By OBBM Network Editorial Staff

Derived from an episode of Locked In With Ian Bick.

Michael Lau was ten years old, clutching an apple in his mother’s hand, when a knife‑wielding robber tried to force his way into an elevator on the twelfth floor of their public‑housing building. The robber’s demand was simple: “Money, money, money.” Lau’s mother, a seamstress in a Chinatown sweatshop, tried to stay calm, offering the robber an apple as if she were a counselor. The encounter left a vivid imprint on the young boy, who later vowed to become a police officer so that no family in his neighborhood would live in fear.

Early Life and the Path to the Police Force

Lau was born in Hong Kong in 1965 and immigrated to the United States with his family in 1971, settling on the outskirts of Manhattan’s Chinatown. He grew up in a world where his father was repeatedly assaulted and robbed, and his mother worked long hours in a sweatshop. Those experiences, coupled with a Cantonese saying that “good sons become cops,” spurred him toward law enforcement. At 20½, after watching the movie Rocky and drinking raw eggs for stamina, he took the police academy entrance exam, passed, and entered the NYPD.

His early career was marked by cultural isolation. When Lau and two other Chinese officers were first assigned to a Harlem beat, locals would stare and ask, “Are you guys real cops? Are you shooting a movie?” Yet those moments also highlighted the novelty of a Chinese‑American presence in a department that had few officers of Asian descent.

Patrolling Chinatown: Language, Trust, and the Gang Landscape

After six months of training, Lau and his fellow Chinese officers were sent to the Fifth Precinct, covering Chinatown. The area was a patchwork of rival gangs: the Flying Dragons controlled Pell Street, while the Ghost Shadows held sway over Mott Street. Lau’s bilingual ability—speaking Mandarin‑inflected English and English‑inflected Cantonese—gave him a rare advantage in communicating with residents who were often reluctant to approach non‑Asian officers.

He described the daily tension of walking a beat where “people would make way like Moses walking down the block,” yet tourists often mistook the thin, young officers for movie extras. Gaining the community’s trust required more than language; it meant showing up consistently, listening to complaints, and, as Lau recalled, “the hardest part is getting a complaint to come forward.”

From Beat Cop to Undercover Operative

Two and a half years into his service, Lau moved into plain‑clothes work with the anti‑crime unit. He began driving a marked taxi, a tactic that allowed him to blend into the streets while gathering intelligence on gang activities. The criminals quickly learned to recognize his medallion numbers, prompting the unit to rotate cabs and use coded radio calls—”5050″ or “Joey”—to signal their presence.

One memorable encounter involved a former student who recognized Lau while he was on a surveillance run. The young man’s reaction was a mix of respect and fear: “Yo, what up, Mike?” or a hostile “spit.” In New York, spitting in public is a municipal code violation, giving officers a quick way to issue summonses and establish legal grounds for further action.

Cracking the Flying Dragons: Racketeering and RICO

The Flying Dragons, a Chinese‑American organized crime group, had entrenched themselves in extortion, illegal gambling, and protection rackets throughout Chinatown. Lau’s unit employed the federal RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations) statute to link multiple low‑level offenses to the gang’s leadership. Each arrest—whether for a knife robbery or a minor theft—served as a building block toward a larger case.

One small but symbolic victory involved a newsstand owner whose newspaper was stolen daily. After Lau staked out the stand, he arrested the thief and charged him with “365 counts” for each day of theft. The grateful owner said she “couldn’t thank me enough,” illustrating how even seemingly trivial crimes, when addressed, could erode the gang’s grip on the community.

Legacy and Reflections

After 24 years on the force, Lau retired, having helped dismantle organized crime groups. He reflects that his motivation was never personal glory but a desire to ensure that future generations could walk the streets without fear. “I don’t want my kids to be a cop,” he said, “I want them to be whatever they want, not forced into it.”

His story underscores how representation, perseverance, and community engagement can transform law‑enforcement outcomes in ethnically diverse neighborhoods. By bridging language gaps and confronting organized crime on its own turf, Lau’s career offers a template for how police departments might build trust and effectiveness in similarly complex urban settings.

In a city where crime often feels impersonal, Lau’s personal narrative—rooted in a childhood robbery, a mother’s resilience, and a determination to protect his own community—reminds us that the fight against organized crime is fought one street, one elevator, and one newspaper stand at a time.

The full episode of Locked In With Ian Bick is available on OBBM Network TV.