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Brody looked up from the fifth chapter of The Deep Blue Good-by when the brass bell jingled.
Even though he wasn’t that much of a reader, he knew not to judge a book by its cover. However, he could immediately tell the man standing at the entrance did not belong in a bookstore.
He was overly tanned and weightlifter big, his white tank top stretching over his thick chest. Red workout pants strained around his thighs, a white stripe ran down the sides to extremely white tennis shoes, as if they had never been outside of the gym. His dark hair appeared wet and was combed straight back. A gold chain with a small gold barbell dangled around his neck.
Brody closed his book and set it on the counter.
The door closed behind the man, the bell tinkling once more as it did.
“You da new ownah?” he asked. His accent was thicker than Emery Farnsworth’s and filled with cockiness.
“Looking for a book?”
The weightlifter smirked. “What kinda question is that?”
“This is a bookstore.”
“You some kinda smaht guy?”
“Next to you.”
The weightlifter paused, his smirk deepening. He was about to say something when the orange cat ambled out. Travis plopped himself down in the middle of the store and watched the stranger.
“What’s his problem?”
“He doesn’t have a problem.”
“That’s a weird lookin’ cat,” the weightlifter said. “Pfft. Go on.”
Unfazed, the cat remained where he was.
“He must think you’re Schwarzenegger.”
The man’s eyebrows rose briefly, then he bent over, reaching for the cat. A smile grew on his face. “Ya think so?”
“Totally,” Brody said. “He wants to know how much you bench.”
The cat bolted for a nearby aisle. The weightlifter slowly straightened, the smiling melting from his face.
“If you’re not here to buy a book,” Brody said, “then what are you looking for?”
“I’m lookin’ for you, smaht guy.”
“Why’s that?”
“Why do ya think?”
Brody shrugged. “Need a tutor?”
“Smaht. Real smaht.”
“You said it.”
“What are ya doin’ here?” the weightlifter asked.
“Me? Trying to sell books, but I still don’t know what you want.”
The weightlifter twisted his lips and studied Brody. “I ain’t buyin’ it.”
“If you’re not buying, then take off. You’re sucking up all the oxygen.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means leave.”
The weightlifter flicked The Deep Blue Good-by from the counter to the floor. “Nobody talks to me that way,” he said.
Brody stepped around the counter to stand nose-to-nose with the man. “Looks like I’m talking to you that way.”
“Tell me why you’re here.”
“I just got out of the Navy and bought a bookstore. What more do you need to know?”
The weightlifter stepped back, his eyes scanning him. “The Navy, huh?”
“Got a problem with that?”
He shook his head. “Nah. No problem. Thank ya for your service.”
Brody nodded his appreciation. Enlisting for the imaginary service was turning out to be a great decision.
“How’d ya come by this business?” the weightlifter asked.
“I bought it. On the Internet.”
“Ya did, huh?”
“I did.”
“From who?”
“An attorney.” Throwing an attorney into the mix, just like mentioning a cop, usually stalled any conversation with this type.
“What happened to the old ownah? The smaht-mouthed broad.”
“No idea. I only worked with the lawyer.” As an afterthought, Brody said, “Online.”
The weightlifter smirked. “Yeah, all right, smaht guy, we got our eye on ya.” He spun and sauntered out. The ocean’s aroma and summer’s humidity entered again.
Who the heck did he mean by we? Brody wondered.