Bentley Little: The Store

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know. I guess I figured they'd make a token effort to make the store blend in with the area, you know, not piss off the locals. But they just raped the place. Slash and burn. It looks like some Third-World construction site." He paused. "I'm going to the town council meeting tonight to talk about it. I think they violated the town's zoning ordinances, but when I talked to a guy at town hall, he made it sound like the Planning Commission granted them an exemption."

"Did you ask Ben if he knew anything about it?"

"No. I'm going to call him later."

"So what are you planning to do?"

"Nothing. Ask some questions, get some answers. I can't say I'll be completely surprised if our local leaders sold us down the river, but I want to make sure they're held accountable for it. You want to go with me tonight?"

"No."

"Come on."

"I have to work in this town. Those people you'll be butting heads with are my students' parents. I'm staying out of this."

"All right. I'll go with Ben."

"That's fine."

Ginny only had a half hour for lunch, and she said she had to hurry up and eat before recess ended, so he let her go, hung up, and walked into the kitchen to fix his own lunch -- a can of ravioli.

Later that afternoon, he called Ben, and the newspaper editor told him that the body was that of a transient, a hitcher apparently passing through town on his way to Albuquerque. A preliminary examination indicated that the man had died from exposure, not from any injuries or inflicted wounds.

"I guess he was just lying there in the brush and got scooped up by a Cat or something while they were clearing the lot," Ben said. "It's kind of weird, but it's perfectly understandable."

"Is it?" Bill asked.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. You going to the council meeting tonight?"

"I always go. It's my job. Why?"

"I need someone to sit next to. Ginny doesn't want to go."

"Candy ass. I sit by myself every meeting."

"You're a he-man."

The editor snorted. "Why are you going?"

"To stop The Store from building here in Juniper."

Ben chuckled. "A little late for that, don't you think?"

"Probably. But have you seen what they've done to that land?"

"It's their land."

"There are zoning ordinances, building codes, rules, laws."

"And sometimes they get waived."

Bill was taken aback. "What have you heard?"

"I'm not a complete dunderhead. I ask questions when I see things that seem a little odd to me. I'm supposed to do that, you know. Being a reporter and all." "And?"

"And, off the record, I was told that concessions had to be made if Juniper was going to get The Store. Otherwise, it was going to go to Randall.

There was sort of a bidding war going on between our two fair towns, and whoever came up with the sweetest incentives would get the extra jobs, the added property tax revenue, and all those other wonderful perks that new businesses bring."

"Shit."

"You're going to be a lone ranger on this one. The town's hurting. A lot of people here would peddle their own mama's ass if it would bring in new jobs.

They're going to think bending a few cosmetic rules a small price to pay for economic security."

"What do you think?"

"What I think doesn't matter."

"But what do you think?"

Ben was silent for a moment. "Off the record?"

"Off the record."

"I'll deny I ever said this. I'm supposed to be impartial. My livelihood's involved here, too."

"Understood."

"I wouldn't've minded if The Store went to Randall."

Bill realized that he'd been holding his breath. He exhaled. "Why?" he asked.

"I don't know," the editor admitted.

"Come on. You can tell me."

"I'm being honest," he said. "I really don't know."

"But you don't like The Store."

"No," Ben said, and his voice was low, quiet, serious. "I don't like The Store."

2

They ate dinner early so he'd be able to get to the council meeting on tune. Samantha offered to go with him, but he could tell that both of the girls were apprehensive about him speaking in front of the council, and he told her that it was okay, he was going with Ben.

Shannon was more direct. "Don't embarrass us, Dad."

He grinned. "Do I ever?"

"Constantly."

He and Ginny laughed.

The girls didn't.

After dinner, he drove to the town hall, glancing out the window at the empty storefronts and abandoned buildings as he drove. Downtown had been slowly dying ever since the lumber mill had closed in the late eighties. Blame had been placed by the locals on "environmentalists," a nebulous group that included not only the loose coalition of scientists, national ecological organizations, and ordinary Arizona citizens who had rallied to the defense of the endangered pine squirrel and had succeeded in getting the federal government to impose a moratorium on logging in this section of the Tonto, but also anyone who supported any sort of government regulation, be it health and safety standards or prohibitions against the dumping of toxic waste. The truth was that the pine squirrel had only hastened the inevitable, probably to the long-term advantage of the town. Logging could not have continued at its previous pace for more than another half decade before the entire supply of timber in the region would have been depleted. Trees were a renewable resource, and the logging companies had been pretty good about reseeding the land, but the fact remained that they were cutting a lot faster than the trees were growing.

Tourism had always been Juniper's second-biggest industry, and it would have disappeared had the area's scenery been marred by deforestation. No railroad ran through Juniper, no major thoroughfares passed through the town, it was neither convenient to reach nor strategically important to any company or corporation. The beauty of the pine country was Juniper's only selling point.

The recession had hurt tourism, but the recession was ending, and despite the dying downtown, the region was realigning itself with the changing economy.

Outside investors had bought land and built time-shares, and there was even talk about putting up a resort near Castle Creek.

Still, the high wages and steady employment of the lumber mill days were long gone, and the town council and chamber of commerce had been trying for some time now to lure corporate offices and software firms and other light industry to the area in order to bring jobs back to the region.

Now they'd landed The Store.

Bill pulled into the small, partially paved parking lot and swung his Jeep next to Ben's pickup. The editor had already staked out a seat in the front row of the council chambers, and Bill scooted in next to him. He glanced around the room. "Not very crowded."

"Never is. Here." Ben handed him a single sheet of paper with double-sided printing. "Council agenda."

"Anything exciting?"

The editor shook his head, grinning. "Nope. Looks like you're going to be the lead in my article. Give 'em hell."

The meeting commenced soon after. A local minister led the attendees in a prayer and the pledge of allegiance, there were some routine votes on procedural matters, then the mayor said, "We'll open the floor to comments from the public."

Ben nudged him. "That's you. Stand up and talk."

Bill stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. He was suddenly nervous, and he realized that he hadn't planned what he was going to say. He should've written it ahead of time and printed it out so he could read from a prepared text. Now he was going to bumble and stumble his way through a probably incoherent diatribe and forfeit any hope of credibility. His chances of effecting any sort of change were going to go straight into the toilet.