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Rusty had exactly three opinions about shopping.
One: shopping was good when somebody else paid.
Two: malls were superior because they had food courts.
Three: if there happened to be pretty girls working at the pretzel stand, that was an added plus.
Unfortunately, Reuben had opinions, too. And Reuben’s opinions usually cost several thousand dollars.
“You need new clothes,” Reuben announced, staring across the breakfast table with the expression of a deeply disappointed king. “You can’t keep dressing like a seventeen-year-old blackjack dealer who got fired for skimming tips.”
Rusty looked down at himself. He thought he looked pretty good, actually. Danny’s charcoal jacket hung a little loose through the shoulders, sure, but Rusty had rolled the sleeves exactly enough to make it look intentional. The black shirt underneath mostly hid how skinny he still was, and the cheap silver watch he'd picked up three states ago added what he considered class. “It’s called style,” Rusty informed him.
“It’s called an abomination.”
At the other end of the table, Danny lowered his coffee slowly. The look on his face was that of a man watching two cars speed toward each other at an intersection.
“I’m just saying,” Rusty continued, “if we’re going shopping, there’s a mall fifteen minutes away. Got everything there.”
Reuben narrowed his eyes immediately. “What kind of everything?”
“Food court. Arcade. Girls.”
Danny closed his eyes briefly. “Of course,” he muttered.
Rusty pointed at him. “See? Danny gets it.”
“No,” Danny said. “I get Reuben’s blood pressure.”
Reuben stabbed a finger toward Rusty. “You are not buying suits at a mall.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not raising a delinquent.”
“You literally run casinos.”
“That is beside the point.”
Rusty leaned back in his chair, grinning now because irritating Reuben had become one of life’s simple joys. “What, you got some ancient old-guy store? One of those places where they measure your inseam while judging your soul?”
Danny snorted into his coffee.
Reuben looked offended. “Salvatore has dressed senators.”
Rusty blinked. “Who the hell’s Salvatore?”
“My tailor.”
“Oh my God,” Rusty breathed. “You have a tailor.”
“A good tailor. Excellent, actually.”
Danny rubbed a hand over his mouth, visibly trying not to laugh.
Rusty looked between them suspiciously. “Hold on. Tailor-tailor? Like custom suits?”
“Yes.”
“With measuring tape and pins and rich people nonsense?”
“Yes.”
Rusty stared at Danny in betrayal. “You knew about this?”
Danny pointed lazily with his coffee mug. “Saw this catastrophe coming yesterday.”
“I hate you,” Rusty muttered, crossing his arms mulishly. Then he pointed at Danny and Reuben. “Both of you,” he added, just to make sure they really understood his feelings.
Reuben was completely unbothered. “We’ll leave in ten.”
*****
Forty-five minutes later, Rusty stood on the sidewalk outside a discreet little storefront that looked nothing like a store at all. No flashing signs. No music. No windows showing clothes. Just elegant gold lettering and the kind of silence that made Rusty immediately distrust the place. “This looks fake,” he declared.
“It’s a tailor.”
“It looks like somewhere people get murdered quietly.”
Reuben got out of the car without answering.
Danny lingered beside Rusty for a second. “You got two choices here,” he said conversationally. “You can cooperate…”
“And the other choice?”
Danny smiled faintly. “You can watch Reuben have a coronary in public.”
Rusty actually considered this. Finally, he asked, “How public?”
Danny snorted a laugh and walked inside, Rusty following reluctantly.
The place smelled expensive. Leather. Wool. Cigars. Money. The carpet probably cost more than every apartment Rusty had ever lived in combined. The employees acted weird, as far as Rusty was concerned. Nobody rushed over. Nobody hovered. They just looked at Reuben and instantly transformed into people greeting royalty.
“Mister Tishkoff,” one man said warmly.
Reuben nodded with satisfaction. “Salvatore.”
Rusty immediately spotted the measuring tape around the guy’s neck and recoiled. “Nope,” he said. “Absolutely not.”
Salvatore looked at him kindly. “And this must be the young man.” His eyes swept over Rusty with terrifying precision. One glance. That was all it took. “The shoulders are wrong,” he said.
Rusty looked down instinctively. “My shoulders are perfectly fine,” he shot back defensively.
“The sleeves are shortened by hand,” Salvatore continued, ignoring Rusty’s outburst. “Cheap watch trying to elevate the silhouette. Clever use of black to disguise poor fit.”
Rusty stared at him in horror, causing Danny to laugh outright. “I liked you better five minutes ago,” Rusty muttered.
Reuben, meanwhile, looked delighted. “See?” he boomed. “Professional.” He stabbed his cigar in Salvatore’s direction. “This man can see through walls.”
Salvatore ignored him completely and circled once. “You’re underweight.”
“I’m aerodynamic,” Rusty shot back.
“But you carry yourself well,” Salvatore mused. “You understand presentation instinctively. That cannot be taught.”
Rusty blinked, his mouth snapping closed. That was not what he had expected.
Salvatore nodded once, apparently deciding something. “We can work with this.”
And somehow that felt more threatening than criticism.
*****
An hour later, Rusty stood barefoot on a fitting platform while three people discussed him like a construction project.
“Single vent,” Salvatore said.
“He’s hard on jackets,” Danny replied from a chair nearby.
“Hey!” Rusty objected.
“Narrow lapels,” Reuben added.
Rusty crossed his arms. Pins flashed dangerously close to his skin. “Do I get a say in this?” he sulked.
“No. You just stand there and look pretty.” Danny flashed an infuriating grin.
“This is humiliating,” Rusty protested.
“This,” Reuben said smugly, “is culture.”
“No, it’s torture.” Rusty twisted away instinctively when Salvatore’s hand came worryingly close to his crotch with the measuring tape. Danny looked entirely too amused watching this happen. Rusty pointed accusingly. “You said nothing in the car.”
“Because this is funny.”
Rusty narrowed his eyes. Traitor.
Salvatore stepped back eventually and studied the drape of dark fabric over Rusty’s shoulders. The room quieted a little.
Even Rusty looked up. Because... Oh. That looked different. Not like Danny’s hand-me-downs. Not like the thrift-store stuff Rusty usually altered himself. The jacket actually fit. His shoulders looked sharper. His waist narrower. He looked taller somehow. Older. Cleaner. Dangerous, even. Rusty’s expression shifted before he could hide it.
Danny noticed immediately.
So did Reuben. The joking eased out of his face for just a second. “There,” he said, more quietly. “That’s what people see before you even open your mouth.”
Rusty looked at himself in the mirror again. A kid pretending to be somebody important had disappeared somewhere in the last thirty seconds. In his place stood somebody who looked like he belonged in the room. Wearing a suit that fit him perfectly. It was unsettling, honestly.
It took Rusty a moment to recover. He straightened the cuffs and grinned at Danny through the mirror. “Think this gets me free fries at the food court?”
Danny barked out a laugh.
Reuben groaned like a man abandoned by God.
THE END