The success of the new supply line was a visible, tangible thing. The alcove behind the dyeing shop was now stacked high with the spoils from the railway auctions—crates of water-stained radio equipment, bulky computer shells, and tangles of wiring that smelled of ozone and dust. The pace of work was frenetic, the air thick with the smell of hot solder and the focused energy of four boys building something from nothing. They were making money, real money, and in the ecosystem of the street, that kind of success did not go unnoticed.
The first warning was a presence. A slowing of foot traffic past the mouth of their alley. Then, the usual background noise of the market seemed to recede, leaving an unnatural quiet. Deepak was the first to sense it, his head coming up from the circuit board he was soldering, his eyes narrowing. Sanjay paused, a stack of tested speakers in his hands, his body going still.
Three men blocked the entrance to the alcove, cutting off the light. They weren't market vendors. They carried themselves with a lazy, entitled swagger, their clothes just a little too clean for the grime of Bhuleshwar. The one in the lead was thick-necked and broad-shouldered, with a scar that pulled his lip into a permanent half-sneer. His eyes, cold and assessing, scanned the operation before landing on Harsh.
"You the one in charge here?" the man asked, his voice a low rumble. He didn't need to raise it; the threat was implicit in his stillness.
Harsh set down his multimeter. He could feel the fear radiating from Raju and Vijay, who had shrunk back against the wall. Deepak had subtly shifted his grip on the soldering iron, not as a tool, but as a potential weapon. Sanjay looked ready to bolt.
"I am," Harsh said, his voice surprisingly steady. He took a step forward, placing himself between the men and his team.
The lead thug smiled, a unpleasant sight. "Good. Makes this easy. Business looks good. Very good. My name is Ganesh. This is my... area. You're doing well. It's only right you pay for the... protection we provide. Keep things safe for you. No trouble from jealous people."
He let the words hang. The demand for 'hafta'—protection money—was as old as the streets themselves.
"How much?" Harsh asked, playing for time, his mind racing through scenarios. Refusal meant a beating and his operation destroyed. Compliance meant signing over a permanent tithe to parasites.
Ganesh's smile widened. He liked this. The boy was being reasonable. "For a setup like this? Busy. Five hundred a week. A good deal for peace of mind."
It was an astronomical sum. A crippling amount. A week ago, it would have been his entire profit.
Harsh didn't flinch. He nodded slowly, as if considering. "Peace of mind is important," he agreed. He saw a flicker of surprise in Ganesh's eyes. This was too easy.
"But," Harsh continued, his tone shifting to one of mild, confidential concern. "I wouldn't want you to get into any trouble, Ganesh Bhai."
Ganesh's smile vanished. "What trouble?"
"You know Constable Malvankar? At the local chowky?" Harsh asked, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
A wary flicker in the thug's eyes. Everyone knew the local beat cops. "What about him?"
Harsh gave a slight, almost apologetic shrug. "He's my mama's cousin. My mother, she worries. She made him promise to keep an eye on my little... project here. He stops by. Asks about the sales. He says it's good for young boys to learn an honest trade. He'd be very... upset if anyone disrupted it. He's a passionate man. Gets carried away."
The lie was delivered with such calm, matter-of-fact certainty that it hung in the air, perfectly formed. Harsh had never met Constable Malvankar in his life. But he remembered the name from a minor corruption scandal he'd read about decades in the future. The man was notoriously territorial about his hafta collections and violently protective of his designated revenue streams.
Ganesh stared at him, trying to detect the bluff. The other two thugs shifted uncomfortably. Messing with a random kid was one thing; inadvertently stepping on a policeman's turf was a career-ending move.
"He never mentioned you," Ganesh said, but the confidence in his voice was cracking.
"He wouldn't, would he?" Harsh replied, his voice still low and reasonable. "Not his style. But he did mention a man named Ganesh. He said if a fellow named Ganesh ever came around, I should be sure to tell him hello. Personally."
It was a lethal shot in the dark. Harsh had no idea if Malvankar even knew this thug existed. But in the shadowy world of street-level corruption, the possibility was enough. The threat of a policeman's personal attention was a nuclear deterrent.
Ganesh's face went through a series of tiny contortions—anger, suspicion, and finally, a grudging, furious acceptance. The profit wasn't worth the potential war.
He took a step back, the space feeling suddenly less crowded. "This time," he muttered, the words devoid of their earlier power. "We'll talk another time." It was a face-saving retreat, empty and hollow.
He turned and walked away, his two lackeys falling in behind him, the confrontation evaporating as quickly as it had arrived.
The silence they left behind was deafening. Sanjay let out a shaky breath he'd been holding. Raju slid down the wall to sit on the ground.
Deepak was looking at Harsh with a new, profound intensity. "Is that true? About the constable?"
Harsh picked up his multimeter, his hands perfectly steady. "Does it matter?" he said, his voice returning to its normal volume. "We have work to do."
But inside, his heart was hammering. He had faced down his first real physical threat not with force, but with a lie woven from future knowledge and sheer nerve. He had won this round.
But the victory was cold comfort. Ganesh would be back. Or someone else would. He had drawn a line in the sand, but he was still standing on the wrong side of it. He had a team, a supply chain, and a rapidly growing operation. What he didn't have was real power. And until he did, every success would just make him a bigger target.
The game was no longer just about money. It was about survival. And he needed to find a more permanent solution. Fast.