"Yo, you got a nice crib, man!" Maurice looked around Han's apartment, impressed by the luxury in which he was living.

Han went straight to his kitchen counter to grab a pack of cigarettes. "It was my brother's."

Maurice walked into the living room, scanning it with unbelief. He knew that Han's family had a lot of money due to their "business", but he'd always assumed that Han himself lived modestly, away from all of the riches and the corrupted goods.

The place almost looked like a museum; there were ancient Chinese vases propped up on marble columns, a large plasma flat screen TV in front of a big L-shaped couch, large windows looking out on the city's skyline, white lush carpets like those of a rap music video and a large bookshelf filled with different works.

He didn't hesitate kicking his shoes off, throwing himself on the couch and propping his feet up on the nearby coffee table. He reached for the remote next to him and turned the TV on, landing on the news channel.

The Lux Plaza hotel appeared on the screen, surrounded by police cars and ambulance trucks. Helicopter lights illuminated the building, highlighting its shattered windows. At the entrance, a steady flow of people were coming outside either handcuffed or with their hands on their heads, looking down.

The camera then switched over to a female news anchor standing in front of the hotel, reporting on the incident.

"Yo, Dim Sum!" Maurice yelled. "Come check this out!"

He watched very closely as the news anchor reported on a shootout that had happened on the premises, citing public concern about the renewed bout of gang activities coming seemingly out of nowhere.

She was then interrupted by a Black man dressed in a beat-up leopard suit grabbing her mic, reassuring the public that the authorities had everything under control and that they would be 'doing some serious ass kickin''.

Han walked into the living room with a lit cigarette between his lips. He stared Maurice down, annoyed with his familiarity in his apartment. His visitor, however, was too focused on the television to notice his deadly stare. Turning his attention to the screen, Han took a long drag of his cigarette.

He felt his chest tighten with regret at the sight of the hotel, the violence and destruction that had taken place over there and here he was, safe and sound at home. He repeatedly cursed himself for having left Trish all alone out there, even though it's what she wanted.

Her words had affected him more than he thought they could; I don't need you to do anything for me, as if she was blaming him for holding her back...

Suddenly, a familiar-looking man appeared on the television, asking for the news anchor's attention. Now that they could see his face up close, it was easier to perceive that he had a scar next to his lower lip. Han attentively observed it, noting that it was most likely the work of a knife of some sort, possibly a dagger, a small sword or even a sabre.

The man grinned with a devilishly handsome charm that could rival Frank Sinatra. In fact, he resembled the celebrity a lot, from the blue eyes down to the blonde hair. Interestingly, he also wore a special United States pin, one usually reserved for war veterans.

"Hey, wasn't he the dude we saw at the front of the hotel?" Maurice pointed at the screen. "He's definitely a mob guy or something, he even has their cigarette."

Han knitted his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean it doesn't take a detective to know that this guy's probably been ordering hits left and right. He got that Goodfellas look, you know, snazzy shoes, greasy hair-"

"No, I mean the cigarette thing."

"Oh, I just noticed that they're the same ones Mr. O' Day smokes from time to time, must be a gang boss thing."

This made Han abruptly turn towards him, slowly plucking out his own cigarette from his mouth and holding it up to his eyes. He meticulously scanned it, his eyes slightly widening.

Maurice shot him an amused look. "Bro, you good? That stuff got you tweakin' or something?"

"I'll be right back," his host dashed away.

Maurice shrugged his odd behavior off, grabbing the remote and changing the channel. To his surprise, he found himself flipping through some of the hottest programs like MTV and BET, even popular cartoon channels like Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network.

He slowly realized that the more he spent time with Han, the less he saw him as the stereotype he wanted to belittle him for. Finally settling on a channel for old school music and performances, Maurice frowned to himself, conflicted by the idea of getting along with someone who he called Dim Sum.

As swiftly as he left, Han soon came back with a pack of cigarettes in hand, the one he started smoking now back in his mouth. "I have the same ones that the guy on the TV had. Look."

