Creative

Destruction

Patrick Antonio

Creative destruction

Noun
A model of economic growth driven by quality-improving Innovations that make old technologies or
products obsolete.
— Oxford Dictionary of Economics

Larry hurries into the local Metamart to buy three last-minute items for
Thanksgiving, stopping first at the book section, where he’s hoping to find a

rare collectible. He’s both worried about not finding a copy and in a rush, so
he skips the self-service terminal at the kiosk to ask the girl behind the counter

for help. Nowadays, in 2035, stores don’t carry actual physical books, but for

book geeks, printed books are becoming trendy. So while books are not carried
on site, they are 3D-printed upon request at the point of sale, according to the

exact specs of the publisher. This is just one example of Metamart’s many

patented IOD (Inventory on Demand) service offerings.

Larry’s been stuck second in line for far too long and exhales loudly to urge

the man in front of him to hurry up. But the man, oblivious, continues

speaking to the girl behind the counter.

“Okay, good, thank you,” he says. “I’m thinking I’ll go classic American,

maybe Mark Twain or Stephen King like you mentioned, I don’t know. I’m

thinking, I don’t know, maybe another Stephen King one this time? What’s

your favorite book of his? I’ve only read Carrie and Under the Dome. I liked

them both, but I think I liked Under the Dome more. What do you

recommend?”

The girl ranks Stephen King’s oeuvre, and then gives a quick literary

analysis of his work that would make an English professor proud. At the

conclusion of her impressive dissertation, she declares, “Get The Shining.”

Larry is impressed by this Metamart rep, and pleased that her

recommendation was just made with such authority. To ensure that her
recommendation does not go in vain and to avoid suffering even one more

minute of this horrible customer, Larry encourages the guy in front of him to
finish up.

“She’s right,” Larry pipes up. “The Shining would be my choice, too. It is

his best work, easily.”

 The customer turns to Larry. “Thank you,” he says, smiling. Then he turns

back to the girl behind the counter. “But I notice that The Stand tops almost all

of the Stephen King Top 10 lists. Would it be a total mistake, do you think, if I

went with that one instead?”

Larry wonders how this man functions in life at all. He leans into the

salesgirl and says calmly, “I am so sorry to interrupt your dissertation on

Stephen King here — I’m honestly impressed by it.” Then he turns to the man

and continues, “But I’ve been standing here behind you for 20 minutes now,

man. Stop fucking my schedule up and make a decision.”

The man shrinks with embarrassment. “I will take both, please,” he says to

the girl. “The Shining and The Stand.”

“Holy shit” Larry says. “A decision, finally.”

Now at the front of the line, Larry glances at the salesgirl’s chest and

notices the badge bearing her name. “Hello, Sally,” he says. “Catcher in the

Rye by J.D. Salinger please.”

Sally’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, great choice! I love that one! Did you

know that this novel was J.D.’s one and only? What are the odds that the one

full-length novel a person ever wrote would become such a huge classic.
Amazing, huh? Did you see our brand new classics section? Analog books are

becoming so popular that we just started carrying pre-printed copies of the

highest sellers. There’s a fresh copy of Catcher in the Rye right over there on

the new Classics shelf.” She points the way. “Right over there, right next to the

also brand-new New York Times Top 10 display right there. See it?”

“I actually need a first-edition copy from 1951, signed by the author if

possible, and today if possible,” Larry says. “You’re closed tomorrow for
Thanksgiving, right?”

Sally’s smile gets bigger and her eyes get wider. “Excuse me, did you say a

signed first- edition? And, oh, uh, yes, to your question, yes. We’re closed

tomorrow all day until midnight for Black Friday.”

“Listen, given how rare a signed first-edition is, what type of wait time do

you think I’m looking at?” Larry asks. “Is today possible?”

“We’re not going to be able to offer you our normal 10-minute guarantee,

but, yes, I think we can keep it down to below an hour,” Sally answers. “Will

that be okay?”

“Yes, perfect. Thank you.”

At this, she starts banging away on the projected image of the QWERTY

keyboard on her countertop and then studies the results that are projected on

her wall for Larry to see. “Okay, we have three first-edition copies that are

signed by the author, but all three are only in ‘fair’ condition. The least

expensive is $50,000 and the most expensive is $60,000.”

“Wow, I was only able to find one copy for sale online for $70,000, which

would take three days to deliver,” Larry says. “I’ll take yours for $60,000. I

need to shop for some things, so can you text me when it arrives?”

Sally loves that book and is impressed by how easy it is for him to drop so

much money. She chuckles and blushes, “You can get a pretty decent small

new car for $60,000.” Then she removes her reading glasses from the bridge of

her nose and places them atop her head, her face now crimson with

embarrassment, “Pardon what I just said. I’m the world champion of putting

my foot in my mouth.”

“Is it ordered yet?” Larry asks.

 She taps the $60,000 choice projected on the wall. “Hey, my shift ends in

one hour, right about the time your book should be here,” she ventures. “Would

you like to go out for coffee and discuss it? The Catcher in the Rye is one of

my favorites.”

Larry found her dissertation on Stephen King impressive, and he’s attracted

to her. “You have no idea how much I would love to, but I’m sorry, I can’t,” he
says.

“Understood — last-minute Thanksgiving shopping, obviously… Maybe

some other time?”

“I do wish, but impossible.”

Her eyebrows crinkle together. “Impossible?”

He wants her but shuts it down. “Listen, I appreciate the offer, but I have a

wife and two kids. Are we done here? I have some other items to look for.”

Deflated, she hands him his claim ticket for the book, “I, uh… Yes… You

should receive my text to pick your book up here in about 30 to 60 minutes.”

Larry holds up his claim ticket. “Okay, thank you,” he says as he walks

away.

