The Hustle Haul
By Olivia Salter
Word Count: 935
Leah’s stomach sank as the moving truck rumbled to a stop outside her apartment. The vehicle looked like a rusted relic from another era, with mismatched tires and a faded logo that barely spelled out Macs Movers. She had a bad feeling, but with her lease ending that day, she had no choice.
Three men climbed out. The leader, Rocco, was tall and broad, with a neck tattoo curling out from beneath a ripped t-shirt. He exuded the kind of confidence that dared anyone to challenge him. Behind him was a skinny man with darting eyes and a constant sniffle. He glanced at Leah’s apartment like he was casing the place. The last man, younger and awkward, trailed behind them, avoiding eye contact.
"You Leah?" Rocco asked, his voice rough.
"Yes. You’re late," she replied, clutching her clipboard tighter.
"Traffic," Rocco muttered. "Let’s get this over with."
Leah shot a glance at Marcus, her fiancé, who stood next to the carefully labeled boxes. His jaw tightened as Rocco flicked a cigarette onto the sidewalk.
Inside, Marcus directed the movers toward the largest items—a couch, a dresser, and a grandfather clock Leah’s father had restored before his passing.
"Careful with the clock," Marcus said firmly.
Rocco smirked, giving a mock salute. "Yeah, yeah. We got it."
But it was clear they didn’t "got it." The skinny man dropped a box labeled FRAGILE onto the pavement, the sound of shattering glass making Leah flinch. The younger mover hesitated before lifting the clock, his hands trembling as Rocco barked at him.
"Pick it up already! You wanna get paid or not?"
The younger man glanced at Leah apologetically before hoisting the clock onto the truck.
By the time the truck was loaded, Leah’s nerves were shot. The drive to their new house felt agonizingly long, her mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
When they arrived, Rocco strutted up to them with a clipboard in hand.
"Alright," he said, "we’re gonna need $5,000 before we unload."
Leah froze. "What? The contract says $1,500."
"Yeah, well, extra weight. Extra time. Fine print, sweetheart." His grin was predatory.
Marcus stepped forward, his voice cold. "You can’t just change the price. That’s extortion."
Rocco shrugged. "Call it what you want. You pay, or we take your stuff back to the lot. And don’t even think about calling the cops—they’ll laugh at you."
Leah’s stomach churned. Everything they owned—furniture, clothes, photos, her father’s clock—was held hostage in that truck.
"You’ve got ten minutes," Rocco added, lighting another cigarette.
Leah and Marcus had no choice but to pay. The movers unloaded the truck with even less care than before, tossing boxes and scratching furniture. Marcus caught the skinny man slipping a pair of headphones into his pocket.
"Put those back," Marcus growled.
"Relax, man. It’s just a mistake," the he replied with a smirk.
Meanwhile, the younger mover handled Leah’s damaged clock with visible guilt. His hands trembled as he set it down, his gaze flickering toward Rocco before he quickly stepped away.
By the time the truck roared off, the house was a disaster. Boxes were crushed, the couch was torn, and the clock’s pendulum was missing.
Leah spent the next day trying to contact Macs Movers, but the number was disconnectd. Furious, she posted about her experience online, and her story quickly went viral. Victims from across the city chimed in, sharing similar horror stories.
Then, someone posted a tip: “Check the Home Depot parking lot. That’s where they find their guys. New name, same scam.”
Leah and Marcus drove to the parking lot the next morning, spotting the truck instantly. The logo now read No Scam Haul & Storage, but the rust and dents were unmistakable. Rocco leaned against the side, laughing with the skinny man. The younger mover sat on the curb, head in his hands.
Leah marched straight up to Rocco, phone recording.
"You think you can scam people and just move on to the next name?" she demanded.
Rocco raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get outta here."
"You stole from me. You broke my things," Leah said, her voice rising.
Rocco’s smirk twisted into a sneer. "Prove it."
But the younger mover stood suddenly, his face pale. "She’s got a camera, Rocco."
"Shut up," Rocco snapped.
Leah turned the camera on the younger man. "Why do you stay with them? You know this is wrong."
The man hesitated, looking between Leah and Rocco. Finally, he muttered, "I'm just a day laborer; I need the money."
Leah softened her voice. "It’s not too late to do the right thing. Help us stop this."
Unbeknownst to Rocco, Leah had tipped off a reporter from the local news. Moments later, a camera crew arrived, catching the confrontation in real-time. The younger mover stepped forward, his voice shaky but firm.
"I’ll talk. I’ll tell you everything," he said, ignoring Rocco’s furious glare.
The news segment aired that evening, exposing the entire operation. With the younger mover’s testimony and Leah’s video evidence, law enforcement quickly arrested Rocco and his crew.
Months later, Leah watched as Marcus carefully hung the repaired pendulum back on the grandfather clock.
"It’s perfect," she said, her voice soft.
Marcus nodded. "We’ll never let anyone take advantage of us again."
"And next time," Leah added with a smile, "we hire movers with reviews. Real ones."
They laughed, the warmth of their home finally settling in. Leah had lost money and endured stress, but she’d reclaimed her dignity—and ensured that no one else would fall victim to Macs Movers.
