The Rule of Three (7 page)

The crowd started reorganizing itself. A line was forming while old-timers and some women with kids moved toward us.

“He has no right to—” the manager started to say again, but my mother cut him off.

“Inside,” she ordered.

He hesitated and then did what she said, the broken glass on the floor sounding under his feet.

“Herb, can you come in, too, and explain how this is going to work?” my mother asked.

“It’s not complicated,” Herb said.

She turned to Brett. “Stay out here—watch.”

Brett stood on the sidewalk, and I followed Herb and my mother into the store. Along with the broken glass on the floor there were bags and boxes and cans and displays that had been knocked over.

“Listen, I know you’re just trying to help, but you had no right to say those things,” the manager said. He sounded anxious and scared.

“I’m Captain Daley, and I have the right in civil emergencies to do many things,” my mother said. “And he is acting as my deputy.”

Herb held out his hand to the man. “I’m Herb, and who are you?”

“Ernie Williams.”

“Ernie, I know how difficult this all is. I can only imagine how you felt when those people crashed through your window and started rampaging.”

“It was terrifying! I was afraid that somebody would have killed me if I tried to stop them.”

“Mobs can get out of control like a forest fire. You had every right to be terrified, Ernie. If you tried to stop them they could have hurt you.”

I noticed how he let the “hurt” part sink in.

“Please, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that you stopped it, but what’s going to happen when they realize that we can’t do what you said?” Ernie asked.

“Oh, but we are going to do it,” Herb said.

“I can’t just give away food without people paying. It isn’t my store—I’m just the manager!”

“Ernie,” Herb said as he placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Nobody is asking you to give things away. You’re going to get cash where you can and enough information from people who don’t have cash so that you can get them to pay later. Isn’t that what a credit card does?”

“I guess it
is
sort of like an IOU.”

“You’re also only going to allow them to purchase selected items. Look around the store. With the electricity out there is a lot of food that’s going to go bad today.”

“It’s a nightmare—what a waste of inventory,” Ernie said.

“And you’re not going to allow that to happen. You’re going to turn these things that were going to be thrown out into profit for your company. You’ll make your company money, and when this is all over the customers will remember you as the guy who helped keep their families fed. You’re going to be a hero to everybody. They’ll be loyal to your store from now on.”

He put his arm around Ernie and walked him over to the opening so that he could see the line forming. “Wouldn’t you rather be their hero than their victim?”

“But how do we do it?” Ernie asked.

“How many people do you have in the store to help you?”

“Usually more than a dozen. Today only two came in. Counting myself that makes three.”

“And if you add in me and young Adam here you have five. And I recognized a few other people out in that line who can help. They can stay when I send everybody else home,” Herb said.

“You’re going to send them home?” my mother asked. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“They won’t be going empty-handed. Ernie, I want you to go to the back and get that thing from the deli that gives people a number to be served. Then you and I are going to go through that line out there and give each person a number. We’re going to ask them to come back at a specific time. It’s better to deal with people a few at a time, and by giving out numbers we get to know how many people are out there and how we have to divvy up the supplies.”

“And we’re only giving them some things, right?” Ernie asked.

“Yes, you’re going to allow them to purchase all of the things that are going to go bad if they’re not eaten. Meats that aren’t completely frozen, dairy products like milk and yogurt and butter and ice cream, frozen vegetables that are thawing out.”

“What about fruits and vegetables that will go bad?” Ernie added. “Can I sell those as well?”

“Now you’re thinking. Let’s also sell them a small quantity of bottled water if you run out of other liquids. There should be no sale of nonperishables—anything that’s canned, boxed, dried, or otherwise packaged so that it can survive without refrigeration. Can you do all of that?” Herb asked.

“I can do it!”

“Good, then you get your people and we’ll make it all happen!” Herb said.

Ernie rushed off.

Now there was orderly action inside the store and out in front. Brett was organizing the first group of shoppers into a line.

