The Store

by Bentley Little

  He opened his eyes, saw the employees all staring at him, some with fear, some with hope, some with a fanatic determination that made him extremely uncomfortable.

  "Get back to work," he said quietly.

  Mr. Lamb stepped forward. "Mr. Davis --" he began.

  "Get back to work," he ordered. "Everybody."

  Once again, there was scurrying as employees returned to their departments.

  The personnel manager walked up to him. "I must say, Mr. Davis, that I do not approve of this sort of micromanagement. I have always been in charge of --"

  "I don't want to talk to you, Mr. Lamb."

  "Mr. King himself appointed me --"

  "I don't want to talk to you, Mr. Lamb."

  "If it's about your daughters --"

  "Of course it's about my daughters!" Bill turned on him, enraged. "What the fuck do you think it's about, you little prick?"

  "Hey! Language!"

  He turned to see Holly, from the old cafй, standing next to the shopping carts, smiling at him. She was wearing a Store uniform, but she still looked like the same Holly, unchanged, untouched, and there was a mischievous gleam in her eye. He stared at her, and it was like unexpectedly coming across a friend in a foreign land. He found himself smiling back at her. "Holly," he said.

  "How've you been?"

  "As well as can be expected, I guess."

  Customers had been let in by this time -- on whose orders he did not know -- and he glanced around at them. They seemed nervous, cowed, intimidated. None were walking alone; directors were leading them through The Store as though they were the docile residents of a nursing home.

  I can change that, he thought. I'm the manager. I can change that policy.

  He turned back toward the personnel manager. "Mr. Lamb?" he said.

  "What?" the other man said belligerently.

  "You're fired."

  The change that came over him was immediate. A look of panic crossed his face. "Please!" he said beseechingly. "I'll do anything you say! I won't disagree with you! I won't try to tell you my opinions!"

  "Mr. Walker!" Bill called out. "Mr. Keyes!"

  The other two men had been standing nearby, trying to be unobtrusive, and they hurried over.

  "You're fired. You're all fired."

  The three stood trembling and terrified before him.

  "No!" Mr. Lamb said. "Please!"

  "You gentlemen no longer work for The Store."

  Mr. Lamb fell first. His body stiffened and toppled forward. He made no effort to stop his fall, did not put his hands out in front of him, and his face hit the floor with a loud smack. Like dominoes, Walker and Keyes stiffened and fell as well, Walker forward, Keyes backward.

  Bill didn't know what to do, didn't know how to react, didn't know what was going on. He dropped to his knees, tried to feel Lamb's wrist for a pulse, but there was none. He wanted to scream for help, wanted to order someone to call an ambulance, but he knew that all three men were dead, that nothing could save them or bring them back.

  The Store had been their lives.

  Bill stood, backed away. Several directors and their customers looked at the unmoving men as they passed by, but none of them stopped, and none exhibited more than a mild curiosity.

  Bill turned toward Holly. She smiled at him. There was no fear on her face, no confusion, only a look of satisfaction. "Ding dong, the witch is dead."

  He nodded. He wanted to feel bad, wanted to feel remorse, wanted to feel . . . something, but he shared Holly's satisfaction, and he thought: This is for Ben. An employee Bill didn't know came running up, looked at the men on the floor, then looked over at Bill. "I'll take care of this, sir. Don't worry about it." He ran off the way he'd come, and a moment later his voice sounded over the loudspeaker.

  "Cleanup in aisle one!"

  He went home after the bodies had been taken away.

  He wanted to see Ginny and Shannon.

  He'd called first, from The Store, unable to wait, needing to know if everything was all right, and he practically wept when he heard his wife's voice.

  _How was he going to face her?_

  He'd been supplied with a company car, a boxy black sedan, and he took it, speeding home as quickly as he could. Ginny was waiting for him in the drive, and he threw the car into park, jumped out of the vehicle, and ran into her arms. They were both crying, hugging each other crazily, kissing.

  "Where's Shannon?" he asked.

  "Over at Diane's." Ginny wiped the tears from her eyes, smiled. "Mr. Lamb fired her."

  "I fired Mr. Lamb."

  "You're really the manager now?"

  "I really am."

  "Where's Sam?"

  He licked his lips. "She's been transferred to Dallas."

  Ginny faced him. "Do you think she'll be all right?"

  "I don't know," he admitted.

  He suddenly remembered when Sam had been ten years old and he'd taken her hiking and she'd twisted her little ankle and he'd given her a piggyback ride all the way home.

  Ginny took a deep breath. "Will we ever see her again?"

  He looked at her. "I don't know."

  He saw Sam as she'd looked in June, at her graduation, smiling up at them from the field as she'd accepted her diploma.

  Ginny reached out, hugged him again. He hugged her back, held her tightly, thought of what had happened last night in his suite. What had he done? Why had he been so stupid? Why couldn't he have been stronger? He blinked back the tears that were welling up in his eyes.

  "I'm glad you're back," she said.

  "I am, too," he said, starting to cry. "I am, too."

  THIRTY-THREE

  1

  He found that he did not really want to change The Store.

