Uniform.
Same confident walk.
He greeted nobody.
Walked directly to the barbecue cart.
Reached over.
Took a rib.
Of course.
The Vendor watched.
The Sergeant bit into it.
“Still good.”
The Vendor said nothing.
The Sergeant dropped the bone.
Then held out his hand.
The Vendor did not move.
The Sergeant waited.
“Envelope.”
The Vendor wiped his hands.
Folded the towel.
Placed it carefully beside the grill.
“No.”
The Sergeant lowered his hand.
“What?”
“No envelope today.”
The Sergeant looked around.
Several customers had stopped talking.
The Taco Vendor froze.
The Flower Vendor stared.
The Sergeant leaned closer.
“You forget something?”
“No.”
“Seven-fifty.”
“I remember.”
“Then get it.”
The Vendor looked at his watch.
11:41.
He did not press it yet.
The Sergeant’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t make me ask again.”
The Vendor folded his arms.
“Ask again.”
The Officer’s face changed.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
The Sergeant stepped closer.
“Seven hundred fifty dollars.”
The Vendor remained still.
“For what?”
The Officer looked around.
The question annoyed him.
“You know what.”
“Say it.”
“What is this?”
“Seven-fifty for what?”
The Sergeant slammed one palm onto the stainless counter.
Sauce bottles shook.
Customers stepped back.
The Flower Vendor flinched.
The Vendor did not.
The Sergeant pointed inches from his chest.
“For keeping your cart on my sidewalk.”
The Vendor’s voice stayed calm.
“Your sidewalk?”
“You want to play stupid?”
“No.”
The Vendor looked toward the permits.
“I’ve got a license.”
“Health certificate.”
“Fire inspection.”
“What exactly am I paying you for?”
The Sergeant leaned in.
“Because none of that paper matters if I decide it doesn’t.”
The Vendor glanced at the watch.
“Say the amount again.”
The Sergeant’s face reddened.
“Seven hundred fifty dollars.”
“Every week?”
“Every damn Friday.”
The Vendor touched the button.
Click.
The Sergeant saw.
“What did you just do?”
The Vendor looked into his eyes.
“Finished.”
“Finished what?”
Behind the Sergeant, chairs scraped against concrete.
The federal investigator sitting at the café stood.
Then another.
The side door of the delivery van opened.
Two plainclothes agents stepped out.
Three black SUVs turned onto Fulton Avenue.
The Sergeant looked around.
Confusion first.
Then instinct.
His hand moved toward his belt.
The lead Federal Investigator raised one palm.
“Keep your hands where we can see them.”
The Sergeant froze.
Credentials appeared.