Chapter 3

Shang in the City

Shang Chi loved New York. He'd lived here for 7 years and in that time he'd been spit on by a homeless man for offering him a sandwich instead of the dollar he'd wanted, been called a racial slur by a passing driver, and missed his bus to his old job several times. Those were good memories for him. It was part of the growing experience for him as a New Yorker. Just as living through the Incident had helped him understand that the universe was bigger than he'd first thought. There were aliens, giant green men, guys in flying suits of armor that probably cost more than his apartment, and now the heroes were apparently building talking robots if the rumors online were to be believed. He loved it all. Life was never boring in this city.

Shang was on his morning jog to the Corner Deli, taking in the sights, wearing his red jogging outfit, and greeting everyone he could, getting a friendly wave or a "screw off" in response to his joviality. Nothing could keep his spirits down today. He'd gotten his tax refund, his electronic repair business was doing well, and he'd just gone on date number two with his girlfriend Sasha. Things were looking up for him.

He entered, took a ticket, and waved to the owner. "Hey, Mr. Ferraiolo! How's it going? How're the kids?"

Ferraiolo, a heavyset bespectacled man, smiled at Shang and waved back. "Kids are fine, Shang. Finally back in school after the break. Swear to God, the schools are making these holidays longer on purpose just to pawn our kids back on us. That's what they're for!"

Shang laughed at the big man's joke and stood in front of the counter, observing the various meats behind the glass as he waited in line. When he finally got to the check out, he handed the ticket over and made his choices. "I'll take a pound of corned beef, ham, turkey, extra thin, and a pound of roast beef. Oh, and I'll take a Sammy sandwich to go. Extra onions please."

Ferraiolo nodded and got to work, slicing the meats and having his oldest daughter, Rhonda, prep the sandwich while his wife Freida handled the cash. Shang liked going to family businesses like this. Ferraiolo was a family man with three kids, the youngest two still in high school, while Rhonda helped out the business in between classes at State. Ferraiolo had insisted she go to college, having not gone himself. He had repeatedly told Shang his regrets, how this country never gave you much if you didn't have the right papers for the job and didn't want his daughter to go through what he'd went through.

Shang had reminded him that he was doing pretty well for himself for a second generation Italian American without a college education who owned his own business. Ferraiolo agreed, but pointed out that Rhonda and the kids didn't want the business and he respected that. "This world doesn't give you anything free. You need to work your ass off just to get your foot in the door and wave the papers around before they even give you a chance." Shang would just smile to himself and take the food and bid the Ferraiolos a good day. He did the same today and was about to leave when three men entered.

One was a heavyset bald guy in a leather jacket with shades and a goatee while his partner was a more refined fellow with slicked back hair that looked to be more gel than actual hair and wore a suit that had the top of the shirt open to reveal a gold medallion, obviously fake, Shang thought. The third was far shorter with hair that was fading away in a horseshoe pattern and a paunch belly. Shang had a feeling who they were, but didn't do anything. It wasn't his business who Mr. Ferraiolo associated with or who he did business with, but he wanted to step in as the men shoved their way through the line to the counter. Shorty spoke in hushed tones to Mr. Ferraiolo who looked extremely uncomfortable as he quickly handed them an envelope that was bulging with what Shang strongly suspected to be cash. Shorty then leaned forward and gave Mr. Ferraiolo three light slaps on the cheek while giving him a condescending grin.

Freida and Rhonda kept their heads low, but Shang could see the shame on Freida's face as the three men left. Shang balled his hands into fists and turned to the counter. The mood had definitely taken a nosedive and Shang wasn't going to stand by and not do a damn thing anymore. He went to the counter and glared at Mr. Ferraiolo. "Chris," he said in a flat tone, using his first name to let him know it was serious this time. "Was that the foot you used to prop the door open?" Ferraiolo didn't say anything at first until he turned to Freida and whispered in her ear. He motioned to Shang to follow him to the back room. The back room was Chris' office, large enough for two people to sit in with a couple chairs in front of a desk with a laptop on it. He motioned again for Shang to sit down and Shang complied, still not letting his glare go from Ferraiolo's face.

