The Block’s Tyrant

I gave up my job in the city to move back home and take care of my grandparents.
I took over the familys small storefront, planning to open a nail salon.
But the owner of the barbecue joint next door wanted the space for himself, planning to turn it into a cheap card room for his buddies. And he was determined to make my life hell until I gave in.
The owner, Vince, was a notorious local bully.
He didn't just block my entrance with his truck; he sent his goons to harass me.
In the end, I gritted my teeth and leased the shop to the cityas a new community fire station.
And thats when the self-proclaimed king of the block began his personal nightmare.
Because no matter how tough he acted, even Vince wouldn't dare mess with the fire department.
1.
"Hey, Stella. I like this spot. I'll give you two hundred a month for it. My brother-in-law's gonna run a card room here."
I had just finished the last of the renovations on my nail salon when the owner of the neighboring business swaggered over, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Flanking him were two burly, bald-headed goons who looked like they broke legs for a living.
"Mr. Vince, this is a prime location. A place like this rents for at least fifteen hundred a month," I said, covering my nose and taking a step back from the acrid smoke. "Besides, I'm opening my own business here. It's not for rent."
My gut screamed that this man was trouble. The shop was my grandparents' life savings. Renting it out for two hundred dollars a month was the same as giving it away for free.
Vince shot me a cold look and let out a derisive snort. "Stella, don't be a bitch. When I'm talking to you nicely, you should just say yes."
"I'm not renting it out!" Normally, you want to stay on good terms with your business neighbors, but this guy was a tyrant. I was already doing my best to keep my temper in check.
"You really think you're something special, don't you?" Vince leaned in, his clothes reeking of grease and smoke. The malice in his eyes was palpable. "You should ask around. Everyone on this block knows who Vince is. Two hundred a month is me doing you a favor. If you know what's good for you, you'll pack your shit and get lost."
As he spoke, he kicked over the small trash can Id placed by the door.
"Otherwise," he sneered, "I can't say what kind of 'trouble' your little shop might run into."
With a final, arrogant laugh, he and his thugs lumbered back to their BBQ joint. I stared at the sign next door, "Vince's Grill," and felt a wave of nausea.
My first thought was that I'd just have to be more careful. This isn't the wild west; he couldn't just come in and smash the place up, could he?
But I had no idea just how low Vince was willing to stoop.
2.
To prepare for my grand opening, Id ordered a batch of flyers and promotional signs.
The day I brought them to the salon, I noticed the BBQ joint had made a... modification. They had rerouted their main kitchen vent.
Now, all the greasy smoke from their kitchen was billowing directly toward my front door. It wasn't even noon, but their industrial fan was already roaring, spewing the smell of cheap charcoal and burnt meat into the air. My entire storefront was shrouded in a hazy, disgusting smog. My entrance was right under the vent. My clients were young women who cared about looking and feeling good. Who would want to walk through a cloud of grease just to get their nails done?
I was about to go over and confront them when three or four cheap plastic tables and chairs were hauled out of Vince's Grill and set up directly in front of my salon.
Seven or eight tattooed goons sat down, cracking open beers and starting a loud, profanity-laced card game. They were so loud, and their language was so vile, it was impossible to ignore.
They were completely blocking my entrance. How was I supposed to run a business?
I was a woman alone; a direct confrontation was a bad idea. So I called property management. But as soon as I mentioned Vince's Grill, their tone changed.
"Ms. Stella, this sounds like a small dispute between neighbors. All we can really do is try to mediate," the manager said dismissively. "Besides, you're a nail salon. You don't really need the outdoor space, so why not just let them use it?"
It was obvious whose side they were on. Before I could argue, he hung up, clearly wanting nothing to do with it.
The men drinking outside saw the look of helpless anger on my face and burst into laughter.
"You heard the man, bitch! Get lost while you still can, or we'll show you what real trouble looks like!"
"If you've got the guts, then smash up my shop! Otherwise, you're never getting this space!" I yelled back, my voice shaking with rage, before storming inside.
Looking at my beautifully decorated salon, the thought of giving up was unbearable. But with a neighbor from hell like Vince, my business was doomed before it even started.
Just as I was trying to figure out a new plan, Vince escalated his tactics.
The next morning, when I arrived to set up my product displays, I found the entire area in front of my store buried in garbage. Blackened takeout containers, grease-soaked napkins, and rotting food scraps were everywhere. Worse, my roll-up security door was smeared with vomit and what smelled sickeningly like urine.
The rest of the street was spotless. It was only my storefront that was a disgusting mess. Even the city sanitation workers were too scared of Vince to do their jobs properly.
People on their way to work saw the scene, pinched their noses, and shook their heads. "What bad luck, opening up next to Vince," I heard one of them mutter. "Everyone knows that guy's untouchable. Tsk, tsk, that poor girl's business is finished."
