Chapter 43: Everyone in the Doorway

At ten on Friday morning, a moving truck backed up to the gym door.

Behind it came a sheriff's deputy with a clipboard and six men in gray work shirts.

Troy stood on the step with the key in his hand.

"Troy Falk?" the deputy said.

"Yes."

"I have a notice to quit, served Tuesday night. The tenant leaves by noon, or I remove him."

"I read it."

"Then you know the law. I'd like this to go easy."

Troy looked at the six men.

None of them looked back.

"I'm not going to fight you," he said. "I gave my word on that."

"Good."

"But I'm not carrying out my own bags."

The deputy sighed and nodded at the movers.

They took a step toward the door.

"Mr. Falk," a voice called from the street.

It was the corner baker, in a flour-white apron, with a tray of sweet rolls in both hands.

She walked up the front steps and set the tray on the railing.

Then she turned around and stood beside Troy with her arms folded.

"I'm not moving," she said.

"You don't have to do this."

"I buy my eggs from a man who bought his boots from you for a dollar when he was down. I'm not moving."

Troy opened his mouth.

A laundromat owner came next, with two sons in tow.

A retired mailman came after her, in his old uniform jacket, leaning on a cane.

The parents of the junior boxing class came together as a group, with the kids still in their gloves.

A girl of nine pushed to the front and stood with her fists up.

"We're the class," she told the deputy.

The deputy rubbed his eyes.

By eleven the street was full.

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