Steve, Walter from the meat counter, Pete from produce, Nick from the auto shop, and Sam from the grocery store. Men between forty and sixty, worn down but not broken. Michael laid it out for them.
Arthur controlled the neighborhood because he hid behind Paul Rostov’s name. But Rostov didn’t know what was happening here. If they gathered proof and got it to Rostov’s people, Arthur would lose his protection.
Walter asked what kind of proof. Recorded conversations, photos of injuries, witness statements. Anything that showed a pattern.
Pete nodded. “I’ve got hospital paperwork. Last year Tank broke two of my fingers because I was late.”
Nick added, “I know the guy they beat so bad he spent a month in the hospital. He might agree to talk.” “That’s a good start,” Michael said. “Bring me everything you’ve got.”
“If any of them come asking for money, record it on your phones.” Sam asked the obvious question: “What if Arthur finds out? He’ll burn us all out.”
“There’s risk, yes. But if we stand together, the odds change. One person is easy to crush. Ten or twenty is a different story.” The men looked at one another.
Then Steve said, “We’re in. We’ll gather what we can.” Michael shook each man’s hand.
The next day he decided to check out The Wave himself. He caught a ride and got out about two hundred yards away.
The place was a one-story brick building with a faded sign. Empty lot around it. A few cars in the parking area. Michael went inside pretending to be just another customer.
Smoky. Dirty. Three men in the corner playing cards. Clearly Arthur’s people.
In the back was a door marked “Employees Only.” Arthur’s office. Michael ordered tea and a meat pie and sat by the window.
He memorized the layout, the exits, the number of men inside. One of the guards came over. “Who are you?”
“Passing through. Needed something to eat.” The guard looked him over but walked away.
Forty minutes later Michael left. He had enough. The next three days he stayed around the market.
Gus, Tank, and Lenny didn’t show. Apparently they’d been told to lie low. The vendors kept gathering material.
Three days later Michael had a folder. Twenty pages of statements, six medical reports, ten photos of beaten people, and four videos of extortion. Solid proof.
On the fourth evening two unfamiliar men in leather jackets approached him. “Carter. Arthur wants a conversation.”
“Tomorrow at eight p.m. The Wave. Come alone.” “And if I don’t?”
“Then it’s war, and everybody around you gets hurt.” Michael nodded. “I’ll be there.”
That night he called George. “Arthur wants a meeting. Could be a trap.”
“Probably wants to make a deal. Killing you would cost him too much. I’d have to respond.”
“But just in case, my people will be nearby. If something goes wrong, call. Help will be there in five minutes.”
In the morning Michael hid the folder somewhere safe. He wrote George a note with instructions in case he didn’t come back. That evening he caught a ride out to The Wave.
He arrived ten minutes before eight. Inside, it looked the same as before. A guard took his phone and led him to the office.
Arthur sat behind a desk in a gray suit. On the table was an expensive bottle of brandy and two glasses. He poured slowly.
“Sit down, Carter. Let’s talk like grown men.” Michael sat, took the glass, but didn’t drink.
“You’ve become a problem for me,” Arthur began. “You beat my guys, stirred up the vendors. That hurts my standing”…
