Tommy — as a dealer in rare powders — needed creativity to a degree not known to conventional merchants. As a f’rinstance, inventory just was not going to go on display in a glass case under the counter. Any number of people with guns — many with badges, but many, too, without — stood ready to remove all material close at hand.
Tommy’s North Bergen cliffside location provided the solution; the wooded hills equalled infinity in terms of hiding places. This though was not perfect. As might be expected — particularly when working in the dark with judgement often compromised from being one’s own best customer — the next day, each tree winds up looking like every other. At least once, Tommy needed to spend an entire day — and well into the night with a flash light — scouring the hills like someone looking for a leprechaun’s treasure. On another occasion, the packaging was faulty, so rain turned the powder to mush. Tommy’s plan was to dry the stuff out, but I don’t know if that was successful.
Tommy had a square of plexiglass that was around 18″ on each side on the floor that served as a chair of sorts. The plastic seemed to be filled with pennies. How the coins were obtained, I don’t know. Once when the place was burglarized, the thieves attempted to haul away the copper coins. They got it as far as the door, but left it there, apparently deciding that the weight just was too much to handle.
In a sad and sorry incident, Peter the Bulgarian broke into a nearby apartment that Tommy was using for storage. The unpleasant export of Eastern Europe set fire to a collection of old comic books. Somehow, the fire didn’t spread, but the rare comics were destroyed.
In a curious incident, some bandits secreted themselves about midway up the very long flight of steps leading to Tommy’s place. As potential customers arrived, the gunmen robbed those seeking better living through chemistry and then kept them there.