The Store

by Bentley Little

  As always, the mouth was smiling, but there was a dark wildness in the eyes. King reached him, stood before him, grinned. "Congratulations. You are our top managerial graduate this year. It's time to celebrate your accomplishment."

  He made a wide sweep with his hand, taking in the map on the wall. "You can have a Store anywhere you want!" he said. "Pick a spot!"

  "Juniper," Bill said. His voice sounded weak, uncertain.

  The CEO laughed heartily. "Where else? Ordinarily, when we have a new manager, we move the entire family and have them set up in their new home by the time the manager's training is completed. But this time, we had an opening at the Juniper outlet, and since you'd already indicated that that was where you preferred to be assigned, I gave it to you."

  He beamed broadly, and Bill had to look away from his pale, creepy face.

  Again, as if pulled out of thin air, there was a sheaf of documents in King's hand, and he laid out a series of pages on the table in front of him.

  "How did you enjoy your little celebration last night?" he asked. He raised his eyebrows conspiratorily.

  Bill felt sick.

  "Don't worry. These little perks are only for managers and we don't like to let anyone else know about them." He chuckled, nudged Bill with an elbow. "I

  won't tell if you won't, eh?"

  Bill nodded.

  King withdrew a pen from somewhere and handed it to him. "Now if you'll just sign these contracts, we'll be all set."

  Bill wanted to read each document before signing, but he felt uncomfortable being alone with King, being this close to him, and after giving each page a cursory glance to make sure there was nothing obviously tricky or unusual there, he scrawled his signature on the appropriate lines and handed the pages to the CEO.

  King clapped him on the back. "You're one of us!" he said. "You're now part of The Store!"

  The elevator door opened, and a group of business-suited yes-men, wearing happy smiles and party hats, streamed into the boardroom and congratulated Bill, shaking his hand and patting him on the back before taking their places around the table. The elevator doors opened again, and a phalanx of bikini-clad women pushed steaming food carts into the room.

  King beamed. "Breakfast time!" he announced. "Eat up! We have a full day ahead of us!"

  He held up a glass of orange juice. "A toast to Bill Davis, our newest Store manager!"

  An hour later, they were in the black jet, on their way back to Phoenix.

  He and King and an entourage of the yes-men. King chatted amiably on the two hour flight, talking of the future, expansion, the day when any city he flew over, anywhere in the country, would be home to The Store. He sat gracefully on an elegantly designed chair, dressed impeccably, but he looked as though he was trying to be something he wasn't, and his strange features and unnatural skin seemed even more obvious and noticeable against the mundane background of the airplane interior.

  It was a monologue, not a dialogue, and for the most part Bill listened without speaking. He found himself rerunning the events of last night over and over again in his mind. How could he possibly face Ginny after what he had done?

  He had failed her; he had betrayed her. He'd been corrupted by The Store. He had gone to Dallas to fight it and had become part of it. He had been contaminated and infected and he'd defected to the enemy.

  No, that wasn't true. He had the opportunity now to do a lot of good for Juniper. He could reverse the damage that had been done to the town, could implement new policies, could overturn the destructive, divisive decisions that had left the community in the state that it was today. He was working within the system now instead of outside it, and that would enable him to accomplish a hell of a lot more than he would otherwise be able to do. He had made the right decision. He had not sold out.

  But he had still betrayed Ginny.

  No rationalization that he was working for the greater good could ever excuse that.

  The end did not justify the means.

  He thought of her lying in bed, alone, asleep, waiting for him, praying that he returned safely, blindly trusting him.

  What would he say to her? What could he do to make it up to her? How would he ever deserve her again?

  He realized that he was crying only when King leaned over and whispered, "Knock it off. You're acting like a pussy."

  He stared at the CEO, wiped his eyes and nodded, looking out the window.

  "Be a man," King said. "Act like a manager."

