Rocky attempted to sweep up the broken glass behind the bar with one hand on the broom, and the other holding napkins to his knee.
“How in the hell are you going to use a dustpan with one hand?” Laverna screamed at Rocky, half determined to get up and clean the mess herself. The Applehaus boys talked to the policeman, also an Applehaus, and Bert threw down a twenty and walked past all of the commotion and out the door.
The first and last twenty of the night.
Until She Tells You to Stop
Rachel was awakened by a frenzied pounding on her door. It was still dark outside, but she had no idea what time it was—the alarm clock was plugged in in the cavern of her bathroom. She pushed back the duvet cover, and she was frightened.
She still did not have a light on the porch, or a chain on the door. Rachel waited for the person to go away, but when the frenzy began again, she turned on the living room light and opened the door.
There stood Black Mabel, obviously intoxicated.
“I don’t drink anymore,” said Rachel.
“I ain’t here for that,” said Black Mabel. “Your mama’s been shot.” She paused. “When did you stop drinking?”
“Jesus,” said Rachel, shocked. This was not good news. She needed a chance to make amends. “Is she dead?”
“Hell no,” said Black Mabel as she lurched into the house. She smelled like beer and the leather of her jacket. “I saw the whole thing.”
“Is she okay?” Rachel suddenly felt like having a beer; it seemed like the proper reaction to such a thing. She imagined the hiss and the crack of the tab pushing through metal, imagined sinking to the floor and downing an entire can as Black Mabel watched. Numbing was what was needed here, the ritual, having a drink when things got hairy. That’s what normal people did.
“Bird shot,” said Black Mabel and collapsed on the tarp draped over the corner that had once contained a fireplace.
“What?”
“It was a robbery,” explained Black Mabel. “Can I smoke in here?”
“No,” said Rachel.
“Shit,” said Black Mabel, who had already pulled the cigarettes from her jacket. “You really don’t drink?”
“No,” Rachel said, and fled to her bedroom, pulled on jeans, a sweater, and socks. When she returned to the living room, she found Black Mabel staring up at the ceiling and smoking.
“This place is a shithole,” said Black Mabel.
“I know,” said Rachel. “Mabel?”
“What?”
“My mom?”
“Shit,” said Black Mabel. “She’s at the hospital in Ellis. I’m sure she doesn’t want you to know.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I had to tell somebody,” said Black Mabel. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life.”
“Tell me,” said Rachel.
“She was closing up. In comes the Clinkenbeard kid, with a fucking shotgun.”
“Is it hunting season?”
“Them Clinkenbeards hunt year-round,” said Black Mabel. “They’ll shoot anything, anytime.”
“Apparently,” said Rachel. “What was a kid doing there so late at night?”
“They always come around at last call,” said Black Mabel. “The second after the shotgun blast, Ol’ Red came running, and I mean running, through the door.”
“Red Mabel?”
“Is there any other?” Black Mabel spit on the carpet, to emphasize her point.
“Is my mom okay?” Rachel ignored the spit, just as she ignored the carpet itself.
“Think so,” said Black Mabel. “Every time I tried to help, Red Mabel just hissed at me.”
“I should go to the hospital,” said Rachel.
“You sure about that? I told you Red was there. There’s already been enough violence in this county tonight.”
“It’s what daughters are supposed to do,” said Rachel.
“Can I sleep here?”
“No,” said Rachel. “Sleep it off in your car.”
“I’ll freeze to death,” protested Black Mabel.
“Fine,” said Rachel. “You can sleep on the floor.”
Rachel grabbed her keys and watched Black Mabel nestle into the tarp, her long coat wrapped around her head. Rachel made sure to move the space heaters a safe distance away before she walked out the door.
The drive to Ellis took about twenty minutes, the entire route an old highway that paralleled the river. The road was notorious for patches of black ice, and the route was marked with white crosses; so many people had died on these eighteen miles that a hospital was a necessary thing.
At four o’clock in the morning, there was no traffic, but Rachel still drove slowly.