Mercy Kill

by Lori Armstrong

  Since Dawson had to be in the office early, I’d stayed in his bed until right before my scheduled breakfast with Anna. My laziness was only half from exhaustion. The other half was from avoidance.

  When I’d tried to talk to Dawson last night, he’d made a new rule on the spot. No talking about cases or campaigns. He wanted one night with me where it was just us. Mercy and Mason. I even called him Mason a couple of times, just to prove to him—and maybe to myself—that I saw him playing a different role in my life.

  On a whim after I left the diner, I entered Pete’s Pawnshop. Anna had spent enough time in here that maybe Pete was privy to plans she hadn’t shared with me.

  Pete came from the back room, a gooey doughnut clutched in his hand, frosting coating his beard. “Morning, Mercy. Sorry to hear you lost the election.”

  Liar. “Thanks.”

  “You don’t look as upset as I’d imagined.”

  Did he expect I’d be bawling my eyes out? In public? Like that’d ever happen. “Naturally, I’m disappointed, but Dawson knows his stuff, so the county will stay in good hands for another four years.”

  Pete’s smile showed the chocolate glazing his teeth. “That’s a mighty good attitude to have. Your buddy Anna could learn a lot from you.”

  “Speaking of Anna”—I glanced around the dusty space—“we were supposed to meet at the diner for breakfast. Have you seen her today?”

  “Sure. She was in here earlier, checking out the display cases.”

  I frowned. “You mean the gun cases?”

  “No. The cases up there.” He pointed to the semicircle of glass cases ringing the cash register.

  I walked to the case he’d indicated. Trays of Black Hills gold jewelry lined the top and bottom shelves. Next were trays of watches. Beside that display were diamond rings and earrings. Boggled my mind that some women remembered to put that crap on every day. And people gave me grief about always wearing my gun? At least a gun was useful, not ornamental. “Anna isn’t exactly the jewelry type.”

  “I know. Which is why she’s been looking at the knives.”

  “Anna bought a knife?”

  “Shoot. I sure hope it wasn’t a gift for you or nothin’. Forget it.”

  “Can’t put the cat back in the bag, Pete. Tell me about the knife.”

  His gray eyebrows squished together. “You ain’t gonna go tattling on me?”

  “Nope.”

  “She was interested in one that came in right before closing time yesterday. A stainless-steel Kershaw. Sweet piece. Told her I could buff off the engraving if she wanted, but she swore it was fine the way it was.”

  The hair on the back of my neck raised up. My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  “Mercy? You okay?”

  Be cool. “Actually, no, I’m a little stunned. Anna’s been searching for a replacement knife like that since she lost mine in Afghanistan a few years ago. Do you remember what the engraving said?”

  Pete began to pick dried chunks of frosting from his beard. “I dunno. Something sappy about forever.”

  Son. Of. A. Bitch. J-Hawk’s missing knife had surfaced. Had she suspected it’d show up here? Is that why she’d been hanging around? Why hadn’t I seen that angle?

  Because you’re not exactly a hotshot detective.

  “Who’d you buy the knife from?”

  “You two are peas in a pod and a nosy lot. Anna asked the same question.”

  “Did you tell her?” Please say no.

  “I almost didn’t, client confidentiality and all that. But Anna’s been a good customer, and I didn’t see the harm. It really don’t matter, because them yahoos who sold it to me just wanted fast money for booze or drugs or whatever they’re doin’.”

  “What yahoos?”

  “Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum.”

  I resisted grabbing Pete by his overalls and shaking him until his dentures rattled. “Be specific, Pete. Those names fit lots of folks around here.”

  “Oh, you know, Cliff Garber and Tyler Lewdonsky? Cliff’s blond. Tyler’s a redhead. They’re always getting in scrapes ’cause they’re mouthy little shits. Them boys are practically joined at the hip. Don’t go nowhere or do nothing without the other. Kinda makes you wonder if they’re really just ‘friends.’” Pete emphasized the last part with air quotes.

  My hands tightened on the edge of the glass counter. I remembered they’d come into Clementine’s the night J-Hawk had been murdered, and I’d kicked them out for no IDs. “Now I know who you mean. They claimed to live with their dad.”

