52stories

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Ahmed stood with his arms crossed and his back leaning against the Brownstone apartment building. Business was slow for a Wednesday, but it was still only 11:00. The lunch crowd was what drove business in this neighborhood. The more business you got at lunch, the more likely those same people would come back after work to take something home. The forecast showed no rain for the rest of the week. That was promising. What wasn’t promising was the conversation he had two hours ago. A black Lincoln towncar had pulled up to the curb and just sat there. Ahmed was in the process of setting up his storefront for the day. He had caught a glimpse of the car and opened the walkway into the store to show that he was “open for business.” Ahmed tried to catch a glimpse of who sat in the car, but the windows were tinted to the point that he could not see the occupants. Trying not to stare, he continued the act of opening the store.

Ten minutes passed. Ahmed had finished the storefront and had begun to tabulate the previous day’s take. Being the store’s owner and only employee, there was no need to account for missing money, or for employee indiscretions. He would simply gather the deposit for the bank. As he wrote out the deposit slip, Ahmed noticed a large dark haired man walking toward the store. He stood about 6 foot 5 inches tall, Ahmed guessed, and filled out his tailored shirt like the models in the muscle fitness magazines on the his store’s racks. This man would have stood out in a crowd even if he didn’t have the baseball bat he was carrying.

“You da owner?” the large man asked.

“Yes, may I help you?” Ahmed answered as respectfully as he could manage.

“You gotta nice place here.” He stated looking around at the interior of the store.

Ahmed started to reply but was cut off.

“You know,” he paused for affect, “There’s been a lot of robberies in dis here neighborhood.”

“I haven’t hear that, but fortunately I haven’t had any problems.” Ahmed replied, trying to keep any trembling out of his voice.

In fact, he did know of robberies in the neighborhood from the other storeowners on the block. Isaac, from the kosher deli on the corner, had warned him eight years ago, when Ahmed had first opened, that sooner or later the local “muscle” would come to visit. This “muscle” had provided “protection” to the local stores for the last 40 years. He also warned that those who refused protection had experienced high rates of robbery, vandalism and, in the worse cases, arson. Those trends continued until the proprietors yielded to the idea of paying 10 to 15 percent of profits for protection. Ahmed had gotten comfortable to the idea that he had escaped the eyes of the local mob. Staring at the monster of a man in front of him, he had felt small and submissive. Mustering up all of his courage he said, “I usually close up early and have many cameras to keep any potential thieves away.”

The large man cocked his head and looked at him quizzically. For a moment, Ahmed thought he resembled a puppy dog you might see on a poster. He would have smiled, maybe even laughed, had it not been for what the large man did next. He looked up at the camera directly above Ahmed’s head, reared back the Louisville Slugger and smashed the camera with all the power that Alex Rodrigez would have done to a hanging curveball.

Being a Jordanian immigrant storeowner in a post 9/11 downtown Manhattan, Ahmed was no stranger to threats of violence, and violence itself. For almost a year after the buildings fell, broken windows, graffiti, and racial slurs happened as regular as taking out the morning trash. During that time, Ahmed had understood the frustrations and anger many were feeling because he was feeling the same way. Although he did not want to clean the store every morning, he wanted someone to blame. He loved this country as much as anyone else did. That was emotional, this was business. The actions of the big man frightened him, they were calculated and lacked feeling. A job he was being paid for. Bits of camera fell on and around him as he covered himself with forearms and elbows to avoid being hit with large chunks of camera or worse yet, being hit by the kiln dried piece of Ashe wood that had helped make Louisville famous. “Now, how ya gonna get the bad guys on tape? You definitely need protection.”

Ahmed stood, head bowed, almost cowering in the shadow of the big man. Doing nothing, saying nothing that might insight the bully to inflict more damage. “I’m gonna give you till Friday to come up with 20 percent of your till.” He paused, “If not, well let’s just say you’ll wish you were back in the desert herdin’ goats.” With that he turned and walked out of the store, pausing to grab two apples in the storefront. Then he was gone.

It had taken about 20 minutes to clear the remains of the camera and to replace it with the one that overlooked the storeroom. He the rested against the wall and waited for a cop. A beat cop didn’t show until almost eleven. Had he called the police to report the incident, he would have been greatly disappointed in the response time. He did not want to call it in. Ahmed wanted to talk to someone that he knew and that would take him seriously, so he waited for Samuel Vaughn. Samuel came to Ahmed’s store everyday to pick up a complimentary orange and bottle of water. Although officer Vaughn offered to pay for the fruit, Ahmed had insisted he take it as reward for keeping the streets safe.

“Good morning Officer Vaughn.”

“Hello Ahmed.” He raised his arms wide and slightly raised his chin. “Can’t beat this weather.”

Forcing a smile, Ahmed said, “You sure can’t. Have you been busy officer?”

“No, It’s been a slow week so far.”

Ahmed lowered his eyes and clasped his hands behind his back. “Officer….”

