The Store

by Bentley Little

  There were no conclusions drawn, no adjectives used, only facts and figures, but the way those facts and figures were presented bespoke criticism, and he knew that he was going to have to confront the Night Managers sometime.

  On Friday, he went down there again, this time with Ginny, and though she wanted to see Ben, he made her stay by the elevator door and did not tell the Night Managers to move from their stationary positions at the tables. He had read and reread _The Manager's Concordance_, but there was nothing in it about firing or getting rid of the Night Managers, and he knew that if he was going to get rid of them, he'd have to figure something out on his own.

  The two of them stood next to the wall, staring across the long, dimly lit room.

  Ginny shivered. "They're spookier than I thought they'd be."

  He nodded.

  "Are they . . . dead?"

  "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't think so, but . . . I don't know what they are."

  "Maybe we should try to talk to Ben, try to jog his memory or something."

  "No," Bill said.

  "Have you looked at all of them? Maybe some of the others are people we know . . . knew."

  Now it was Bill's turn to shiver. "Let's just do this and get out of here." He cleared his throat, took a deep breath. "You're fired," he announced loudly. "All of you."

  The Night Managers remained unmoving.

  "You no longer work for The Store!"

  No response.

  "I relieve you of your duties!"

  Nothing.

  "Get out of here! Hit the road! Get off The Store's property! Fuck off!"

  "It's not working," Ginny said.

  "I know that!" he snapped at her.

  She pulled away from him, and he apologized immediately. "I'm sorry. I

  just . . . I'm sorry."

  She nodded, obviously understanding.

  "You have any ideas?" he asked.

  " 'Leave?' " she said.

  "Leave!" he repeated loudly.

  Nothing.

  He continued shouting orders, screaming at them, but only succeeded in making a contingent of Night Managers in the middle of the group walk over to the steel counter next to the kitchen.

  "Let's go," Ginny said. "I don't like it down here."

  He nodded dejectedly, and the two of them stepped back into the elevator.

  In the seconds before the elevator doors closed, he saw the contingent of Night Managers walk away from the kitchen, back to their brethren, carrying new cups of coffee.

  On their own.

  2

  He had rescinded the curfew several days ago and people were again allowed outside at night, but the fear was still there, and he drove home on an empty road, seeing no other vehicles, even downtown.

  There was supposed to be an election in a few weeks to choose a new town council, but no one had as yet indicated that they would run for any of the positions.

  After what had happened to the last two councils, maybe people thought the job was cursed.

  Ginny and Shannon were both home, waiting for him, and they ate together.

  Meat loaf and mashed potatoes. He tried to be cheerful, they all did, but as always Sam's absence seemed the most acute at mealtime, and they drifted off into silence, thinking their own thoughts as they ate.

  They had not heard from her since her transfer to Dallas, and he prayed that nothing had happened to her.

  School had started yesterday, and Ginny already had homework to grade and Shannon already had homework to do, so he spent the evening alone, numbing his brain with a video game on the PC. He was on the fourth level of Alienblaster when Ginny came barging into the room, shutting the door behind her. She hurried over to the window, pulled open the drapes.

  "What's this?" Bill said.

  "Night Managers."

  He stood. "What?"

  She turned toward him, her face white, blanched. "Look outside."

  He did. "I don't see anything."

  "Turn off the light."

  He did so and again stared out the window. His eyes adjusted, and now he could see them, behind the trees, just as she'd said.

  The Night Managers.

  They were watching his house.

  An involuntary shiver passed through him, goose bumps popping up on his arms.

  Ginny pulled the drapes shut. "They're spying on us!"

  Bill took a deep breath. "They're spying on me."

  "Can't you call them off?"

  He nodded. "I should be able to. But I didn't order them here."

  "What's that mean?"

  "I think it means King's coming."

  "What's he going to do?"

  "I don't know." Bill looked around the floor, picked up his shoes and socks. "But I'd better get down to The Store and meet him."

  She grabbed his arm. "No! You can't go!"

  He pulled away. "I have to."

  "What if he --"

  "I have to," he repeated. He quickly walked out of the room and down the hall. He stopped in the living room to put on his shoes and socks, then checked to make sure all of the doors and windows were closed and locked. "Don't open anything. Don't let anyone in." He looked around. "You still have that baseball bat somewhere?"

  She nodded.

  "Get it. Just in case."

  Shannon had walked into the living room from her bedroom. "What is it?

  What's going on?"

  "The Night Managers," Ginny said. "They're surrounding the house."

  "Oh, God." Shannon started crying. "Oh, God. I knew it. I knew it."

  "Just stay calm," Bill told them. "I'm going to The Store. Hopefully, they'll follow me. I think that's why they're here."

  "What's going to happen?"

  He sucked in his breath. "I think Newman King wants to meet with me."

  Shannon's sobs grew stronger. She ran across the living room, threw her arms around her father. "Don't go!" she pleaded. "It's a trick. It's a trap."

  "Maybe you should wait until morning," Ginny suggested.

  "And maybe he'll come here."

  "At least it's your home turf."