  “Damn liars. They live in that old Brubaaken trailer. Place is for sale, but no one is gonna pay that kinda money for it.”

  “Where’s the Brubaaken place?”

  “Quarter mile past Red Gulch Canyon turnoff on County Road Seven.”

  “Did you tell Anna where they lived?”

  “Uh-huh. Why?”

  “How long ago did she leave?”

  “An hour or so. Why?”

  I didn’t answer, as I was too busy running out the door to my truck. As soon as I cleared the city limits, I pressed the pedal to the floor. Piece of crap truck topped out at 65 mph.

  I ran through several scenarios, but the truth was Anna wouldn’t let either of those guys live. She’d shoot me if I got in her way of dispensing justice for J-Hawk. So going in alone half cocked was full-out crazy. I’d had enough crazy to last me a lifetime. No way could I let Anna get away with this, and I felt damn guilty for not sharing my suspicions last night. Maybe this could’ve been prevented. I snagged my cell phone and dialed.

  “Anna figured out that Cliff Garber and Tyler Lewdonsky killed Jason Hawley. Because they pawned his knife. The knife she gave him. Yes, I knew it wasn’t listed in his personal effects, but I never thought it’d show up. She’s probably already at the Brubaaken trailer on County Road Seven. I’m on my way out there now.” I listened. “No, I’m going in because she won’t hesitate to kill them both, and if they die it’s on my conscience.”

  My brain filtered through the images of Anna in full soldier mode. Picking our way through the chaotic streets of Baghdad. Keeping our heads bowed, finding the targets, killing up close and personal under the cover of darkness and the flowing fabric of our burkas. No wasted effort. No wasted time. Get in, complete the mission, get out.

  But I knew that wouldn’t be Anna’s way this time. This time, it was personal. This time she’d make a point to make it hurt. She’d draw out the torture until the punks detailed everything they’d done to J-Hawk. Everything J-Hawk had said in return. Then she’d return the pain tenfold.

  I feared her. But I also feared my reaction to this vengeful Anna. Could I pull the trigger if it came down to choosing her life or the lives of the scumbags who murdered the man who’d brought me back from the dead?

  Lost in thought, I accidentally drove past the turnoff. I whipped a U-turn and backtracked, slowing as I approached the McIntyre Real Estate sign by the road.

  Stealth entry was probably pointless, but it was the only advantage I had. I parked in the ditch and grabbed my Taurus.

  No rush of adrenaline. Just coldness in the pit of my stomach. I crouched in the yellow sweet clover lining the ditch leading to the driveway. My gaze swept the broken-down barn, a caved-in chicken coop, and the rickety wooden pallet serving as stairs to the trailer’s door.

  A puke-green, rusted-out International Harvester truck sat sideways next to the trailer. Sections of metal skirting wound through the weed-choked yard like steel ribbon. Anna’s Land Rover was parked halfway between the truck and the barn. The back end was open. Sunlight glinted off the metallic cardboard suitcase of Coors Light.

  She’d lured them out with booze. Not her usual strategy. If she’d stormed the trailer, she could’ve killed them while they slept.

  But she’d want them awake. Alert. Afraid.

  A far easier way for Anna to get them outside: pretend to be a buyer who asks for a tour of the property. Offer them beer. Act
like their friend. Wander to the backside of the barn. The side that wasn’t visible from the road. That’s where I would’ve taken them. Lined ’em up against the wood barn siding and emptied the clip. Reloaded and done it again.

  A pain-filled shriek echoed from behind the barn. My gut tightened. I ran across the patches of gray dirt dotted with clumps of dead grass. Color appeared. Random splatters of red on the path became a discernible blood trail.

  Shit, shit, shit. Mouth dry, heart racing, I sidled to the edge of the barn and peeked around the corner.

  A scene from a horror movie played out in front of me.

  Anna’s .45 H&K combat pistol dangled by her right side, J-Hawk’s knife in her left. The redheaded guy was lying on the ground. Hands tied behind his back. A bloody hole where his belly used to be. A chunk of his left thigh was gone. Exit wounds, which meant she’d shot him from behind.

