Mercy Kill

by Lori Armstrong

  I moved aside so Cherelle could escape.

  She scooted past me without a word, Victor hot on her heels.

  Naturally, I followed.

  As did Anna.

  Victor shoved Cherelle in a chair and sat next to her. When he realized we’d followed him, his reptilian eyes slitted further. “Did you hear me invite you over?”

  I smiled. “I warned you I was relentless in my pursuit of potential votes.” I faced the Japanese/Indian man, the infamous Barry Sarohutu, who looked bored with the scene. “I’m Mercy Gunderson. I’m running for sheriff.”

  Saro crossed his arms over his chest. “So?”

  “So I wondered who you were voting for?”

  His eyes bored into me. I allowed myself to stare back, if only briefly. Up close, Saro wasn’t bad looking. I guessed his age to be between thirty-five and forty-five. He’d slicked his jet-black hair into a ponytail. His dark eyes held the slant of his Japanese ancestry; however, his prominent nose was all Sioux. He radiated real danger, not the false cockiness I frequently ran into. This guy was ruthless and probably a total psychopath.

  I hated him on sight. I hated that I had to continue this charade and couldn’t put my .380 between his eyes and blow his brains out across his brother’s smug face. But I especially hated I had to drop my eyes first and look away.

  But my cowed behavior loosened his tongue. “You related to the former Sheriff Gunderson?”

  “He was my father.”

  Laughter from the other five guys at the table echoed around us.

  “Weren’t you just bartending in here last week?”

  I lifted my chin. “Yep. I know firsthand how hard it is to make a living in this county.”

  “No, you just gotta be on the top of the food chain.”

  More laughter.

  Cherelle sat with her head bowed.

  I couldn’t hold my composure much longer. “So can I count on your vote?”

  Saro cocked his head, studying me like a piece of meat. Or a piece of ass. “I’ll vote for you. But you gotta do something for me.”

  Don’t ask. Just walk away.

  “What’s that?” I managed.

  “Get on your knees.” Saro’s gaze whipped between Anna and me. “But maybe you don’t know what that phrase means?”

  Seething, I blinked, acting confused.

  “Yeah, bro, you might be right. Maybe Cherelle should demonstrate. Since you’re friends and all. She could give you a few pointers.” Victor grabbed Cherelle by the hair, bringing them acne-pocked cheek to scarred cheek. “Get on your knees. Show them how you make a living.”

  I couldn’t stand by and watch forced humiliation. “That’s not necessary,” I said, backing away. “Nice talking to you but I, ah, see some other people I need to touch base with.” I purposely staggered back and raced into the back room.

  Self-satisfied male laughter burned my ears.

  I braced my hand on the wall and sucked in several deep breaths. Once I’d calmed down, I glanced at Anna.

  “Well, that was fun. Not. Can we go now?”

  “No. As soon as they’re gone, we’ll go.”

  Meeting Sarohutu and Victor convinced me they’d been involved in J-Hawk’s murder. I just couldn’t fit all the pieces together. Not yet. But I would.

  If my performance tonight was believable, Saro and his hyenas wouldn’t see me as a threat. They’d see me as a girl trying on daddy’s shoes for size. Which is exactly what I wanted them to see.

  We stuck around ten minutes after Saro’s group took off. With my tendency to shoot first, I didn’t want to run into them in the parking area.

  Anna grilled me the instant we entered the cabin. “What the fuck was that about? What aren’t you telling me about Jason?”

  “Calm down.”

  “The hell I will. I want to know what’s going on, and I want to know right fucking now.”

  “Fine.” I snagged two beers from the fridge. No need to beat around the bush. “What do you know about the prescription drug OxyContin?”

  “What does that have to do—?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  Anna snatched the beer from my hand. “OxyContin is as addicting as meth or cocaine. Some people call it hillbilly heroin.” She looked at me. “Are you saying that Jason was taking it?”

  I nodded. “I got a peek at the coroner’s blood-test results, and J-Hawk had extremely high levels of OxyContin in his system.”

