Bentley Little - The Store

Meg stood, refusing to be ignored. "What is the point of this?"

"The students need flexible hours."

"Why?"

"To accommodate their work schedules."

Work schedules? Ginny glanced around the assembly room. A few of the teachers were talking among themselves, a few looked unhappy, but the majority of them sat unmoving in their seats, listening to the principal.

"The Store is donating money and materials to help educate these children.

The least the students can do is donate an hour or so of their time each day to help The Store."

Now Ginny stood. "What does that mean?"

"It means, Mrs. Davis, that they will be sweeping, picking up trash, doing the type of work that I used to do as a child. It will foster responsibility and make them feel as if they are part of the community. They'll be contributing to their town and learning about the importance of the work ethic at the same time."

_Sweeping?_

"It's called child labor," Ginny said. "There are laws against it."

"It's called volunteerism and the school supports the concept fully."

"Elementary school children do not learn as well with their day broken into separate periods with separate teachers," Meg said. "It's been proven. They need the stability of a single class with a single teacher and a set group of classmates."

"That is the way we _used_ to do it," the principal said, giving her a withering glance. "This is the way we will be doing it now."

Ginny and Meg continued to argue with the principal for the next half hour or so, but none of the other teachers joined them, and eventually their objections were cut off and they were told to sit down.

"Why don't you retire?" Lorraine said to Meg as they all walked out the door after the meeting. She held up her voodoo doll and stuck a pin in its face.

Ginny grabbed the doll and threw it on the ground. "Bitch."

"I can get one for you, too," Lorraine said.

"Go ahead."

"Maybe I will retire," Meg said as they walked out to the parking lot. "I don't exactly see myself fitting in with the new order."

"You can't retire," Ginny told her. "The school needs you."

The older teacher smiled. "Who'd've thought that you would be asking me not to retire and saying that the school needs me?"

"Politics make strange bedfellows," Ginny said.

"I guess it does. I guess it does."

"Besides, I found out that you were right."

"About what?"

"Those Douglas kids are all troublemakers."

Meg looked puzzled for a moment, then she started to laugh.

They were both laughing as they walked out to their cars.

2

Shannon sat alone in the break room, eating a rubbery pastry she'd bought from one of the vending machines. School was starting next week and her hours would be cut, so to make up for it The Store had scheduled her to work every day this week, from opening until closing, thirteen hours a day.

She shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat, her inner thighs chapped from the tight pants and rough leather underwear.

Sam was supposed to meet her here for break, but her sister had canceled out on her the past three times they'd arranged to get together, and her absence wasn't a big surprise. Shannon glanced up at the wall. Ten more minutes to go.

Sam wasn't going to make it.

She missed her sister. They'd never been particularly close, weren't best friends or anything, but obviously they'd been closer than she'd thought, because she longed to talk with Sam the way they used to, longed to have one of their stupid arguments over a meaningless matter. They still talked, she and Sam, but there was distance between them now, a barrier, and it wasn't quite the same. Her sister had never even invited her to the house The Store had given her, and while Shannon told herself she didn't care, it didn't matter, she did care and it did matter.

With five minutes left to go on her break, Sam finally showed up. Smiling, she walked quickly over to where Shannon was sitting. She even looked good in the ridiculous Store uniform, and Shannon couldn't help wondering how many of her fellow employees had come on to her.

_The bloody panties_.

Shannon felt guilty for even briefly entertaining jealous thoughts about her sister, and she smiled and nodded as Sam sat down. "Hey," she said.

"Sorry I'm late, but there was trouble in your old department. Kirk was letting himself be berated by a disgruntled customer, and I had to go over there and set things straight."

"What if you couldn't set it straight?" Shannon asked. "Would the manager have to take care of it?"

"I suppose so," Sam said.

"Have you ever seen the manager?"

Sam shook her head, and for a brief fraction of a second, she looked troubled, "No," she said. "I never have."

"Has Mr. Lamb?"

"Oh, I'm sure he has."

"So Mr. Lamb's above you?"

"No one's above me except the manager. I'm second in command. I'm assistant manager." Sam laughed. "Why the third degree?"

Shannon shook her head. "Nothing," she said. "No reason."

"So how're Mom and Dad?"

Shannon shrugged. "The same, I guess."

"Dad still on the warpath?"

"Always."

Sam laughed. She was about to say something else when three chimes sounded over The Store's PA system. "Three rings," she said. "That means all nonessential personnel." She looked over at Shannon. "Is someone covering for you right now?"

"Mike."

"Come on, then. Let's go."

Shannon followed her sister out of the break room and down a short hallway to stairs that led to the basements.

Mr. Lamb was waiting for them at the bottom of the steps. "You're just in time."

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"We caught Jake Lindley stealing. From The Store. Apparently, he was on his break, and he decided to pilfer a Snickers bar from the check stand display next to Francine Dormand, with whom he was having a oneway conversation." Mr. Lamb smiled dryly. "Francine turned him in."

The personnel manager's attention shifted to Shannon. He eyed her intently. "You used to date him did you not?"

She felt nervous, frightened, but Sam stood up for her. "Yes, she did. And Jake broke it off, although I fail to see what bearing that has on this case, Mr. Lamb."

"Quite right," he said, bowing obsequiously. "Quite right."

"So what is the penalty?" Sam asked.

"As per the rules spelled out in _The Employee's Bible_, he shall be taken to the Hall of Punishment and the appropriate disciplinary action will be there decided."

Sam paled. "The Hall of Punishment?"

Mr. Lamb smiled. "The Hall of Punishment." He motioned toward an open door halfway down the corridor. "Come. The others are waiting."

Sam shook her head. "I can't oversee something like that."

Mr. Lamb's smile never faltered. "I'm afraid you have no choice, Ms. Davis. It is the manager's day off, and you are in charge during his absence."

"Then we should call him --"

"To again reference _The Employee's Bible_, the manager is not to make any decisions or oversee any disciplinary actions on his day off. Those responsibilities automatically and irrevocably devolve to the assistant manager." He took her hand, led her toward the door. "Come."

Ignored by the personnel manager, forgotten about by her sister, Shannon nevertheless followed them down the corridor and through the door, down a short flight of steps and into another basement.

She had never been here before, and she stopped, looking around, feeling frightened. The walls were black. As was the ceiling. As was the floor. Wrought iron Gothic chandeliers with red flame-shaped bulbs offered what little illumination there was.

Ten or twelve employees were lined up in the usual double row in the center of the high-ceilinged room. In this light, she thought, in this place, with their stylized leather uniforms, they looked like medieval torturers.