  An ear-shattering screech sounded. Not coming from the guy she’d just stabbed in the gut, but from the blond, who was being forced to watch as Anna thrust the knife into his friend.

  Then Anna loomed over him. “Is this how you did it? Did you laugh as you stabbed him with his own fucking knife?”

  The redheaded guy wheezed, and blood bubbled over his lips.

  She smacked the blond in the ear with her gun. “Answer me.”

  “Leave him alone.”

  She buried the knife in the redhead’s right leg and said to the blond, “Start talking, or I’ll make you watch as I make him a Columbian necktie.”

  “No! I told you. We were high!”

  “High on what?” Anna demanded.

  “Tweakers. We wanted to come down. Then that bitch in Clementine’s wouldn’t sell beer to us—”

  “Be careful who you’re calling a bitch,” she warned. “Why him?”

  The kid said something that froze me in place. “It wasn’t personal. It wasn’t because it was him! It could’ve been anyone!”

  That outburst caught Anna off guard. “What?”

  “That oil guy had bought us beer before. A couple of times. After that b—chick wouldn’t sell to us, and no one else would even fucking talk to us, we saw him leaning against his car at the back of the parking lot, so we asked him to buy for us. He just laughed and said no.

  “Then he turned his back on us. Like we were nothing. Like we were just loser punks. Me ’n’ Tyler knocked him down and he still laughed at us. Tyler shot him. But instead of shutting up, the guy kept going on. Said if we were gonna do the job, not to do it half assed like a bunch of fuckin’ pussies. To do it all the way. Said he was as good as dead anyway. Said he’d rather go out with a bang than a whimper. It was like … he was daring us to kill him. So we did.”

  I briefly closed my eyes and leaned against the barn.

  Goddamn you, J-Hawk. You made a bad situation worse.

  “I think we went a little crazy after that. We shot him a couple more times. Picked up his knife and stabbed him with it. Then we grabbed the stuff and took off.

  “When I woke up, I thought it was some crazy crank dream. Until I saw the blood all over my hands and my clothes. Tyler’s hands were worse than mine. I found the dude’s wallet and his knife in my pocket. I had to get rid of it. It was like a bad luck charm.”

  “A lucky charm for me, because you ditching it for cash led me straight to you.”

  The kid sobbed.

  Nothing drove Anna to the trigger faster than false remorse. The kid never said he was sorry. He justified taking a man’s life by being drugged up.

  Anna laughed and kicked the redhead’s prone body. “Well, looky here. Your buddy gave up the ghost.”

  “What? What does that mean?”

  “Means he’s dead.”

  “Tyler?” He scooted closer on his ass in the dirt.

  She eased the knife out of his body, and it made a horrible wet sucking sound. After Anna wiped the blood from the blade on her pant leg, she clicked the thumb release and pocketed it.

  “Ty? Ty?” Each repeat of the name got louder and more hysterical.

  Anna cuffed him in the mouth. “Shut the fuck up. Jesus. Show some dignity.”

  Enough. When I moved closer the back of my shirt got hung up on a nail, releasing a loud riiiiip.

  “Show yourself, whoever you are,” Anna said.

  Shit. I tried to press myself deeper into the wood.

  “I know you’re there, and if you don’t come out, I’ll use the shrieker here for target practice.”

  I rounded the corner, weapon drawn.

  “Mercy. Guess I’m not surprised to see you.”

  My gaze dropped to the mutilated body at her feet. Guilt punched me in the gut. If I’d turned her in to Dawson last night, that kid would still be alive. “Put down your gun, Anna.”

  She aimed at me. “No can do. This little shit-ass loser will be begging for me to kill him before I’m even close to done with payback.”

  “Enough.” Two more steps. “Anna. Let it go. It’s done.”

  “I can’t. I have to finish this.”

  “You did finish it. You found the knife. You found out who killed Jason. He wouldn’t want you to go to jail.”

  “Too late. I doubt the cops will believe I shot this punk because he tried to escape my custody after a citizen’s arrest.”

  “Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

  “How could it get worse, Mercy? The man I loved is dead. We’ll never be together now.”

