Joining a gang?
Leon fell silent. It had been over a month since he arrived in the city, and his original goal had been simple—to make a name for himself in business.
Relying on his experience and instincts, he thought he could carve out a path. But as time passed, he realized that might've been naïve.
Vancouver was chaotic and divided, and for a young man from outside the system with no foundation, getting started was nearly impossible.
Money. Connections. Influence. Each was a mountain blocking the way forward.
Even if you managed to climb to the top, sooner or later someone stronger would come along to take everything you'd built. In a city crawling with gangs and blood-hungry capitalists like Vancouver, without power, even wealth couldn't keep you safe.
It was a brutal world—and Leon understood that the first step toward fortune was often soaked in blood.
He looked around the streets of the East Vancouver Docks, knowing well that no family, no tycoon in this city had risen clean. Now they only basked in glory—but their roots were all stained.
So for Leon, joining a gang wasn't a fall from grace. It was a way up.
If he could control power, grow his own influence, and then, at the right time, turn legitimate—he could become one of Vancouver's next generation Conglomerate.
Among the city's major crime families, four stood above the rest:
The Fraser Union, the Red Maple Gang, the Granville Association, and the East Point Crew.
And the Red Maple Gang suited Leon best.
For one, it was made up mostly of men from across Canada and beyond—outsiders who had fought their way in, just like him. They shared the same hunger.
Second, its structure offered room to rise.The Fraser Union was old and rigid, a legacy group with strict hierarchy and elections for its leadership. Leon didn't have time for that.
The Granville Branch and the East Point Crew were family-run like the Mafia—closed circles with no room for newcomers.
Only the Red Maple Gang allowed ambition to speak louder than bloodlines. Its branches often clashed, but one rule held true: the strongest man took the lead.
When his strength was enough, Leon could establish his own branch under the Red Maple banner—and no one could stop him.
So, for now, joining the Red Maple Gang was the only logical move.
Under everyone's gaze, Leon nodded slightly and looked at Henry Wallace, speaking in a calm, steady voice."Since you believe in me, Mr. Wallace… then I'll follow you."
Henry's eyes lit up, and a broad grin spread across his face. "Good—hahaha! From now on, you're one of us!"
Just then, a sharp whistle echoed in the distance—the police were coming.
Everyone knew they'd arrive late, as usual. Henry waved his hand, and the group quickly scattered. He clapped Leon on the shoulder with a laugh."Come on, kid. Let's grab a drink!"
...
That night, the neon lights of Homer Street shimmered over the Grand Bleu Bar .Inside, the crowd pulsed with life—music, liquor, and women dancing in the dark.
Leon sat quietly in a corner booth, refusing every flirtatious glance that came his way. He was calm, detached, and alert.
Now, he was officially a Captain in the Red Maple Gang's Harbour Branch V.
After single-handedly taking down six men from the Fraser Union, he'd earned both respect and rank. His achievement had elevated him to a mid-tier position almost overnight.
In the newly secured East Vancouver Docks territory, he was given three bars and two nightclubs to protect. With a dozen men under his command, Leon had become a boss in his own right.
His day-to-day work? Managing protection fees, loan operations, and smuggling alcohol and drugs. It wasn't honest—but it was profitable. Far more than being a barback ever had been.
And truth be told—it was liberating. In a few short days, Leon had adapted fully to this new life.
But he didn't relax. Half of this dock territory once belonged to the Fraser Union, and they weren't about to let that slide. They'd strike back—he was sure of it. That's why Leon stayed at the Grand Bleu every night, watching over his turf.
The atmosphere was wild, a mix of laughter, smoke, and sin.
Then Ricky, one of his men, rushed over."Leon! Tom Barrett just got out of the hospital!"
"Oh? He's out already?"
Leon leaned back, expression unreadable. He hadn't gone easy on Barrett, but none of the wounds had been fatal.
Still—Tom Barrett's arms had been ruined. He'd never hold a knife again.
"And word is… he's looking for hitmen. Probably after you," Ricky said anxiously, his face glome. "He's real serious about it this time."
Hitmen.
In Vancouver's underworld, there were unspoken rules. Disputes were settled with fists, pipes, or knives. Guns were a last resort—because the cops always came running when bullets flew.
But this time, Tom Barrett clearly didn't care. Crippled by a newcomer, he'd never accept it quietly.
Leon's gaze hardened. "So he's forcing my hand."
If Tom wanted blood, then blood it would be.
"Do we have any contacts for firearms?" Leon asked.
Ricky hesitated. "Weapons are hard to come by around here. But I know a guy—Frank 'Blackie' Harris. He's a smuggler, moves arms and military junk through the docks. Prices are steep though, and quality's hit or miss."
Leon frowned slightly. He didn't have the money to waste on bad hardware—and Harris was on every cop's watchlist. If a gunfight broke out, they'd drag in every known arms dealer for questioning.
No, that was too risky.
Then an idea flickered in his mind.
Back in the closing months of the Korean fighting, when U.S. units pulled back, a cache of weapons had been left behind — not brought home but sold off cheaply to whoever could pay or to local depots.
Leon had read the reports and heard the rumors while he was still in uniform. Thousands of rifles and crates of ammunition, left to rust in an abandoned supply yard. He even remembered roughly where the yard was. A slow, calculating smile crossed his face. "Maybe it's time to take a trip back to Korea."