Bill got up, put on shorts and a T-shirt, went for his morning jog.
Construction had indeed begun on the recently approved addition, and an army of men and machinery were hard at work demolishing the stand of trees behind the building. These were obviously not local construction workers -- the customized state-of-the-art equipment told him that much -- but there was no site sign announcing the contractor's name. He jogged off the highway, into the empty parking lot, and as he drew closer to the side of the building, he could clearly see the logo on the side of a black bulldozer: a shopping cart filled with consumer products.
And the words beneath it: THE STORE CONSTRUCTION COMPANY. A DIVISION OF
THE STORE, INC.
Ben was already at the site, behind the makeshift chain-link fence, taking photos for the paper. Bill saw the editor crouched next to a crane, camera pointed toward the rear of The Store.
"Hey!" Bill called.
Ben saw him, waved, and continued taking photos, moving around the crane to a tangle of fallen trees that were being cut into segments by ten or twelve men all armed with power saws. Bill stood outside the fence, watching, waiting.
Finally, the editor finished his roll of film and walked past a tractor, through the gate, and out to the parking lot.
Bill walked over to meet him. He had to shout to be heard over the saws.
"Why are you out here taking pictures this early? I thought you left that grunt work for your underlings."
"Grunt work? This is what passes for a glamour assignment here in Juniper.
They'll cover this afternoon's Little League game and tonight's school board meeting. I get The Store."
"Dan Rather look out."
"Eat me."
Bill laughed, and the two of them headed slowly across the lot toward the front of The Store, where Ben had parked his car. Bill glanced to his right as they walked. The front entrance of the building had been repaired yesterday. By local workers, he had assumed at the time. Now he was not so sure. He gestured back toward the construction workers. "Are they the ones who fixed the front of the building?"
Ben nodded. "Yep."
"And they're doing the addition alone, with no help from any of our workers here?"
"You got it."
Bill shook his head. "The council could've at least insisted that they use local contractors. I mean, that's pretty crappy. Construction was the only business around here benefiting from The Store --"
"Except for the paper," Ben reminded him.
"Except for the paper," Bill conceded.
"So much for the providing-local-jobs theory, huh?"
"I'd say those people deserved it for being so naive and gullible --"
"Especially when you warned them, right?"
"-- but the rest of us have to suffer the consequences as well." He looked at his friend. "Jerk."
"Come on, you don't think you're becoming just a little holier-than-thou on this subject?"
"You're not?"
"It's my job. I'm a journalist."
They reached Ben's car. "You want me to give you a ride home?" the editor asked, unlocking his door.
Bill shook his head. "That's okay. I need the exercise." He glanced back, saw only the edge of the construction fence behind the building on the south side. There was a loud crash as another ponderosa went down. "They're not going to be happy until every tree in Juniper is cut."
"Joni Mitchell called it. 'Big Yellow Taxi.' "
"Hippie."
"I've already admitted that."
They stood there for a moment, looking at each other over the roof of the car, listening to the sound of the saws.
"There's nothing we can do about any of this, is there?" Bill asked finally.
"It's progress. Hop on the bandwagon or get the fuck out of the way."
Bill stared up at the clear blue sky, ran a quick hand through his hair.
"Any leads on Richardson's store?"
"What do you think?" Ben said.
"Just checking."
"Want my prediction?"
"On what?"
"The Buy-and-Save situation."
"Not really," Bill said, "but give it to me."
"I predict that its final demise will coincide with the completion of this food department here." He motioned toward the construction site. "It'll hold on till then." He looked over the car roof at Bill. "Want to give me odds?"
"I think not." Bill took a deep breath, waved goodbye, and started running. He wanted to be angry and outraged, he'd settle for scared, but he felt only tired and discouraged, and he jogged out of the parking lot and down the highway, heading toward home.
The sound of the saws followed him all the way.
2
Ginny usually spent recesses in the classroom -- they were only ten minutes long, which didn't really give her a chance to do anything -- but today she felt restless, antsy, and after leading her kids out to the playground, she hurried over to the staff lounge for a quick cup of coffee.
The lounge was empty save for Lorraine Hepperton, who was sitting on the couch, humming to herself.
Ginny smiled at the other teacher as she strode over to the coffee machine. "My, aren't we in a good mood today."
Lorraine smiled back. "Yes, we are."
Ginny laughed. She poured herself a cup of coffee, then walked over to the couch, sitting a cushion away from her friend. "So how're things going?" she asked.
"Here at school or in my real life?"
"Is there a difference?"
"There is now." Lorraine rummaged through the purse at her side. "Want to see what I bought?"
"Sure --" she started to say, but Lorraine had already found what she was looking for and held up a doll, an ugly, particularly nasty looking doll, an orange figure ostensibly human but with stiff bristle hair that extruded from the misshapen head in strange clumps and an off-center face comprised of black cloth dots connected by thread. The figure was nude, and an exaggerated vulva protruded from between its legs.
Ginny grimaced. "What is it?"
"A voodoo doll. I bought it at The Store."
"Why?"
"To try out. I figure it can't hurt." She chuckled. "I call it Meg."
Ginny was shocked. "You're joking!"
"No, I'm not." She glanced quickly toward the door to make sure there was no one else coming into the room, then withdrew a pincushion from her purse. She pulled out a pin, inserted it in the figure's left breast, pressing it all the way in.
She giggled.
A chill crept down Ginny's neck. She could not imagine any national chain store selling something like this, not even as a joke or gag gift, and she wondered where in The Store this creepy little doll was displayed.
Lorraine inserted another pin in the doll's stomach.
_The black convoy_.
Ginny stood, moved away from the couch, feeling cold. She turned around by the coffee machine. "You don't think that thing really works, do you? You don't believe that stuff?"
Lorraine turned the doll over, held out the tag. "Made in Haiti."
She still wasn't sure how serious the other teacher was. Lorraine's voice was pleasant, her tone light, but she did not sound the least bit jocular or facetious. It was as if this was a normal conversation, as if they were discussing the fabric quality of a new blouse.
Lorraine pulled out one more pin, pressed it directly into the oversized vulva, then put both the pincushion and the doll back inside her purse. A split second later, another teacher walked through the open doorway into the lounge.
"Hello, Meg," Lorraine said sweetly.
SIXTEEN
1
"The school year's almost over," Ginny said.
Bill glanced over at her. "Happy?"
"Yeah. I am. It's been a long year."
"Any more voodoo dolls lately?"
She shook her head.
"Witches' sabbaths? Satanic rituals?"
"Not funny," she said.