  It was midmorning when they landed at Sky Harbor, and they took a limo from Phoenix to Juniper. He pretended to sleep on the ride over, not wanting to talk, but the CEO either knew he was faking or didn't care, and he continued to chatter nonstop all the way there.

  Juniper.

  It had changed in his absence. Not really changed, not physically, but there was a difference now. It no longer seemed like a dying town, like a lost cause. He no longer felt powerless to stop its decline. He had power now, and rather than looking like a shell of its former self, he saw the town as a blank canvas, a place that could not only equal but surpass what it had been before.

  He wanted to go home first, to see Ginny and Shannon, make sure they were all right _alive_

  -- but the limo drove them straight to The Store. King smiled to himself as they passed the abandoned Ford dealership, chuckled as they drove past an empty feed-and-grain wholesaler.

  It was just as well, Bill thought. He didn't know if he was ready to face Ginny yet, anyway. He needed more time to prepare himself, to figure out what he was going to say and what he was going to do and how he was going to act.

  King's coming had obviously been announced in advance, and The Store was closed, the parking lot empty and closed off. Two uniformed guards pulled open a barricade to let the limo pass, and the long car moved slowly between twin rows of employees lined up in a path to the front entrance. The employees were holding balloons and signs, throwing confetti, cheering wildly. This was a big event, and seemingly every employee who worked for The Store was there. Bill looked carefully through the window at the passing faces, and his muscles grew tense as he saw no sign of his daughters.

  "I had Shannon fired," King said, as if reading his thoughts. "I thought that would make you happy."

  "What about Sam?"

  "I've transferred her to the corporate office. She's too valuable to lose."

  The limo pulled to a stop in front of the entrance, and Bill slid across the seat and opened the door, getting out of the car.

  King got out on the opposite side, the side facing The Store, and a huge cheer went up as employees gathered around him, fawning over him, asking for his autograph, trying to touch him. He smiled graciously, magnanimously, and he motioned for Bill to join him as he walked toward the open doors of the building.

  Bill felt exhilarated as the adulation expanded to include him. He liked the warm greetings, the cheers, the slavishly obsequious behavior of his new underlings. It felt good to be adored, the object of attention, and he smiled and waved at the rejoicing employees. In the back of his mind was the thought that these were the same employees who had so disdained him and his wife, who had made their lives a living hell, and the fact that he was now their lord and master gratified him immensely.

  The celebration stopped the second they walked into The Store. As if on cue, employees placed their banners and balloons and confetti into a lidded bin just inside the door and scurried off to their assigned positions in their individual departments. The change was too abrupt, too complete. Perhaps the employees were just trying to demonstrate their efficiency. Perhaps they really had been excited to see them and were now just as intent on proving what good workers they were, but Bill could not help wondering how much of it was genuine and how much of it had been staged by Mr. Lamb.

  Mr. Lamb.

  The personnel manager stood nervously off to the side, flanked by Walker and Keyes, waiting for an acknowledgment from Newman King.

  King ignored all of th
em.

  He walked slowly up the main aisle, an arm clasped around Bill's shoulder.

  There were strong muscles in that arm -- Bill could feel them -- and beneath the muscles, in unusual places, in places they should not have been, were bones. Too many bones.

  But it felt good to be walking with King, good to return triumphant to the site of his defeat, and he found that he was proud to walk beside the CEO.

  "You will have complete autonomy," King said. "You can hire and fire whomever you want." He stopped walking, paused, smiled. "You can _terminate_ whomever you want."

  They were walking again, faster this time. The yes-men from the plane, who'd driven to Juniper in a series of cars behind them, were following Bill.

  Lamb, Walker, and Keyes were following them.

  King stopped before a door in the wall. "The manager's office," he said.

  "_Your_ office." He frowned, looking over Bill's head. "What are you three doing here? Did I ask you to tag along with us?"