  "The Store's my home turf. It's my Store. Besides, I don't want him here."

  "Maybe we should come with you. There's safety in numbers. And we're female. He might not --"

  "He doesn't care what you are." Bill hugged his daughter, kissed her forehead, then moved over to Ginny, pulling her close. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

  "What if you never come back?" Shannon sobbed.

  "I'll be back."

  The Store's parking lot was empty when he arrived, but the lights were on inside, and through the front doors he could see Night Managers moving through the aisles.

  He felt cold, frightened, but he forced himself to get out of the car and used his key to open the doors and let himself in.

  The Night Managers were walking quickly through the building, moving up and down the aisles, between the racks. They were supposed to be auditing the day's events, taking inventory and recording transactions, but they did not stop moving even for a second and did not even appear to be looking at any of the merchandise.

  They just kept walking.

  The Store was completely silent save for their footsteps, and the lack of Muzak, the lack of air-conditioning noise, the lack of any other sound whatsoever was extremely unnerving. Bill walked forward slowly, up the main aisle.

  The lights snapped off. Behind him, he heard a metallic click. There was a sudden breeze, a rush of cold air, and he quickly turned around.

  King stood in the doorway, backlit by the headlights of his limo.

  "Bill," King said. "Nice to see you again."

  There was no joy in his voice, no friendliness, only a hard, dangerous flatness that sounded completely inhuman. He stood just inside the building, alone, unmoving, a dark, frightening figure, little more than a silhouette. The strangeness of his body, so obvious up close, was also visible in the pec
uliar outline of his form, and Bill was filled with an instant, instinctive fear. But he held his ground, faced King. "Good evening," he said calmly.

  The lights came back on, and the CEO strode up the aisle toward him.

  Stage tricks. King was using theatrical lighting in order to draw attention to himself.

  The smallness of it, the mundane practicality of the dramatic convention somehow made Bill feel less afraid.

  "What do you think you're doing?" King asked.

  "Standing here."

  "I mean, what are you doing with The Store?"

  "My job."

  The two of them faced each other. Again, Bill noticed the strangeness of King's skin, the artificiality of his teeth, the ferocity in his eyes. He looked away, unable to gaze for more than a few seconds upon that unnatural visage.

  "This is not the way you were trained to manage a Store."

  "No, but I decided to do it this way. I thought it would be best for Juniper."

  King practically shouted. "I decide what's best!"

  "I don't think it can be that standardized. I think things have to be tailored to the individual communities. Things aren't the same here in Arizona as they are, say, in Ohio --"

  "They're the same everywhere!" King stepped forward, and Bill quickly moved back. Wind swirled between them. "I will not have you thwarting the will of The Store and jeopardizing its future on some personal whim!"

  Bill was terrified, having a tough time maintaining his false calm front, but he forced his voice to stay level. "I'll run this Store the way I see fit."

  "Then you will not run this Store at all!"

  "You gave me complete autonomy," Bill said. "It's in my contract."

  "You're not managing it properly. Obviously, I misjudged you. You're not Store material."

  "What are you going to do? Take it away from me?" Bill paused. "Are you going back on your word? Are you going to break your contract?"

  "You fucker," King said softly. "You worthless piece of shit."

  Bill held his ground, said nothing.

  A Night Manager passed between them, walking.

  For a brief second, it looked as though King was about to attack. He glared at Bill, his muscles tensing, fists balling up. On his head, his _hair_ seemed to be moving.

  Then he smiled. He glanced casually around the store. "Did I tell you we're expanding? In addition to sushi and espresso bars, we're going to have brothels attached to our stores. There's a lot of money to be made in the sex trade. It's the last bastion of pure unexploited commerce in this country. It's about time someone franchised it and marketed it."

  Bill had a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He thought he knew where this was going.

  King was suddenly holding a videocassette in his hand. He tossed it to Bill. "Your last night in Dallas. It's one of our training materials." He grinned. "You might want to look at it."

  Bill dropped it on the floor, crushed it beneath his boot.

  King was holding another one. He laughed. "Let's look at it together, shall we?"

  Next to one of the front checkout stands was a television and VCR, a display used to sell Disney video-cassettes. King walk over, popped out the _Sleeping Beauty_ tape in the machine and put in his own. He turned on the television.

  The room had been pitch-black, but there was none of the red- or green tinted monochrome that characterized most film shot in the dark. Indeed, the images on the screen were dim but color-perfect, the angle straight-on. The camera had obviously been hidden behind the mirror over the dresser, and Bill watched as a nude woman entered the suite. She was looking down at the ground, hair obscuring her face, but though he could not see her features, he did see for the first time her breasts, her pubic hair, and he felt shamed and embarrassed as he thought about touching her there, as he recalled what he'd done with her.

  _The best sex he'd ever had_.

  He wanted to look away but couldn't, and he exhaled loudly as he realized that he'd been holding his breath. On the screen, the woman climbed onto the bed, straddled his chest, looked up at the camera.

  It was Sam.

