The New York subway used to have many small shops catering to travelers. Tiny and narrow, but long, these shops were not only convenient but charming. Small business owners put their own spin on what the layout should be, and many sold interesting trinkets and things with ‘I ❤️NY’ printed on it. Tourists loved this shit, and the charm of the shops, and their unique location, made paying way too much for a can of coke or a bag of chips more palatable.

Like many large cities, New York has a never-ending battle with crime. Unlike many other large cities, New York decided to decriminalize petty crime. The shits that run the city decided that theft valued below $1000 is to be considered petty and requires only a citation and court appearance.

Shoplifting has always been an issue, everywhere in the world. For as long as there have been shops, people have been stealing from them. This idiotic decree gave many the idea that stealing from stores is not really a big deal, and that nobody really loses, except for the large and rich insurance companies.

Incidents of thievery increased overnight. Assholes posted how to videos on YouTube, explaining the rules that must be followed to not get arrested. Flash mobs were organized on social media to hit larger stores, with hundreds of people stealing $1000 or less in broad daylight at the same time. The quaint little subway stores suffered huge losses, and many were forced to close within weeks of this asinine ordinance.

***

The out of touch city leaders insisted that their thinking was sound. They wanted relief for the expensive criminal justice system, and they were perfectly fine with the cost being transferred to others.

This new burden shut most of the stores down in the first month. When one of the last holdouts was assaulted by a group of teenagers, and later died from his injuries, the rest of the shop keepers called it quits. These kids were trying to steal chips and candy when the store owner blocked their exit. He was knocked down and stomped by three boys, while another perpetrator filmed it with her phone. They were never caught.

Considering how bad conditions were in the subway, commuters were surprised when a new store was being set up. The proprietor did a lot of the work himself. He worked behind paper covered closed doors to restore the inside of the shop. New refrigerators and display racks were installed on a newly resurfaced floor. The check out register was at the front of the store by the door. The store was fully stocked when the paper was finally pulled from the glass storefront. A bright neon sign flicked to life, announcing ’Yes we’re open’ in bright pink letters inside a neon blue ring.

That neon sign was like blood in the ocean, eventually it attracts sharks.

***

The new store owner dressed like shopkeepers of days gone by. He wore boots, khaki slacks with suspenders, a stripped, white, collared, long sleeve shirt and a bow tie. He donned a blue apron with a name tag that simply read ‘shopkeep’.

His age and race were difficult to determine. He was dark skinned with grey hair and goatee and did not wear a mustache. He looked Asian, but was tall, and had grey eyes. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his forearms were covered in intricate colorful tattoos.

He sat behind the register, and remotely unlocked the door, officially open for business.

***

The first thieves showed up just after ten that first morning. Three men strolled into the store. The last one to enter stopped and looked at the store owner noticing his name tag. ‘What’s up storekeep!’ he grins with a mouth filled with bling. ‘Welcome to the neighborhood old man!’

The three unsling backpacks and start filling it with product, making a mess as they stuff jerky, chips and other items in their packs. The door lock makes an audible clack when the storekeeper locks it from behind the register. The three thugs grin at each other and advance on the older man, intent on delivering an epic ass whooping. Epic ass whoopings are so much easier when it’s many on one, and these animals always fuck around in packs.

The shop keeper effortlessly leaps over the counter and the cash register, positioning himself between the gang of thieves and the door. This brings the would-be ass kickers to a sudden halt. No person they have ever known can jump like that, not even tall Elroy at the youth center can jump like that, and he is six foot nine!

‘Don’t kill them.’ The shopkeeper says with a heavy Irish accent. ‘No, I won’t, not on the first day at least’, the shopkeeper answers himself with a completely different voice with a Scottish accent. ‘Pay for those items, and after you cleaned up your mess you can go’, the shopkeeper continues with the Scottish voice, ‘if you choose to not do that, you will be sorry.’

’Fuck that old timer’, the largest of the three thieves shouts, tosses his backpack aside and produce a knife from inside his jacket. He immediately walks up to the shopkeeper and swings the knife at his face. The other two pulled their own knives, grinning at the prospect of cutting this stupid motherfucker.

The shop keeper steps under the arc of the swing and grabs the knife wielding arm by the wrist while simultaneously hitting that arm with his elbow. The thug’s arm breaks with a loud snap, and he drops the knife. The shopkeeper snatches it out off the air and thrusts it into the attacker’s buttock. This happened so fast his partners in crime could not follow the action. The store owner took a step closer to them, their friend collapsing behind him.

