The Store rewarded her hard work.
Still, sometimes, when she was alone, she wished that things had turned out differently. The scariest thing was how easily she'd adjusted to Store life, how comfortable the fit felt. Intellectually, she knew she should be shocked and horrified by some of the things that went on. She should be outraged and refuse to participate. But the truth was that she really had no emotional response to most of what happened. She understood the necessity of it all, and none of it provoked any feelings within her.
Almost none of it.
_Mr. Lamb_.
She would not think of him.
She took a quick shower, masturbated with the shower massage, ate a piece of toast, drank a glass of orange juice, and drove in her new Miata to The Store.
Mr. Lamb was waiting for her in her office, sitting in her chair, his feet up on her desk. 'The manager wants to see you,' he said.
Her heart skipped a beat. 'Me?'
He nodded. 'You.'
There was a hard knot of fear in the pit of her stomach. She had never seen the manager, and she never wanted to. She'd heard stories about him ever since he'd come to Juniper, rumors, horrible rumors, and if even a fraction of what she'd heard was true, she knew that meeting him was the last thing she wanted to do.
Nevertheless, he was her boss, the person to whom she was theoretically supposed to report, and she tried to put on a brave face, tried to pretend she wasn't frightened. 'When?' she asked.
'Now.' Mr. Lamb swung his feet off the desk, stood. 'Come on. I'll go with you.'
He walked around her, and she followed him out the door, down the hall, and onto the floor. The lights in The Store were all on, but the Muzak was turned off, none of the rest of the staff had yet arrived, and the place seemed eerily silent and empty.
'Do you know why he wants to see me?' she asked.
'Yes.' Mr. Lamb continued walking, not elaborating, and she knew enough not to press further. The knot in her stomach tightened.
They walked up the main cross aisle, away from the espresso bar, to the manager's door on the far opposite wall. Mr. Lamb rapped loudly three times, the door swung open, and the two of them stepped inside. There was a stairway leading up, and with a flourish, the personnel manager indicated that she was to proceed first.
He just wants to look at my ass, she thought. But she walked ahead, up the stairs, concentrating on the black door at the top of the steps.
The door opened when she stepped onto the landing.
And she beheld the manager.
He was nothing like she'd expected, neither an intimidating thug nor a hideous monster. He was a cowed and frightened old man, hiding behind a too large desk and watching her with scared eyes.
'No!' he said.
'Yes,' Mr. Lamb responded from behind her. The door slammed shut loudly, and the personnel manager moved around her, into the center of the room. He turned around, and in his open hands lay a dagger. He held it out, offering it to her.
'What's this?' she asked. 'What's going on here?'
'Kill him,' Mr. Lamb said.
'No!' the manager cried.
'Kill him and The Store is yours.'
Samantha shook her head, backing away. 'No. I can't.'
'Mr. King wants you to.'
That threw her. She shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts. 'Newman King?'
Mr. Lamb smiled, nodded. 'He's been watching the tapes. He's very impressed with you.'
The man behind the desk tried to sound strong, failed. 'I'm still the manager here!'
'No, you're not!' Mr. Lamb snapped at him. 'You're out!' He held forth the dagger, smiled at Samantha. 'Take it.'
'I can't.'
'Do what you have to do.'
She backed against the closed door, shook her head. 'It's . . . it's murder.'
'It's business. And if you don't do it, someone else will. Why should they get the job you deserve?'
'I . . . can't kill anyone.'
'I'll call the police!' the manager cried.
'Shut up!' Mr. Lamb roared at him.
'I . . .'
'You can,' Mr. Lamb said. 'You must.'
'It's wrong,' she said. 'It's murder.'
He took her hand, put the dagger in it. 'You can,' he said.
4
There was a Kmart in Flagstaff, and a Wal-Mart, but the city did not have The Store, and for that Bill was grateful. Newman King had taken Sam Walton's approach and pushed it to its limit, opening stores in small towns in which there were only locally owned businesses, but The Store would not build in a town that was host to another chain.
King hated competition.
Bill needed to remember that. It might be something he'd be able to use.
They stopped at Target, bought toilet paper and cleanser and detergent and other household items, then stocked up on groceries at Fry's. It felt strange shopping at regular stores after all this time. There was no pressure, no tension, no threatening employees, no bizarre products, only a relaxed, pleasant atmosphere and an extensive selection of goods. This was what shopping was supposed to be like, he thought. Fun. Not the horrible ordeal it had become in Juniper.
He had not really realized until now just how deeply The Store had affected their lives. He'd known intellectually, of course, but he hadn't really understood, emotionally, the depth of it, had not fully grasped all of the peripherals. It took this exposure to normalcy to enable him to recognize how strange and skewed everything had become.
Shannon came with them, and though they didn't talk about it, he knew that she, too, noticed the difference.
They returned to Juniper after dark, and the phone started ringing the second they stepped through the door. All three of them were loaded down with grocery sacks, so he quickly flipped on the lights, put his sacks down on the kitchen counter, and grabbed the phone. 'Hello?'
It was Sam.
She wanted to tell them the good news.
She'd been appointed manager of The Store.
THIRTY-ONE
1
They received a gold StoreCard in the mail the next day, along with a photocopied form letter, signed by their daughter, that explained the benefits of belonging to the Store Club.
Bill called Samantha for the first time since she'd moved out, thanking her for the card. He was not at all sure that he ever wanted to shop at The Store again -- the drive to Flagstaff seemed infinitely preferable -- but with Sam in charge now, there was an opening, an opportunity, and he made a concerted effort to take a more conciliatory stance.
Their conversation yesterday had been brief. He hadn't known how to take her announcement, and while she was obviously proud of her news and wanted to share it with the family, he could not be proud of her or happy for her, and after awkwardly insincere congratulations, he had handed the phone to Ginny.
He was better today. He'd had time to get used to the news, and he even managed to sound supportive.