  “So? That isn’t what killed him.”

  “There was also a large amount of OxyContin in his motel room and in his vehicle.”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred and forty bottles.”

  She drank as she paced. “Maybe he’d been stockpiling prescriptions. During your discharge, didn’t the army shrinks try to load you up on medicine to help you ‘adjust’ to civilian life? I remember I had my choice of Ambien or Lunesta to help me sleep. Abilify to fight long-term anxiety. Xanax to fight situational anxiety. If I’d mentioned suffering from chronic pain, they would’ve prescribed the all-purpose OxyContin like candy.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I’ve been out of the service longer than you. At this one VA I visited in California? Looked like the damn stock exchange when the nurses turned their backs. Guys were trading OxyContin for Vicodin. Or Xanax for Adderal. High-dosage pain pills of any kind were big-ticket items. That’s how some vets made their living. They’d go to the doc, get the prescriptions, and sell them for cash. I can name at least a dozen straight-arrow soldiers, like Jason, who craved that combat high. They couldn’t handle normal. The only way to achieve the high was through artificial means. So they made up aches and pains to get that rush.”

  I studied her. “Do you miss it? That rush of adrenaline?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Is that why you hired on as a merc? To feed that need?”

  “Yes.” Anna gave me the unflinching stare that’d made several Iraqi interpreters start praying.

  “Do you think Jason needed that rush?”

  “Meaning, do I think he needed a way to escape his shitty life in North Dakota? Yes. So it’s no wonder he loaded up on as many bottles as the doctors would prescribe for him.”

  “That’s the thing. There were no pharmacy prescriptions on the bottles. Just the manufacturer’s labels.”

  Anna froze. “He stole them?”

  “It appears so.”

  She began pacing again. “Why would he take that risk? His income as a retired army officer is a helluva lot more than mine as enlisted. I’m sure his job with Titan Oil came with a pile of cash. Did stealing give him that high? Or did he have a death wish?”

  I was beginning to wonder that myself. “That’s what I’m asking you, Anna. You said you knew him down to the bone.”

  “I do.”

  “You mean you did.”

  Lightning fast, Anna was in my face. “What about you, Sergeant Major? Do you miss that rush? Knowing you’re at the top of your game? Confident few women in the world can best you at what you do best?”

  “I was an excellent sniper. But I never aspired to be an excellent killer.”

  She backed off as quickly as she’d invaded my space, but I didn’t relax. Couldn’t. Unhinged Anna scared me.

  “Same thing. I’m just doing what the army taught me. Be the best I can be. Putting the killing skills I learned to the test in the real world. You know all that Rah, rah! Go, Army! shit that lured us into enlisting in the first place. Now I’m supposed to pretend that’s not who I am?”

  “People change, A-Rod.”

  Her cell phone rang, and she looked at the caller ID. Then she smiled haughtily. Meanly. “Speaking of … putting my skills to the test in the real world, I do believe this is about a job.” She whirled away from me and took the call outside.

  This conversation hadn’t gone well—not that I’d expected less. I’d told her some of the truth about J-Hawk, but if
her reaction was any indication, I couldn’t tell her all of it. Especially not about the cancer.

  But it bugged me, how had toe-the-line Major Hawley started selling prescription drugs? Just to feed his adrenaline-junkie side? Had it started when he was unemployed? Had he decided no one would notice small-scale stuff ? But once he’d tasted easy money, had he moved on to bigger stuff ? What if he’d unknowingly muscled into another group’s territory?

  Cross the wrong people, like Saro’s group, who laugh at obeying the law, and bye-bye.

  They’d kill him. Without hesitation.

  So if I suspected J-Hawk’s death was a drug-related incident, when I wasn’t a professional investigator … why hadn’t Dawson come to the same conclusion? And if he had, why hadn’t he done anything about it?

  Once again, someone beating on my door roused me out of slumber. Pity Anna hadn’t shot the idiot for disturbing her R&R. I squinted at the couch as I shuffled past. Huh. No Anna. That explained the lack of bullet holes in the door.