“That was amazing,” my mother said to Herb. “The way you handled everything,
everybody
.”

“Without you taking charge in the first place I couldn’t have done what I did.”

“It was like with those guys trying to steal my car yesterday,” I said.

My mother turned to me. She looked shocked. I’d just made a mistake.

“It was nothing,” I said. “It was more like a misunderstanding.”

“It was more than that, but your son and I handled it,” Herb said. “And together we can handle the situation here. We can keep this all under control for now, but once night hits it’s going to get worse. We really could use those officers, patrols, and checkpoints.”

She didn’t answer right away. But after a few moments it was clear she’d changed her mind about his earlier request. “I’ll have the four officers report here by six p.m. I’ll leave it with you to connect them with their civilian partners and then figure out their patrol routes.” She paused and smiled. “You already have the routes figured out, don’t you?”

Herb returned the smile. “It’s not just Boy Scouts who need to be prepared.”

“You know, Herb, those people out there, I know a lot of them—they’re my neighbors, people whose kids play soccer and baseball with my kids. I never would have guessed it could have turned so bad so quickly.”

“Bad can happen in the blink of an eye.”

“If I hadn’t seen it I wouldn’t have believed it. I’m grateful for your help here today. Perhaps we can talk later about how I might utilize your skills more.”

“I’m at your disposal. Anything you need I’m under your command,” Herb said. “Now, we better get you to the station. How’s the cut?”

She put her hand up to touch it. The blood had stopped flowing but was still dried on her face and matting her hair on one side. “I’d forgotten about it. It’s stopped bleeding.”

“You should clean up. Your officers shouldn’t see you that way,” Herb said. “I’ll work with Ernie to organize and then help with the food distribution. Does that sound like a plan?”

“I guess it’s the best plan we have,” my mother said.

7

The line was never long. They kept coming in small groups, sticking to the assigned times. Those who were early stood off to the side patiently, while those in line waited equally patiently.

After we returned from dropping my mom at the station, Herb and I drove to the house to get the twins and then came back and helped, giving out the items as Ernie totaled and either took money or an IOU from the customer. As the supplies on the tables outside the store dwindled, more were brought out to restock. Nobody other than us was allowed into the store. That was the way Herb had sorted it all out.

Everybody in line got the same things: a piece of meat of one kind or another, a dozen eggs, a carton of milk or a container of frozen juice, a couple of pieces of fruit, and either a half stick of butter or a container of yogurt. It was enough to keep a family fed for today and maybe part of tomorrow. It was clear that a lot of people hadn’t thought about stockpiling food in their homes before this. We were lucky—my mother had done a big shopping the day before yesterday. I’d complained about bringing in all those bags. Now I was just grateful.

The grocery store wasn’t the only thing open. The walk-in clinic was seeing patients, and the pharmacy was selling over-the-counter drugs and filling some prescriptions. Like the supermarket, they weren’t allowing customers in but were doing business from the front entranceway.

The variety store—which had sold out of batteries, flashlights, and candles yesterday—was open for business, too. Milk, ice cream, and anything else that was going to melt or spoil was being hustled outside to be sold at a table. The owner was selling, reluctantly, at the regular cost. He had tried to bump up the prices, selling water and bread and everything else he had at three times the usual price. There was a lot of complaining, but people were desperate and were paying. That’s when Herb stepped in.

Along with Brett he went over to talk to the owner. Afterward Brett told me about it. Herb had told the man, quietly, that aside from charges of profiteering that he’d personally make sure were investigated, nobody would forget what he’d done. Herb told him that they’d drive him out of business once things returned to usual—assuming he had a business. He said that nobody could be responsible if angry people broke his windows and looted his store. The prices came right back down.

The bakery sold off every single thing in the store. Unlike the guy at the variety store, they even sold bread and rolls at reduced price, as day-olds. I thought that showed class.

