The Store

by Bentley Little

  She walked through the front doors.

  Maybe she'd cut out breakfasts entirely.

  EIGHTEEN

  1

  The town was broke.

  For the first time since Bill had begun attending meetings, the council chambers were full, all of the seats taken. Ben had really played this up in the paper, had even sent Trudy out to interview Tyler Calhoun, the president of the chamber of commerce, and Leslie Jones, their county supervisor, about what would happen to the town and the county if Juniper was forced to declare bankruptcy.

  The articles had obviously stimulated quite a bit of interest among the townspeople and had spurred many of them into attending tonight's meeting.

  Bill sat in his usual seat, next to Ben, who was grinning hugely. "Quite a turnout, huh?"

  "You're taking credit for it?"

  "Of course."

  "It is pretty impressive," Bill admitted.

  "Don't get your hopes up yet. I've been eavesdropping on the conversations behind me, and we've got some staunch Store supporters back there. They're not all disgruntled citizens."

  "But they can't be happy with the idea of bankruptcy."

  The meeting was called to order before Ben could respond, and Bill sat silently along with everyone else as the rote procedural requirements were met and the council debated and voted on a host of trivial issues.

  Discussion of the town budget was the last item on the agenda, and the mayor had obviously hoped that the audience would thin out by that time, that at least some of the people would go home, but although it was now after nine, not a soul had left the council chambers and the townspeople sat expectantly, waiting to hear about the state of Juniper's finances.

  The mayor glanced around at his colleagues on the council, then put his hand over the microphone in front of him and whispered something to Bill Reid before addressing the chamber. "As you are all probably aware, the council received an updated report this week from Juniper's financial manager, and the prognosis for the new fiscal year is not good. In fact, it is worse than we'd feared. In an effort to lure The Store to Juniper, we offered tax and other incentives to the corporation that, we are now contractually obligated to deliver. Most of these involve the widening of streets and general redevelopment of the area immediately adjacent to The Store. And while this greatly improves our bond rating and the long-term economic outlook of the town, the net result is that in the short run, despite our belt-tightening, we are continuing to experience a revenue shortfall."

  He cleared his throat. "Simply stated, we're on the verge of bankruptcy."

  A murmur passed through the audience.

  "Now, it's not as bad as the papers have been saying," the mayor promised.

  He glanced over at Ben. "No offense."

  Ben grinned. "None taken."

  "The situation is serious. I won't kid you about that. But it's not the end of the world. In fact, we've been studying the situation all week, and it may even be a blessing in disguise. I think we have the opportunity now to reinvent our local government, to make it leaner and meaner --"

  "It can't get much meaner!" someone called out.

  The council members laughed along with everyone else. "Now, now," the mayor said, chuckling. "We're all in this together. Let's not start pointing fingers. As I said, we have a real opportunity here to not just alleviate this temporary fiscal crisis but to correct the bedrock structural problems that are at the root of it."

  "Hold on to your hats," Ben whispered.

  "We have already begun looking at outsourcing or privatizing nonessential programs and services. Our agreement with The Store in regard to park maintenance has turned out to be not only extremely successful but cost effective, and I think it should serve as a model for our future endeavors. We have already raised certain user fees and have cut back on work hours, eliminating all overtime pay, but we still have a large shortfall to make up, and these baby steps are not going to do it. The town's largest single expense is personnel: salaries and benefits. I propose that we downgrade our full-time clerical and support staff to part-time or half-time, thus eliminating health insurance and retirement expenses. We should also look at the possibility of contracting out more than just nonessential services."

  There was an angry undercurrent to the whispered reactions of the audience.

  "Good solution," Ben said. "Put even more people out of work."

  "Amen," a woman behind him added.

  The mayor frowned. "We will be opening the floor to public comment in a moment. First, do any of the council members wish to address this issue?"

  "I think it's an unfortunate but necessary step," Bill Reid said.

  "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

  "We should also examine the option of using volunteers for some jobs,"

  Dick Wise stated. "We have a wealth of unpooled talent in this town that we could take advantage of. And volunteerism is an American tradition. Our country was founded on the idea of a volunteer government."

  The other two council members said nothing. Hunter Palmyra shook his head.

  "Any other comments?" the mayor asked. He looked around at his fellow council members. "Very well. We will now open this matter for public discussion."

  From the crowded seats in the middle of the chambers emerged a pale, nondescript man who stood, stepped into the aisle, and walked toward the podium, carrying a sheaf of papers. He looked familiar, but it took Bill a second to place him.

  The man from The Store. The shill who'd spoken against waiving the banner ordinance for local businesses.

  Bill glanced over at Ben, who raised his eyebrows, began writing in his notebook.

  "Please state your name and address," the mayor said.

  The man leaned into the microphone. "Ralph Keyes," he said.

  "Representative of The Store, located at 111 Highway 180." He placed his papers on the podium, shuffled through them. He cleared his throat. "The Store. is not unaware of the town's current financial situation," he said. "And we would _like_ to alleviate some of the financial burden by declining the offered tax breaks and paying for the various capital improvements to the adjacent highway.