  I flipped the locks and opened the door. My belly did a little flip.

  “I see you took my advice and started locking up.”

  “You doing door-lock checks across the county this morning, Sheriff ? Or am I special?”

  “Smart-ass.”

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “We need to talk.” Dawson brushed past me, stopping in front of the empty coffeepot. “You haven’t made coffee yet?”

  “I was still in bed.”

  Grumbling, he filled the grinder with beans. Poured the water in the machine. Dumped the old grounds and nestled a fresh filter in the basket before refilling it with freshly ground beans. It didn’t bother me that he knew his way around my tiny kitchen. In fact, it was sort of … sweet.

  After he hit Start, he turned, resting his backside against the counter. Arms crossed over his chest. Chin set in a hard line. No shades masked the steely glint in his eyes.

  Yeah, Dawson was pissed. I prepped myself for an ass-chewing session and mentally took back my “sweet” remark.

  “Is there a reason you didn’t tell me you knew Jason Hawley prior to his employment with Titan Oil?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would that reason be?

  “Because you didn’t ask me.”

  “Goddammit, Mercy, that’s not—”

  “The response you were looking for?” I supplied. “Tough. Maybe if you hadn’t been such a dickhead to me the night I found my friend murdered, I would’ve given you specifics. But when you’re tossing around threats, taking away my gun, accusing me, for Christsake, of murder, I ain’t about to offer anything up that wasn’t specifically asked.”

  “And what about the next day? When you and John-John came into the office? I asked you specific questions then. You had ample opportunities to come clean about your previous relationship with him.”

  “No. You gave me some bullshit theory about how my friend, a man I respected, a man I entrusted my life to, a man who’d literally brought me back from the dead, had somehow gotten himself robbed—and oops, too bad, so sad, accidents happen. He’s not from around here anyway, so who cares? Move on and forget about it. Well, guess what? I couldn’t.”

  Dawson was by my side—in my face—in an instant. “What do you mean he brought you back from the dead?”

  The damn man was a bulldog when it came to digging things out of me and the hell of it was I didn’t always mind. Didn’t mean I always told the gospel truth, however.

  “Mercy?”

  Hearing the softness in his tone, I tabled my intent to lie. Or hedge, anyway. “When Jason found me, under rubble and bodies, I was … dead. No pulse. Not breathing. He wouldn’t give up, even long after he should have.”

  “Tell me everything. In detail. Right now.”

  I retreated from his menacing stance and maintained a clinical detachment in the retelling. I left nothing out, including J-Hawk’s relationship with Anna. Needing something to do with my hands, I poured us each a cup of coffee, automatically handing Dawson his favorite Smokey the Bear mug.

  “Does Jason Hawley’s murder have anything to do with you deciding to run for sheriff ?”

  “Yes.”

  An exasperated noise rumbled in his chest at my curt response. “And?”

  “And you want to know why I said yes? Not because of all the people claiming my father would be proud if I followed in his footsteps. Not because I have a burning desire to wear the snappy uniform and get paid to carry a gun again.” I locked my eyes to his. “What kicked me over was when I saw the customer lists you’d demanded, sitting unopened on your desk, days after Jason’s murder. I knew you wouldn’t give the case the time it deserved.”

  The displeased muscle ticked in his jaw. “You don’t know why … you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “No? Are you denying you put a murder case on the bottom of your priority pile?”

  “I’m damn tired of your accusations about my lack of dedication and direction as sheriff. Didn’t we go through this last year? With the cases involving Albert Yellow Boy, Levi, and Sue Anne White Plume? Didn’t you accuse me of apathy and ineptness then, too? Didn’t it come out in the end that I did my job?”

  The jury was out on Dawson’s effectiveness as an investigator. True, Albert Yellow Boy’s death had been ruled an accident like he’d postulated. Theo Murphy had confessed to me about killing Sue Anne, not to Dawson. And my nephew Levi … well, I’d figured out who’d murdered him and lied to Dawson to cover for the person who’d killed the real killer.

