30) Saturday the Fifteenth, 7:47 AM – “Welcome to Giga-Plex!”
Chester pressed a
red button on a remote and the One World gates began to swing open… there were
angry cries and yelps as shoppers pushed and hollered this way and that. They surged past Linens 2-Go and Lester’s
Likenesses, ignored the corridors to the smaller shops, even the Giga-Mart
across the way… where Freddy Estrada peered out, hoping that – after the raving
madmen outside had purchased the television of their dreams – they’d remember
to drop in for a bottle of bubbly to celebrate their score, or snag one of the
six and eight pound bags of pretzels, popcorn and chips he’d had delivered, or a
suitcase of beer.
“Alright,” continued Mark Down Mark after
making his unpaid staffers stand, scratching their heads and consulting devices
as seven-thirty came and went, “report to your stations now and, until the
doors open, straighten up the place. We
are under total, 24-hour surveillance…” and he pointed upwards… “so, if I catch
anybody just standing around, not only will they be fired, I will have a
personal word with the Agency. Now…
everyone on the floor is a salesman, and …and everybody pulls together. Part of our team. OK!”
He blew his
whistle again, and Tom, still scratching his head, looked back towards the
loading dock. The slight,
seventeen-year-old Craig Synch came forward, hand extended…
“I’m Craig. Taylor, the
stockroom manager, won’t be in until ten, so I’ll show you the procedure. It’s simple, the cashiers stamp the tickets
on big items, they got reference numbers and you get them down off the stacks…
Mr. Eppert, you’re the crane operator, right? Hamish Khost… are
you that fellow from Iran?”
“I am Persian,”
corrected the tall, overdressed temp with a dismissive wave.
“OK. And Marko, uh…”
“Mosrovich…”
“Yeah, you’ll work the dock with Pablo and Billy, habla la español?” Marko looked blank, Tom hostile… thinking
that this fuckin’ kid, not much older than Junior, was his boss? “Forget it. Oh, and we’re not supposed to accept tips,
but…” and Craig looked out into the store, to be sure Tenison was gone, then
up…”don’t ask, don’t tell… you know?”
The man from behind the Iron Curtain
frowned. “You are homosexual boy?”
“What? No,” Craig shook his head, “that’s just a
saying…”
But Marko was
already fiddling with his belt. “Suck
cock? Fifteen dollar… pretty chickie like you…”
And, outside, the
chanting had risen to a roar: “Open the gates!
Open the gates! Open
the gates!”
Mark-Down-Mark
whipped out his SmartPhone and dialed up Big Sonny at
the Reston hotel. The call was answered
by a female voice who told him that Sonnenschein was
still asleep... in a Giga-Grrrlz sandwich, she
giggled... and, after the manager explained his situation with mall security,
told Mark that making customers wait in the freezing rain only made them more
determined to buy and buy and buy…
“But what if they
smash through and steal?” Mark answered, thinking back to the last two years of
pre-Christmas flash mob smash and grab robberies that had erupted in New York
and California and were oozing and cruising their way towards the nation’s
capital.
“Well then,” said
the voice on his phone: “Pay him?”
“What?”
“Give that leader
of the Guard some money and he’ll let you open…”
“But that man
is…” Mark sputtered.
“Doesn’t
matter. Pay him off and open up.”
So, swallowing
his bile, he slipped Sergeant Mays a Grant to open up at a quarter to eight,
seven minutes hence. “Positions?”
Tenison warned the cashiers at the front of the store, the only group of
employees that could hear him over the din.
“Lester?”
“Welcome to
Giga-Plex,” Lester the Greeter waved.
Lester, the
Screaming Eagles Captain, and Mays folded their arms across their chests, one
standing to either side of the entrance so as to channel the throng past Lester
the Greeter and the rotating Big Sonny Likeness… onto the floor and, hopefully,
towards the display of projection, LCD and plasma televisions in sizes from
five to seventy-two inches (plus, of course, the single Dominator demonstrator
at the center of a circle of lesser models, towering above inferiors like the
high priest at a witch-burning).
For probably the last
time he’d be able to do so, today, Mark Tenison walked through the pneumatic
Entrance door… having already disabled its function. The doors would remain open until shutdown at
midnight, and if some temp cashier complained about the cold… well, she should’ve
brought a sweater. Ugly, piggish faces
pressed up against the iron gates of the One World Mall, thrusting their snouts
between the bars, pleading and cursing.
“What a bunch of
curs!” Mark reprised to himself before returning to the familiarity and
security of his domain. “Lester, bring
up more security to help the Sergeant here in case some fools start to trample
an old lady.”
“Beg p-pardon?”
the elderly greeter stammered
– the manager rolled his eyes and walked over to Captain Capps.
who transmitted these orders through his cell and three more Eagles who’d been
drooling over the devices in the 007 shop trotted by, taking up positions by
the door. Tenison nodded to Sergeant
Mays, who counted down on his imitation Rolex… “three, two, one...”
Panting,
sweating… youth, speed and ruthlessness propelling them a couple of steps ahead
of the howling, baying mob at their heels… a trio of shoppers surged across the
One World threshold, ignoring the security, ignoring the drably smiling mall
greeters and scowling Screaming Eagles, sprinting and skidding across the floor
towards the temple of High Def only to encounter the Giga-Plex glass and a
second line of gates – upon which they commenced kicking and banging with
closed and opened fists…
With a great tintinnabulation of keys, Mark Down
Mark opened the door and Greeter, Lester, set his hand to waving, smiling at
each harried face, hurrying past…
“Welcome to
Giga-Plex, ma’am. Have a nice day. Welcome to Giga-Plex…”
¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾ ¾
VISIT THESE OTHER GENERISIS SERIAL ABOMINATIONS…
THE GOLDEN DAWN BLACK
HELICOPTERS
THE INSURGENCE of
CHAN SANTA CRUZ!