***

Metamart is 10 times the size of what Walmart used to be. When Amazon
started opening brick-and-mortar Metamarts a few years back, Walmart

disappeared almost overnight. Larry’s dad used to tell him that Walmart was

the new Blockbuster Video. Larry found it crazy that as kids, his parents’

generation actually had to go to a store to get a movie to watch at home.

 Whenever another disruption in the marketplace caused yet another

industry giant to go obsolete, Larry’s dad would say of the company: “They

got Netflixed.” Or: “They got Napsterized.”

When he was little, Larry often tried to one-up his dad by countering:

“They got Uberized!”

***

Larry speaks into his phone: “OK Google, where is the gun section?”

Google Interior Maps tells Larry that it’s all the way on the opposite side of

the store, a half mile away. Instead of renting a Segway at one of the end-

aisles, which he usually does whenever he has to cover the entire length of the

store, Larry decides to walk; he has time to kill while he waits for the drone to

deliver his book. On-site drone delivery is Metamart’s second biggest IOD-

driven money maker, bested only by 3D printing.

The store is packed with last-minute shoppers buying last-minute things for

Thanksgiving. The million square feet of shopping space is tightly stocked

with merchandise. In some areas, it’s hard to pass people. Larry finds himself

stuck behind a family with five children, all of them big, all bickering at one
another and begging for everything, and all moving very slowly as they block
the entire aisle.

After way too long, Larry still has not found an opening through which to

pass, and so addresses them calmly. “Do none of you fat fucks see me here?

Come on, let me through.”

When the father turns around to address Larry, the guy no longer looks like
the couch potato he did from behind, but rather a former super heavyweight
MMA fighter. Larry says, “Oh! Sorry! I uh —”

The father, catching the look in Larry’s eyes, decides his family’s safety

comes first. “Forget about it,” he says. “Come on, kids, let the man pass.”

A minute later, Larry looks back at the family. They are still causing a

bottleneck, and a traffic jam of customers has built behind them. Larry smirks

and shakes his head. “Idiots,” he mutters.

On his way towards the gun section, Larry passes the meat section and

stops to check out the selection of turkeys. He can’t get to the tub of frozen

turkeys because it’s surrounded by a mob of shoppers. He barks, just loud

enough for those next to him to hear, “This place is a fucking zoo today.”

Just then, the crowd parts a little and Larry slips in. He scans a few labels

and realizes that the average weight of each turkey is 15 pounds. Considering

their weight, and the fact that they are freezing cold, Larry decides to skip the

turkey for now; he can grab one on the way back to the book section after his

other purchase is completed. He thinks a shopping cart might be in order, but

then remembers that the only thing he hates more than navigating an
overcrowded Metamart is navigating an overcrowded Metamart while pushing

a bulky shopping cart.

Larry reaches the gun section, where a married couple is getting a free

education on beginner handguns that are to be used only for home-security

purposes. Larry can tell by the conversation that they have already been at this

for some time, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to end anytime soon.

“Dammit!” Larry barks before he can stop himself.

The husband, wife, and man behind the counter look at him.

“Oh my gosh,” Larry says. “I was all set to go to the Gators vs. Seminoles
game on Saturday but just got a text telling me that something came up and I

can’t go. Sorry about that.”

The trio shrugs and returns to their business. “I think we’ve narrowed it

down to these two,” the husband says to the salesman, pointing at two of the

eight choices resting on the countertop.

“We forgot to mention that we have two kids,” the wife chimes in. “Two

boys, aged five and seven. Do we need a safe or something for that?”

“Oh, geez,” says the salesman. “I’m so sorry. I should have thought to ask

that question —”

“No you’ve been the biggest help ever,” the wife says. “We should have

mentioned that we have young children right off the bat.”

“This leaves you only one choice, then,” the salesman says. “But before I

tell you which one that is, to your question about a safe to store your gun in,
no way; it defeats the whole purpose. By the time you get the gun out of that

safe, whatever situation you’re in will have already overpowered you.” Then

he turns his attention back to the husband. “The gun you need is not one of the

two that you pointed at. Your only choice is this one here.” He picks up one of

the other six guns displayed on the countertop and places it in the man’s hand.
Then he turns back to the wife and points to the spot on the handle just behind

and below the hammer on the gun, which the husband is now gripping. “Do

you see this glass-looking circle right here? That’s a thumbprint reader. You
can sync this gun to your phone and very easily program it to read your

thumbprints. Without your or your husband’s thumbprints, this gun will not

operate. This one here is your only choice when you have small boys who are

playing cops and robbers, and who might find the gun one day.”
 “But this is the most expensive one by far if I remember correctly,” the
husband says.

“Yes, the most expensive one by a good bit,” the salesman says. “But the

only safe choice given your specific situation.”

Larry used to own a retail business and was therefore a salesman himself.

He recognizes the art of closing a sale when he sees it and loves the fact that

this salesman did not apologize one bit for recommending the most expensive

model on the table.

“Okay then,” the husband says. “Sold.”

“Excellent,” the salesman says. “Good choice.”

The wife leans in to her husband, puts her arm around his waist, smiles, and

then asks the salesman, “Now, what about ammunition?”

Just when Larry thought he was up, he realizes it might still be waiting in

line for a while. He wants to say something to get this couple to hurry up and
be done, but instead he takes out his phone and checks his email, social media,

and newsfeeds.

Finally, the salesman finishes with the couple and interrupts Larry, who is

now lost in his phone. “Thank you for waiting, sir. What can I help you with

today?” Larry does not notice the salesman. “Excuse me, sir! May I help you?”

Larry looks up and smiles. “Wow, I was lost in Wikipedia there! Hey I was

watching you help that couple. You’re a damned good salesman. When I

owned my business, I would have been lucky to have you on my floor.”

