Still counting, she heard a sharp thwack, and stopped to glare at Rocky, who had dropped his broom. She considered yelling at him, but then the Applehaus boys had hit the floor as well, a thud and a clatter as they took their barstools with them.
She realized then that Chuck Clinkenbeard’s son had a small .410 shotgun, undoubtedly filled with bird shot. The Clinkenbeards had been on a grouse genocide mission for as long as she’d known them. He slowly raised the weapon and advanced toward her, stopping in front of the jukebox as it played a Tammy Wynette song. And then the gun was pointed at Laverna. He nodded at the cash she had been stacking in neat little piles.
Black Mabel stumbled through the front door, always looking for an after-party, and seeing the raised gun, she immediately turned around, back out into the night. Laverna looked everywhere but at the gun. It was as if she didn’t acknowledge that it was happening, and by doing so, it simply wouldn’t. That was how things worked in the rest of her life. Black Mabel watched from outside, through the filthy window. Rocky kept chewing his gum and pointed at the gun, as if Laverna didn’t notice it.
The Clinkenbeard boy said something, but Laverna heard none of it. She had turned to look at Bert, who averted his eyes and looked down at his pint glass. The jukebox whirred and now it was Juice Newton, and Laverna finally turned and looked at the gun.
“You’re not robbing me,” she said. “You’re a fucking idiot. You’re not even wearing a mask.”
“I’m leaving town,” he said, and raised the gun an inch and took another step forward.
“I will destroy your entire family,” declared Laverna, which he apparently did not appreciate, because she heard the catch of the safety. His teenaged face closed up like a fist: his features turned into one eye and a snarl as he looked down the barrel.
Laverna glanced out the window as Black Mabel’s ghostly white face looked in. Laverna sighed and began to gather the rolls of quarters. One slid from her grasp, and she could hear a whimper as it rolled off the edge of the bar and landed on an Applehaus.
“Jesus Christ,” Laverna said, and reached over for a dishrag. She had planned on waving it like a white flag, but this little motherfucker had apparently never heard of the protocols of surrender.
There was a blast. She ducked in time, but her arms and the white rag were still raised. The explosion deafened her, and she felt pain like wasp stings. The glass from the mirror behind the bar rained all around her. After the gunfire, it kept falling in giant, jagged pieces, freed from the glue that had held it behind the bar for so long. She curled up on the plastic bar mat. She saw the Clinkenbeard boy’s class ring, his hands, as they grabbed for the dollars. She cradled her arms, slick with blood. Laverna couldn’t believe how her mind worked sometimes, but she found herself calculating how much he was taking. It had been a slow night, except for the gunfire.
From her vantage point, she could see Bert holding a shard of glass, what remained of his pint. He seemed unconcerned.
The ones and the fives were disappearing, those stubby hands stuffing them somewhere.
Suddenly there was a grunt, and a single dollar bill flew up into the air. She heard bodies hit the floor, and then the familiar cursing of Red Mabel, Thieving piece of shit, Shit for brains, and plain old Dipshit. Laverna was not sure where Red Mabel had come from, but that was how it usually went. Laverna used her knees and her one good elbow to ease herself up.
She surveyed the wreckage.
Red Mabel had the kid in a headlock, and they tangled on the floor like lovers, his face surrounded by her massive breasts. Rocky now held the gun, Juice Newton still sang, and Red Mabel squeezed the Clinkenbeard boy’s head even tighter, his face turning the color of plums. The Applehaus brothers remained on the floor.
Red Mabel finally noticed Laverna and the blood. “Look what you did to her!” she screamed, and adjusted her forearm until Laverna heard the snap of a jawbone. “Look what you did to her!”
Dollar bills and broken glass had been scattered everywhere. Rocky bled from his kneecap, his khakis soaking red as he clutched at the shotgun.
“And god damn you Applehaus boys! Get up!”
They popped up from the floor. Red Mabel kept yelling as they silently accepted her admonishments.
“You’re both fucking firemen! You’re in emergency services!”
At that, they stepped forward to help, properly chastened.
“Take this motherfucker!” Red Mabel released the boy, and the older brother began to kick him in the stomach, while the younger pinned his arms to the floor.
Red Mabel dashed behind the bar and pulled Laverna close, despite the blood. It was unclear to Laverna if Red Mabel was crying or sweating heavily as she picked up the rotary phone with one hand and called the police.
When the ambulance finally came, the Clinkenbeard boy was unconscious, Rocky tended to the wound on his leg with paper napkins, Bert continued to sit there, and Black Mabel could still be heard shrieking outside.