The two men sat in silence for a while before either one spoke. "So... you want to know what that was all about," Chris asked. Shang nodded. He wasn't angry at Chris specifically, nor did he think any less of him for who he associated with, but he had to know why his friend was giving money to gangsters, specifically ones he suspected worked for the Batali family.

Chris sighed and went on. "It all started after the Incident. My store was pretty damaged during the fight with those aliens and let's just say that the repairs were pretty costly."

"How much did it cost you to get the place fixed up," Shang asked, finally speaking.

"All my savings," Chris answered. "All of it. I put everything I had into this business, Shang. It's my life. My legacy to the people of this city. I had to take out a second mortgage on the place, but the bank wouldn't endorse the loan. I had to go to Batali. I needed the money to cover it. He said he'd pay it back and he did. And then the monthly installments started."

"How much does he take?"

"He takes 25% of the profits every month," Chris said. "Without fail. I don't pay, he makes me pay. I'm not the only one, Shang. A lot of the small business owners went to him after the Incident."

"But why would you choose Batali of all loan sharks," Shang asked, exasperated.

"Shang, you were there when the sky opened, right? You saw the damage to the city, right? I needed to get back on my feet! I needed to cover repairs, order costs, I needed to help pay for Rhonda's college education! I needed it! Now... Now it's not even my business anymore."

The big man's eyes were starting to brim with tears as he said those words. Desperation could drive a man to make terrible mistakes. It was only human. It was also human to extend a helping hand to his fellow man. Just as Chris had done for him.

When Shang had arrived in New York with not a lot in the way of funds, Chris and his family had taken him under their wing, giving him a leg up, a free meal every night, and a recommendation for his old office job until he found his feet. The Ferraiolos were good people, practically his family, and he owed them more than he could say. He couldn't stand by and let them suffer like this. He had to do something.

He leaned forward and put a hand on Chris' shoulder. "Where are they stationed?"

As Shang walked back to his shop, bag in in hand, he felt like someone was following him. He turned around to check and see if anyone was stalking him. Aside from the many morning commuters, he didn't see anyone actively following him and him alone. He shook his head and went back towards the shop, his senses still on alert. His past had taught him that if he had the feeling he was being followed, the chances were that he actually was being followed. Paranoid? Maybe. But he wasn't above taking chances, especially in light of the events that had transpired in New York these past few years.

As he reached the storefront of Shang's Electronics and Repairs, he took one last look around for the unseen stalker, even checking on the rooftops across the streets just in case. Chances were something that no one could ignore. As he unlocked the door, changed out of his jogging suit in his apartment above the store, turned the sign from closed to open, turned on the lights and booted up the register connected to the iPad where he calculated the repair fees, he kept his eyes and ears open. No sight nor sound, no matter how small or insignificant to the naked eye, was above his roaming gaze. Everything was mentally catalogued and stored away for examination later. Shang breathed in and out, put on a smile, and prepared for his first appointment of the day.

Shang had not had a good childhood. It had been one of pain, neglect, general unpleasantness. However, what hurt Shang the most when thinking about it was how he hadn't realized how bad it had been until he had grown up. His father had been emotionally distant from him, his only real parental relationship being his mother and even she wasn't open to talking about her feelings, being more of a dutiful wife and mother, fulfilling the role given to her, but no more than that. But this had been his life and as far as he knew, this was how everyone lived. Every child's father was an emotionally distant crime lord that pushed his child to grow up to be a living weapon that would kill upon command while their moms would sit back and observe. Such was life.

As the day went on, customers came and went, computers, Mac and PC, were repaired, and fees were paid. It was his life. It was monotonous, repetitive, and he loved it. It was his choice to live this life and he wasn't going to trade it for anything. As he closed up shop and retreated to the one bedroom one bath apartment above, Shang took one last glance outside to make sure he really was being paranoid. Nothing. Not a person out of place. Reassuring to some, but not for Shang. He couldn't shake the fear that perhaps his father had finally found him. That his old life had come back to him. That he was close to a confrontation with the most despicable human being he'd ever known.

