The Food Desert
Copyright© 2019 by qhml1
Chapter 9
One day a man in a nice suit came in and asked if I had a few minutes to spare. I thought he might be a salesman, but I had time, so we went into my office. He surprised me by pulling out a portfolio of my holdings, my stores, the bakeries, the pastry shop, showing how much they were worth. “You have a lot of money tied up in this section of the city, Mr. Moore. It would be a shame if something were to happen, say fires, vandalism, that sort of thing. I’m offering you an insurance policy here, a contract that would stop any of that from happening, and the cost is only fifteen per cent of everything, a bargain really. My employers require an answer in the next seven days. Think carefully before you decide.”
“Is this an attempt at extortion?”
The man looked mildly amused. “Not at all. We are merely a protective service, to make sure no bad luck should befall you.
“At fifteen percent of my worth?”
“Well, the cost is a little higher than normal, but we guarantee our work.”
“I see. I have partners, you know. I’ll need to confer with them.”
“Ah yes, a lovely bunch of ladies. All well advanced in years. Part of our services is health insurance. It would be a shame if something were to happen to one of them. Bones have a hard time healing as that age.”
He looked surprised at my expression. “You shouldn’t have done that. I can tell you my answer right now, Not no, but HELL NO! Take your slimy ass and crawl it back under the rock you usually hide under. Does the light of day hurt your eyes?”
He merely shrugged. “I urge you to think about it. Seven days.”
I called Jose and Dan. I always taped my office conversations, for a variety of reasons, glad now I did. They ran his photo, and he came back as a low-level point-man for a branch of the local organized crime family.
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