“One.”
“Then we shut it.”
The Vendor nodded.
Week eight.
Seven hundred fifty dollars.
The Sergeant arrived smiling.
The Vendor handed over the envelope.
The Officer counted the money.
“See?”
“That didn’t hurt.”
The Vendor stared.
The Sergeant tucked it away.
“People complicate things.”
“Life’s easier when everybody understands their place.”
The Vendor’s jaw tightened.
The Sergeant noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The Sergeant reached toward the grill.
Took another rib.
Bit.
“Good.”
He left.
The Vendor touched the watch.
Across the street, the Federal Investigator said:
“That’s the final one.”
The Vendor replied softly:
“I know.”
But Friday nine changed that.
Not because of the Sergeant.
Because of the Flower Vendor.
Thursday afternoon, the Flower Vendor did not appear.
The Black Vendor looked toward her empty space.
No cart.
No flowers.
Nothing.
The Taco Vendor came over.
“She’s at the hospital.”
The Vendor froze.
“What happened?”
“Blood pressure.”
“Maybe stress.”
“Her niece called.”
The Taco Vendor looked toward the empty sidewalk.
“She couldn’t pay him and buy the medicine.”
The Vendor stared.
“You knew?”
“She told me yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
The Taco Vendor’s face tightened.
“What was I supposed to do?”
The Vendor immediately regretted the question.
The Taco Vendor continued:
“Pay hers too?”
“I’ve got children.”
“Rent.”
“My own payment.”
His voice lowered.
“We’re all choosing which part of our lives gets damaged.”
That sentence hit harder than any insult the Sergeant had made.
The Black Vendor looked toward the empty flower stall.
Then closed his eyes briefly.
That night, the federal team met.
The Vendor entered.
Placed the apron on the table.
“We end Friday.”
The Federal Investigator nodded.
“That was already the plan.”
“No.”
The Vendor looked at him.
“He needs to say the number one more time.”
The Investigator frowned.
“We have it.”
“In front of the block.”
“That introduces witnesses.”
“Yes.”
“Potential chaos.”
“Yes.”
“You’re emotionally compromised.”
The Vendor’s expression hardened.
“Maybe.”
The Investigator leaned back.
“Then I should pull you.”
The room became quiet.
The Vendor looked at him.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then trust that I know the difference between anger and losing control.”
The Investigator said nothing.
The Vendor continued:
“He thinks everybody is afraid individually.”
“Flower Vendor.”
“Taco Vendor.”
Me.”
“He thinks fear isolates people.”
“I want the final demand recorded where they hear him say what he’s been doing.”
“That matters.”
The Investigator shook his head.