  When he was on the outside looking in, he had not realized what being manager of The Store entailed. He had not understood the rigorous demands of the job. There were sales quotas that had to be reached, a payroll that had to be met, people who had to be instructed and guided, a thousand little daily decisions that had to be made. As much as he hated to admit it, The Store was the engine that drove the town, and that meant that the entire economy of Juniper was now resting on his shoulders. He sympathized with his old concerns, but he realized now that the inconvenience of a few individuals had to be weighed against the needs of many.

  Of course there was no way he could ever condone what had happened in the past: the disappearances, the fires, the systematic destruction of enemies and rivals. But, as King said, that was all over and done with. This was the beginning of a new day, and he was going to legitimize The Store in Juniper.

  He reviewed some of The Store's practices, those that seemed to him somewhat suspect, but on closer examination, he saw that all of them were necessary. He had not liked the idea of having Security monitor every square inch of the floor, letting employees spy even on customers' most intimate acts, but shrinkage -- theft and shoplifting -- were major problems for any retailer and were a primary source of revenue loss. Besides, while people needed privacy at home, there was no reason they needed it when they were on Store property, shopping.

  Directors, too, were a concept that had offended him, but he understood that despite his personal prejudice against them, they were a valid retail tool and enabled customers -- elderly customers in particular -- to easily find what they were looking for. The directors made shopping quicker and more efficient.

  All the way down the line, the things that had seemed wrong to him proved to be not only legitimate and worthwhile but indispensable.

  The Store's policies weren't as bad as he'd thought.

  Ginny didn't seem thrilled. She disagreed with his decisions even after he explained them to her, and she seemed to think that he had sold out, that he had been brainwashed back in Dallas.

  _The best sex he'd ever had_.

  She still loved him, of course, and was grateful to have him back, but she was wary of him, not open and honest the way she had been, and he vowed to hi
mself that after he got The Store shaped up, he would work on repairing their relationship.

  He owed her at least that much.

  At The Store, he hired new employees to replace Mr. Lamb, Mr. Walker, and Mr. Keyes. He fired some of the clerks who were not fitting in and replaced them with others who would be better able to take orders.

  He had not been able to bring himself to meet with the Night Managers. He was still a little afraid of them, and though they seemed to be doing a fine job with their nighttime audits, and the reports they left each morning on his desk were both thorough and easy to follow, he could not help thinking of what he had seen in New Mexico, of the rumors Shannon had told him. He was their boss, yes, but he did not understand them and he did not know how to deal with them or what to do with them.

  Still, they were part of his Store, part of his responsibility, and as King had shown him, he had absolute power over them. He should try to utilize their services and incorporate them into his management strategy.

  He sat in his office for an entire morning, reading his _Manager's Concordance_, trying to learn everything he could about the Night Managers.

  There was no clue as to their origins, of course, but there were examples of how to use them, as well as a detailed description of the commands that would control their actions.

  He'd wanted to switch the locations of two departments ever since he'd returned. Shoes and Children's Clothing seemed to him to be in the wrong places.

  But swapping them, moving all of the merchandise and fixtures, would take up a lot of time and require a lot of effort. He would either have to disrupt normal operations for a day and inconvenience shoppers or pay overtime to employees who stayed after their regular shift in order to do the job.

  But he realized now that the Night Managers could do it.

  It was a legitimate solution to a legitimate problem, and it also enabled him to ease into using the Night Managers, feel out the situation.

  He closed the _Concordance_, leaned back in his chair, and stared up at the ceiling. Part of him wanted to bring along someone else, a subordinate, but he realized that he was being weak, and he knew that this was something he had to do on his own. He took a deep breath and forced himself to get out of the chair and pick up the _Concordance_.

  He took the elevator down to their room.

  The air seemed colder, the lunchroom light dimmer than before. He was not scared, exactly, but he felt uneasy, and he stood close to the open elevator door as he stared across the long room toward the tables where the back-clad figures sat.

  As before, there were coffee cups before them, although once again the figures remained unmoving, staring straight ahead, not drinking, not even touching the cups.

  He wished Newman King was here with him.

  Licking his suddenly dry lips, Bill opened the _Concordance_ to the page he had marked. He cleared his throat, yelled out, "One! Two! Three!"

  The three Night Managers nearest him stood.

  He walked forward slowly, stopping when he reached the edge of the tables.

  He looked down at the book again, stomped his foot three times.

  The closest Night Manager turned to face him.

  It was Ben.

  Bill sucked in his breath, a wave of nausea passing over him. He suddenly felt weak. He stared at his friend. All color had been drained from the editor's face, all emotion, all expression, all trace of humanity. There was only a blank look of dull mindlessness on the features that had once belonged to Ben and an automatonic demeanor identical to that of all the other Night Managers.

  Bill peered into his friend's vacant eyes, saw nothing there. He felt hollow himself, empty, lost. A profound grief was threatening to settle over him, a bitter despair that he knew would be overwhelming, so he gave in to the other emotions within him: hatred and anger. Blind hatred and searing anger directed not only at Newman King but at himself.

