Bentley Little - The Store

"What's this?" she asked. "What's going on here?"

"Kill him," Mr. Lamb said.

"No!" the manager cried.

"Kill him and The Store is yours."

Samantha shook her head, backing away. "No. I can't."

"Mr. King wants you to."

That threw her. She shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts. "Newman King?"

Mr. Lamb smiled, nodded. "He's been watching the tapes. He's very impressed with you."

The man behind the desk tried to sound strong, failed. "I'm still the manager here!"

"No, you're not!" Mr. Lamb snapped at him. "You're out!" He held forth the dagger, smiled at Samantha. "Take it."

"I can't."

"Do what you have to do."

She backed against the closed door, shook her head. "It's . . . it's murder."

"It's business. And if you don't do it, someone else will. Why should they get the job you deserve?"

"I . . . can't kill anyone."

"I'll call the police!" the manager cried.

"Shut up!" Mr. Lamb roared at him.

"I . . ."

"You can," Mr. Lamb said. "You must."

"It's wrong," she said. "It's murder."

He took her hand, put the dagger in it. "You can," he said.

4

There was a Kmart in Flagstaff, and a Wal-Mart, but the city did not have The Store, and for that Bill was grateful. Newman King had taken Sam Walton's approach and pushed it to its limit, opening stores in small towns in which there were only locally owned businesses, but The Store would not build in a town that was host to another chain.

King hated competition.

Bill needed to remember that. It might be something he'd be able to use.

They stopped at Target, bought toilet paper and cleanser and detergent and other household items, then stocked up on groceries at Fry's. It felt strange shopping at regular stores after all this time. There was no pressure, no tension, no threatening employees, no bizarre products, only a relaxed, pleasant atmosphere and an extensive selection of goods. This was what shopping was supposed to be like, he thought. Fun. Not the horrible ordeal it had become in Juniper.

He had not really realized until now just how deeply The Store had affected their lives. He'd known intellectually, of course, but he hadn't really understood, emotionally, the depth of it, had not fully grasped all of the peripherals. It took this exposure to normalcy to enable him to recognize how strange and skewed everything had become.

Shannon came with them, and though they didn't talk about it, he knew that she, too, noticed the difference.

They returned to Juniper after dark, and the phone started ringing the second they stepped through the door. All three of them were loaded down with grocery sacks, so he quickly flipped on the lights, put his sacks down on the kitchen counter, and grabbed the phone. "Hello?"

It was Sam.

She wanted to tell them the good news.

She'd been appointed manager of The Store.

THIRTY-ONE

1

They received a gold StoreCard in the mail the next day, along with a photocopied form letter, signed by their daughter, that explained the benefits of belonging to the Store Club.

Bill called Samantha for the first time since she'd moved out, thanking her for the card. He was not at all sure that he ever wanted to shop at The Store again -- the drive to Flagstaff seemed infinitely preferable -- but with Sam in charge now, there was an opening, an opportunity, and he made a concerted effort to take a more conciliatory stance.

Their conversation yesterday had been brief. He hadn't known how to take her announcement, and while she was obviously proud of her news and wanted to share it with the family, he could not be proud of her or happy for her, and after awkwardly insincere congratulations, he had handed the phone to Ginny.

He was better today. He'd had time to get used to the news, and he even managed to sound supportive.

At the very least, the breach between them had been healed.

But when he asked her to release Shannon from her contract and allow her to quit, Sam grew rigid, formal, toed the party line, said it was not her decision to make, that even though she was manager, she was still required to follow corporate policy.

He didn't fight with her, didn't try to force her to let her sister go, but he didn't tell her that he understood, either. He didn't make her feel that her decision was all right with him. He was not going to put any pressure on her, but he would make it clear that he didn't approve, and he'd let that work on her for a while.

Maybe she'd come around.

Then he'd ask her about Ben and the others.

The important stuff.

They talked for a little while longer, but she was on break and he had to get back to work as well, and she promised to come over for dinner later in the week. He walked back into his office, checked his fax tray and E-mail to see if there was any news from the company or on the off chance that Street had finally decided to send him another message, but as usual there was nothing. He quickly fired off his daily complaint letters to various business regulatory agencies and to The Store's corporate headquarters, then got busy with his documentation.

He'd gotten another assignment last week, this time a human resources package for a midsize Southern California city, and the deadline was just around the corner. Someone somewhere had screwed up, and he'd gotten involved in the project at a very late date, had not been involved in the development or testing phases at all, and now he was expected to crank out a set of instructions, with almost no lead time, on a system he didn't really understand.

He was going to earn his pay on this one.

He wrote until midafternoon, then Ginny finally persuaded him to take a break and have something to eat, and he walked out to the kitchen and wolfed down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk.

The fax was waiting in the tray when he returned to the office.

He read it.

Read it again.

Read it again.

Ginny poked her head in the door. "Hey --" she began, but she stopped as soon as she saw the look on his face. "What is it?" she asked, walking up to him. He held up the fax. "Looks like I finally got a response," he said dryly.

Ginny looked at him, already a little frightened.

"It's from The Store's corporate headquarters. From Newman King himself.

He's invited me to Dallas. He wants to talk to me."

They'd debated whether or not to tell the girls and had decided to do so but to downplay it. Now, in bed, they were alone, and the false nonchalance they'd been feigning was gone. The spin they'd put on the situation had not fooled Shannon, but she'd pretended it had, and for that Bill was grateful.

Honesty was nice and communication was important, but sometimes events were too big to be digested at once, and he was glad that she hadn't forced him to talk in detail about this, that she'd allowed him to sidestep the issue. She was a good girl, more sensitive than he gave her credit for, and he was thankful that she'd understood the situation without him having to explain it to her.

He'd pay her back somehow, make it up to her.

If he ever got the chance.

He looked over at Ginny. She'd finished putting on her moisturizer and was fluffing up her pillow before turning off the light.

She sighed, looked over at him. "Why does he want to talk to you? That's what I don't get. He probably gets a thousand complaint letters a day. Why does he want to see you?"

"Because I'm a persistent pain in the ass?"

She kicked his leg under the covers.

"I don't know," he answered seriously.

"It frightens me."

They were both silent for a moment.

"Sam thinks its an honor. I think she has renewed respect for you now."