“Why, thank you, sir! Was the business you owned in this area of town?”

“Actually, yes. I used to own a 3D printing store located just across the

street.”
 “Wait! 3D Print Lab? Are you the owner of that place?”

“Yeah, well… Was the owner. Keyword, was. I owned it from 10 years ago

to almost two years ago, eight fantastic years.”

“Well, I’ll be,” says the salesman. “I loved that place. Didn’t Metamart buy it

from you? I always wondered why they bought it but closed it.”

“My store got very close to franchising nationwide, but when Metamart

opened there was no way I could compete,” Larry says. “To your question:

Metamart didn’t buy 3D Print Lab, but I sued them for putting me out of

business and they settled with me out of court.”

The salesman deflates. “Oh man, I’m sorry if I hit a sore spot. I just got

excited because I used to love that place. So what are you up to these days? I

hope things are good?”

“Thanks for your kind words,” Larry says. “And yes, things are great right

now. In fact, I’m happy to report that I’m now the proud owner of a farm. I’m

officially a farmer now. It’s fantastic, except for one problem, which is actually

the reason I’m here. Feral pigs are multiplying like rabbits on my property, and

destroying my crops.”

The salesman loves cases like this; they usually mean big ticket sales. “How

many acres are we talking? How many pigs would you guess? What type of

crops?”

“Fourteen acres of soybean crop,” Larry says. “Yesterday, in broad daylight,

I counted over ten of them easily, but they mainly come out at night. I’m

guessing I’m dealing with at least 60 pigs total. They’re too smart for traps,

and I can’t find a poison that will kill them without also killing my crops.

What do you recommend?”

 “Well, sounds like you definitely have a swarm on your hands,” the

salesman says. “I’ve got good news and bad — which do you want first?”

“The bad news.”

“The only effective means of exterminating a wild pig infestation is with a

high-capacity high-speed rifle, the production of which got banned for

personal use with the Gun Act of 2019. Farmers with your problem now need
to hire federally-licensed exterminators, which all now fall under the Army

Corps of Engineers. Have you checked any of them out yet?”

“I’ve been paying an exterminator an arm and a leg for the past year,” Larry

says. “The cost is crushing me; I need to manage this thing myself if possible.

Does Metamart at least sell used high-capacity high-speed gear?”

The salesman’s smile turns into a scowl. “No way. If more than six rounds

are needed to get the job done, you’re mandated to hire a federally-licensed

exterminator. And don’t go looking to the black market for that shit. Right

after the Gun Act of 2019 was passed, the Feds doubled-down with a buy-back

program designed to be an offer that nobody could refuse, and it was an

enormous success from the vantage point of the Feds. Depending on the

model, the smallest amount they offered for a buy-back was $5000, and in
some cases they even offered $100,000. This program was so successful that

we estimate that no more than 10 percent remain on the street. They’re very

hard to find, and very expensive if you could even manage to find one. And if

you ever get caught trying to buy one, you don’t even want to know.” The

salesman’s big smile returns. “But now, for the good news! I’m happy to report

that there is now a better gun than all the banned guns put together for your
specific use-case. It contains zero bullets in its operation, which is the
technicality that got it legalized just two months ago. It’s extremely hard to

qualify for — there’s only a very short list of very specific qualifiers. But I

gotta say, of all the people that I’ve seen try to buy one of these things so far, it

looks like you actually might have a shot! Have you heard of the NBAR?

Pronounced N-Bar. The No Bullet Assault Rifle?”

Larry leans in, “No bullets? How does that work?”

The man places a black cartridge the size of a deck of playing cards on top

of his glass display counter. “This is the ammunition cartridge. It carries 120

lethal rounds. The cartridge can be unloaded in 60 seconds. You can attach up

to five live usable cartridges at once, meaning 600 rounds can be unloaded in

five minutes without needing to stop to reload.”

Larry’s worried about qualifying. He wants to be sold-to rather than looking

like he’s trying-to-buy, “And when you say ‘rounds’… If they aren’t bullets,

what are they?”

The sales man opens the cartridge to reveal what looks like 120 metal

toothpicks packed as neatly as staples. “These deals here are darts that don’t
require a feather because they have extremely heavy metal at the very tip, but

the rest of the length is made up of extremely light metal. These can shoot
accurately up to 20 yards, and when they hit their target, they enter it very

much like the head of a tranquilizer dart would. Once impact is made, these

tiny little darts send out an electric pulse so strong that it’s almost guaranteed
to kill its target. And, by the way, I know 20 yards is not far to travel versus

regular bullets, but with your use-case, 20 yards is more than ample because
without a low-altitude helicopter which is the way that the guys you pay to do

it do it, I am sure. You will be planting attractive food for the pigs and staking
them out from way less than 20 yards.”

“Even if you hit a feral hog, in, say, the hind leg, will it die?”

The salesman admits, “A strike to the hind leg, or any limb, will certainly

incapacitate it for a good period of time, but no, that will not always kill it. To

almost guarantee a lethal shot, your dart has to hit any part of the main torso

— the back, the ribs, or chest or stomach. And of course, anywhere around the

head, shoulders, or neck.” The man moves to close the deal. “If you have a

valid farmer’s license and gun license, and can also validate that your crop is

on the list of crops that are known for large mammal infestation, I think we

might be able to qualify you. It’s only $4000, so given how much I know you

pay your pig exterminators, this thing will pay for itself in no time.”

“Well… okay then! Sold,” Larry says. “What do I need to do?”

The salesman asks Larry to stare into the device at the counter that

performs a retina scan, which takes no time to validate Larry’s identity. It also

verifies that he has a gun license, a farmer’s license, that he has a soybean

crop, and that he owns and dedicates more than 10 acres of farmland to his

qualifying crop. It confirms that he’s an American citizen, is not on any no-fly
or terror watch list, has zero history of anything suggesting any type of mental

health issue, has no felony arrests within the last three years, and is up to date
on his taxes.

