Bentley Little - The Store

Shannon's body was covered with goose bumps, the chilled flesh of fear, not cold, and she watched the employees before her kneel down on the red carpet, bow their heads and give thanks to Newman King for allowing them to graduate to this new level. There was no way any of them could not know that this was wrong, crazy -- _evil_ -- yet none of the other employees seemed fazed. They were quiet, a little more subdued than usual, perhaps, but there was no opposition to what they were doing, no recognition that this was something an employer should not be able to demand, or even request, from an employee.

Shannon knew it was wrong, but she walked forward just like the others, knelt, gave thanks, afraid to voice her disapproval, not brave enough to refuse to participate.

She stood, walked out of the chapel. All of the shifts would go through this, she realized. All of The Store's workers.

Sam would go through this -- if she hadn't already.

"Okay!" Mr. Lamb said, clapping his hands, when the last employee had given thanks. "To the lockers! Put on your uniforms and be on the floor in five!" He glanced over at Shannon, smiled, and a hot flush of shame passed through her as she saw where his eyes were looking. "The Store opens in ten minutes! Be there or be square!"

TWENTY-SEVEN

1

He had stopped jogging entirely.

The streets were getting too scary.

It was not something Bill had ever expected to happen in Juniper. A year ago -- six months ago, even -- such an idea would have been unthinkable. But things were different now. The Store had recruited its own security force to augment the police department, and though ostensibly the reason was to combat the increased crime in town, the truth was that The Store merely wanted to increase its hold, to flaunt its power, to make sure that everyone knew that it was now in charge of Juniper.

Besides, although he could not prove anything, most of the crime, in Bill's mind, seemed to be committed by this new security force.

And the victims always seemed to be people who were opposed to The Store.

Which was why he no longer jogged.

He had not yet received a new assignment, his days were still free, and he now spent most of them hanging around Street's place. Ben hung there, too, and it had the feeling of one of those cinematic barbershops where a group of crotchety old man sat around, day after day, critiquing the world that passed by the windows.

Only there was no world passing by the windows.

There were only occasional cars driving past on their way to The Store.

Bill pulled up in front of the electronics shop and hopped out of his Jeep. There was something different about the street today, and it took him a moment to figure out what it was.

Multicolored flyers had been posted on the trees, telephone poles, and abandoned storefronts downtown.

He walked up to the closest telephone pole. No, not flyers. Announcements:

BY THE ORDER OF THE STORE, NO CITIZEN MAY BE OUTSIDE HIS OR HER HOME AFTER 10 P.M. UNLESS ENGAGED IN STORE BUSINESS. THIS CURFEW WILL BE STRICTLY ENFORCED.

"Do you believe this shit?" Street walked outside onto the sidewalk, Ben following. "A fucking discount store making laws and setting policy, telling me when I can and can't walk around my own town? How the fuck did this happen?"

"How did we let it happen?" Ben said quietly.

"Good point," Street said. He walked up to the wooden pole, pulled off the pink sign, crumpled it up, grimacing disgustedly.

"When did these go up?" Bill asked.

"Last night, this morning. They had kids from church running around putting up this crap."

"Church?" Bill said.

"Oh, yes." Ben nodded. "Most of our local clergy are big Store supporters."

"How is that possible?"

"Donations to their coffers, perhaps?"

Street laughed harshly. "I guess if The Store's on God's side, then God's on The Store's side. Kind of a you-scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch-yours deal."

They walked into the shop. "That's what I've always hated about the religion/politics connection," Ben said. "These clergymen tell their followers who to vote for, what legislation to support, because this is what God wants them to do." He shook his head. "The hubris, man. Don't any of them pick up on that? They think they know the mind of God? Them claiming to know how God would vote is like an amoeba claiming to know what car I'm going to buy."

"So much for 'rendering to Caesar,' huh?"

Street tossed the crumpled announcement in a waste-paper basket and walked into the back room, returning a moment later with three beers. He tossed one can to Bill, one to Ben, popping open the tab on his own.

"During business hours?" Bill said.

Street shrugged. "What business?"

Ben was on a roll. "What really ticks me off about these religious assholes is that they always claim they're for less government, and they are when it comes to economics. But they're all for letting government regulate our social lives, our bedroom behavior, what movies we can see, what pictures we can look at, what books we can read."

Street took a long swig. "They want to tell me where I can and can't put my dick."

"Because they can't even use theirs," Ben said. "Those cows they're married to won't let 'em."

Bill burst out laughing. A second later, Ben and Street started laughing as well.

None of them went to church on a regular basis. Street used to go every Sunday, when he was married, but he hadn't gone since. Ben considered himself an agnostic and hadn't attended since Catholic school. In the fuzzy, evasive neuterspeak of today, he himself had what was called "a personal relationship with God." Which meant that his religious beliefs were privately held and were not sanctioned or reinforced by any church or organized religion. He'd always considered suspect the faith of people who had to go to church every Sunday. As an old college friend of his had said, once you got the Word, you got it. There was no reason to reinforce it every seven days unless you were so damn stupid that after a week you forgot everything you'd learned and needed to be reminded again of the basic tenets of your faith.

Street shook his head. "It's wrong using kids, though. If churches are going to get involved, let the adults do it. Keep the kids out of it."

"Amen," Ben said.

"So what are we going to do about this?" Bill walked over to the door, pointed through the glass at the multicolored announcements dotting the downtown. "You know damn well that people in Juniper, _most_ people, aren't in favor of a curfew. Adults don't want to be treated like children. And what about the bar? The video store? Circle K? There are a whole bunch of businesses that depend on people being out at night."

"Petition," Street said. "We start one to rescind this ordinance."

"Not a bad idea," Ben admitted. "People'd be in favor of this idea. It might give us an opening, a little chink in the armor we could exploit. I think we'd get quite a few signatures."

"If people weren't afraid to sign."

"If people weren't afraid to sign," Ben agreed.

Street finished off his beer, grinned. He moved around the back of the register counter. "Start thinking, boys. I'll get some paper and pens."

An hour later, Bill was at the park, pen, clipboard, and petition in hand.

They'd hashed it out quickly, he and Ben, then he'd rushed home, typed it on his PC, and printed it out, making multiple copies. Ginny had been in her garden, killing tomato worms, and he'd shown her the petition and left her a few copies.

"Just in case any of your friends come by," he said.

He dropped more off at the electronics shop, Street promising to hit up anyone he saw on Main, Ben vowing to take it to the source and camp out in The Store's parking lot "until they kick me out."