Bentley Little - The Store

Bill brought his petitions to the park.

There were quite a few people here. Little League kids practicing, mostly.

Some old men. Mothers and small children. A couple playing tennis.

He approached the tennis couple first, explaining what the petition said and what they were trying to do, and the man seemed close to signing at one point. But he was wary of being the first signee, and his wife pulled him quickly away, frightened, nearly panicked. "It's a trap!" she said. "Don't do it. They're trying to trap you."

The couple hurried off, and he walked around the tennis court to the row of benches where several of the old men were sitting.

None of them would even hear him out.

The only signature he received was from a middle-aged woman watching her young daughter play on the swing set. She was nodding even before he'd finished explaining what the petition was meant to do.

"One of those announcements was nailed to our front door," she said. She seemed nervous, kept glancing at her daughter on the swing as if to make sure that the little girl was still there.

"We need to put a stop to this," he told her. "And we need your help."

"They're enforcing the curfew already."

"I didn't know that," he said, surprised. "In fact, I only learned about the ordinance this morning."

She glanced suspiciously around. "They're out after dark," she whispered.

"I saw them."

"Who?"

"The men in black. The Night Managers."

_The men in black_.

He thought of Encantada. Of Jed McGill.

Once again, the woman quickly looked around. Before he could say anything else, she grabbed the pen from his hand, scrawled a quick, indecipherable signature, and hurried away, grabbing her daughter.

"Thanks!" he called after her.

She did not acknowledge him, and he watched as she and her daughter practically ran to their car.

Jed McGill. He wondered sometimes if he'd really seen what he thought he'd seen. He'd been in such a hurry to get away, so desperate not to know, that even in his own mind there was no clear confirmation of the figure's identity. Even now, he still wasn't sure whether he wanted to know. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever, was so bizarre as to be incomprehensible, and the questions that it raised terrified him.

_The men in black_.

_The Night Managers_.

He tried to concentrate on the task before him, to think only about getting signatures for his petition.

On the street, in back of the woman's departing vehicle, a police car pulled up, cruised to a stop, and Forest Everson got out. Even before the policeman began walking across the grass toward him, Bill knew why he was here.

He stood his ground.

Forest looked embarrassed as he walked up to where Bill was standing. "I'm sorry, Mr. Davis, but you're going to have to stop with that petition."

Bill faced him. "Why?"

"It's against the law."

"It's against the law to get people to sign a petition? Since when?"

"Since last night. The town council convened in a special meeting, and they passed a new ordinance making it illegal to circulate a petition of any sort within a five-mile radius of The Store. I guess they consider it a restriction of commerce because they feel it impinges on The Store's ability to do business."

"Jesus."

"It's not my decision," Forest said. "I don't make the laws. I don't even agree with all of them. But I'm paid to enforce them, and that's what I do."

Bill was still trying to sort out the order of events. The council created the ordinance last night? He and his friends had only thought of the petition this morning. The council knew what they were going to do before _they_ did?

"This can't be constitutional," he said. "This is America, damn it. We still have freedom of speech here."

The policeman smiled wryly. "Not in Juniper."

"So I can't do this anywhere in town? I can't even have people sign petitions on my own property?"

Forest shook his head. "Not within a five-mile radius of The Store."

"The damn town's only two and a half miles long. That means there can't be any petitions anywhere in Juniper."

The policeman nodded.

"I'm not giving you my petition."

"I'm not asking you for it. Although the new chiefd have my ass if he knew that. He'd want the name and address of everyone on there. And he'd want you in jail." Forest sighed. "Go home. Take your petition with you. Lay low."

"Ben's at The Store, trying to get signatures."

"I'll try to head him'trff before anyone else does."

"This is wrong," Bill said.

"I know." Forest nodded. "But for now it's the law, and until things change, it's my job to enforce it." He started back across the grass toward his car.

"Thanks," Bill said. "You're a good man."

"And these are bad times. Go home. Stay out of trouble. Stay away from The Store."

He and Ginny were waiting for Shannon when she came home from work.

They let her go to the bathroom, get something to drink, eat a snack, then called her over to the living room.

She knew something was up, and she sat down across from them, sighing.

"What is it now?"

"The Night Managers," Bill said.

She paled. "Where did you hear about them?"

"I have my sources." He smiled, tried to keep his tone light, but was aware that he failed miserably. He gave it up, addressed her seriously. "Who are they?"

"More like _what_ are they," she said quietly.

His mouth suddenly felt dry. "All right, then. _What_ are they?"

"I . . . I don't really know," Shannon admitted. "I don't think anyone does. But. . . they're not good." She took a deep breath. "No one talks about them. Everyone's afraid to."

"But there are rumors."

She nodded. "There are rumors."

"Like what?"

She licked her lips. "That they kill people."

"Do you believe it?" Ginny asked.

She nodded.

Bill looked at her. "Someone said that they're the ones enforcing the curfew. She said she saw them."

"I don't think so," Shannon said.

"Why not?"

"Because no one's ever seen them. And I don't think anyone outside The Store has even heard of them. I think . . . I don't think they ever leave The Store."

"They never leave The Store?" Ginny said.

"I don't think so."

Bill nodded thoughtfully. "They never leave The Store. Maybe we can use that."

"How?" Ginny asked.

"I don't know," he said. "Not yet. But every little bit helps. Knowledge is power, and we have our own little spy within the organization."

"Me?" Shannon said.

"You."

"What . . . what am I supposed to do?"

"Just keep your eyes and ears open," he said. "And look for weaknesses."

TWENTY-EIGHT

1

They were on to him.

Ben didn't know how they'd found out, but The Store's officials knew that he was working on an expose.

And they were after him.

He'd called earlier to get a standard party-line quote from The Store's manager, and had talked instead to Lamb. He'd explained to the personnel manager that he was a freelance journalist, working on a feature article for a national magazine, but the man had cut him off. "_Feature_ article, Mr. Anderson?" The personnel manager's voice was snide. "You're writing a muckraking piece, a sensationalistic piece of shit, you cocksucking son of a bitch."

Ben had been shocked into silence.

"We know who our friends are. And we know our enemies."

There'd been a click after that, the hum of a dial tone, and though Ben had been a reporter for the past twenty-five years, had dealt with confrontation many times over, his hands were shaking, his heart pounding.

Something about those Store people spooked him.

But he'd been given a break. Someone within The Store's organization had reached out to him, provided him with a tip, given him a lead. And it had been confirmed by Bill and Shannon.