“Well, I’ll be!” the salesman says. “Since the legalization of this brand new

thing, you are my first qualified buyer. Congratulations! We’ve had two or
three people a day trying to buy one of these since its release date two months

ago.”

Larry chooses the smallest, lightest, quietest model, which in no way

sacrifices its lethal power for these benefits; instead of the $4000 that the
salesman cited as the price, this particular model costs him $9000. He also

buys five of those playing-card deck sized cartridges, each containing 120
rounds. He marvels at how small and light the box containing his new gun is

as he makes his way to pick out his Thanksgiving turkey. Then the text pings,

informing him that his book has arrived.

Larry arrives at the book section with his frozen Butterball turkey in one

hand and new gun in his other. When he gets to the counter, he’s disappointed

to notice that the cute checkout girl has been replaced by a middle aged man.

He hands the man his claim ticket.

The man looks up the claim ticket number in his system and smiles. “I’ve

been waiting to see who just dropped 60K on a book! Here you go! Sally is

going to be so disappointed. She just stepped out for five minutes to take her

smoke break and was worried that she’d miss you.”

In 2035, marijuana’s legal and tobacco’s illegal. Larry regrets turning Sally

down. Knowing that she smokes makes having that cup of coffee with her

seem all the more attractive. On the way out to his car, he’s fantasizing about

her when he hears a female voice shout out to him.

“Excuse me! Sir?”

Larry turns as Sally runs up behind him. She holds out her phone number

toward him. “Just in case you change your mind, I wanted to give you my

numb —”

Suddenly, noticing the new gun he’s carrying, she shoves the piece of paper
with her phone number on it back into her pocket.

 ***

Sally is an avid reader and book geek. She meant it when she told Larry that

she loves The Catcher in the Rye. She even wrote a college term paper on it a

few years back and won the prize for best paper that year. The one aspect of

the book’s history that she regrets is its association to some high-profile

assassinations — the most infamous of which was when John Lennon got shot

dead back in 1981. The murderer carried a copy of Salinger’s novel, which he

had bought that same day, inscribed with a creepy note on the cover page.

In 2018, when Sally was six-years-old, her mother was killed in what

remains the largest mass shooting in American history. The next year, she and

her father were invited to the State of the Union address, in which the

president — discussing the Gun Act of 2019, which had just been passed —

told a story about Sally’s mother.

The fact that Larry has purchased the book and a gun together sets off all

kind of alarm bells in Sally’s head.

***

Sally’s face goes pale. “Hey, my boss has been up my ass for taking too many

smoke breaks lately,” she says. “I just caught him looking at me. I’ve got to go.

Sorry.”
She darts off back into the store to finish her shift. Larry shrugs, hides his

new book and gun under his seat, slams his door, and drives off.

***


Metamart celebrated its grand opening three years earlier. Before it had even

been around for a year, the nearest two Walmarts shut down. Larry’s 3D Print

Lab limped along for a bit longer, but not much longer. Nobody, not even

Walmart, could compete against the vast selections and lower prices offered

by Metamart — but the IOD, especially, drew in customers. IOD not only

disrupted the retail market overnight, it brought 30 percent of America’s

overseas manufacturing back home, a percentage that is growing.

Walmart Corporation drew an antitrust lawsuit against Amazon the moment

that Metamarts starting mushrooming up across the country. But Walmart’s

getting nowhere with it. Metamart prints 30 percent of its solid state products

onsite — books, shirts, furniture, and car tires, just to name a few. Metamart’s
savings on labor and shipping costs trickle down to consumers, making

Walmart seem expensive by comparison. The Feds, judging the antitrust case,

are enthusiastic about importing so much material production back to

America.

Although Metamart is crushing Walmart on the antitrust suit, they are

careful not to repeat the same PR mistakes that Walmart made back in the day,
when they were the ones enjoying the successful obliteration of their

competition. Each time Metamart opens a new store, they have a budget set
aside for potential business owners just like Larry. If, within two years of a

new grand opening, a local business owner draws an antitrust suit against
them, the Metamart legal team will scrub the balance sheets of that local

business owner like forensic accountants. If they determine that before the
grand opening, the local business in question was thriving, they offer to pay a
fixed settlement of 10 times the revenue to that business owner. They pay out
based on the best fiscal year out of the last three, and they always pay in

shares of Metamart stock, which have gone up year after year for the past nine
years uninterrupted. To the contrary, if a local business owner draws suit

against them, but Metamart discovers that it had weak balance sheets in the

three years preceding the grand opening, Metamart will squash that business

owner like a bug by suing him for court costs. In Larry’s case, he had three

huge years leading up to Metamart’s grand opening, the biggest of which

scored him a $14 million settlement offer.

At the settlement meeting, the Metamart staff lawyer who did all the talking

looked, to Larry, like a kid; he announced the offered settlement amount with a

proud smirk on his face.

The lawyer handed Larry a paper-thin tablet. “Just press your thumbprint on

every box highlighted yellow and fill in your bank information at the end. The

Metamart shares will be wired to your account within five minutes.”

“When does this offer expire?” Larry asked. “Can you send me a copy of

this so that I can review it first with my lawyers?”

The young lawyer crinkled his forehead, confused. “You don’t want to close

this deal right now?” Then he composed himself. “The offer expires two
Fridays from today at 3 p.m. Eastern Standard Time. This tablet here is yours

to keep. When you decide to accept the offer, thumbprint all the yellow

squares, fill out your bank information, and then hit send. Okay?”