He shook his head free of the fear. He wasn't going to let it control him. This was his life and he was going to live it. Nothing was going to change that. It felt like nothing could bring him down now as he lay back in bed and turned on the white noise generator to lull him to sleep.

Enrico Batali's loanshark business was booming. With backing from Mr. Fisk, he'd been able to make a hefty profit while giving Fisk his cut. The Incident had been one of the best things to ever happen to guys like him. People needed money to rebuild and when the bank wouldn't cover it, they went to him. And he was more than happy to accept their business. Fisk had come to him, offering to sponsor him, giving his business a boost, allowing him to hire more muscle for shakedowns. Fisk had managed to continue helping even after he'd been sent to prison. Life was good and he was living the dream of a "legitimate businessman".

Sammy, Moose, and Rocko were coming back with the day's profits when there was a knock at the door. Moose, Enrico's biggest hitter, moved to the door and slid back the slot to check who was outside. "May I help you," The big man asked.

The door burst open as four men entered, guns pointed at all occupants. Enrico grabbed his Colt .45 and pointed it at one of the intruders and started sizing them up. The men were Chinese-American and had the look of the Blue Lotus Triads from Chinatown. "What the Hell are you people doing in my business?! This is my territory, not yours! Get out!"

"They are here under my instruction, Mr. Batali," a flat voice said from outside. In walked a tall Chinese man with a bald head, a sky blue suit with gold lace trimming, and a mustache and goatee. His accent was heavy though his english didn't miss a beat. What threw Batali off though was that the man looked old. Old enough to be Batali's grandfather, yet there was nothing in his stride and the way he carried himself that showed his age. This man was strong and proud. And he scared him.

"Who... Who are you?"

"My name is Fu Manchu, Mr. Batali. I am here to tell you that I am taking over your business."

"Excuse me? I answer to Wilson Fisk! Do you know who that is? He will bury you, Old Man!"

Fu Manchu's mouth turned into a thin smile. "I can assure you that I have talked with Mr. Fisk and I have acquired several of his small businesses, including this one. I think I will be able to put it to better use than it is now. It might actually be able to make a profit."

Batali's face went red as the insult to his place left the old man's lips. "How... DARE you, you old Ch-AAAAAAAGH!" The slur had barely left his mouth when an intense pain erupted from his chest. He looked down to see the point of a sword blade sticking out of his chest, blood seeping from the wound. As the scream left his lips, he turned his head to see a man in armor and a stony expression on his face. Fu Manchu walked through the room as the Triads opened fire on the goons and looked into Batali's eyes.

"This is Dog Brother #1. He will be your murderer for the day. I am taking over now. You and your men are no longer needed so consider this your retirement. I own the office already. I own the business. I own your life. Thus it is yours to do with as I wish. If it hadn't been for that slur, you may have lived to see another day. I don't like language like that in my organization. You are done here. Goodbye and may you be more understanding of etiquette in your next life." As the life left Batali's eyes, Fu turned and departed, leaving the Triads and Dog Brother to clean up the mess. As he left the office, his cell phone rang in his pocket. Checking it to see that Mr. Tsang was calling, he answered.

"What is it, Mr. Tsang?"

The nervous voice of the toady spoke out. "Master, I apologize for what I'm about to tell you. My sources in China were wrong. Your son... Your son is here. In New York. He has been here for seven years and is running a business in Manhattan." Fu stopped as he heard the words he hadn't expected to hear. His son was here in New York. Shang Chi was in New York after all. First things first however.

"Mr. Tsang, I thank you for your news. However, I must ask that you have your informants that were looking for my son put to death. They failed the most important job that could be trusted to them and I cannot have incompetence in my organization."

"But... But, Master-"

"No excuses, Mr. Tsang. Just do it." With the last word, he hung up. He smiled a cold smile to himself. Today had been quite successful after all.