  “Yes, you got to the bottom of them eventually. But your focus has been elsewhere because of the election. I knew if you wouldn’t investigate Jason’s murder, I had to. No matter what. Even if it pissed you off.”

  Even if it costs you something you’re only beginning to understand the value of ?

  Where had that thought come from?

  And Dawson was as angry as I’d ever seen him. “Why are you jumping headfirst into the deep end of the pool when you don’t have the first clue about what’s underwater?”

  My bitchy rejoinder, “I oughta leave the investigating to a crackshot professional like you?” dried on my tongue when I recognized the frustration in his eyes.

  “I understand how a shared military history with life-and-death situations creates a strong bond. I did my time. There are guys I would’ve died for.”

  “Then you understand why I owe Jason. He saved me.”

  “Is that what this is about? You think you could’ve saved him?”

  I notched my chin higher. “Maybe.”

  “Trust me, Jason Hawley was beyond saving the second he showed up in my county.”

  “You didn’t know him.”

  He shot back, “Neither did you.”

  I started to argue, but Dawson jumped back in first and came out swinging.

  “Has it ever occurred to you that you wouldn’t have died if Jason and Anna hadn’t coerced you into going into the club? If you’d said no instead of feeling pressure to help them maintain a lie, you would’ve been safe in the hotel where you belonged. Jason Hawley should’ve gone out of his way to bring you back to life because it was his goddamn fault you died.”

  Talk about a slap in the face. I staggered back from the force of his harsh words.

  “You never thought of it that way, did you?” he prodded.

  No. Stunned, I snapped, “You’re still missing the point.”

  “So are you.”

  “Which is?”

  “Sometimes you lose sight of the main objective when your emotions conflict with the hard truth.”

  Was he talking about us? Or J-Hawk’s case?

  “Sometimes you don’t have a fucking choice but to do what’s expected of you. Remember that if you win this election.”

  “Dawson—”

  “Bureaucracy sucks. It can crush you. Ruin you. Destroy trust. Damage something promising, something good, something real. For wh
at? Who does it benefit? Who does it hurt? Ask yourself that when this is all over, Mercy.”

  Dawson set his cup on the kitchen table and stormed out, leaving me as confused as ever.

  SEVENTEEN

  The inside of Anna’s Land Rover resembled a traveling rummage sale.

  “Where to?” she asked, poking the buttons on her GPS.

  “The elementary school. Don’t know how long this will last, so you can drop me off and go back to the cabin if you want. I can catch a ride home with someone else.”

  “Nah. I’ll see what new goodies Pete has today. Nothing to do at the cabin anyway. I can’t believe you don’t have cable TV.”

  “I can’t believe you care. Hell, A-Rod, you used to be happy if we got to sleep in an actual tent. Next you’ll be expecting chocolates on your pillow.”

  “Fuck off. I’ve been living in my car for a month.”

  I wasn’t surprised, given the state of her car and her nomadic tendencies. “I thought you were on assignment.”

  “I was. The job ended earlier than I’d planned and I had no other place to live, so this became Casa Anna.”

  “Why not chill with your mom in California?”

  She shrugged. “Didn’t wanna deal with family drama. You know how that goes.”

  The drama in my life owed nothing to my family for a change.

  Anna double-parked in the fire-and-ambulance zone in front of the one-story sandstone building. “What are you doing at an elementary school anyway? Judging a paste-eating contest? Because, dude, these ankle biters can’t vote.”

  “Ask my campaign manager. I think she’s filling my hours with busy work so I don’t get discouraged.”

  “Having second thoughts about running for sheriff, Gunny?”

  “And third thoughts. And fourth.” The earlier conversation with Dawson bothered me on a level I couldn’t explain.

  “Nice to see you have a human side.”

  I turned in my seat to face her. “What do you mean, a human side?”

  “Sergeant Major Gunderson, the ideal American soldier. Honorable. Noble. Dedicated. Always accepts the call to duty. An inspiration to us all.”

  “You want to come into the school with me and wave the flag while I hum the national anthem?”