I clenched my fists, refusing to be his victim. I called property management again and demanded they check the security footage. The manager flatly told me I didn't have the authority to view the tapes and that if I didn't clean up the mess myself, I'd be fined for violating sanitation codes.
Furious, I called the police. But when they arrived, they just sighed and said it was a civil matter and all they could do was mediate.
With no other choice, I went to a hardware store, bought my own cleaning supplies, and started to work.
That's when Vince appeared, casually cracking sunflower seeds. His eyes shone with unconcealed triumph.
"Well, Stella. How do you like my welcome gift?" He sauntered over and spat a mouthful of shells onto my shirt. "A woman like you should be at home raising kids, not playing business owner. Don't think I don't know your type. You probably got run through by every guy in the big city, now you're back here pretending to be innocent, trying to snag a man. You're not bad looking, though. You sleep with me a few times, maybe I'll even cut you a break."
His lecherous gaze made my skin crawl. I reacted without thinking.
My hand flew up and I slapped him, hard, across the face.
His head snapped to the side. He slowly rolled his tongue over the inside of his cheek. "You bitch. You dare hit me? Fine. I'll teach you what happens when you cross me."
He turned and walked away. I stood there, my heart hammering against my ribs, a cold dread washing over me. I knew this wasn't over.
I spent the rest of the day setting up the shop, but a sense of unease clung to me. That afternoon, my phone rang. It was the hospital. My grandmother had fallen while she was out shopping. She had a broken leg.
I rushed over to find her pale and exhausted, her leg in a heavy cast. She saw me and forced a smile, telling me not to worry.
"Grandma, how did this happen?" My grandmother was old, but she was still sharp and steady on her feet. It didn't make sense for her to suddenly fall and break a bone.
"I was at the farmer's market," she explained, her voice weak. "A scooter was coming through, so I stepped aside to let it pass. But as it went by, someone stuck their foot out and kicked me."
That single, vicious kick had sent her tumbling into a metal railing, shattering her leg.
Her words hit me like a physical blow. I didn't need to guess. I knew. It was Vince. He said he'd make me pay, and he'd gone after my grandmother.
In that moment, a chilling cold seeped into my heart.
I immediately called the police and reported an assault. But with only my grandmother's testimony and no security cameras at the market, there was no way to prove anything. The investigation stalled. I was left to wait, helpless.
Between caring for my grandmother at the hospital and making sure my grandfather was fed at home, the salon's grand opening was postponed indefinitely.
I was at my wits' end when I got a friend request on my phone. The person claimed to be a community liaison for the neighborhood. I accepted.
A moment later, my phone buzzed with a flood of images.
My salon, its front splattered with bright red paint. In front of it, a three-wheeled cart packed with live rabbits, their waste creating a stench so foul it was a public health hazard.
A message followed: Ms. Stella, you should probably come and take a look. We have a city inspection team coming through soon, and we need to meet beautification standards. Your storefront is... a bit of an eyesore.
The liaison was being polite. It was more than an eyesore; it was a horror show. While I had been distracted with my grandmother, Vince had gotten even more brazen. He was trying to break me.
But even if I called the police, these were all petty crimes. The punishment would be a slap on the wrist, another round of useless "mediation."
During that time, my grandfather told me people were lurking around our house. Our front door's keyhole was plugged with glue. The worst was when someone set a pile of trash on fire right outside our door. Thick, black smoke filled the house, and my grandfather was so terrified he almost jumped out a window to escape.
A bitter resentment burned inside me. Why should I be punished for trying to run an honest business?
But when I took my evidence to property management and the neighborhood council, I was met with apathetic shrugs and bureaucratic runaround. They all told me to just "be the bigger person" and "let it go."
But how much further could I retreat? I'd spent ten thousand on renovations and another fifteen on inventory. My entire savings were tied up in this shop, and all I could do was watch as Vince systematically destroyed it.
I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. I had to put on a brave face for my grandparents, but inside, I was crumbling.
I went to the salon to arrange for a new security door. As I worked, neighbors walked by, pointing and whispering.
"That's her. The one who picked a fight with Vince on her first day."
"Serves her right. These young people have no idea how the world works. If she'd just given in, none of this would have happened."
Their words were like needles in my heart. I was the victim, so why was I the one being judged? Meanwhile, Vince was untouchable.
"Hey, sweetheart," he called out from his doorway. "Like the presents I got you? I'll give you one more day to think it over. If you don't rent this place to me, those two old relics you live with are gonna have a real bad time."
He kicked a piece of trash toward my door. A gust of greasy smoke from his kitchen blew into my face, making my eyes water.
That night, after Id made dinner for my grandparents, I went to the hospital. My grandmother was due to be released in a few days. As I sat with her, she took my hand.
"Stella," she said, her voice soft. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"
Her hand was so warm, and her simple question made my nose sting with unshed tears. I shook my head quickly. "No, of course not. The shop is just a lot of work. I have to stay on top of things."