’Does he need to repeat himself?’, he asks, again with the Irish accent. Something in his eyes takes the fight right out of them. That and the moans and labored breathing of their friend, squirming in pain with the hilt of his knife sprouting from his ass. They drop their knives and collect the backpacks. Every time their wounded friend shrieks they find a little more speed, and they have everything restocked in no time.

The shop owner points them to a broom and scoop, and they sweep up their mess. They damaged some products. The shopkeeper is behind the register, ringing up their total. ‘That will be $37.90 young men’, he says in a perfectly standard New York accent, ‘Cash or card, we work hard, and deserve to be paid without regard!’ This from the Scott that seems to occupy this old man with at least two others.

The two would be robbers do not have enough money between them and have to dig in their injured friend’s pockets, causing him to scream like a baby and wet himself. They hand $40 to the shop keeper, who punches keys on the register, and the drawer opens from which he retrieves their change. ‘Thank you very much, please come again’ this time sounding Mexican. The door unlocks with a buzz and a click. The defeated thugs grab their change and collect their now unconscious friend and leave in a hurry.

The shopkeeper goes to the back of the store to fetch the mop before more customers arrive. They love a clean store.

***

Gangsters do not only travel in packs, they also seem to possess a collective pride. If one of their members suffer defeat or humiliation, they all feel the need for revenge. The fact that three of their soldiers were bested by one lousy shopkeeper is just too much to let slide. After the two thugs that basically surrendered without a fight got the beat down they deserved, the gang started planning their revenge. The two cowards will participate in the gang’s retaliation.

The plan was simple. The two of them will go back to the store, to ask for forgiveness and show off their broken faces. One of them needs to make sure the door won’t latch so the rest of the gang can gain entry. Simple! They gather their weapons and head to the subway, to jump the turnstiles and ride to the station where revenge waits coldly.

***

They arrive at the station at four in the afternoon. The two decoys approach the store while the others slide up to the door against the other empty storefronts. The neon sign is off. One of the two cups his hands against the glass, peering inside, while the other pulls on the door. To his surprise the door opens. He looks to his right to tell his friend, and the shopkeeper steps through the door and kicks him hard in the chest. So impossibly hard that his body flies across the platform and onto the rails, where his body makes contact with the third rail, and he is electrocuted. The shopkeeper grabs the peeping tom and pulls him into the store. The door closes and locks.

With their plan thwarted the gang resorts to a more straightforward attack. Someone is sent off to get gasoline. They will burn this fucker in his store, with his hostage if it comes to that.

The gasoline shows up, and the kid that fetched it was smart enough to bring a few road flares to light the gas. The need for sneaking long past the gang boldly walks up to the store. The neon sign flickers on, and the door unlocks, someone yanks it open and the gang rushes into the dark store. It is cramped in the narrow store, and as the door clicks shut the light from outside is blocked out and they find themselves in the dark. The door locks with its customary clack, suddenly sounding very final.

There is a strong smell of gasoline, and the gang realizes they are standing in it. A gang member uses her cell phone as a flashlight, and it turns out both gas cans they brought had long cuts in the bottoms, spilling all the fuel. The smart gas fetcher disproves his brilliance by igniting one of the flares. Gasoline fumes are explosively flammable, and the last thing he sees by the red glow of the flare are the shocked faces of his companions, and the shopkeeper grinning at him as he steps out the door.

The explosion blew the storefront onto the tracks, and burned paper and burning bodies erupt from the hole where the storefront used to be. Some run a few steps before collapsing, others tumble onto the tracks. Many are burning inside the store where they fell or were blown to the back. No one survives, the shopkeeper also presumed dead.

The Metropolitain Transit Authority conducts a thorough investigation of the incident. They declare that the store has been vacant for the last few months, and no one was authorized to set up shop in that specific location. If anyone did operate a store they did so illegally. The MTA then returns to their main activity, inconveniencing travelers.

The media runs stories on the deceased gangsters, showing old pictures of them when they were still kids, full of promise, before this city got a hold of them and made them what they become.

Nothing is known or reported about the shopkeeper.

***

Considering how bad crime was at the mall in Canoga Park, Los Angeles, visitors to the Westfield Topanga were surprised when a new store was being set up. The store was fully stocked when the paper was finally pulled from the glass storefront. A bright neon sign flicked to life, announcing ’Yes we’re open’ in bright pink letters inside a neon blue ring.

That neon sign was like blood in the ocean, eventually it attracts sharks.