  Jesus, I was sick of hearing her whine about lost love. Probably wrong to taunt her, but I did it anyway. “How is that different than not being together for the last five years?”

  “You know we had no choice. But we both believed we’d be together someday the way we were meant to be.”

  “Don’t bet on it. There were things you didn’t know about J-Hawk, Anna. Things he told me the day before he died.”

  “Nice stalling technique. But I know all your tricks, remember?”

  “Not stalling. No tricks. Go ahead. Ask me about it.”

  Her demeanor changed. “Tell me, or I’ll give him a new set of H&K piercings.”

  The kid whimpered.

  I knew she didn’t bluff. “Jason had cancer.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s true.”

  “How do you know? He was here, what, two weeks? He just confessed that to you?”

  “No, I read the coroner’s report. The tox screen came back with high levels of a cancer-treatment drug called Nexavar. Several bottles were found in his motel room.”

  Anna’s resolve didn’t waver. “What kind of cancer?”

  “Liver or stomach or esophageal, all incurable. Then I knew why he looked so bad. He probably only had a few months left.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You were already grieving, and it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

  “So regardless if Jason had been murdered, he’d still be a dead man.” She laughed. “So why did you continue investigating his death, Mercy?”

  “J-Hawk deserved better than to be left to die in a field in the middle of fucking nowhere by a bunch of drunk rednecks.”

  “Which is why this guy has to pay.”

  “You already made Victor pay.”

  “Victor was a fucking prick. After he convinced me that he hadn’t killed Jason, it was too late. I was already pissed off.”

  “So you shot him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  If Anna knew Cherelle had lied to her to serve her own means, and a man was dead by Anna’s hand because of it? Anna would waste Cherelle without a moment’s hesitation. “Did you kill Cherelle?”

  “I would’ve if I’d found her. But that weasel’s gone to ground. No matter. Saro will kill her.”

  I took a step closer. “Put down the gun. Let me help you.”

  Anna fired by my right foot, and dust puffed over my boot. “Stay there, Gunny. Don’t move again or I’ll shoot you.” She grabbed the kid by his hair and jerked him upright.r />
  The kid shrieked. He probably couldn’t stand with the hole in his leg. Anna jerked hard enough the second time she ripped hair from his scalp.

  “If you wanna live, you’ll get up.”

  While the kid struggled to his feet, I tried to focus, but I constantly adjusted my hand position on the gun. “Stop.”

  “You don’t sound very convincing, Mercy.”

  “Let him go.”

  “I will. Just as soon as I’m in my Land Rover.” She had one hand in his hair; the other held the gun under his chin as they slowly moved sideways.

  What are you waiting for? Shoot her.

  Every muscle in my body cramped. My breathing was erratic.

  Take her out.

  Images of our past floated through my mind, blurring my vision and my purpose. I gritted my teeth and forced the words out. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”

  “This punk’s life is worth more to you than mine?”

  Don’t listen. Don’t negotiate. Don’t hesitate.

  Before I could repeat “Drop the gun,” I heard movement through the grass. Which meant Anna heard it, too.

  “I can’t believe you called the cops.”

  “What you’re doing, this vigilante justice, is wrong.”

  “Then why didn’t you turn me in when you figured out I’d killed Victor?” Anna demanded.

  “Shut up.”

  “You knew. I sensed the change in you yesterday. You realized I’d done it. So why the sudden bout of conscience?”

  “Shut. The. Hell. Up.”

  “The Gunny I’ve known for years, the soldier I fought side by side with for a decade, never would’ve done this. We protect our own first. Remember that?”

  My hands were dripping sweat. I tightened my grip, and the gun wobbled. “I’m not the same person I was, Anna. Neither are you. So put down the goddamn gun.”

  “No way. If any of these country bumpkins shoot at me, chances are good they’ll hit the civilian. And it’s all about protecting this lowlife scum, isn’t it?”

  I fought the shame and panic that I’d fail my training. That I couldn’t pull the trigger. She knew it. She used my fear against me.

  “You’re the one person here who could make the shot, Mercy. One click.”

  “Give it up, Anna.”

  “You could kill me. Even with compromised vision you could take me out. Even though we’re friends you could do it.”