She stroked my cheek, her eyes full of love and worry. "You have to take care of yourself. If the shop is too much, just let it go. Nothing is more important than you. Your parents are gone. If something happened to you... your grandfather and I couldn't bear it."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bank card. "This is from your grandfather and me. It's twenty thousand dollars. If you're having trouble with the business, use it. In business, you win some, you lose some. Don't ever torture yourself over it."
That was it. I couldn't hold it in any longer. Tears streamed down my face, dripping onto her hand. "Grandma, I'm so useless," I sobbed. "You gave me this shop, and I can't even protect it!"
The weeks of torment had shattered my confidence. My grandparents were in their eighties, and I was still causing them to worry. It was all Vince's fault, but I was the one bearing all the blame.
Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a mass text from the community liaison.
The City Fire Department is looking to establish a community satellite fire station in our neighborhood. Seeking to lease or purchase a street-level commercial space, 500-1000 sq. ft.
My eyes lit up. My shop was in the perfect location. It was 860 square feet. It was exactly what they were looking for.
"Grandma," I said, wiping my tears. "If I can't run my business in peace, then I won't run it at all. Vince thinks he's so tough, that he has all the connections? Fine. I'll get him a new neighbor. A really, really powerful one."
I looked at the phone number in the text message, a fierce, desperate resolve hardening in my eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, I dialed.
3.
Following the directions I was given over the phone, I went to the main fire station with my property deed and the salon's floor plans.
I was met by Captain Miller.
"Hello, Captain. I'm Stella, I just called you," I said, handing him the documents. "This is the location and layout of my shop. It perfectly meets the requirements for your satellite station. Not only does it have a wide storefront, but it also faces the main community road, which would be extremely convenient for daily operations and training drills."
Captain Miller seemed surprised to get such a quick and enthusiastic response. He took the papers and studied them. The location and layout were, indeed, ideal.
"Ms. Stella, what's the rent for this property? Our department budget is a bit tight."
I shook my head. "Don't worry about the rent, Captain. You're setting up this station to serve the community. It wouldn't be right for me to charge you full price. The market rate is fifteen hundred a month. For you, it's five hundred. And I'm willing to sign a five-year contract with no price increases."
Captain Miller raised an eyebrow. The location was excellent. Why was I offering it to them for a fraction of its value?
I could see the question in his eyes. I gave him a bitter smile. "If you come with me, you'll understand."
I took him to the shop. I hadn't had a chance to replace the security door yet, and the garish red paint was like a raw wound. The area in front was still cluttered with abandoned vehicles and piles of trash, a stark contrast to the rest of the clean street.
I explained everything that had happened with Vince. "That's the situation," I finished. "I'm just an ordinary person. I can't win against a bully like him. But I refuse to give in. Rather than live under his threats, I'd feel much safer leasing the shop to you."
Captain Miller's gaze swept over the scene, his brow furrowing as he looked at Vince's Grill next door. He couldn't believe someone could be so brazen.
"Ms. Stella, I appreciate your sincerity," he said, his voice firm. "And thank you for this generous offer. You've solved a major problem for us. Let's sign the contract. We can take possession tomorrow and be moved in within a week. As for these... uncivilized business tactics, I assure you, we will not allow them to continue."
A wave of relief washed over me. I shook his hand, our deal sealed.
Unfortunately, Vince saw the whole exchange. He sauntered over, a grin splitting his face, showing off a row of yellow teeth.
"Well, well, sweetheart. I told you, if you don't rent this place to me, you're not renting it to anyone. Doesn't matter if you find another guy. I'll run him out of business just the same."
I ignored him and told Captain Miller I'd be back tomorrow to move my things out. As the captain was about to leave, Vince darted forward to block his path, jutting his chin out arrogantly.
"Hey, pal. I'd advise you not to rent this place if you know what's good for you. You should ask around about Vince. Anyone who tries to take what's mine ends up regretting it. Big time." He jabbed a finger into Captain Miller's shoulder. "So get lost."
Captain Miller calmly brushed off the spot Vince had touched. "And what if I say no?" he asked, a faint smile on his lips.
"Then don't blame me for what happens next!" Vince spat on the ground. "Don't think I'm stupid. I know that little bitch probably slept with you to get you to take over her mess. If you open up here, you better watch your back. Wouldn't want your family to have any... accidents."
Hearing his threat, any lingering doubt I had about my grandmother's "fall" vanished. But I still had no proof.
Captain Miller's smile didn't waver, but a cold glint entered his eyes. "We'll just have to see, won't we?"
He turned and walked away with me, leaving Vince standing there, cursing under his breath.
He probably had no idea that today was the last good day he'd have for a very, very long time.
From here on out, every day would be his own personal nightmare.

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "322257" to read the entire book.