... Letters ten feet high shouted the bookstore’s name in all directions. They were almost readable even from the far end of the parking lot.
... Tommy was taking notes as soon as he stepped out of his car. Plenty of parking. Convenient to major intersections. Neighbors that included a jewelry store, an organic food market, and popular chain restaurants.
... The first thing he noticed once in the store was how bright it was. No shadowed corners here. The air was cooled to a brisk seventy degrees. Wide aisles separated the bookshelves, leaving plenty of room for the shoppers to browse.
... And there were plenty of shoppers. The store probably sold as many books in an hour as Rusty sold in a week. Tommy noted the line of customers waiting patiently in the coffee shop. He noted the shelves of knickknacks that bordered the path to the register. He noted the neat, clean, and spacious public bathrooms.
... He wandered, absorbing the atmosphere, picking up signs of what made the place tick.
... On his second pass through the Romance section he noticed a man watching him. Tommy paused and flipped through a book, sneaking surreptitious glances. When the name came to him he put the book down and moved quickly towards the door.
... Too late. “Tommy?” said a hoarse voice. “Tommy, is that you?”
... Tommy fixed a smile on his face and turned. “Well, I’ll be damned, Sal. I sure didn’t expect to see you here.”
... Sal Porcaro had been an enforcer when Tommy was still coming up. Now the hair that still clung to his mostly bald head was white. He walked with a cane. And he held a romance novel in his hand.
... “Holy shit,” said Sal. “You’re the last person I thought would turn up here! Fuckin’ Tommy–”
... “Roach. Tommy Roach. Forgive me, but I seem to have forgotten your last name.”
... “It’s Porkins.” Sal shook his head in disgust. “That fuckin’ dickhead Barton…”
... “So what are you doing, here, Sal? Picking up some reading material?”
... Sal looked down at the book in his hand and turned three shades of red. “It’s, ah, for my wife.”
... “Come off it, Sal, she passed before you left, even I know that.”
... “All right, all right. The truth is, it’s fuckin’ boring out here. I’m too old to work, I ain’t got nothing to do all day. I can’t even chase tail anymore. Too tired. So I read these books instead.” He rubbed his head. “I didn’t plan for this. I guess I figured I’d work ‘til I fell over dead, you know?”
... Tommy laughed. “I know a guy or two back in New York who’d be happy to take care of that for you, Sal, if you ever get too bored. You turned, what, twelve years ago? They’re still steamed over it.”
... “Yeah, well, I would be too. And you, I guess you can’t go back neither, eh?”
... “You sure got that right.” Tommy kept up the smile, but he could see what Sal was thinking as plain as if it were written on his forehead. Tommy Roccaforte, shit. There’s guys walking around that would pay a lot of money to see him again. And there ain’t no reason for them to even know my name.
... “Hey, Sal,” he said, looking around. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk, all right?”
... He put a friendly arm around Sal’s shoulders and they slipped out a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, and then through another that led to the alley behind the store.
... The alley ran the length of the shopping center. A row of shops backed onto the opposite side, and broad gates blocked the entrances at either end. Tommy expected garbage strewn around, flies, sharp odors, but all the trash was neatly confined to the dumpster. Even the alleys in this town were nice.
... Sal blinked against the bright sunlight. “So, Tommy, what’s Barton got you doin’ here? He had me selling ladies fuckin’ shoes.”
... “Funny you should ask, Sal,” said Tommy with a laugh, laying a hand on Sal’s shoulder. “I got a job with–”
... Tommy’s grip tightened as he spun Sal around. Sal opened his mouth to shout but Tommy quickly hooked an elbow across his throat and squeezed. With his carotid artery pinched off Sal was out in thirty seconds, but Tommy kept up the pressure for a couple of minutes to be sure.
... A couple of minutes seems like a long time when you’re killing a man.
... When it was over Tommy dragged him to the dumpster. He grabbed Sal’s body under the arms to heave him in… then stopped.
... He smiled to himself as he moved Sal to a sitting position and propped him against the wall just behind the door. At the next smoke break someone was going to get a big surprise.

* * *

... The next day Tommy was late for work. When he arrived shortly after ten, Rusty wore a stern expression. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back,” he said. “Leaving early, then showing up late. I – what have you got there?”
... Tommy set the paper bag on the counter and opened it. “Doughnuts, muffins, coffee cake, you name it,” he said. “There’s a pastry shop about three blocks over, makes all kind of stuff like this.”
... Rusty picked up a doughnut and took a bite. “Say, that’s tasty. But don’t get the idea that this excuses you for missing work.”
... “Missing work, whaddya think I’ve been doing? These are just samples. I got the owner to cut me a deal. We’ll mark this stuff up one hundred percent and make a killing, you watch. The display case will be here later today.”
... “Display case…?”
... “Yeah, that and the espresso machine.”
... “Espresso!” Rusty pressed a hand to his forehead. “I’m very happy to see you take such an interest in the business, young man, but this is a used book store. People come here to buy books, not coffee or pastry.” He licked his lips. “No matter how good.”
... “Yeah? Then why are your customers all over at the big warehouse store? If you don’t do something, Rusty, this place is gonna go bust, and then you’ll have to get a real job. You wanna do that?”
... “Well… no.”
... “You just read your books, and leave everything else to me. We’ll be kicking ass in no time.”
... “But the competition, what about them?”
... Tommy laughed, a short, nasty sound. “I hear that place is getting a reputation.”