Story code: ST-000628
Part 2: The Blockade
The shattered crack of the doorstop echoed over the hum of the commercial refrigerators. Mateo flinched, dropping the paper cup he was holding. It bounced harmlessly against his apron, but his heart slammed against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Leo stood in the doorway. He was a retired transit worker who lived in apartment 1A, a broad-shouldered man whose knees were shot but whose temper remained in perfect working order. He stood frozen in the threshold, letting the biting morning wind whip into the warm, coffee-scented air of the shop. He didn’t bother holding the heavy glass door for Sarah from 4B, who squeezed in behind him. She was clutching her oversized purse like a shield, her face utterly bloodless.
In Leo’s massive, calloused hand was a neon-pink envelope.
Sarah was holding an identical one.
“Leo,” Mateo whispered, glancing frantically toward the back office where his shift manager, Kevin, was tallying the morning inventory. “You can’t be back here. Not right now.”
Leo marched straight toward the register, his heavy boots thudding against the subway tile. He completely ignored the six impatient commuters still waiting to order. He slapped his pink envelope onto the stainless-steel counter. It landed exactly where Barbara’s had been resting three minutes prior.
“I was at the bus stop across the street,” Leo rumbled, his voice easily carrying over the hiss of the espresso machine. “I saw her walk out with her fancy little cup. I saw her hand you the paper, Mateo. Don’t tell me she didn’t.”
Mateo reached forward to push the envelope back, terrified Kevin would see it, but Leo’s hand clamped down hard over the neon paper.
“Eight hundred dollars,” Leo said. The anger in his voice wasn’t hot; it was a cold, dense block of iron. “She bumped me eight hundred dollars a month. Sarah?”
“Nine fifty,” Sarah said. Her voice trembled so violently she could barely form the consonants. She stared at the polished pastry case without seeing any of the food inside. “She said it’s because my unit has the exposed brick. The brick that crumbles into my kitchen sink every time the upstairs neighbors walk around.”
“Excuse me, there is a line,” a man in a tailored suit complained from behind Leo, tapping his leather briefcase against his leg.
Leo turned, his broad frame blocking out the light from the front window. “Then wait, or go to Starbucks,” he snapped. He turned back to Mateo, his jaw set. “We’re not leaving until we talk to you.”
The back office door clicked open. Kevin stepped out, a clipboard in his hand, his eyes immediately zeroing in on the bottleneck at the register. He took in Leo’s frayed windbreaker and Sarah’s panicked posture. “Mateo? What’s the hold-up? We’re already twenty minutes behind on the mobile orders.”
“They’re just ordering,” Mateo said quickly. His hands moved automatically to the espresso grinder, trying to look busy. He looked at Leo, pleading with his eyes. “Please. Order something. Or he’ll throw you out, and I’ll get written up.”
Leo dug into his jacket pocket, pulled out a crumpled, damp dollar bill, and threw it into the tip jar. “Tap water. Heavy ice.”
Kevin scowled, adjusting his glasses, but turned back to unpacking the pastry delivery boxes.
Mateo filled a plastic cup with ice from the bin, his hands shaking so badly the cubes rattled loudly against the plastic sides. He slid the water across the counter, leaning in close. “Leo, I can’t do anything about the rent. I’m just a barista. She owns the building. My rent went up too.”
“By how much?” Sarah asked, stepping up beside Leo.
“Six hundred,” Mateo admitted, keeping his voice to a harsh, strained whisper.
Leo scoffed, a bitter, barking sound that made the suited customer behind him flinch. “She’s pricing us out. All of us. In thirty days, this building is empty, and she flips it for a massive profit. But she made a mistake. She thinks she can just drop these bombs and waltz off to Europe.”
Leo reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded, aggressively creased sheet of paper. He smoothed it out on the counter next to the pink envelope. The header, printed in cheap, fading ink, read: *DECLARATION OF RENT WITHHOLDING*.
“Me, Sarah, and the two guys in 3B already signed,” Leo said, tapping a thick finger against the messy column of signatures. “We hold the rent in a joint escrow account. Nobody pays a dime on the first of the month.”
Mateo stared at the paper. The black ink looked terrifyingly official. “A rent strike? Leo, if we do that, she’ll file eviction notices on the second day of the month. She’ll take us to court. She’ll ruin our credit. We’ll never be able to rent anywhere in this city again.”
“We have rights!” Sarah suddenly cried out, her voice cracking loudly. Kevin popped his head back out from behind the espresso machine, his eyes narrowing. Sarah clamped her hands over her mouth, tears finally spilling over her eyelashes. “Mateo, please,” she whispered, leaning over the counter. “I have my daughter’s school. If I get an eviction on my record, no landlord will touch us. We’ll end up in the shelter system.”
“Which is why we aren’t waiting for the first of the month to fight her,” Leo said. He leaned over the register, his face inches from Mateo’s. He smelled of stale black coffee and raw desperation. “She leaves for her luxury cruise on Thursday. But she told Mrs. Gable she’s getting her luggage picked up tomorrow morning. So we are going to her townhouse in Manhattan tonight.”
Mateo stopped wiping the counter. The damp rag slipped from his fingers, falling into the sink with a wet slap. “What?”
“We’re going to sit on her front steps,” Leo said, his eyes wild with a terrifying, absolute resolve. “All of us. We are going to block her front door. She doesn’t go to the dry cleaners today, she doesn’t go to the airport tomorrow, she doesn’t get on that damn boat until she signs a legally binding paper tearing up these pink envelopes.”
“That’s extortion,” Mateo breathed, his blood running cold. “That’s illegal, Leo. The police will arrest us.”
“Let them!” Leo snarled. “Let her explain to the cops and the local news why she’s throwing families onto the street so she can go drink wine on a river!”
“Mateo!” Kevin barked, stepping entirely out of the prep area now, his face flushed with anger. “Is this a social club or a place of business? If these people aren’t paying for coffee, tell them to leave right now, or clock out and leave with them!”
Mateo looked at Kevin’s furious face, then down at the petition resting on the stainless steel. His forty-two-dollar bank balance flashed in his mind. Losing his job meant starvation by next week. Losing his apartment meant homelessness in thirty days. Going to Barbara’s Upper East Side townhouse to physically hold her hostage meant risking a criminal record.
“I can’t,” Mateo whispered, stepping back from the counter as if the paper were on fire. “Leo, I can’t risk it. I’ll lose everything.”
Leo’s expression hardened, shifting from desperate solidarity to pure, disgusted contempt. “You coward. You’re going to let her fund her vacation with our lives just because you’re scared of making a scene?”
Leo pulled a cheap plastic ballpoint pen from his jacket and clicked it with his thumb. He slammed it down on top of the petition, right next to the receipt printer.
“Sign it, or we leave you out to dry when we win,” Leo said, his voice dropping to a gravelly threat. “And if we lose, you’ll be on the street with the rest of us anyway. Clock’s ticking, Mateo.”