Nick at the auto shop felt the difference too. More customers came in. He was able to hire another mechanic and buy equipment he’d wanted for years but could never afford because of the constant shakedowns.
Now the money went back into the business instead of into the pockets of thugs. Sam at the grocery store did a small remodel, updated the displays, and started carrying better products. Customers came back because the prices were fair now, without the extra markup to cover protection money.
Even Miss Zina, with her sunflower seeds, started doing better. She added nuts and dried fruit, got herself a new stool, and set out a little bench for customers. People gathered by her stand to drink tea from a thermos, talk about life, and catch up on neighborhood news.
The neighborhood was coming back to life right in front of them. There was a sense of calm and confidence about tomorrow that hadn’t existed in a year and a half. People smiled at each other again, said hello on the street, helped their neighbors.
Like they used to, back when Michael was young and still lived there with his father. As for Arthur and his people, news came in bits and pieces through contacts and rumor. Arthur really had gone to another city, about five hundred miles away.
He tried to start over in business there, but without protection or connections, it turned out to be hard. According to rumor, he opened a small barbecue place on the edge of town and worked the grill himself. No status. No influence.
Paul Rostov sent word through his people that everybody should know Arthur was finished and nobody was to support him in any way. In that world, that was a death sentence for business. Nobody wanted to be tied to a man the bosses had cast out.
Gus left the region as soon as word spread about Rostov’s decision. He went to his father’s place in another state, but even there he got a cold reception. The story of the extortion and violence had spread, and his name carried a stink to it.
People said he got a warehouse job, hauling boxes for lousy pay and keeping his head down. His uncle, Assistant Chief Harold Gunn, was removed after an internal investigation. They found corruption and violations people had ignored for a long time.
He was reassigned to a small rural post in the middle of nowhere. It was a disaster for his career and his pride. Tank got a security job on a construction site outside a neighboring city.
He worked for low pay, hauled materials, and watched the gate at night. All his old swagger was gone. Now he was just another laborer trying not to lose his job and trying not to get noticed by serious people.
Lenny disappeared altogether. Some said he went to the capital and was surviving on odd jobs—loading trucks, making deliveries. Others said he’d been seen somewhere down South working as a day laborer at a flea market.
No one knew for sure, and no one much cared. None of the three ever came back to the neighborhood. Their time was over, and people forgot their faces and names the way you forget a bad dream after waking up.
One evening Michael sat on a bench outside his building, smoking and watching kids play in the courtyard. Mr. Grayson came over carrying a bottle of homemade cordial and two glasses. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, sitting down.
“Go ahead.” Mr. Grayson poured, and they clinked glasses without a word. The drink was strong, herbal, a little bitter.
“You know, Mike,” Mr. Grayson said after a pause, “I’ve lived in this neighborhood a long time. Seen all kinds. But I’ve never seen anybody quite like you.” “Like what?”
“Somebody who didn’t scare easy. Somebody who stood up and did what everybody else was afraid to even think about.”
“Your father would’ve been proud.” Michael said nothing. Any mention of his father still hit a sore spot.
“He was like that too,” Mr. Grayson went on. “Fair-minded. Couldn’t stand seeing the weak pushed around”…