"Uh, okay?" Maurice snapped out of his thoughts. "Anyways, check out what I found! Didn't know you had channels like this, my man. Respect."

"Yeah," he briefly glanced at the screen, lowering his voice, "Trish likes it a lot. But look at this. These cigarettes are from Cuba, Po had a whole stash of them. I know he loved spending money so he probably had them imported, I don't think they're sold in the US."

"Yeah, yeah," his guest waved him off, uninterested in the last half of what he said. "Respect for Trish, though. I hate to admit it, but girl's got taste. Kinda shook she likes the baby-makin' music channel... Ooooh, wait... After what happened earlier in my car, y'all probably get freaky over some of these songs, don't you?! I see why you kept the channel, you a playa, ain't ya?"

Han almost choked on his smoke. "What? No! No, we haven't done anything like that yet... Stop distracting me, I think I'm onto something here. I need to figure out who's been delivering these, how do they end up in the hands of so many influential people...."

Maurice didn't listen to him. "Hold up, y'all been together all this time and she still ain't giving you no cooch?"

"It's not a big deal, we've only known each other for a few months."

"Nah man, that ain't right. If I were you, I would've been tearing that up by now. You know, figuratively speaking."

Han did not appreciate that imagery, scrunching up his nose. "I don't think she'd enjoy that."

"No, I didn't mean it like that, dog!" Maurice defensively clarified himself, then mischievously smirked at him. "Oh, I get. You ain't never had some before?"

Han raised an eyebrow. "I should be the one asking you that, you clearly don't know what you're talking about."

"Man, I know exactly what I'm talkin' about! I was just asking, you know, man to man."

He waved Maurice off, returning his attention to the pack of Cuban cigarettes. The brand's name was written cursively in the front, La Iguana, right underneath a drawn iguana wearing a straw hat and smoking a big cigar in his mouth.

In the back, there was a bunch of Spanish phrases, probably more advertising for its quality. But then, at the corner right of the pack, Han saw little inscriptions in another language. He looked more closely and realized it was in Chinese.

Maurice kept talking in the background, strangely invested in Han's love life now. "You know, if you ever need any tips on, you know, girl stuff, I'm a pretty seasoned guy and-"

"Liu Shu Incorporated," Han read the mandarin inscription out loud.

He remembered seeing that name when he was filing through his father's papers one time. That day, he'd swung by with Trish after she'd finished managing her shop to do a little research on what Ch'u had been up to while he was sent to prison.

The police was going to confiscate the bulk of it the next day and the other triad families had completely turned against Ch'u after he'd betrayed them.

The Triad were established almost everywhere in the world, they weren't the largest organized crime syndicate for nothing. However, the Chinese had gotten particularly close to the Russians and the Cubans, united by mutual communist ideals and values. The Triad took advantage of that and formed multiple strong alliances with their various mafias and gangs to carry their business more easily.

"Look, all I'm saying's that when you're in a committed relationship with someone for more than a month, she should be giving you some, man," his guest was still ranting, completely oblivious. "She's on some villain stuff right now."

"Maurice!" Han demanded his attention. "Does Mr. O' Day have any ties to Cuba in any way?"

He looked at him funny, but still answered his question, slightly suspicious. "Maybe, I guess. Sometimes, he'd be on the phone with some Spanish dudes, they'd deliver a couple glocks."

"And his middle man was the guy we saw in the TV," Han said. "I saw his name in some of my father's papers, the same one that was on the news banner when he spoke. I think Liu Shu is Carl Raines and he deals military weapons... Interesting."

Maurice stared at him incredulously for a while before opening his mouth to speak. "Your whole relationship is what's interesting, dog. I could never go that long without any cooch, I'd go crazy."

"I'm sure you're used to it by now," Han crushed his cigarette on the coffee table. "Get your keys, we need to leave. I have to find Trish."

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