  Bill turned around, saw Mr. Lamb shaking his head nervously. "No, sir. I

  just thought --"

  "Don't think. It's not your strong suit." He pointed toward the Customer Service counter at the far end of The Store. "Back to your offices. Back to work. Now."

  All three men were bowing. "Yes, sir," they said in unison. "Yes, sir."

  "Fuck off!" King yelled.

  They ran, scattering, and King laughed. "I love to do that," he confided.

  "You can do it, too. Try it sometime."

  He would, Bill thought. And he'd enjoy it, too.

  Especially when it came to Mr. Lamb.

  King turned back to the door, opened it, and they walked up a flight of stairs until they were in the manager's office. There was a huge desk, a refrigerator, a computer, a wall-mounted video screen. The entire south wall was a window made out of mirrored one-way glass that looked over the store below.

  Cool air from a hidden vent blew into the room, keeping the air temperature even more comfortable than that of the rest of the building. "Like it?" King asked.

  Bill nodded.

  "Excellent! Want to sit in your chair?"

  Bill shook his head. He'd gone through this in the simulation, but it was different being here in real life, and he didn't yet feel comfortable. It would take him some time to get used to all of this.

  "After the tour, then." King walked around the desk, pressed a key on the computer. A section of the wall opposite the window slid open, revealing an elevator. King grinned. "Pretty neat, huh?" He walked over to the elevator, got in. "Come on."

  Reluctantly, Bill followed him into the small cubicle.

  King pressed a button labeled NM. "The rest of you wait here," he said.

  "We'll be back."

  The doors closed. The elevator dropped. Bill looked over at Newman King, then immediately looked away, not wanting to see that face this close. He smelled chalk, dust.

  "They don't teach you this part in the training," King said. "I like to do this myself."

  "What is it?"

  King smiled. "You'll see."

  The elevator continued descending -- how far down were they going? -- and the CEO stared up at the lighted numbers above the sliding doors. He was still smiling, practically bouncing on his heels with amused excitement.

  The elevator stopped.

  The doors opened.

  They were in what looked like an enormous lunchroom, a white-walled, white-floored, white-ceilinged rectangular chamber filled with parallel rows of long white tables. At the far end was a silver counter and a darkened kitchen.

  There were fluorescent lights in the ceiling, but only about half of them were turned on, and the huge room was filled with a dim, diffused illumination.

  Seated at the center tables, unmoving, was a group of men dressed all in black.

  The Night Managers.

  There were forty or fifty of them, maybe more. Cups of coffee sat on the tables before them, but the cups remained untouched, and the Night Managers sat with their hands folded, unmoving. Even in the dim light, their faces looked white, and there was no expression on them. The room was completely silent, the only sounds coming from King and himself.

  Bill knew the Night Managers were his to use as he saw fit, his own private Store army, but they still scared him, and he felt a slight shiver of cold fear as he looked at them. If he had been taught about them in his training, if he had had the opportunity to work with them at the Black Tower, he might have felt differently, might have already been used to working with them, but as it was they seemed just as frightening to him now as they did before he went to Dallas.

  King clapped his hands. As one, the heads of the Night Managers turned toward him. He clapped twice more, and the Night Managers' heads swiveled back to their original positions.

  The CEO laughed. "Isn't that great? You try it."

  Bill shook his head. "No --"

  "Come on!" King clapped his hands three times and the Night Managers stood up. Four times and they sat back down again. "It's fun! Go ahead!"

  Bill clapped, and the Night Managers' heads turned toward him. He clapped three times and they stood.

  What were the Night Managers? he wondered. Zombies? Vampires?

  No. It was nothing so simple. They weren't monsters. They weren't mythical undead creatures. They weren't corpses that had been brought back to life through magic or alchemy or science. They were men. They were . . . victims of The Store. Men that The Store had captured.

  The Store had captured their souls.

  _I owe my soul to the company store_.

  Old Tennessee Ernie Ford had been more right than he'd known.

  "Clap again!" King said. "Five times!"

