A DAY AT THE STORE CAN BE HELL

Issa Nakoul stares nervously out the window of his convenience
store.

For the next three hours, his workday will turn hellish.

From 3 to 6 p.m., the pimps, prostitutes and day laborers stream into
Nakoul's business -- the J Food Store -- on Ridgewood Avenue and North
Street.

The day laborers want to cash their meager checks so they can buy
beer, a sandwich and cigarettes, Nakoul says.

"They are my best customers."

But the crack-addicted prostitutes who meander in and out daily just
want something for nothing, Nakoul says.

"They're the ones that give me trouble," says Nakoul, a slight man of
Swedish and Syrian descent born in Stockholm. "When it becomes 3 p.m.,
I never know what to expect. I call the police three to four times a
day."

Recently, the police came to Nakoul's store for a different reason: to
arrest him.

Suspecting that Nakoul was buying stolen property, Daytona Beach
police sent in an undercover detective who sold two laptop computers
to the merchant for $25. The investigator told Nakoul the computers
were "hot," and he took the bait after taking a few seconds to examine
the merchandise, police said.

"I don't know why they arrested me," Nakoul said recently as his store
began getting crowded. "It's not like I stole the stuff. I'm just
buying it. I didn't know it was stolen."

Meanwhile, on another afternoon while minding the store, Nakoul
spotted a prostitute trying to steal candy.

"When the police got here, she accused me of touching her breasts,"
Nakoul said.

Sometimes, the women fling objects at him -- a can of soda, whatever
- -- if he refuses to take 25 cents for something that costs a dollar.

Late afternoon also is the time when deals are made outside the store,
which police call "trouble central."

"I am constantly looking out the window, because people will stand out
there trying to sell drugs," Nakoul says.

After 6 p.m., things begin to quiet down, at least for a couple of
hours until a second shift of turmoil comes through before midnight.
By then, Nakoul is long gone.

Though he says his days at the store often are filled with tension,
the money is good enough, Nakoul says, to support his wife and three
grade-school-age daughters.

When 8 p.m. rolls around, Nakoul is happy to climb into his car and
leave the store behind. He lives on the beachside, miles and attitudes
away from the people and problems that frequent his shop.

"I do not tell my family about the store," he says. "I do not bring my
work home with me."