Lori Armstrong - No Mercy

No one wanted to put down a horse, least of all Jake. “Whatever you think. You know I trust your judgment with the livestock.” I paused. “Where are the other horses?”

“TJ and Luke are keeping them at their place. With the ATVs out of commission they’ll need them for a couple of days.”

I pushed back from the table. “Let’s get them loaded up and I’ll try my luck with Bernie.”

About two thousand barking dogs greeted me as I pulled up to Bernie’s Repair Shop. The place was as junk filled and badly maintained as I’d expected-maybe a little worse. The shop itself was in better shape than the residence, a cobbled-together configuration of two trailers circa 1950.

A line of cars stretched from the start of the gravel driveway to the metal building housing the shop. I couldn’t tell if the building was intentionally that hideous shade of orange or if it’d been overrun by rust and naturally faded into an ugly pumpkin color. I backed the trailer to the biggest garage door.

Small tractors, ATVs, mowers in various states of disrepair were scattered like random victims of a machine apocalypse. I shooed the dogs off as I hopped out of the truck. The tailgate hinges on the trailer squeaked as I dropped the loading ramps to the ground.

Bernie showed up as I released the tie-downs. “Morning, Bernie. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Mercy Gunderson.” I didn’t offer my hand, knowing he wouldn’t shake it anyway. “Jake Red Leaf called you about taking a look at these?”

“Uh-huh. Which one is the throttle sticking on?” Bernie asked.

“I don’t know. I was on my way into town and got roped into being the delivery person.” Nice fib. I turned and caught my first good look at Bernie Rouillard. Typical Lakota man-his age was difficult to discern, somewhere between forty and sixty. He was tall and gangly with ridges and bumps on his face, due to fighting, teenage acne, and genetics. His black hair was chopped into a bowl style, which was unflattering even beneath his stained “Screaming Eagles” ball cap. Made me think of Josiah Hightower. I hoped this talk would be less cryptic than that one.

Bernie climbed into the trailer and popped the first machine into neutral and rolled it to the ground. He repeated the process with the second machine as I stood by the door.

“You gotta come in and sign a work order.”

“No problem.” I followed him inside the small, windowless office. “So Axel is your son?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He was friends with my nephew.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Levi talked about him.”

Scribble scribble on the work-order tablet on the desk.

“In fact, I was at the Eagle River Community Center the other night, but I didn’t see Axel hanging out with Moser, Little Bear, and that crowd.”

“That’s because he don’t have nothing to do with any of them no more.”

“Really? How’d he manage that?”

Bernie shrugged.

I’m sure he expected me to drop my mostly one-sided conversation. I figured as long as I occasionally tossed in tidbits about upcoming repairs, he had no choice but to hear me out. The Gunderson Ranch paid in cash, paid on time, and I doubted he’d want to lose the income.

“Jake told me to tell you someone will be dropping the riding mower by later this week.”

“That mean you leaving the trailer here?”

“Yep.” I paused. “So Axel doesn’t have anything to do with the Warrior Society?”

“Nope.”

“Was that your suggestion? Or his decision?”

Bernie snorted. “That boy don’t listen to no one, least of all me. Jake say when he needed these machines done?”

“In the next couple days.”

He handed me the receipt. “Tell him I’ll be in touch. Have a good day.” Bernie swapped his ball cap for a welding mask on the desk and disappeared into the bowels of the shop. A deafening machine kicked on, distorting the air, followed by a steady flash of bluish-white light.

Talk about being dismissed. I left the office and tossed the tie-downs in the truck bed, dislodging the beer cans from the night at the dance; they were somehow still rolling around in the back of the pickup like macabre souvenirs.

I thought of Levi and the connection we’d finally forged that night. The feeling of loss made me angrier than ever. Why was I being stonewalled at every turn? Because of my gender? Because I wasn’t all Indian? Because of my father’s connection to law enforcement? Or was it something else? God. I knew how Dawson felt-inept and like an outsider. I slammed the door hard and smacked the steering wheel with the heels of my hands. “Goddammit!”

“My dad gets that reaction a lot,” came from the passenger’s side of the truck.

Startled, I whirled toward the kid crouched on the floorboard, clutching an enormous backpack. My eyes narrowed. “Axel?”

“Yeah. You’re Mercy. Levi Arpel’s aunt, right?”

“What are you doing stowed away in my truck?”

“I need a ride to town.”

“Why don’t you ask your dad?”

“He’s busy welding or some such shit.”

I laughed. “Nice try. If you’re gone, your dad will blame me.”

“No, he won’t. He’ll think I called my ma and she picked me up on the road. She does it all the time so she don’t gotta talk to him. Besides, it ain’t like I’m a prisoner. I can come and go when I want.”

“Yeah?” I gave him my best no-bullshit stare. “That’s why you’re hiding on the floor instead of sitting on the seat?”

“Okay, I am sneaking off. Dad wants me to stick around and help him. I got stuff to do today.” Axel licked his lips. “I heard you asking him questions.”

“So?”

“So if you give me a ride to town, I’ll give you some answers.”

I cranked the key so fast it almost snapped in the ignition.

When we cleared the tree line, Axel popped up like a gopher out of a hidey-hole. “Thanks.”

I shot him a sideways glance. Scrawny kid. Probably took a rash of crap for being small. With his smooth skin and slight frame he seemed younger than Levi and the others. “I don’t see any reason to beat around the bush, Axel. Tell me about the Warrior Society.”

Axel recited what I already knew, almost by rote. But slowly, as if he expected to drag it out until we reached town and he’d make his escape without really giving me any new information.

Screw that. I jammed on the brakes and the back end skidded. “Enough bullshit. I’ve heard this. I want to know how you managed to leave the group when no one else could.”

He slumped in his seat. “Because of Albert. He started running away. His ma called my ma and blabbed some of what Albert had told her about the group. Even though my folks are divorced, Ma talked to Dad and they both forbid me from participating.”

“And you quit just because they demanded it?”

“I didn’t have a choice. I’m the youngest in the group, and I don’t got a car or a cell phone. I didn’t want to seem like a pussy or a little kid to them, so I told everyone I thought it was a stupid group, against tradition, and that’s why I wanted to quit.”

“But you didn’t believe it was?”

“At first, it was really cool to be a part of it. Part of them. But then…” Axel studied his fingernails. “Then it changed when they came around. When school got out, my ma sent me to Rapid City to live with my cousins for the summer, so I really didn’t have a choice.”

“So why are you back here now? This isn’t a safe place to be.”

No answer.

I kept pushing. “I can’t believe if your parents sent you away before any of your friends were killed that they’d let you come back now.” Ping . Lightbulb moment. “They don’t know you’re here, do they?”