Lori Armstrong - Mercy Kill

“Why are you doing this?”

“Running against him? Because you asked me to.”

“Mercy, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t know, okay? When we’re alone and everything is good-great actually-I can forget who he is. But when it comes to him doing his job, I compare him to what my dad did as sheriff. Then I wonder what the hell I’m doing with a man who doesn’t measure up.”

Geneva was quiet, which drove me batshit crazy.

“Jesus, Gen, what?”

“Hate to burst your bubble, but Wyatt Gunderson wasn’t a saint. However, Dawson did measure up, or else your dad wouldn’t have given him his endorsement for sheriff.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I’ve known you a long time, Mercy, and you’re damn good at self-sabotage.”

I faced her. “Are you talking about what happened with Jake?”

She poked me in the arm. “See? More’n twenty years have passed by and you still haven’t gotten over it. Stop using your one bad long-term relationship as an excuse. And for God sake, stop comparing all men to your dad. It’s really kind of twisted.”

I hated that she had a point.

“So why did you come out of the closet to me about your relationship with Dawson, Mercy?”

“Your job as my campaign manager is to keep me focused on the issues. Make certain that I keep whatever weird fucking thing I feel for Dawson out of my decision-making process. I’m doing what’s right for the county, not for myself.”

Geneva eased the car back on the road. Her silence bothered me more than her constant chattering. When I couldn’t stand the silence any longer, I snapped, “Spit it out before you choke on it.”

“Speaking as your campaign manager? I’ll do everything to help you get the win you deserve. But speaking as your friend? My heart is breaking for you and the decision you’ve made to put duty ahead of your personal life again.” She careened into the library parking lot and screeched to a stop. “I accused you of being selfish last summer. Christ. You can’t know how that eats at me, Mercy, because I see how wrong I was. You’ve given everything for everyone else. You deserve something good for yourself.”

How was I supposed to respond to that?

Luckily, I didn’t have to. Kiki knocked on the window and tapped her watch.

“We’re late. Come on, candidate Gunderson, your committee awaits you,” Geneva said, and the matter was closed.

For now. But she’d given me a lot to think about, none of it campaign related.

Anna and Iwere lounging on the sofa, drinking beer, watching the first season of Lost on the TV/DVD combo she’d haggled for at Pete’s Pawnshop, when my cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Mercy? It’s Winona. Look, I don’t have much time, but I wanted you to know that Cherelle just walked in.”

“She alone?”

“For now.”

“Good. I’ll be there in fifteen. Keep her there-give her free drinks, whatever.”

“I’ll try.” Winona hung up.

I vaulted to my feet and shimmied out of my loungewear, dressing in the ensemble I’d worn earlier. Except I added my favorite accessory in my back pocket: my Kahr Arms P380. I sat on the bed and tugged on my blue-camo Old Gringo boots.

Anna leaned in the door frame. “Where’s the fire?”

“Clementine’s. It’s not on fire, but someone I’ve been wanting to talk to just showed up, so I’ve got to go.”

“Is this more campaign crap?”

“No.”

A gleam appeared in her eyes. “This has to do with Jason?”

She’d see through a lie, so I didn’t bother. “Yes.”

“I knew you wouldn’t let this just fade away. You still feel like you owe him, don’t you?”

“I do owe him, Anna.”

“So do I. I’m coming with you.”

I didn’t have time to argue with her. “Get a move on then.”

Surprisingly, Anna didn’t pester me for more details on the drive to Clementine’s.

My candidacy was the perfect excuse to wander through various clusters of bar patrons. Anna hit the bar, and I presented a big ol’ smile to George Johnson’s group. “Hey, guys. How’s it going?”

“Good. You out on official business?” George asked.

“Yep. Pressing flesh. I figured I deserved a little liquid fortification beforehand.”

Mike lifted a plastic cup off a stack in the center of the table and poured me a beer. “The first one’s on us.”

“Thanks.”

“How about a toast?” Rocky raised his cup, and the guys at the table followed his lead. “To Mercy Gunderson, the next sheriff of Eagle River County.”

I smiled and drank up. For the next few minutes, I made banal chitchat with my supporters as I closed in on my real target in the back room.

After I talked to members of the dart league, I waltzed right up to Cherelle’s table and thrust out my hand. “Mercy Gunderson. I’m running for Eagle River County sheriff.”

She ignored my hand. But she didn’t duck her scarred face from view as I’d expected. A sneer settled on her misshapen mouth. “I don’t give a flying fuck who you are. Not interested. Get lost.”

“Now, Cherelle, is that any way to start a conversation? When I just want to talk about the issues that affect you personally?”

Her eyes flashed annoyance. “If you know my name, then you also know you don’t wanna be around when my friends get here.”

“Speaking of friends… we have a mutual friend.”

“I doubt it.”

I paused. “But you did know Jason Hawley, Cherelle.”

“Never heard of him.” Cherelle slid to the end of the booth, intending to leave.

“No need to run off. My buddy Anna just got here. And look. She brought refreshments.”

Anna set three cups and a pitcher of beer in the middle of the table. She slid in. I turned and bent forward to snag a chair from an empty table, making sure Cherelle got a good look at the bulge in my back pocket.

When I turned back around, Cherelle demanded, “Since when are you allowed to carry in here?”

“Since always.” I straddled the chair, allowing easy access to my gun and blocking her in. “So, Cherelle, here’s what we know. You talked to Jason several times, even on the night he was murdered. We have a few more questions about that topic of conversation.”

“I ain’t telling you shit, cop,” she spat.

“Although I hope to win the election, I’m not a cop yet, which means anything you tell me is off the record.”

“Right.”

Anna shoved a cup of beer at her. “So who fucked up your face?”

The bluntness caught Cherelle off guard.

“I’m betting it was some asshole guy who wanted to mark his territory.” Anna swallowed half her glass of beer. “I hope you castrated the son of a bitch.”

Cherelle’s gaze darted between us. “You are both pathetic. You think you can flash a piece at me and I’ll piss my pants because I’m scared? Of you two old bags? Don’t make me laugh.” She focused on Anna. “You think acting all fake, like we’re sisters under the skin, united against asshole men, is gonna make me break down because I’ve finally met a woman who understands what I’ve been through? Fuck off. You don’t know nothin’.”

“Yeah?” Anna jerked her T-shirt down, pointing to the long gash that ran from the right corner of her collarbone to her sternum. “I know exactly what it’s like to have some sadistic fucker cut you up.” She lifted her shirt, exposing the five knife wounds scattered at random intervals across her lower abdomen. “Ever been stabbed? Clear through your body so the knife comes out your back? You ever had to wait, knowing the insane motherfucker was going to stab you again? So don’t you sit there all fucking smug and tell me I don’t know nothin’.”