The Blues are an odd bunch, sort of a union that got out of hand, much older than the other groups and almost all of them with families, little houses, lawns they mow on Sundays; they brawl with scabs and strikebreakers more often than they do with any of the other collectives. They never try to expand, but they’re vicious to anyone who comes into their area. You’ll send a Green back south with a broken arm or a couple of bullets in his guts as a memento, but the Blues never send anyone back except on a gurney.
Mostly it’s the Greens you tangle with. You’re both expanding, and you’re both trying to corner the market on drugs, hoodoo, and professionals, so there’s always a firefight somewhere in the city between your knuckleheads and theirs. You don’t know much about the Greens, except that they’re a pain; nobody in the gang does, either, some sort of a pride thing, maybe, that you don’t talk to the enemy. The Greens are your enemies, and that’s as much as anyone will say. If it weren’t for a bloodstains and the scars you’d think they were the boogeyman.