  What had he been doing? Who had he been kidding? Ginny was right. He had been suckered, he had been co-opted, he had been corrupted. The Store had not changed. The Store could not change. _He_ had changed. He had bought into King's bullshit and had allowed himself to believe that The Store was different than he'd thought, than he'd known. He had put blinders on and had rationalized his involvement. He had been seduced by the power, by the luxury -- _the best sex he'd ever had_ -- by the promises and assurances of Newman King, and while his initial motives had been pure, he had embraced his new job unthinkingly, without considering the moral consequences. He had even begun believing the lies that had been perpetrated in order to continue The Store's reign.

  But no more.

  He saw The Store now for what it was, for what it always had been, and he hated himself for swerving from the path, for going against what he knew was right. He had betrayed not only Ginny, but Ben, Street, the town.

  Himself.

  He wasn't going to resign, though. He wasn't going to quit. He was going back to his original plan. King had given him complete autonomy over the Juniper Store and he was going to use it to return things to the way they were. He was going to strip The Store of its power and reverse the changes it had made to the town. He was going to downsize The Store until it was what it should have been in the first place -- a discount retail outlet. No more, no less.

  It was Ben who had brought him to this point, who had made him realize what he was doing, and he stared at his friend, feeling again the emptiness, the sadness.

  He moved forward, put a hand on Ben's shoulder, felt the cold even through the layers of black material.

  "Thank you," he said softly.

  The Night Manager did not respond.

  He called a meeting that afternoon of every Store employee. Every department manager, director, stock boy, secretary, clerk, custodian, cook, waitress, security monitor. The first thing he told them was that there would be no more uniforms. Everyone was expected to wear nice clothes -- skirts for the females, shirt and tie for the males -- but uniforms were out. Instead, everyone would be issued a simple name tag.

  There were murmurs and whispers, expressions of surprise and disbelief. He caught Holly's eye, saw her smile and give him a thumbs-up sign.

  There would be no more directors, he told them. There were cries of protest against this, but he explained that there would be no layoffs, either.

  Not for those employees who wanted to work for the new Store. The directors would be reassigned to other positions. Jobs would be found for them.

  The meeting lasted most of the afternoon. It was not merely a speech to the troops, but a true dialogue, and though there was some reluctance at first, he got almost all of them involved in the discussion, making them believe that he really was going to change the way The Store operated and letting them know that their input was valuable, necessary, that he did not know the details of how everything worked and would appreciate their comments, suggestions, and help in modifying the workplace.

  That night, tired but happy, he returned home and told Ginny what had happened. She was horrified by the story of Ben but was thrilled that he was finally going to start loosening The Store's grip on the town and dismantling its fiefdom.

  "Do you think you can do it?" she asked.

  "Watch me."

  It would take some time to sort through all of the tangled webs woven by The Store, discover all of the city services that it had taken over, all of the work that had been contracted out to it, all of the other businesses that were being bankrolled and overseen by the corporation, but Bill vowed to track everything down and put it right.

  He closed The Store for a week while they took inventory. The employees, in teams of two, cataloged every item on every shelf, entering the data into hand-held computers, and he himself sorted the information on his own PC. He wiped whole sections off The Store map, returning items to The Store's corporate warehouse, replaced them with more appropriate stock from traditional distributors until The Store's inventory more closely approximated that of ordinary disco
unt retailers.

  "You don't think King's going to put a stop to this?" Ginny asked him one night. "You don't think he's going to find out and come after you?"

  "He'll try."

  She hugged him close. "You can't hope to fight someone like that.

  _Something_ like that. He's way out of your league."

  "Don't worry," he told her.

  "I just don't want anything to happen to you." She paused. "Or to Sam."

  He looked at her.

  "She's working at his corporate offices. God knows what he'll do to her when he finds out."

  "He told me I could do this," Bill said. "It's how he suckered me into working for him. He said the store was mine to do anything I want with."

  "What if he changes his mind?"

  "I'll deal with that when I come to it."

  He fired twenty-six people over the next three days, fully a third of lite Store's workforce. He did not trust them, did not feel they could adapt, was sure they preferred King's ways, and he did not want them working for him. That was one advantage of having absolute power over his Store. He did not have to give legitimate reasons for firing someone, did not have to have valid cause. He could simply kick someone out and banish them from the premises. He felt a small thrill of satisfaction, a return of the old sense of power, as he told some of the more belligerent employees to get out, they were through, but he refused to allow himself to enjoy it, forced himself to remain impartial and above it all, to think only about the good of the town and not his own petty emotional gratification.

  Some things remained unresolved. The transients, for example. No one would tell him where the homeless people who had been rounded up by the sweeps had been taken or what had happened to them. He questioned everyone, but they all claimed ignorance.

  Perhaps it was just as well.

  He was not sure he wanted to know.

  Then there were the Night Managers.

  They were one of the big problems. He had not gone down to their lunchroom since finding Ben, had purposely stayed away, but he knew he could not avoid them forever. They continued to roam The Store at night, to audit and report on what was happening, and their reports were becoming increasingly less objective.