“I don’t have an exact date, but Tony said he’d push it.”
“That’s not an answer,” Pete said. “My stall burned down. Three years of work turned to ash.”
“And you’re telling us to wait.” Michael could see they were close to breaking. “If we fold now, Arthur learns we’re weak.”
“The payments will go up. The beatings will get worse. But if we hold on, he’ll be exposed. It’s worth it.”
Steve lifted his head. “I believe you, Mike. I’ll hold.”
Pete nodded too. “I’ve already lost too much to quit now.” Nick and Sam looked at each other, then reluctantly agreed.
“Three more days. If nothing changes, we’re out.” Michael accepted that.
Three days was better than nothing. The next morning two of George’s men were at the market. Gus, Tank, and Lenny still didn’t show.
The vendors worked, but the tension hung in the air. Around noon an unfamiliar man approached Michael. “You Carter? Arthur says your time’s up.”
“Either you disappear today, or tomorrow the real war starts.” Michael looked him in the eye. “Tell Arthur I’m not going anywhere.”
The man smirked and walked off. That evening Michael sat at home and thought. Time was gone.
Help from Rostov wouldn’t come fast enough. He had to do something himself. He took out the notebook and started writing a plan.
Simple. Hard. Hit Arthur personally. Show him he could be reached too.
He called George. “I need Arthur’s address. Where does he live?”
George was quiet for a moment. “That’s dangerous, Mike. If you touch him, this turns into open war.”
“It already is. He burned three stalls and he’s threatening people. He needs to see I can hit back.”
“All right. Arthur rents a place in a newer building on the edge of town. Seventh floor, apartment 73.”
“Two guards stay in the next apartment. At night they get lazy.” “Thanks.”
“Mike, if this goes bad, helping you will be hard.” “I know.” At eleven that night Michael left home.
Dark clothes. Ball cap. Scarf. He left his phone behind. Walked an hour to the neighborhood.
New building. Nine stories. Intercom. Cameras. He waited for someone to come out, slipped inside, and went up to the seventh floor. Apartment 73.
TV noise behind the door. Michael took out a folding knife.
For self-defense, not murder. He knocked three times. “Who is it?”
“Message from Gus. Problem.” The door opened.
Arthur was in lounge clothes, phone in hand. He saw Michael and his eyes widened. Michael shoved him in the chest, stepped inside, and locked the door.
He clamped a hand over Arthur’s mouth and held the knife to his throat. “Quiet. One word and I cut you. You understand?”
Arthur nodded fast, fear in his eyes. “Living room. Sit on the couch.”
Arthur sat down. His hands were shaking. His face had gone pale. Michael sat across from him, the knife visible. “Listen carefully.”
“The fires and threats stop tonight. You tell your people to back off. I can’t just back off. I’ll look weak in front of my own people.”
“If you don’t back off, you lose your life. Next time I won’t come to talk.” Arthur swallowed hard.
“Your guards won’t save you. They can’t be with you twenty-four hours a day. You sleep. You shower. You move around. I can get to you.”
“There’s another option,” Michael said, his voice a little calmer. “You leave the neighborhood voluntarily. Say you’re tired of wasting time on small stuff.”
“People get to live in peace, and you stay alive.” “And Paul Rostov? If he hears I got pushed out…”
“Rostov already knows about your mess. The proof is in the capital. When the decision comes down, you won’t just lose business. You’ll lose everything.”
“Men like Rostov don’t forgive people who stain their name.” Arthur sat in silence, then slowly nodded. “All right. I’ll tell them to stand down”…