Larry exited the Metamart conference room with his two attorneys on each
side of him, holding the paper-thin tablet in his hand. There was no obvious
animosity in the room, but there were also no handshakes or good-byes. Larry
and his lawyers rode the elevator from the top floor all the way down to the
lobby.

“Look, I know 3D Print Lab’s your baby,” said the tall lawyer. “But you

need to take this settlement offer.”

“All’s I can say is, thank God Metamart doesn’t know your year-to-date

financials,” said the short lawyer. “I guarantee that they will kill this offer if

they ever find out that you’re five months behind on your store’s mortgage.

You should’ve closed the deal already. The stock would already be in your

account man.”

“Guys!” Larry exclaimed. “Our real deal is closing tomorrow! It will equal

billions! Billions! With a B! This settlement offer is bullshit compared to it!

Come on, guys! 3D Print Labs will be in every Google Store in North America

and Western Europe!”

“Come on, Larry,” the tall lawyer said. “The Google deal’s been scheduled

to close each week for the past almost 40 weeks.”

“We’re fools if we don’t accept this settlement immediately,” the short

lawyer added.

“Ding,” the elevator door said.

Larry turned to the lawyers. “Fuck you both,” he said.

Later that afternoon, a man popped into his store to deliver to Larry a
summons to appear in foreclosure court. Larry discretely ushered the man

back into his office. He signed the receipt and scowled.

“You have a bullshit job, you piece of shit,” he said. “You know that? Get

out of my store!”

“Thank you,” the man said as he exited Larry’s office; he was used to this
kind of reaction.
Larry got up and locked his door, got his handgun out from his desk, and

studied it for some time. He stood up, walked to the door with the gun in his
right hand, and gripped the doorknob with his left hand. He stayed that way

for a long while, and then returned to his chair. He pressed the end of the

barrel hard into his right temple, and then stood up and threw his gun against

the wall so hard that it stuck into it.

He returned to his desk and got out got his tablet from the Metamart team.

He started jamming his thumbprint onto all the yellow highlighted squares

until he noticed that one of the yellow squares had a clause saying that the

settlement amount would be cut 90 percent if it were discovered that his

business is currently 90 days in default on any credit lines or mortgages.

Metamart’s PR team was smart to have thought up this pro-active “Injured

Local Business” fund, which set aside a budget for guys like Larry following

each grand opening. Metamart’s legal team was all the smarter for having put a

fence around the cost of the great sounding “10X Revenue” settlement offers

by adding this 90-days-in-the-arrears credit and mortgage clause.

“Those motherfuckers!” Larry bellowed.

He finished thumbprinting all the yellow squares, filled out all his banking
information, and hit send. Two minutes later, a receipt from his bank indicated

to him that he owned 1.4 million dollars’ worth of Metamart stock, instead of

14 million.

His wife called almost right away. “Oh my God, did you see our bank

account? Is that some kind of mistake?”

“Nope,” Larry answered. “It’s real.”

 “What? Are you serious? We just hit the jackpot, honey!”

“Actually, we just got fucked.”

***

When Sally returns from her smoke break, her boss smiles.

“Hey Sally, welcome back! I’m so sorry to tell you but you missed your
guy! He picked up his book while you were on break. Hey, are you okay? You

look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You know what? I’m actually not okay. I just ran into that guy. Let me ask

you, did you find him creepy or off in any way?”

“Wait, I thought you were crushing on him a minute ago?”

“Listen. You know those new guns that you always talk about in our shift

meetings that are impossible to buy and that have a huge bonus out there for

the first store to sell one? He had one.”

“You mean we sold one?” her boss grins. “If no other Metamart in the state

sold one today before us, we won!”

“Something’s off with that guy, I think,” she says, interrupting her boss.

“This might sound crazy, but I think we might need to report him or

something.”

“What?”

“Look. He got really weird towards a customer in line in front of him earlier
today. Like, really calm, but really aggressive at the same time. Plus, the

$60,000 copy of The Catcher in the Rye. I don’t know… I’m concerned.”

“I don’t get it. A minute ago you think this guy’s the cat’s meow and now
you want to report him? For what, exactly?”

“I’m telling you,” she says. “Something is off with that guy.”

“Sally, we’ve had three people a day trying to buy one of those things since

its release two months ago and this is the first sale,” her boss says. “Trust me,

those things are almost impossible to buy. If he got the green light, I can

assure sure that he has a very legitimate, and verifiable, use-case for it.”
Sally and her boss continue this conversation until her shift ends. By then,

she’s convinced that maybe she needs to switch back to the more relaxing

Marlboro Indica. The Marlboro Sativa is obviously making her too edgy.

***

Back when Larry got his settlement, he spent six drunk months searching the

Internet for ideas on how to use or invest his money. He’d been researching the
farming business, and one night he stumbled across an article about the

NBAR, and its probable near-future release. The article explained the

technology, showed impressive test videos on feral pig and raccoon

infestations, and discussed all of the legislation developing around it. This

article picked apart the Gun Act of 2019, which outlawed guns containing
more than six rounds; the success of the buy-back program that followed; and
the low supply and high risk of the resulting black-market. It detailed the super

short and specific list of possible qualifying use-cases, one being the
extermination of feral mammals that weigh over five pounds. More

specifically, you had to be either a licensed exterminator of such, or a farm

owner with 10 or more acres dedicated to the production of any of the crops

listed as being known for attracting such pests.

 When Larry later found a nearby 14-acre soybean farm and made a down
payment with a chunk of his Metamart settlement money; he was happy to

learn during the due diligence phase of buying the property that it had an
emerging feral pig infestation problem; this gave him a lot of leverage when

negotiating the purchase price.

When the inspection report noted this issue, Larry called his realtor and

retracted his offer. “Open the inspection report that I just sent you and go to

page 35,” he told the sputtering realtor. “I’m lowering my offer by 200,000, or

I’m walking.”