  Bill clapped five times and the Night Managers sat down in their original positions.

  "Great, huh?" King clapped once, stomped his foot on the floor, and the Night Managers yelled "Yes!" in unison.

  "Isn't it fun?"

  It was kind of fun, Bill had to admit. And the Night Managers no longer seemed quite so frightening to him.

  "So what are they supposed to do?" he asked. "Why are they here?"

  "They have the run of The Store at night. And they'll audit the day's doings. And if they find something they don't like, they will tell you. Other than that, they're yours to use as you wish. Security guards, police, fill-in clerks -- they can do it all. And they'll respond to voice commands, too."

  King stomped his feet twice, and the Night Mangers yelled, "That's right!"

  "But the clapping and stomping are more fun." He turned toward Bill. "The details are spelled out in your _Concordance_." He put a strangely formed arm around Bill's shoulder. "Come on. Let's go back to your office and finish up our business. I want to return to Dallas before nightfall."

  They stepped into the elevator.

  The yes-men had remained unmoving, were in exactly the same positions they'd been in when he and King had left. They came to life when the CEO entered the office, talking to each other, going over papers.

  "Any questions?" King asked.

  Bill shook his head.

  "I guess that's it, then. The hotline number is in your _Concordance_

  should any problems arise." One of the yes-men placed an _Employee's Bible_ and a _Manager's Concordance_ on the desk. "And here's your contract." The CEO

  handed Bill a copy of one of the multipage documents he'd signed back in Dallas.

  "Take care of my store," King said. "Don't fuck it up."

  He strode out of the office, the other men following close behind, and Bill stood at the window and watched as they emerged from the door in the wall below and moved purposely down the main aisle of The Store toward the entrance.

  He stayed by the window, staring, looking at all of the different people in all of the different departments of the store.

  _His_ store.

  A few minutes after King and his cronies had gone, Mr. Lamb emerged from his office behind the Customer Service co
unter. He stared up at the window, and though Bill knew the personnel manager could not see him, could see only mirrored glass, it felt as though Lamb was looking right at him, and he had to force himself not to move aside and hide.

  Mr. Lamb disappeared back into his office, and a moment later the phone on Bill's desk rang.

  He walked over, answered the phone. It was Mr. Lamb. In a voice so obsequious that it had to be sarcastic, the personnel manager told Bill how excited he was to be working with him and how honored he was to have him as his manager. "I've taken the liberty of asking all of The Store's employees to gather in the assembly corridor downstairs so that you can meet with them and lay out the groundwork for your regime."

  "Not downstairs," Bill said. "Tell them to line up by the front entrance.

  Next to the shopping carts."

  "I think the assembly corridor is better --"

  "Who's manager here, Mr. Lamb? You or me?" He was gratified to hear silence on the other end of the line. "I'll be down in five minutes."

  A moment later, the personnel manager's voice echoed over the PA system:

  "All employees will gather at the front entrance of The Store immediately. This is not a drill. Repeat. All employees will gather at the front entrance of The Store immediately. This is not a drill."

  Bill looked around his office one more time, then walked downstairs. On the floor, employees were already scurrying toward the front of the store. He smiled to himself. He was the manager here; he was the boss. Everyone in this building worked for him.

  He liked that.

  He reached the front entrance, and everyone immediately snapped to attention. His troops were before him, clad all in black, and he felt an involuntary rush of power as he scanned their faces. They were his to command in any way that he saw fit, and he could use them to make his Store run perfectly, the way he wanted. The real world was messy, chaotic, but here, in the world of The Store, that didn't have to be the case. Here in _Juniper_, that didn't have to be the case. He could remake this town in his own image, he could He shook his head, closed his eyes.

  What was he thinking? That wasn't why he had done this. That wasn't why he was here. He did not want to remake Jumper in his own image. He wanted to return it to the town it had been before The Store's arrival. He wanted to use his new power for good.