I guess so.”
    â€œNo more crime?”
    A fatalistic shrug. “I don’t know.” Then, “Probably.”
    â€œBut he hated juvie.”
    â€œMaybe he thinks he won’t get caught,” Hank added.
    Mike grunted. “Kids think they can get away with murder these days.”
    Immediately he regretted his words. “I don’t mean…no…he wouldn’t…”
    â€œDid he talk to you about the latest attack? The death of Ralph Gervase?”
    Mike’s eyes flashed. “You know, I asked him after we got back from the police station. Ardolino told me they were getting evidence against him and Frankie. Convinced, they said, he’s back to no good.”
    â€œBut Simon denied it?”
    Again his fist slammed the table. “Yes.” He locked eyes with mine. “You know, that first time, dragging Simon to juvenile court, dealing with lawyers, hanging out in courtrooms, talking to the judge, my little Simon dressed in a suit too big for him, all those times I got him to talk. We never talk. But then he did. Maybe he was scared. I don’t know. He admitted everything . No reason, he said, the nonsense he did. Just for the hell of it. Something to impress the guys in VietBoyz, maybe. But after this last time we talked again. He—like sought me out. I’ll tell you, Rick Van Lam, he swore to me this