  Legally, however, we are not allowed to do so. The Store can assist the town in other ways, though. We can offer Juniper our own incentives. Counter incentives, if you will."

  He searched through his stack of papers. "I have here a proposal put together by The Store and drafted by our lawyers. In it, we detail how the town can effect a smooth transition to a privatized police force. The Store is offering to finance and maintain this force, to continue providing the full range of police services, and to absorb all incurred costs."

  Arguments erupted in the chambers.

  Quite a few people in the audience, it appeared, were policemen, firemen, and other municipal employees. But there were also Store employees present, and the two sides began loudly debating the merits of the proposal. The town employees angrily denounced the idea of privatization, and the Store supporters jumped in with their defenses of the plan.

  "Order in the chambers!" the mayor announced. "Order! If you have anything to say, you can come up here and state your piece. But you cannot disrupt a speaker who has been recognized by the council."

  Keyes waited calmly by the podium, a slight smile on his lips.

  "We cannot have a private police department!" Aaron Jefcoat shouted. "The police are here to uphold laws and serve the public, not follow the orders of some company!"

  Forest Everson faced the council. "We're a police force, not a private militia!"

  "There would be no change in the department's structure or manpower," the mayor said. "The only difference would be on paper. Rather than the taxpayers funding the police department, The Store would provide the monies necessary." He looked toward Keyes. "Isn't that right?"

  The Store's representative nodded.

  "That's the way it should be!" said an overweight man Bill did not recognize. "Why should all of us h
ave to pay for the police when not all of us commit crimes?"

  "Because the police protect everyone!" Forest replied. "Including you!"

  "We have to pay for protection? Who are you guys, the mafia?"

  "Order!" the mayor announced.

  After several more minutes of arguing and back-and-forth verbal volleys, the mayor finally succeeded in getting the audience quieted down. Keyes handed copies of the drafted proposal to each of the council members, then took his seat.

  No one attacked him.

  No one spoke to him.

  Bill looked back at The Store representative, and the pale man met his eyes. Smiled.

  Bill quickly turned away.

  A host of speakers came up to the podium, most of them denouncing the privatization proposal, a few championing it. Bill thought of going up to speak, but all of the points he wanted to make had already been made, and there wasn't really anything fresh he could bring to the discussion. He was glad, though, that so many people were speaking out. It was about time the citizens of Juniper started getting involved in this, started taking some responsibility for what was happening to their community.

  He expected the issue to be carried over to the next meeting. It was an important topic, a major decision. But an hour later, the mayor read aloud the proposal Keyes had submitted and without any further discussion said, "I make a motion that we accept the proposal as is."

  "I think we should take some time to study this proposal," Palmyra said.

  "We should at least let the finance department and the police chief have a look at it and see if they have anything to add or amend."

  The mayor ignored him. "Do I hear a second?"

  "I second the motion," Bill Reid said.

  "Let's vote."

  The resolution passed, four to one, Councilman Palmyra voting no.

  Bill sat, stunned. That was it? One quick vote and The Store was now in charge of the town's police department? That didn't seem possible. It didn't seem right. It didn't seem legal.

  The reaction of the audience was subdued. "Stunned silence," Bill would have called it, but he was not sure how much of it was shock and how much was fear. This was a historic moment they were witnessing here tonight. The dismantling of local government, elected government, the transference of the mantle of power from the people to The Store.

  He was not surprised when Keyes again approached the podium.

  "Ralph Keyes," he said. "Representative of The Store, 111 Highway 180."

  The pale man shuffled once more through his papers. "By our calculations, the town could save additional money by contracting out the fire department as well.

  I have here a proposal by which The Store agrees to finance the Juniper Fire Department and take over all administrative duties while leaving the existing prevention and suppression programs intact . . ."

  The debate this time was not as loud, not as long, and for a brief moment after the discussion in the audience had ended and Keyes had once again taken his seat, Bill was afraid no one would get up and speak against the new proposal.

  Then Doane stood, walked to the podium.

  He had not known that the music store owner was at the meeting, but Bill felt a surge of pride as he watched the long-haired man stride up to the front of the chambers. Doane had no fear, was more than willing to speak his mind and state his opinion on any issue, and he was perfectly capable of giving the council what for. Bill smiled as Doane tilted the microphone up to accommodate his height and brushed a wisp of hair from his eyes. This was one of his people, and he had never felt as much a part of the town as he did at this moment.

  "My name is Doane Kearns," he said loudly and forcefully. "My address is Lot 22, Creekside Acres --"

  "Creekside Acres is an unincorporated area," the mayor interrupted. "You do not live in Juniper and therefore cannot comment on town matters."

  "I work in Juniper. I own a business in Juniper."

  "I'm sorry. The rules clearly state --"

  "Fuck the rules," Doane said.

  There was silence in the council chambers.

  "I have something to say, and I'm going to say it. Mr. Mayor --" He pointed. "You, sir, are selling this town down the river."