“Wait! What? Why?” the realtor exclaimed. “You can’t do that!”

“Just do it,” Larry said, and hung up.

The next day, the realtor called him. “Guess what? They accepted your

offer!”

***

Returning to his farm from Metamart with his new merchandise, Larry parks
his antique Ford Bronco at the far corner of his 14 acres, where his man-cave

sits — a little shack where nobody ever bothers him. He’s been placing food

around to attract feral pigs for the last few days, and is hoping that he can sit
on the front porch and get lucky enough to see one come by. He wants to test

out his brand new gun. It’s about 5pm, and the air is chilly but the sun is very

hot. There is no sign of a pig. The mosquitoes are in full force; there’s been
lots of rain lately, lots of sitting water. Larry is getting bit on the ankles
mainly, but the mosquitos are swarming and biting him all over the rest of his

body, too. No matter how itchy it gets, Larry never swats at one mosquito, and
he never scratches one itch. He sits for two-and-a-half hours without moving

or making a sound — except once, when he says to himself, very quietly,

“Mind over matter.”

Finally, a mosquito’s high-pitched buzzing wings start hovering around

Larry’s ear. He jumps up into standing position from his chair, swats at his left

ear like a cat scratching fleas, and screams out loud, “What the fuck!”
Right then, Larry notices a family of pigs making their way onto his

property, rooting around in his soybean crops. It is hard to make out any detail

because it’s now dark, but he thinks there are seven of them — two full-grown

parents, two teenagers, and three babies. The buzzing in his left ear continues,

but he no longer minds it. He draws his gun up, aims, and focuses on the

biggest pig — the dad, he presumes. He’s delighted to discover that it looks

like broad daylight through his scope. He pulls the trigger for one second just

to test it. The gun is more silent than he thought possible. He fires three

rounds, hears nothing, and feels only the most imperceptible vibration. The

pigs are about 50 feet away from his porch. Looking through the scope, he can

see, clear as day, the one that he shot lying on its side. It’s now squealing so

loud that Larry worries that someone in his house, over on the other side of the
lot, can hear it. The pig convulses lying down, as all four legs try to run at full
speed; then it goes still. The six other pigs just saw their dad drop dead from

what may have seemed to them to be a heart attack. None of them runs away;
up to now whenever Larry shot at one pig in a group, the rest of the pigs ran

off because of the gun-sound. The six remaining pigs are all curiously
nudging their noses at their late patriarch. Larry then depresses the trigger for

six or seven seconds, waving his rifle back and forth at them like an aerosol
can. Once he’s done shooting, he studies through his scope as they squeal and
convulse for a few moments until they all die. Larry cannot believe how silent

his new gun is; better yet, zero accuracy is required, and the scope’s daylight
feature is amazing. And how can the trigger be so sensitive?

Larry walks to the railing on his front porch, leans over it, and vomits.

Then he sits back down and, after a moment of reflection, he gets the

giggles. He’s convinced someone at his house heard the squealing. He sits still

to listen for an extended time, and then clicks the other four cartridges onto his

gun and goes inside his cabin to hide it. He gets into his truck and slams his

door shut — angry because now he has to go home and start thawing out the

turkey for tomorrow night’s Thanksgiving dinner. He and his wife will be

hosting this year — the very last thing in the world that he wants to be doing.

***

At home, Larry’s kids greet him at the door, vying for his undivided attention.

“Where were you?” his wife asks.

Larry placates his wife and the kids and then retreats to his off-limits office.

His wife follows him. “That’s a huge turkey to thaw out tonight,” she says,

motioning back to the Butterball he brought home. “Are you sure it will be

ready to start cooking tomorrow morning?”

“It’s a fifteen-pound turkey,” he says. “It’s not quote-unquote huge. Fifteen

pounds is average. Google it.”

“Why are you being so rude?” she asks, taken aback.

“Listen, I had a really long day,” he says.

 ***

The next night, Larry and his wife are hosting their Thanksgiving dinner.

Joining them at the table are another married couple, the real estate team that

they befriended when buying their farm. They have two children the same age
as theirs. Larry is charming the heck out of everybody tonight. Even his wife,

who is unhappy with him of late, is taken with him. But behind his veil of

pleasantry, Larry can’t wait for this dinner to end. He wants to finally start

focusing on his business.

As Larry pours all the adults their after-dinner coffee, the realtor wife turns

to Larry’s wife. “When the clock strikes midnight, it’s Black Friday!” she

exclaims. “Are you planning to shop at Metamart this year?”

All four kids start begging to go. The parents excuse them and direct them

to go to the playroom upstairs.

“Not us,” Larry’s wife says. “You know us — we hate lines. I see the fun of

it, though. Are you going tonight?”

“Actually, I am,” Larry chimes in. “Would you believe that they’re selling a

120-inch TV that’s thin as paper for just 400 bucks? You can fold it to hang on

smaller walls. You can even fold it down further and use it as a newspaper.

Amazing.”

“You’re going to Black Friday tonight?” Larry’s wife asks. “When were you

going to tell me this?”

“When I was at Metamart yesterday to pick up the turkey, I saw the special

offer for it advertised,” he says. “I just can’t pass it up.”

After the four are done with their coffee, the two wives yell across the
house to the kids to announce that dessert is about to be served.

The husband, Joe, asks Larry, “You don’t have any of your cigars, do you?”

Since tobacco smoking is banned now, Larry has a small hidden crop of it
on his farmland that produces just enough cigars for occasional personal use.

“You bet I do,” he answers. He turns to the wives. “Do you both mind if we

excuse ourselves and have a cigar?”

“Just please do it far away enough away so that the kids don’t smell it,

okay?” his wife says.