Maybe the strangest thing was that half the people were eating ice cream. The owner of the Baskin-Robbins, with Danny and Rachel thrilled to be helping him at the counter, was giving out small servings in paper cups. Since the blackout began, he’d been running his freezer off a gas-powered generator, but he was out of fuel and was giving up the fight. The ice cream was all going to melt, but the cones themselves weren’t going to spoil. He told Ernie that it was almost all covered by insurance anyway, so he wanted to promote goodwill with his customers.

Between the children in strollers, wagons being pulled, kids on bikes, neighbors visiting in line, and of course the ice cream being consumed, it seemed like a picnic or a school carnival out in the parking lot.

Brett, looking official and I thought a little bit nervous, walked up and down along the pavement, one hand on his gun, the baton in the other. Part of me didn’t think that was necessary. The other part remembered what had just happened. These people, my neighbors, had been rioting and looting. It was like a lightbulb being turned on and then off again. We had to keep it turned off.

Herb disappeared inside the supermarket for a while, sleeping on a couch in the staff lounge. Out of sight, but close enough to hear and act if something happened. Having organized everything, he said he needed to get some sleep and be ready for tonight. He was pretty old and had been going hard since the blackout began. After seeing him in action I couldn’t help but wonder again what kind of paper pusher he had been.

8

“We have to do this as quickly as possible,” Sergeant Evans said. “It’s going to be dark in less than an hour, so everybody has to be out on patrol by then.”

Assembled in our living room were four police officers, Brett, Sergeant Evans, Officer O’Malley, and Howie; the four civilian partners, including Mr. Gomez; and me and Herb. I’d volunteered to be one of the civilian partners, but they felt it should only be adults. Besides, I guess I really was on patrol taking care of the twins. My mom was at the station. While we were trying to protect this neighborhood, she was trying to safeguard the whole precinct.

“I have to apologize for the motley collection of vehicles you’re going to be using for your patrols,” Herb said. On our driveway were three minibikes, a go-cart, two little gas-powered scooters, and two dirt bikes.

“It’s a lot better than what we’ve been using,” Sergeant Evans said.

“Might be fun to ride a go-cart,” Brett added.

“Hey, rook, what makes you think you’re getting the go-cart?” Officer O’Malley asked. “I was thinking that little pink scooter was for you.”

The others laughed.

“Especially if we can slap on a couple of training wheels,” O’Malley added.

“This
rookie
could ride with me anytime, O’Malley,” Herb said. “The kid has handled himself like a veteran last night and today.”

That stopped the laughing and Brett looked relieved, maybe even a little proud. Herb was being nice to Brett, but I got the feeling it was more than that. It was sort of like a coach talking up a kid who necessarily didn’t hit so well so that the next time up at bat he’d have more confidence.

“There are two checkpoints manned by civilians,” Sergeant Evans said. He pointed to a map of the area taped to our kitchen cupboard. “The checkpoints are here and at the top of the neighborhood, right by the intersection with Erin Mills Parkway, where they can watch both the stores in the mini-mall and the gas station.”

“Both checkpoints have eight people,” Herb said.

“Although they have bats or clubs, they were told not to engage anybody in a fight,” Sergeant Evans explained. “They are to question anybody trying to enter the neighborhood, stop them if they have questions, and if necessary try to detain them until one of the patrols arrives.”

“I’m a bit worried about somebody trying to loot at the mall,” Herb said. “We need that carefully watched and patrolled.”

Arrangements had been made to nail sheets of plywood over the broken plate-glass windows of the supermarket, and Ernie and another employee were staying overnight as watchmen.

“But that pharmacy is also a target, as is that gigantic gas tanker sitting in the station across the street,” Herb said.

“He’s right,” Sergeant Evans said. “Howie, I want you and your partner to make sure you buzz through that checkpoint at least every fifteen minutes.”

“Sure, Sarge, will do.”

I knew Howie. He and his family lived in the neighborhood. He was big—almost gigantic—but he was a friendly giant who liked to joke around.