'How is that possible?'
'Donations to their coffers, perhaps?'
Street laughed harshly. 'I guess if The Store's on God's side, then God's on The Store's side. Kind of a you- scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch-yours deal.'
They walked into the shop. 'That's what I've always hated about the religion/politics connection,' Ben said. 'These clergymen tell their followers who to vote for, what legislation to support, because this is what God wants them to do.' He shook his head. 'The hubris, man. Don't any of them pick up on that? They think they know the mind of God? Them claiming to know how God would vote is like an amoeba claiming to know what car I'm going to buy.'
'So much for 'rendering to Caesar,' huh?'
Street tossed the crumpled announcement in a waste-paper basket and walked into the back room, returning a moment later with three beers. He tossed one can to Bill, one to Ben, popping open the tab on his own.
'During business hours?' Bill said.
Street shrugged. 'What business?'
Ben was on a roll. 'What really ticks me off about these religious assholes is that they always claim they're for less government, and they are when it comes to economics. But they're all for letting government regulate our social lives, our bedroom behavior, what movies we can see, what pictures we can look at, what books we can read.'
Street took a long swig. 'They want to tell me where I can and can't put my dick.'
'Because they can't even use theirs,' Ben said. 'Those cows they're married to won't let 'em.'
Bill burst out laughing. A second later, Ben and Street started laughing as well.
None of them went to church on a regular basis. Street used to go every Sunday, when he was married, but he hadn't gone since. Ben considered himself an agnostic and hadn't attended since Catholic school. In the fuzzy, evasive neuterspeak of today, he himself had what was called 'a personal relationship with God.' Which meant that his religious beliefs were privately held and were not sanctioned or reinforced by any church or organized religion. He'd always considered suspect the faith of people who had to go to church every Sunday. As an old college friend of his had said, once you got the Word, you got it. There was no reason to reinforce it every seven days unless you were so damn stupid that after a week you forgot everything you'd learned and needed to be reminded again of the basic tenets of your faith.
Street shook his head. 'It's wrong using kids, though. If churches are going to get involved, let the adults do it. Keep the kids out of it.'
'Amen,' Ben said.
'So what are we going to do about this?' Bill walked over to the door, pointed through the glass at the multicolored announcements dotting the downtown. 'You know damn well that people in Juniper, _most_ people, aren't in favor of a curfew. Adults don't want to be treated like children. And what about the bar? The video store? Circle K? There are a whole bunch of businesses that depend on people being out at night.'
'Petition,' Street said. 'We start one to rescind this ordinance.'
'Not a bad idea,' Ben admitted. 'People'd be in favor of this idea. It might give us an opening, a little chink in the armor we could exploit. I think we'd get quite a few signatures.'
'If people weren't afraid to sign.'
'If people weren't afraid to sign,' Ben agreed.
Street finished off his beer, grinned. He moved around the back of the register counter. 'Start thinking, boys. I'll get some paper and pens.'
An hour later, Bill was at the park, pen, clipboard, and petition in hand.
They'd hashed it out quickly, he and Ben, then he'd rushed home, typed it on his PC, and printed it out, making multiple copies. Ginny had been in her garden, killing tomato worms, and he'd shown her the petition and left her a few copies.
'Just in case any of your friends come by,' he said.
He dropped more off at the electronics shop, Street promising to hit up anyone he saw on Main, Ben vowing to take it to the source and camp out in The Store's parking lot 'until they kick me out.'
Bill brought his petitions to the park.
There were quite a few people here. Little League kids practicing, mostly.
Some old men. Mothers and small children. A couple playing tennis.
He approached the tennis couple first, explaining what the petition said and what they were trying to do, and the man seemed close to signing at one point. But he was wary of being the first signee, and his wife pulled him quickly away, frightened, nearly panicked. 'It's a trap!' she said. 'Don't do it. They're trying to trap you.'
The couple hurried off, and he walked around the tennis court to the row of benches where several of the old men were sitting.
None of them would even hear him out.
The only signature he received was from a middle-aged woman watching her young daughter play on the swing set. She was nodding even before he'd finished explaining what the petition was meant to do.
'One of those announcements was nailed to our front door,' she said. She seemed nervous, kept glancing at her daughter on the swing as if to make sure that the little girl was still there.
'We need to put a stop to this,' he told her. 'And we need your help.'
'They're enforcing the curfew already.'
'I didn't know that,' he said, surprised. 'In fact, I only learned about the ordinance this morning.'
She glanced suspiciously around. 'They're out after dark,' she whispered.
'I saw them.'
'Who?'
'The men in black. The Night Managers.'
_The men in black_.
He thought of Encantada. Of Jed McGill.
Once again, the woman quickly looked around. Before he could say anything else, she grabbed the pen from his hand, scrawled a quick, indecipherable signature, and hurried away, grabbing her daughter.
'Thanks!' he called after her.
She did not acknowledge him, and he watched as she and her daughter practically ran to their car.
Jed McGill. He wondered sometimes if he'd really seen what he thought he'd seen. He'd been in such a hurry to get away, so desperate not to know, that even in his own mind there was no clear confirmation of the figure's identity. Even now, he still wasn't sure whether he wanted to know. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever, was so bizarre as to be incomprehensible, and the questions that it raised terrified him.
_The men in black_.
_The Night Managers_.
He tried to concentrate on the task before him, to think only about getting signatures for his petition.
On the street, in back of the woman's departing vehicle, a police car pulled up, cruised to a stop, and Forest Everson got out. Even before the policeman began walking across the grass toward him, Bill knew why he was here.
He stood his ground.
Forest looked embarrassed as he walked up to where Bill was standing. 'I'm sorry, Mr. Davis, but you're going to have to stop with that petition.'
Bill faced him. 'Why?'
'It's against the law.'
'It's against the law to get people to sign a petition? Since when?'
'Since last night. The town council convened in a special meeting, and they passed a new ordinance making it illegal to circulate a petition of any sort within a five-mile radius of The Store. I guess they consider it a restriction of commerce because they feel it impinges on The Store's ability to do business.'
'Jesus.'
'It's not my decision,' Forest said. 'I don't make the laws. I don't even agree with all of them. But I'm paid to enforce them, and that's what I do.'
Bill was still trying to sort out the order of events. The council created the ordinance last night? He and his