Samuel Vaughn interrupted. “I’ve told you a hundred times, call me Sam.”

“Um…ok….Sam..uh…I had someone come in and cause some damage to the store today.”

A concerned look crossed Sam’s face. “Did you call the police?” He took a notebook out of his pocket and began to write.

“Well this particular man is in the business of protecting the local stores under the threat of violence.”
Officer Vaughn quit writing, but his eyes did not leave the notebook. He let out sigh.

“Listen to me Ahmed, this guy is bad news. If you are coming to me for help, I can’t. If you are coming to me for advice, pay him. I have been walking this beat for almost ten years now, and as a friend I’m telling you, keep this guy on your good side.”

Ahmed’s eyes moved to the storefront then down to his feet. Defeat began to well up inside him.

“Look, I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, but I got two kids and a wife at home. A year before you got into the country I had a similar visit while on the beat. After the visit I went to my commanding officer. We went through the normal routine of filling out incident reports and contacting detectives. Two days later I found my report in the mailbox. Wrapped in it was the head of my oldest son’s cat.” A moment passed, both of them examining the floor. “Pay him.” He said finally. “Pay him and continue living.”

Sam saw the disappointment in Ahmed’s face. He put the orange and the water back. “I’m sorry.” he said shamefully and walked out of the store. The rest of the day and a half was uneventful. Ahmed adhered to his normal routine. He smiled and was as polite as he normally was but had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Friday morning Ahmed walked to Isaac’s deli on the corner. As he walked he began to smile at the irony in his life. He was a Muslim man from Jordan trying to save his business by going to his best friend in this country, a Jew, for advice. Unlike his father and brothers, he was able to put aside his differences with others and accept people individually. Fortunately when he came to this country, against the wishes of his family, it was Isaac who had helped him with the ins and outs of business in Manhattan.

Isaac smiled when Ahmed walked in his store. He came out from behind the counter and embraced him. “Good to see you old friend. Can I make you a good Jewish breakfast?”

“Hello Isaac.” He returned the embrace. “ Thank you, but no. How is your family?”
“They are well, they miss you. It’s been too long since we’ve broken bread together. My wife worries about you. She tells me that it is unhealthy to eat alone.”

“Give them my love. And tell your wife that I am never alone, Aliya has never left me and I am always comforted by her.”

When the towers fell six years ago, Ahmed’s wife had been entertaining a group of Jordanian tourists. They had planned on going to the Empire State building, the Statue of Liberty and Times Square. Aliya had always enjoyed starting her tours with a trip to the World Trade Center, giving the tourists an idea of where they would be going that day and showing them how impressive the city was. Ahmed had gone to ground zero the following day, or as close as he could get. For weeks he visited it, along with the hospitals and shelters looking for her. Three months later he had resigned himself to the fact that she was not coming home. During this time, Isaac and his family had looked after the store. They had taken care of the deliveries and maintenance of his business. This type of kindness breaks through all ethnical and religious boundaries. Ahmed was indebted to Isaac and his family forever. Since then Ahmed had become a regular dinner guest and dear friend. “Today I’ve come for guidance. I had a visit from the local protection agency.”

Isaac’s smile faded to a frown of concern. “I see.” After a pause he said, “You and I are lucky men. We come to this country with ideals and work ethics that have been good to us. We have been very successful. But with success comes obstacles we must overcome. For the safety of my family and me, I pay. I see it as a small price for what God has given me.” This was advice Ahmed had expected.

Ahmed walked back to his store. He was grateful God had given him health, a successful business and a loving wife. Although she had passed from this life, he knew she was always there with him. He just was not comfortable with the idea of giving up what he had worked so hard to get. .When he opened the front of the store, the man with the bat was back and he had brought a friend. This one stood two or three inches taller and sported 15 to 20 more pounds of flesh than his partner did.

“I hope you took my advice and have my money.” The big man stated condescendingly.

Ahmed walked to the counter and opened the register. He pulled out an envelope and looked at it thoughtfully. Finally he said, “Here is the money that you want to take from me. The money I spent my life, my sweat, and my tears to make. The business my dead wife helped me build. You are trying to take my American dream. You’ve had everything handed to you, so I don’t expect you to understand. I came from nothing.” His voice had raised but he was not screaming. “You can take everything and I’ll start from the beginning. You can rob my store, take my money, and break my body; but you cannot break my will. I will be successful, I will come back. But if you think you can come in here and take what is mine without a fight, you’ve got another thing coming.” He put the money back in the drawer and reached under the counter. Ahmed produced his own baseball bat. “Now, you and your friend are welcome to an apple as you leave…. if you leave now.”

The big man had that same funny face he had before. He then turned to his friend, “Would ya check out the stones on this guy?” He said with a smile. “You know what, I like your attitude.” He turned to his friend, “Come on, let’s get outta here.” They started out of the store. He turned for one last sentiment, “I’ll be watching you.”

Ahmed watched them walk to the car. He smiled and thought to himself, “They didn’t even take an apple.”