Lori Armstrong - Merciless

“It’s confusing as hell. When it’s good between us, I don’t wanna leave. But when it’s bad…”

“Where are your kids tonight?”

“My sister is watching them. I wanted to come, even when I knew Rollie wouldn’t. So I didn’t tell him where we were goin’ until after he got in my car.”

That would’ve gone over well.

“I’ve heard about this place. Rollie talks about your mom sometimes. Course, I knew your dad when he was sheriff. So knowing all that… I was curious to see if your family is as fucked up as mine.”

“What conclusion did you draw?”

“No contest. Your family is the friggin’ Cosbys compared to mine.”

Pounding footsteps echoed. Lex; Doug; TJ’s youngest kid, Clay; and Luke’s youngest kid, Dirk-they all skidded to a stop as they came between the buildings. “Oh, sorry, we were looking for…” They didn’t finish the sentence, just raced off.

We started back to the house.

“Ain’t you gonna whip out some advice?” Verline asked. “Or give me a pep talk about how all of this will blow over and get better?”

I faced her. “Nope. You’ll figure it out, or you won’t. Besides, if I gave you advice, would you take it?”

“Hell, no.”

“That’s what I figured. But I will wish you luck.”

Three men were arguing in front of the steps. I jogged over when I saw Dawson wasn’t around. “What’s going on?”

“You’re the same sneaking lying bastard.” Devlin sneered at Rollie, ignoring me. “That shit ain’t gonna help her.”

I looked at John-John. He sported a look of hatred I’d never seen before.

Rollie crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not such a bastard when I’m lending you money, Devlin. She’s runnin’ out of options, and so are you.”

“Shut up.”

“How much are you into Saro for?” Rollie calmly asked Devlin.

Devlin shot John-John a look before he glared at Rollie. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“I know you got debts all over the place. I know you ain’t got a pot to piss in to pay off them debts. I know them guys ain’t as patient as me.” Rollie looked at John-John. “You gonna bail him out again?”

“Not your concern,” John-John snapped.

“It is a concern to me because it’s my business. My money. That money wasn’t a gift; it was a loan. You ask him how much he owes me. Then you see if you’ve got the right to be uppity with me, winkte .”

I’d watched the exchange with my mouth hanging open.

“Enough.”

Now we all looked at Penny Pretty Horses as she slowly moved down the steps.

“Mom, what are you doing out here without a coat?”

“You afraid I’ll catch my death of cold?”

I bit back a laugh.

But John-John heard the noise and whirled around to glare at me. “You think this is funny? She’s dying of cancer, and you’re laughing?”

Whoa. That was all kinds of bitchy.

Penny patted his arm. “Better to be laughing than crying, eh, Mercy?”

Like I was gonna answer that.

“And you two.” Penny pointed to Devlin and her son. “Leave Rollie alone. I don’t care about your business with him. I can talk to whoever I want and do whatever I want.”

Rollie took a step closer to Penny. “I don’t need you sticking up for me.”

“Jesus, Rollie, don’t be such a dick,” Verline said, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him back. “She’s dying.”

“You shut up and stay out of this,” Rollie warned.

“Yeah, why don’t you take your sniveling jailbait girlfriend home and stick a pacifier in her mouth. It’s probably past her bedtime anyway,” Devlin said.

“You didn’t think I was too young when you were grabbing my ass at the WIC offices, you fuckin’ pervert,” Verline retorted.

Rollie got in Devlin’s face. “You touched her?”

“Every time I see him, he tries to cop a feel,” Verline added.

“Don’t act like you don’t like the attention,” Devlin sneered. “You’da blown me for five bucks, like all the other whores your age on the rez.”

“For Christsake, that is enough.” I stepped between them. “Either beat the shit out of each other so I can jump in and throw a few punches, or knock it the fuck off. All of you.”

Silence.

“We’re goin’.” Rollie took Verline by the arm, and they argued the entire way he towed her to their car.

“Thanks for the drink, Mercy. And the hospitality. It’s been nice seein’ you.” Penny spoke sharply to John-John. “I’m ready to go home now.”

“About damn time. You shouldn’t have come,” John-John said to his mom. “None of us should be here. I knew this was a bad idea.” He gave me another dark look.

What the hell?

Penny pointed to her brother. “You bring Momma home. No stopping anywhere. No causing trouble. And you keep your comments to yourself, understand? Momma don’t need your bullshit tonight. Understand?”

“Yeah,” Devlin grumbled, and went inside the house.

Then I was alone, more confused than ever.

“Well, it ain’t really a dinner party with the Red Leaf and Pretty Horses family until someone shoots off his mouth or starts throwing punches. At least no one was bleeding. Or overtly drunk.”

I turned to the sound of Jake’s voice. “Have you been hiding in the shadows the whole time?”

“Yep. Been there, done that with them more times than I can count, and I know better than to get involved.”

“You wanna tell me what’s going on with your family?”

“Nope. ’Cause trust me, Mercy, you don’t wanna know.”

People streamed out of the house so I stayed put to say my good-byes. After the last vehicle started down the driveway, I trudged up the steps.

I stopped just inside the doorway. The kitchen looked like a scud missile had hit it. Food everywhere. Plates and garbage everywhere.

Guess I knew where my place was in the dinner-party hierarchy. Cleanup crew.

Three buildings, built close together, made up the Eagle River Reservation tribal seat of power. The tribal police station on the right, which also housed the jail, was the largest building. The tribal services building in the middle contained a mishmash of service offices, including the Bureau of Indian Affairs-BIA, WIC, Department of Social Services, Social Security Administration, energy assistance programs, and the two rooms the FBI rented for victim specialists. The third structure on the left side was the Eagle River Tribal Headquarters building. It housed several different entities, all involved with the business of running the tribe. The top floor was devoted to the tribal court system. The second floor held the tribal council’s business offices and meeting spaces. The entire first floor, which was actually the basement since all three buildings had been built into the side of a hill, was devoted to tribal archives. Everything from the official tribal rolls to the newspaper archives-since the tribe owned the newspaper-to storage of closed cases, open old cases, police logs, and arrest reports from the tribal police were down there, plus historical documents dating back to when the tribe had taken the land offer from the U.S. government and became part of the reservation system.

I took the stairs and found the door locked. I had to use a buzzer to gain admission. “Yes?” echoed through the intercom.

“Special Agent Mercy Gunderson, FBI. I’ve been cleared with the tribal police through the tribal council to access certain archives.”

No human response, just the buzzing click that signaled I could enter the inner sanctum. I almost felt like I needed to wear a hooded robe and spout Latin as I opened the door, especially when I caught a whiff of the musty air.