Chapter 27. There was nothing moving in the city that night. No sign of life on the streets of Toronto.

It was long past an hour when even those up to no good called in a night and went home.

The thick haze had started to shift at last. It was damp and claustrophobic, but at least it was now in motion.

The air of menace was still thick, but the breeze brought with it anticipation and a dreadful

note of preparation. Two figures made their way from doorway to doorway, staying just outside the pools of gaslight

from above. They were making their way to the only signs of life on the street, the light shining

from the windows of Fong's laundromat. A slender Chinese woman behind the counter at Fong spotted

them at a distance and called an alert to her employer in their native tongue. Fong hurried to the window. There had been much traffic through the hidden portal earlier in the

evening. Many men had left the secret layer of the crime cabal, but those few who had returned

had done so more than an hour ago. Fong had little compunction about aiding and abetting the commission

of criminal activity.

To his way of thinking the laws of this country were so helplessly skewed against him and his countrymen they could fend for themselves.

He was less comfortable about violating the laws of nature.

Fong had learned from years of dealing with the shady side of the law to pay as little direct attention as possible to exactly who passed in and out of his shop. That had not changed, but it was impossible

for him to ignore the fact that there was something unnatural about some of the soldiers of the

crime cabal. Through the corner of his eye, Fong had seen the great lumbering giants,

their faces painted

to resemble mortal flesh.

He knew not what sort of demon spirit had been invoked by these new, would-be overlords

of crime, but he had an aching feeling in his heart that no good would come of it.

Fong glanced quickly up and down the street.

No sign of police.

...