  The revelation was so shocking, so totally unexpected, that for a full thirty seconds he had no reaction, no response at all. He simply stood there stupidly, continuing to watch the screen as his daughter began working on him.

  Then he was flooded with emotion: humiliation, anguish, self-loathing, disgust. He was filled with a despair blacker than anything he had ever known, a horror so profound and all-consuming that he had not known he could experience anything like it. Beneath that, or on top of it, or mixed in with it, was an agonizing grief for Sam, a bone-deep sorrow for what she had done, what had happened to her, what he had _allowed_ to happen to her.

  And overriding everything was a pure, hard hatred for Newman King.

  He turned toward the CEO.

  "She's going to be one of our best hookers," King mused.

  Bill rushed him. There was no plan, no thought behind it, only a blind desire to do damage, a need to kill. He was acting on impulse, following instinct, and his feet were pumping furiously, fists railing. He threw himself at King And then he was on the floor, stunned, shaking his head. A Night Manager passed in front of him, kept walking. He wasn't sure what had happened, but the television was off, he was lying on the ground, and King was standing in the open doorway, on his way out.

  The CEO smiled. "I'll be sending a copy to your wife." He paused. "Unless you fall back in line."

  "This is my store!" Bill said.

  "No. It's _my_ store. I let you play with it."

  "Fuck you!" Bill yelled. He tried to get to his feet, was overtaken by dizziness, fell.

  "I'll give you a day to think about it."

  And then King was gone.

  Bill lay on the floor, screaming with rage, sobbing, hating himself, wanting to kill King, wanting to kill himself, wanting some sort of violence. He tried to stand, was finally able to do so, and was a hairbreadth away from going over to the Sporting Goods department, grabbing a gun, and ending it all.

  But something held him back.

  He didn't know what it was, didn't know why, but he stood in the middle of the aisle as around him the Night Managers continued walking. He saw Ben, saw another face he thought he recognized but couldn't quite place.

  There'd been something different about King this time, he realized. He'd seemed genuinely angry at one point, rattled by Bill's rebellion and initiative.

  He'd shown, for the first time, human emotions. And that made him seem . . . Less in control.

  Weaker.

  Maybe he wasn't invincible.

  Bill stared through the still-open doors, into the dark night outside. He suddenly understood what had happened here.

  Nothing.

  He hadn't been killed, he hadn't even been fired -- although King clearly possessed the power to do both. He'd been right. King was not able to break the contract. The contract gave him complete autonomy over this Store, and there was nothing King could do about it. The CEO could try to force him to quit, could try to blackmail him into leaving, but he could not be fired, and obviously he could not be harmed. The contract protected him.

  He was in.

  Bill felt an absurd sense of exhilaration. This was the first time, no doubt, that someone had stood up to King, the first time that the training had not taken, and it was clear that the CEO had not expected this, had not prepared for something of this nature. Bill was not something that King had planned for.

  He could not be bribed and he would not be blackmailed. He would stand tall and fight, do what he knew was right. He would come clean with Ginny, he would continue with his rehabilitation of the Juniper Store, and he would go up against Newman King.

  What about the managers of the other Stores? They could do the same thing.

  They could stand up to King as well, run their Stores their way, do what they wanted with their towns.

  King could be broken.

 
; What would he do if all of the managers broke away? If they all defied him and started doing things the way they wanted? Would he destroy them? Or would he be so weakened by the loss of power that he would become impotent?

  He would still own the corporation, of course. He would still be incredibly rich. He would still be able to hire new managers if the old ones quit or died off. But would the dissipation of his influence over day-to-day retail operations siphon off his dark power?

  Bill thought of Mr. Lamb, Mr. Walker, Mr. Keyes.

  Maybe he would die.

  There were still tears drying on his face, still sickened horror in his heart, but there was hope there as well, an optimism that hadn't existed before.

  He was still slightly woozy as he walked, but his sense of purpose overcame the lingering effects of whatever King had hit him with, and he went through the doors, locking them behind him, and out to his car.

  He drove home.

  Ginny and Shannon were waiting anxiously in the living room when he arrived, and he hugged them both and told them everything was all right, and sent Shannon into her bedroom so he and Ginny could talk.

  He told her what happened his last night in Dallas.

  He should have come clean before, but he'd been afraid. He hadn't had the guts. He'd been a moral coward, and in that sense he had still been a part of King's team. He told her everything now, though, and she grew increasingly quiet as he described his encounter. He explained that he'd been awakened, that the woman had already been on top of him, and that he'd had no choice in the matter.

  He was tempted to let her think that he'd been helpless and overpowered, forced into it, but he was determined to be honest with her, and he told her that he had had an opportunity to stop it but had not. He emphasized that this was after two weeks of King's so-called training, after the deprivation and the rewards, but while he made sure she knew the context, he did not avoid his own complicity, his own responsibility for what had happened.

  He did not tell her it was Sam, though. It was a lie, he knew, but it was a lie that he felt was justified. They might be able to get past an incidence of adultery, but their marriage would not survive an incidence of incest. Ginny would never be able to live with him, knowing that he had had sex with their daughter.