'There have been complaints recently about the freshness of The Store's produce,' the new mayor said. He chuckled. 'I've heard rumors of it.'
The crowd laughed.
'Our first order of business will be to pass a resolution requiring all local farmers and ranchers to tithe twenty percent of their produce and livestock to The Store. This will ensure the continued quality and freshness of The Store's product.'
'I wish he would've said this shit before he got elected,' Ted said. 'We might've won.'
'AH town employees will now be required to wear a uniform to work. The Store has contracted with the manufacturer of _its_ uniforms to provide special municipal employee attire.'
Big cheers.
'There will also be an increase in Juniper's sales tax.'
Groans.
'I know, I know,' Mr. Lamb said cheerfully. 'We promised a tax cut, and I wish we could deliver on that promise, but this sales tax is needed to adjust an existing inequity in the system. As it stands now, The Store is providing funding for most of Juniper's day-to-day operation as well as for upcoming projects. The Store is happy to do this. As a corporation, we feel it is our obligation to support the communities that support us, and it's good for local economies if we put money that we earn back into the towns that we take it from.
However, it is unfair to expect The Store to shoulder the complete financial burden while other stores and businesses get off scot-free. Right now, the other businesses in Juniper are getting a free ride. We're paying their share, and we're getting punished for it. Therefore, the sales tax will be raised so that all local businesses can begin to contribute equally to the greatness of our fair town.'
There was scattered applause, a few halfhearted cheers.
'The good news,' Mr. Lamb said, 'is that this increase will not apply to The Store. Since The Store is already shouldering most of the burden, it would be like taxing us twice if we participated in this revenue enhancement. Which is a fancy way of saying that other businesses may raise their prices, but The Store will continue to provide the highest quality products at the lowest possible prices!'
Cheers, clapping, ecstatic shouting.
Ben turned down the receiver's volume. 'Propagandistic bullshit.' He shook his head, sighed. 'At least Ted almost made it.'
Bill smiled. 'And you have the honor of coming in last.'
He shrugged. 'Been there, done that. Nothing new.'
'So what now?'
'What now? We stand idly by while more local businesses go belly-up and The Store takes over the entire goddamn town.'
They were all silent.
Street came trudging up. 'Did I miss anything important?'
'Only the final death knell of democracy and the legitimization of unchecked corporate power in Juniper.'
Bill tried to smile. 'You old hippie, you.'
Ben met his gaze. 'To quote the Jefferson Airplane, 'It's a new dawn.' '
TWENTY-FOUR
1
There were more vagrants on the streets of Juniper than there used to be.
There'd always been a certain number of ragged, wildly bearded men in town old prospectors come down from the mountains, bear hunters in for supplies but there seemed to be more of them recently, and he wasn't sure that these were people who were purposely making a lifestyle choice.
Bill drove slowly down Granite toward the highway, saw an old man sleeping on a filthy blanket beneath a manzanita bush, saw a young man sitting in the doorway of an empty storefront.
Juniper was a small town, but he still didn't know everyone in it, and since there'd been a lot of business closing, going bankrupt in the wake of The Store's arrival, it was conceivable that these were merely jobless people who were hanging around town in order to look for work.
Conceivable -- but not likely.
Most of them looked dirty and purposeless, and he suspected that they had no place to go.
Juniper had a homeless problem.
It was a weird thought. Homelessness was usually a big-city disease. Small towns had transients passing through, but they were essentially closed societies, where any change or deviation from the norm was noticed instantly.
They were not anonymous enough to provide a place for America's marginalized.
There were no streets for street people to live on.
Yet here they were.
Bill reached the highway, stopped for a moment -- though there was no light or stop sign at the intersection -- then turned right toward The Store.
His muscles tensed, his grip on the steering wheel tightened. He hadn't gone to The Store since the election, and even driving this small section of the highway made him feel as though he was entering an enemy camp during wartime.
Intellectually, he knew that it was merely a discount retailer, the place where his daughters and half the town worked, and that the wide, modern aisles would be filled with ordinary men, women, and children doing their ordinary everyday shopping. But he had so demonized The Store in his mind that, emotionally, he felt like he was preparing to enter hell.
It couldn't be helped, though.
He needed printer ribbon.
He'd finished the manual.
The actual deadline was day after tomorrow, and he would be transmitting his work via modem to Automated Interface, but he liked to print out a hard copy of his manuals first and then proof them. He seemed to do a better job of copyediting if he worked off printed pages instead of a screen.
He pulled into the parking lot and was lucky enough to find a space near The Store's entrance. He'd known this was coming, and he should've bought ribbons last week when they'd driven down to Phoenix, but he hadn't thought about it and now he was stuck. The Store was the only place in town that sold printer ribbons.
Bill got out of the Jeep, locked the door. He felt a knot of dread in his stomach as he walked up the parking lot aisle toward the building. Neither Sam nor Shannon was working this morning, and for that he was glad. He stared at the windowless expanse of wall before him and could not help thinking that The Store saw him, that it knew he was coming -- and that it had something planned for him. He did not want his daughters to see that.
He walked inside, ignored the smirking director who offered him assistance, and headed directly toward the aisle containing computer, printer, and typewriter accessories. He glanced around the other rows as he walked. What had happened to all of the myriad choices The Store had offered? Where had all the products gone? The shelves were still filled with plenty of items, he noticed, but there was no variety. There were no nationally known names, no recognizable packaging.
There was only The Store brand.
For all items.
His feeling of dread intensified as he walked down the aisle where the printer ribbons were supposed to be.
Were _supposed_ to be.
Instead, the shelves were packed with small boxes and plastic bottles. He looked carefully at the products facing him: Sneezing Powder, Itching Powder, Magic Toadstool Dust.
Comic book products.
Masturbation Lotion. Hot Love Oil. Breast-enlargement Gel. Penis lengthening Creme.
He frowned. What the hell was all this?
'We're reorganizing.'
He looked up to see the smirking director he'd bypassed on his way in.
'You'd know that if you'd accepted the help I offered you.'
