“Because,” she says, “if you’re too afraid to talk to her, then nothing’s ever going to happen. Make your move or move on.”

“Damn. You’re tough, Brenda.”

“I’ve learned to be blunt. Your dilemma comes down to this: if you’re too afraid of getting killed by this Tank guy, then you don’t deserve his sister. First thing you need to do is let her know how you feel.”

“And don’t say anything to Tank?”

“Not yet,” she says, hopping off the stool and coming out from behind the counter.

I glance at a Budweiser clock on the wall above the front windows. The ten o’clock rush is ten minutes away.

“Why not?”

“Because if she turns you down, there’s no reason Tank needs to know about any of it.” She heads toward the restroom. “That’ll save you from getting slaughtered.”

“Yeah, but she won’t turn me down. Like I said, she gave me a look, the look.”

Brenda laughs again. “If that’s the case, then you go to the next step,” she says from the back of the store. “Which involves breaking the news to Tank.” She enters the restroom and closes the door.

I look around the store. The coolers are full, the shelves stocked. Then I look at the cigarette compartments behind the register, also fully stocked. Above the cigarettes, liquor bottles line the aluminum shelves like disciplined soldiers awaiting orders. We’re totally ready for the rush.

I notice Brenda has left her smokes lying on the counter, and I think about what Brandon said about Brenda stealing her cigarettes and Diet Coke. He was right. I’ve yet to see Brenda pay for anything.

I take the last puff of my cigarette and realize the ashtray is behind the counter, so I hop over, kneel down, and stub out the butt. I’m about to stand, but then I see Brenda’s large black purse tucked in the back corner of the bottom shelf, just behind the extra paper bags.

I peer over the top of the counter. She’s still in the bathroom, so I pull her purse toward me and open it. Three unopened packs of cigarettes lie inside.

Yeah, she definitely steals.