  "You're out of line, Mr. Kearns."

  "In fact, I think you'd peddle your own mama's ass to AIDS-infected convicts if The Store told you to."

  The mayor's face grew red and strained, but his voice remained calm, even, only a slight hint of anger seeping through. "Jim?" He motioned toward the lone uniformed policeman stationed next to the door. "Please escort Mr. Kearns from the council chambers."

  Doane's microphone had been cut off, but he continued to speak, raising his voice so it could be heard above the growing buzz of the audience. "You're letting them _buy_ our government. I thought this was supposed to be a democracy. I thought the people were supposed to decide how money should be raised, how it should be spent, what the function of the town government is. . . ."

  The policeman reached Doane, reluctantly motioned for him to leave.

  "I'm going!" Doane cried. "But remember this! I was silenced! The Store and their puppets silenced me and kept me from participating in participatory democracy!"

  "I'll remember it," Ben said quietly, writing in his notebook.

  The policeman led Doane out of the council chambers.

  The mayor and the council did not even ask if there were any more speakers. The mayor made his motion, they voted on the proposal without discussion, and the fire department was contracted out to The Store.

  "Meeting adjourned," the mayor said.

  Discussions in the parking lot afterward were loud and probably would have become violent had there not been policemen present. Forest Everson stopped a fight between a Store custodian and an off-duty firefighter. Ken Shilts stepped between two women before they came to blows.

  Bill walked with Ben out to his car. "How can anyone support The Store after this?"

  The editor shrugged. "The Store's our major employer."

  "So?"

  "It's the old A-Rising-Tide-Lifts-All-Boats theory."

  "Analogies." Bill shook his head. "I hate analogies. What if I don't buy the idea that the economy is analogous to a tide or that people are analogous to boats? What if I don't think those are valid comparisons? Or what if I concede the tide but think that people are more like shacks on the water's edge that are going to be destroyed by a rising tide?"

  "You can't use logic. Analogies aren't logical. They fool simpletons into thinking they're logical, but the only thing they're good for is transforming complex ideas into easily understandable scenarios for dimwits."

  They paused next to Ben's car. "So what happens next?"

  "I don't know," the editor admitted. "In a big city, the police and fire associations would be on this like white on rice. They'd be filing motions and legal briefs from now till Tuesday, trying to get the courts to prevent this from happening. In Juniper, our combined police and fire department is -- what? -- twenty men? Not enough power. Not enough leverage."

  "But all the other employees --"

  "People only care about police and fire. They're the PR gold. Everyone else is expendable. And my hunch is that since The Store is saying right now that they're all going to keep their jobs, no one's going to want to rock the boat. They'll all be too afraid of losing their positions."

  "It's a fucking Catch-22."

  "Yeah," Ben said. "It is." He held up his notebook. "But there's still the power of the press. 'The pen is mightier than the sword' and all that good crap."

  "You really believe that?"

  The editor shook his head. "No. But we have to have something to pin our hopes on."

  Ginny was asleep when he got home, but Bill turned the light on in the bedroom as he undressed, waking her up.

  "What happened?" she asked groggily.

  He told her.

  "The council has their heads so far up The Store's ass that their necks are being constricted by N
ewman King's sphincter and it's cutting off oxygen to their brains," he said, snuggling next to her.

  "So what's next?" she asked.

  He kissed her cheek, put an arm around her. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know."

  2

  Not a single customer stopped by the shop.

  All day.

  Doane read the Phoenix paper, swept the floor, inventoried a shipment of new CDs, stood behind the counter staring into space, sorted his mail, read a magazine, played his guitar.

  He wasn't going to be able to last much longer.

  He was losing the battle.

  He walked to the front of the shop, looked up and down Main Street, saw no cars, no pedestrians. Catty-corner across the road, next to McHenry's electronics store, The Quilting Bee had finally given up the ghost, old Laura moving all of her stuff out yesterday. Word had it that she'd still be selling out of her house, but Doane wasn't sure. She seemed pretty burnt-out and bitter these days, angry at her old customers for not coming through when she needed them, still owing a month's rent, and he wouldn't be surprised if she just packed it all in permanently.

  He knew how she felt.

  All of the downtown merchants did. Members of the public always paid lip service to the idea of the small businessman and America's great entrepreneurial spirit. They bemoaned the loss of the corner store and complained about the impersonality of large corporations, the excesses of big business. But when push came to shove, they chose convenience over service, picked price over quality.

  There was no loyalty, no real sense of community among people anymore.

  Now the town was siding with The Store, with Newman King and his multimillion-dollar corporation.

  And turning their backs on local businessmen.

  Like himself.

  Those were the breaks, he knew. And if he was merely a consumer, he might do exactly the same. But he couldn't help feeling resentful over an attitude that he saw as shortsighted and self-serving.

  _Consumer_.

  He had never realized before what an aggressive word it was. In his mind, it conjured up an image of an insatiable monster, eating everything in its path, its only purpose, its only reason for existence, to consume whatever it could.