“Mercy.”
Dice frowned, shifting her eyes from the glass to me and back. “Babe, I gave you the good stuff.”
“No, I — my name’s Mercy.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your daddy must’ve loved God more than he did you.”
You have no idea,I thought, but didn’t say it out loud. “So. This a cool place,” I said, gesturing around.
“It’s a shithole,” Dice said, leaning in, arms on the counter. “So, tell me. How's the Lord's work?”
“Five days in. Ask me again in a month.” I took a big mouthful. The drink burned — that first sip didn’t want to go down. Stubborn.
“Oh, trust me. I will.” She grinned and drank. “So, did our Darlene send you?”
“She mentioned the place,” I agreed.
“She does that.” Dice refilled my glass before I'd asked. “Every new hire. Figures if she sends them to me first, they won't find somewhere worse on their own.”
“Does it work?”
“Mostly.” She shrugged one shoulder. “The ones who can't hang with me definitely can't hang with St. Frankenville.”
“Frankenville?” I laughed.
“You’ll see.”
The three men at the end of the bar laughed at something between themselves; Dice didn't look at them, just called out “Last round, boys, I'm not babysitting past eleven” without breaking eye contact with me.
One of them said something under his breath.
“I heard that, John, and your wife's gonna hear it too if you don't shut the fuck up.”
John shut the fuck up.
I liked her immediately.
We were halfway through our second drink when the door opened and two guys came looking like someones who'd already had a head start somewhere else.
Late twenties, maybe thirty. One tall, one not, both oddly complemental with Randy’s decor. The tall one had a Cardinals cap on backwards and a laugh that arrived before he did. The other one — stocky, a sleeve tattoo on his right arm, a name I'd later learn was Cole — spotted Dice and spread his arms wide.
“There she is,” Cole announced. “The love of my life.”
“You owe me forty bucks,” Dice said, already pulling two beers.
“That's not a no.”
“It's absolutely a no. It's a no and a debt.” She set the bottles down. “You're late. I almost closed.”
“Time is relative to the observer, Dice,” Cole dropped onto a stool, the tall one beside him. They both nodded at me — clocking the new face.
“This is Mercy,” Dice said. “She works up at Grace Eternal.”
Cole looked at me. Then at Dice. Then back at me. “You work for Beaumont?”
“Apparently.”
He made a sound — short. Picked up his beer. “Good luck with that.”
