3
Before each
retail day began, minutes before the mall would open to the public, Riley
Kenyon would set out three flags at the front of the store.
The first
flag, the one in the middle on the highest pole, was the flag of the United States of America . Riley loved this flag, as he felt he loved
his country, at least the best elements of his country. He had fought for his country in the first
Gulf War, a short but brutal conflict.
He wasn't injured, as some of his buddies were, and he didn't suffer
from PTSD (Post Trauma Suffering Disease was the best name Riley could recall
for it), but it still left a deep impression on him. He wished Poppy Bush had not stopped them
from invading Baghdad . Maybe the Iraq War would not have been such a
FUBARic mess. Maybe it would not have
been necessary for the son to come in and finish up what his Daddy didn't.
The second
flag that Riley put up, the one to the left of the US
flag, was the Georgia
flag. Not the current one, of course,
the one brought about by weak-kneed legislators caving into liberal pansies and
whiny minorities. No, it was the
pre-2001 version that he proudly displayed.
It had the state seal of Georgia
to one side, and then it prominently displayed the Confederate flag on the
other. This flag was boldly adopted by
the state of Georgia in 1956, to show the damn Yankees that they would not be
pushed around, that Southern states had a god given right to be SOUTHERN
States, and that they would not be forced to become pale copies of their
namby-pamby Northern brethren.
The third flag
that Riley put up, to the right of the US flag, was the purest and most
glorious flag of them all. It was the
confederate flag, and yes, he was aware that at the time of the War Against
Northern Aggression, that it was not the flag adopted by the Confederacy, but
the Battle Flag of the Army of Northern Virginia. Still, over time it had come to symbolize
that great revolt, and it was a flag that Riley deeply revered.
Inside Riley's
store were many varied symbols of Southern history, heritage and pride. The flag was just the tip of the iceberg, and
what a beautiful iceberg it was. They
had t-shirts celebrating Dixie Girls, with flowers, birds, motorcycles,
pictures of gorgeous Southern women dressed in t-shirts and cutoffs. They had items celebrating hunting, guns,
pickups, and of course, items celebrating the gory of God. They had t-shirts glorifying the Confederate
heroes and leaders who had struggled so valiantly to preserve Southern
heritage, and items honoring the individual states of the Confederacy. There were t-shirts for young boys reveling
in 4 wheelin', fishin', frog huntin' and even Yankee crushin'. They even had stuff for Dixie Babies! Who wouldn't want to have a Little Princess
t-shirt, with a Dixie toddler dressed up with
a Confederate symbol hair bow?
Currently, his
store was occupied by a few customers, including two of his regulars, Digger
Crowley and Sandy Harley. Like him, they
were two rather large gentleman, but in a muscular, strong way. If there was a bar fight between the three of
them, it's hard to say who would come out the winner. They had youth and brute strength on their
side, but he'd like to think he was bit wilier and more experienced.
They were
there with Cissy Reese (Sandy 's
step-sister) and her little three old girl, Debbie. Cissy was trying to pick out a cute Dixie
Girl t-shirt for Debbie, something that would replace her outgrown Dixie Baby
one. The active, chubby little girl was
pulling down t-shirts off their rack, and Cissy was trying to chase her down
and put back the merchandise that Debbie was gleefully dislodging.
"Why
don't you make this a real Dixie store, and
sell some guns, too, Riley?" asked
Digger, a sarcastic smirk on his face.
"It's a
clothing and accessory store, Digger," answered Riley, exhausted even
listening to the question. "There's plenty of places to find guns."
"What's
the matter, Riley? You don't like
guns," said Sandy ,
reaching around and pulling out the gun he had tucked into the back of his
pants.
Riley's left
eye tick twitched. "Look, you boys
know I got nothing against guns. Heck, I
own a couple dozen myself. I run a
franchise, and that's just not the marketing strategy that my franchisor wants
us to go into." Riley didn't mind
guns, and he knew that Sandy
had a legal right to carry, but he wasn't comfortable with them flashing it
around in the store. You never knew who
would be in the store and how they would take to it. Some of his customers were hardcore, true
confederate sympathizers and gun lovers.
Others were more casual, upper middle class professionals who just liked
to toe dip into Southern heritage culture every now and then. For the store to succeed, it had to be open
and welcoming to both kinds of customers. "Sandy , I'm going to ask you to put the gun
back up. I don't want to spook my
customers."
Digger
guffawed, and then swatted Sandy
upside the head. "You redneck
moron! What good would that do? You'd turn him into a hero, and the Muslim
loving sacks of crap running things would still be in charge!"
Yeah,
boys! You got to watch what you
say," agreed Riley. "That
Patriot Act stuff, you never know when they're listening."
Just then
Riley saw a black woman walk by the front of the store. She looked at the Confederate flag for a
second, shook her head, and continued walking.
Riley recognized who she was, maybe one of the few blacks he knew by
sight. She was Ramona Adams, the legal
secretary at Cooper & Strickland (or maybe it was just Cooper now, since
Strickland had been murdered, most likely by that little Yankee guy), and had
helped him with some of the incorporation and franchise papers. She wasn't overly-friendly, but she sure had
been competent and helpful.
"Maybe we
need to plant a Confederate flag in her yard!" suggested a giddy Sandy . "And a brick
painted with the flag thrown the window!"
"You are
too much. Why don't we just go by there
with flags on our pick up and honk the horn loud. That should make out point," Digger
said. Then he pulled Sandy close.
"Do we really need to call attention to ourselves right now? Let's not lose sight of the bigger
picture," he whispered.
Riley quickly
interrupted. "Yes, boys! I think we need to take a look at this new
belt buckle I got in. Look at that
beautiful rendition of the flag with the words on it, The Confederacy Rises! Ain't
that magnificent?"
Cissy came up
to the counter, and laid a t-shirt on
the counter (Dixie Girls, with the word
BRAT written large and decorated with Confederate flag colors and designs). Little Debbie was with her, and grabbed
Digger's hand as if he were his Daddy.
Riley was pretty sure he wasn't, but he suspected Eddie Reese wasn't
either (the marriage of Cissy and Eddie was just too short and convenient).
Little girl actually had the close set hazel eyes and sharp chin of a
Harley. But it wasn't Riley's place to
know anything for sure.
"If you
boys are done blathering, would you take the time to check me out?" said
Cissy, with a coy wink.
Riley
blushed. "Darling, I always got the
time to check you out!"
Digger was
still musing. "I know what we
should do. I think we need to rename the
Compton Park
project and call it Dixie
Land . Line the son of a bitch with Confederate
flags, and feature pro-southern businesses and restaurants. Why, Riley, we could have your business right
at the center of things!"
"Well,
maybe we can get on with it, at long last.
Now that we got that environmental and legal stuff over with," said
Digger.
"Isn't it
a murder site now?' asked Cissy.
"Not for
long," growled Digger.
"Sheriff just has to get off his ass and string up that little
Yankee feller." Digger shook his
head. "Can't believe that gorgeous
chunk of Southern womanhood, Christie Delco, was actually married to that
hobbity dweeb."
"Well,
now," Cissy said. "There ain't
no accounting for taste sometimes, is there?"
Riley Kenyon
was not gonna argue with that.
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