“I know the census data,” said the Chief. “Mostly Swedes and Polacks here.”
She settled the coffee in front of him, and witnessed her mother kicking Red Mabel under the table. Red Mabel’s mouth was full of cabbage, but she shouted Rachel’s name anyway.
Rachel dried her hands on the bar rag, and walked over to them.
“I went by your house this morning,” said Laverna. “I wanted to see what you’ve been up to.”
“Did you go inside?”
“Of course not,” said Laverna. “I’m not rude like that.”
“Yes, you are,” said Rachel.
“I wanted to get you a housewarming present,” said Laverna. “And a thank-you for doing your part to help out.”
Rachel stared at her mother, assuming this was a trap of some kind.
“She’s really high,” explained Red Mabel.
“Your yard is a swamp,” said Laverna.
“Apparently,” said Rachel. The clatter of the dice in the plastic cup from the Yahtzee game was unnerving.
“The guys at the county owe me a favor,” said Laverna. “I don’t want to get into the hows or whys.”
“You should have sued those motherfuckers,” declared Red Mabel.
“Anyway,” said Laverna. “I got you a truckful of topsoil. They’re gonna drop it off in your driveway.”
“Excellent,” said Rachel. She was unsure how to feel—this offer was like a kitten you pick up out of cuteness, until it hooks claws into your forearm.
“The dump truck won’t fit through your gate,” said Laverna. “So you’d better get some help.”
“And a wheelbarrow,” said Red Mabel.
“Thank you,” said Rachel. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” said Laverna. “Like I said, it was the least they could do.” Rachel was leery of gifts from her mother, despite how hard she had been working. Laverna and Red Mabel held grudges for years, gifts for themselves, she supposed.
“Bring me a beer,” said Red Mabel. “I brought my own food coloring.”
And she had. She produced a tiny plastic bottle with a pointed green tip.
Just then, Black Mabel yelled “Yahtzee!” Red Mabel’s hands clenched into fists.
“You’re not the bouncer,” said Laverna. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”
Rachel touched Black Mabel lightly on the shoulder as she placed fresh pints in front of them. Their table was littered with dollar bills. She did not understand why Martha and Black Mabel would gamble at Yahtzee, but people in this town would bet on just about anything.
Rachel walked back to the bar, wiped down the counter, and stopped in front of the Chief.
“You’re not wearing green,” she said.
“Anybody pinches me, I’ll punch them in the fucking face.”
Athena had told her that she would know the person when she saw them, and the Chief’s surly words made it seem fated.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began.
The Chief looked up from his coffee cup. “About what?”
Rachel lowered her voice. “I need a sponsor.”
“Okay,” he said. “But men aren’t allowed to sponsor ladies.”
“I don’t want to sleep with you,” said Rachel. “And I know you don’t want to sleep with me. Are you willing?” She twisted the rag in her hands.
“I don’t think I really have a choice,” said the Chief. “Aren’t any ladies in recovery in this town”—he looked around the bar, at the two Mabels, at Martha—“yet.”
“I’ve already been through the steps,” said Rachel. “I worked really hard. I just keep coming back to the eighth.”
“Well,” said the Chief. “I’m not allowed to tell you no. So I guess I’m gonna have to help you out.”
“Thank you,” said Rachel. “Athena said I’m the easiest sponsee she’s ever had.”
“That’s good,” said the Chief. “But you haven’t worked with me. I treat my sponsees like I do the new recruits at the station.”
“I’m not going to shave my head,” said Rachel.
“You’ll do what I tell you,” said the Chief, and for the first time ever, he winked at her. She blushed. “I’m honored you chose me,” he said.
Rachel leaned across the bar and shook his hand.
Across the room, Black Mabel started to cackle.
Rachel turned around to see a cop. He was a beefy creature with a dangling set of handcuffs twirling around his finger. The other hand was touching his revolver, strapped to his belt.
“Mabel Garrison,” he said.
Black Mabel shook her head and stood up from the table. She rolled her eyes and shuffled willingly toward the police officer, holding out her arms.
“You’re under arrest,” he declared as he clicked the handcuffs into place. “Again.”
The silver miners cheered, as they always did at the misfortune of others.
“I’m not even gonna ask what for,” said Black Mabel as she was marched through the bar, the beefy creature close behind.
Martha Man Hands grabbed all the bills from the table, and stuffed them in her shirt.
The Scrimmage