She then comments to her friend, but loud enough for Larry to hear: “My

kids aren’t babies anymore. The other night Larry walked in reeking of cigar

smoke and our oldest kid asked him if it was tobacco.”

Larry takes Joe to his hidden shack.

“Hey, are things okay on the home-front, man?” Joe asks. “Tensions

between you and your wife seem pretty high tonight.”

“Ever since Metamart screwed us, she and I have been at odds,” Larry says.

“And it’s getting worse lately.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up negative shit. But, I don’t know, it’s

been almost three years, man. Look at this place you have. It’s amazing. Focus

on the good shit!” Then Joe stops. “Hey, what are those?” He’s pointing at

seven curious-looking lumps of shadow about 50 feet out from the porch. He

heads toward them in the dark. “Hey! Larry! Check this out! There’s an entire
family of dead wild boars here! I think seven of them! I can hardly see

anything, but it looks like there’s no blood or anything! You’ve got to see this

shit!”
Larry is suddenly furious at himself for having brought his friend to this
spot. “Give me a second,” he says. “Lemme go grab a flashlight!”

“Great idea! Grab two if you can!” Joe continues studying the dead animals,

but can hardly make out any detail. He looks back to see how Larry is doing
but instead discovers him standing on the patio under the porch light, aiming

what looks like a weird gun from Star Trek at him.

“What is that thing, Larry?”

“I’m so sorry, Joe,” Larry says. “This was not part of my plan.”

Larry holds the trigger down for two seconds and Joe drops to the ground,

screaming. The gun is quieter than he can believe, but Larry is convinced that

the wives must have heard Joe’s bloodcurdling wail. With his new gun’s

flashlight mode activated, Larry walks over to Joe’s body and studies it. He

sees four darts that look like metal toothpicks all tightly clustered and sticking

out of Joe’s mid-stomach. All of the darts appear to have penetrated him with

two-thirds of their length, with the back third sticking out. Larry vomits and

then returns to his porch to finish his cigar; he listens for any sign of the wives

arriving to investigate Joe’s dying outburst. As he smokes his cigar, Larry

notices that there are zero mosquitoes around, and basks in this glory for a

nice long moment. It takes Larry almost half an hour to finish his cigar, at

which point he feels nearly certain that nobody heard Joe’s screaming. But

Larry’s new problem is that he cannot return to the house without Joe, since
their wives are expecting them both to return sooner than later. Larry looks at

his watch and can’t believe it’s already nine o’clock. He has three hours until

Metamart opens its doors for Black Friday. Larry goes to Joe’s corpse and
takes his phone of its pocket and throws it into the pond. The pond, he realizes

too late, is hosting an enormous resting population of mosquitoes, which all

take flight upon the splash. Larry runs to his truck and jumps into it, shuts the
door and rolls up all his windows. He spends some time getting his bearings.

***

Sally is at her kitchen table reading a book but she cannot concentrate. She

looks at her phone. “Dammit,” she says, realizing it’s already nine o’clock.
Sally lives alone in a small apartment and has invited a lot of guests to her

Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow night. She shuts her book, goes to the fridge,

pulls out two turkeys, plops them on her kitchen countertop, opens her

seasoning cabinet, which is stocked like a storeroom display, and then she

grabs her phone to call 911.

”OK Google give me 911”, and once answered she says, “I have no proof at

all to offer, I just have a name that I think might need to be added to the

Watchlist.”

911 responds: “We have your geolocation established, and Google Earth
cameras should have live video feed of you dispatched within one minute.

What is the nature of your call? Are you in danger?”

“No,” she answers.

“Please advise as to the reason of your call,” 911 responds.

“I, uh, I just got the creeps from a guy earlier today? Like, serious creeps.

And I think he might be a threat to himself. Or society? He bought one of

those new NBAR thingamajigs today from my store. And — Get this: He also
bought a signed first-edition copy of The Catcher in the Rye for $60,000! Who

would buy that gun and that book on the same day?”

“Are you in clear and present danger, ma’am?” 911 asks.

 Sally powers down her phone.

***

After killing Joe, Larry’s been driving around aimlessly on his neighboring

farm roads for 30 minutes when his phone rings; his wife’s number is

displayed on the screen so he doesn’t answer. She calls again a half dozen

times in a row, and he rejects the call each time. The calls are followed by a

barrage of text messages from her asking him where he is. It dawns on Larry

that even though he still has two and a half hours until Metamart opens its
doors for Black Friday, the parking lot is probably already jam-packed and is

therefore probably the safest place for him to hide. If Joe’s body has been

discovered by the wives, Larry’s worried that the police might already be

looking for him.

Larry is halfway to Metamart when he realizes that he’s left his copy of The

Catcher in the Rye under the mattress at his shack. “Shit!” he hollers.

Against his better judgement, he exits the highway and makes a U-turn to
get his book. On the way home, he notices a significant police presence. With

this, he makes a U-turn again and re-enters the highway, heading straight back
to Metamart. He regrets not having his book with him, but he takes comfort in

the fact that there are easily discoverable records of his huge $60,000 purchase
of it on the same day as his gun.

The hype surrounding Black Friday this year means that everybody showed
up early. Larry arrives at Metamart at about 10 p.m. and cannot find a parking

spot, which is good news to him because there’s no way a cop could single

him out in this mess. He finally finds a spot and parks, backing in so that his
license plate is hidden. Larry’s new NBAR gun is compact, the approximate
size of a sawed off shotgun. He pins his weapon under his left arm beneath the

lapel of his sports jacket. His parking spot is at the edge of the enormous
parking lot and on the opposite side of the building from the main entrance

that he wants to enter. It takes him quite a while to walk there. Once he gets

close enough to see the crowd waiting for the main doors to open, he looks at

his watch. He cannot believe it’s already 10:30 — nor can he believe that this

crowd looks as large and packed as Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

Larry stops at the outer edge of where the crowding begins and studies it.
He pulls his gun out and scans the crowd with his broad-daylight scope. The

first thing he sees is a family that reminds him of his own. He keeps scanning

and finds a family that reminds him of the one that blocked him in the aisle at

Metamart.

