Lori Armstrong - Mercy Kill

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.