“Three guys have been terrorizing everybody for a year and a half. Gus, Tank, and Lenny. They collect from every stand, every little shop at the market.”
“If somebody doesn’t pay, they get beat up or their place gets torched. Police don’t do a thing. Gus is related to the brass.”
“Why doesn’t anybody file complaints?” “With who? The local cop told people not to get involved, and folks are scared.”
Michael finished his tea. “I’ll think on it.” He went back to the empty apartment, lay down on the couch, and stared at the ceiling.
Gus, Tank, and Lenny. Three punks nobody in law enforcement or the underworld seemed willing to touch. Tomorrow he’d go see for himself what was happening.
In the morning Michael stepped outside. The neighborhood was awake. People were heading to work, little stands were opening.
He walked toward the market. Near the entrance, an old woman was selling sunflower seeds. Michael remembered her from childhood.
She didn’t recognize him at first, then gasped. “Mikey? You’re out?”
“Lord, you were just a kid. Now look at you.” Michael bought a cup of seeds and sat down beside her. “How you doing, Miss Zina?”
She glanced around and lowered her voice. “Not good, Mike. Gus and his friends come by every week.”
“He wants twenty-five bucks from me. If I don’t pay, he flips the stand.” “How long’s that been going on?”
“Year and a half. He’s got everybody.” Michael nodded and headed into the market.
He walked the aisles and listened. Everywhere he went, people were tense. They talked quietly and kept looking over their shoulders.
At noon, two of them showed up. Tank and Lenny. The same two who had humiliated him outside the prison.
They moved with confidence, collecting cash from vendors. Nobody argued. They stopped at a man around fifty who was selling potatoes.
“Where’s the money, Steve?” “Had a bad week. Let me pay tomorrow.”
Tank hit him in the stomach. The man doubled over and dropped to his knees. “Tomorrow it’s double,” Lenny said. “You understand me?”
Michael stood off to the side and watched. He memorized how they worked, where they went after collecting. Tank and Lenny got into an old Chevy sedan and drove off.
That evening Michael pulled out a notebook and started writing. Names, connections, collection times. He didn’t have enough yet, but a plan was beginning to take shape.
On the third day he went to the local precinct. The officer’s office was on the first floor. Wrinkled uniform. Tired face.
“Morning. Can I ask you something?” “Go ahead.”
“Why are three punks collecting protection money all over this neighborhood and nobody stops them?” The officer paused. “Gus is the assistant chief’s nephew.”
“Orders are to leave it alone. I’m nobody here.” Michael walked out without another word.
“The law doesn’t work here.” That evening he deliberately went to Miss Zina’s stand and waited. Gus showed up at eight.
Short, jumpy, black tracksuit. He saw Michael and recognized him.
“Well, look who it is. Prison boy. Want some more?” Michael looked at him without speaking.
Gus reached into his pocket for a knife, but Michael took one step forward and Gus backed off. Miss Zina rushed out of the stand. “Mike, don’t.”
“They’ll kill you.” Michael gave her a nod and walked away. Gus shouted threats after him, but his voice shook.
At home Michael sat at the table and opened the notebook. He needed a plan. A real one. One that would deal with this the right way…