Looking through the scope, he says quietly, “Prototypical Metamart-looking

fucks.” Then he pulls the trigger, spraying the darts like an aerosol can once

again.

***

Larry and Joe’s wives are sitting at the Thanksgiving table with two police

officers. Larry’s wife says, “Thank you for coming — nobody ever considers a

Missing Person an actual missing person this soon, so I thank you. Larry and

Joe left about two-and-a-half hours ago. At about eight o’clock. They went

outside to walk off their turkey dinner.”

Police almost never respond to a missing person report when the person’s

been missing for fewer than 24 hours, but in this case, the department is
curious because the name of one of the missing people matches Sally’s 911
Watchlist–call just 24 hours earlier.

“Is it unusual for either of your husbands to not answer your calls or texts

sometimes?” the policewoman asks.

“We were just about to serve Thanksgiving dessert to the kids,” Joe’s wife

says. “This is totally out of the ordinary!”

“Have you both searched the property for them yet?” the policeman asks.

“How many acres do you own here?”

“Fourteen acres,” says Larry’s wife. “We’ve called and texted them

endlessly. We checked all around the house and called out for them very

loudly. But no, we did not walk the entire property because we have a pretty

bad wild boar problem, especially at night.”

“Okay, and where are your children?” asks the policeman.

“Upstairs in the playroom.”

“Good, make sure they stay there. Me and Officer Jenkins here are going to

walk your property. You both stay right here.”

Suddenly, the officers’ radios start going crazy, reporting a massive active
shooter situation going down at Metamart. The officers give the wives their

business cards and head toward the door. “Sorry, ma’am, but we have to leave,”

the policewoman says.

“What? Why? What’s going on?” asks Larry’s wife.

“Turn on the news!” the policeman yells as he slams the car door, and the

two speed away.

Larry’s wife runs to the TV and turns on CNN. There is a large “Breaking

News” banner reading: Black Friday Massacre: Active shooter situation.

Multiple injuries reported.

***

The wives stay up all night long, glued to the TV, while, unbeknownst to them,

police officers quietly surround the perimeter of the house. By morning, the

two women have fallen asleep on the couch, and the four children are asleep in

the upstairs playroom. The TV, now muted, shows a CNN reporter standing

on-site above the “Breaking News” and “Black Friday Massacre” banners. The

subhead now reads: Seminole police chief: Over 90 dead, hundreds injured.

The scroll at the bottom of the screen reports: One suspected gunman killed

by a Seminole police officer. Police chief says, “There is reason to believe that

one more gunman is still at large”.

Larry acted as a lone gunman. Joe was hardly at large. But those facts only

come to light over the next three days.

***

Four days later, Sally is booked to make a TV appearance. Until today, the
police and FBI have been interrogating her based on the strength of the

information that she reported to 911 the night before the massacre.
During a segment on CNN, she sits behind the desk alongside the anchor

and two other guests. The other guests are the gun salesman and the manager

from Metamart. The “Breaking News” and “Black Friday Massacre” banners
now run above a headline that reads: 332 confirmed dead, deadliest mass

shooting in U.S. History.”

 At the bottom of the screen, the text rolls out: Exclusive interview with the
three Metamart employees that sold the killer the gun and the book.

“Sally, as we know by now, your mother was killed in the 2018 massacre,
which remained the deadliest shooting in the U.S., at 109 killed, until this

week,” the anchor says. “The sheriff and lead FBI investigator have both gone

on record raving about your foresight and the help that you offered the

investigation just 24 hours before things even started unfolding. Now that we
have a clear profile of the presumed killer, now dead, and of the uncanny

prediction that you made about his actions, what are your thoughts on the

gunman? …who shall remain unnamed?”

“Yes, my mother —” Sally begins.

“I don’t mean to cut in, but it’s important to say that I would not have sold

that gun to that man had I known that he would do this,” the salesman

interrupts. “That guy’s retina scan passed with flying colors!”

“I don’t want my salesman’s good point to get lost here,” the manager

interjects. “He is absolutely right! Bottom line is that we need better screening

methods. That NBAR did not kill all those people — that sicko named Larry

Smith did.”
Sally regrets not having called 911 earlier that day, the very moment that

her suspicions were first aroused. “Look, had that man not had access to that

600-round gun from our store, maybe we’d be mourning the loss of just five or

six people, which would still horrible, don’t get me wrong! But 332 people?

Come on!”

“Nonsense,” the manager says. “What about the truck massacre in Paris

back in 2016 that killed 84? Should we have outlawed trucks back then also?”
 “Fine, then — good!” Sally says. “Then to your earlier point! You say you
want better screening! Fine! Than why, when I asked you four days ago if we

should report this guy, before it happened, did you make me feel so stupid for

asking it?”

“I may have lacked your magical level of clairvoyant suspicion, but I did

not actually stop you from calling 911, did I?” the manager barks back. “If you

felt so sure but waited, that’s on you!”

The CNN anchor cuts in. “We have to break right now, but I hope that

everybody on this panel can stay for the next segment. And to you viewers at

home or on the go, this is clearly an ongoing and emotional debate, and we

will return right after this break. Please don’t forget that if you wish to be able

to tap the skip-ad option during live TV, and if you want to watch the during-

commercial ongoing debates, and if you wish to bypass the cable company

altogether and deal directly with us, please simply tap the subscribe button

next to the dollar sign located at the bottom of your screen.”

The End

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