“Better than I expected, to be honest. I had good helpers with Luke and TJ and their boys. Where’s Hope?”
“I’m right here.”
We both turned to see Hope leaning against the doorjamb.
“Wow, babe, you look great. Do we got a hot date or something I forgot about?”
She laughed self-consciously. “Mercy’s going to Clementine’s to have a drink, and I asked if I could tag along.” Her eyes anxiously searched his face. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is. You deserve a night out.” He paused and looked from me to Hope and back to me. “Who’s your DD?”
“I plan to have only one drink, Jake. So we should be fine. Besides”-Hope smirked at me-“Mercy don’t want the sheriff to get wind of her arrest while he’s out of town.”
“You’re hilarious, sis.”
“Well, you two have fun. I’ll take lil’ punkin home.” He mock-whispered, “Now that your mama’s outta the picture for the night, I can teach you how to wrassle gators.” Jake shot me a smile before he took off.
Hope insisted on driving. Which meant it took us fifteen minutes longer to get there than if I’d been behind the wheel.
Clementine’s was hopping. Something had put this out-of-the-way, hole-in-the-wall bar on the map in the last year. John-John halfheartedly complained about Clementine’s becoming mainstream, but the steady stream of income softened the blow.
Muskrat was the bouncer. He didn’t give me one of his signature bear hugs, where I felt my spine brush the skin behind my belly button as he squeezed me tight. Maybe his lackluster response was a result of seeing Hope, since, like John-John, he wasn’t fond of Jake. “So what brings the Gunderson girls by tonight?”
Hope tittered. God. I hoped she remembered she was a married woman and didn’t flirt with every guy who paid attention to her, as the old, needy Hope would have. “Just looking to get out of the house for some social time.”
Some of the same regulars filled the bar. Vinnie, the biker, and his posse holding court beneath the TV. Construction workers and cowboys in the back shootin’ pool and shootin’ the shit. Lots of folks in here I didn’t recognize. I weaved through the crowd until Hope and I reached the main bar.
John-John saw us, but he was too busy mixing drinks to do more than nod.
I could tell Hope was trying to play it cool and not gawk at the customers who were blatantly checking her out.
Winona gave me a one-armed hug from behind. “Mercy! Damn, girl, I miss working with you. Why you hauling yourself in this mangy hole? You and the sheriff have words?”
“No, smart-ass. I’m here with my sister and we’re thirsty.”
“I’ll get you two beers since John-John’s glaring at me.” She slid two bottles of Bud Light in front of us.
Hope was stuck sitting next to Lefty. I intended to warn her about the crotchety old rancher. But Lefty, who hated everyone, seemed taken with my little sister.
I sipped my beer and kept playing Name That Regular to amuse myself. I was more happy about who I didn’t see-no Cowboy Trey, no Kit McIntyre, no Tiny, no Laronda. Didn’t appear Saro’s group was around, but that didn’t shock me.
I’d learned through the FBI that Saro was restructuring his organization after his brother Victor’s murder. Shay had hoped the resident rez drug runner would be crippled by the loss, but Saro rallied, although he and his group were staying pretty far off the radar.
John-John stopped in front of me and wiped his brow.
“Looks like business is booming.”
“I’d hate to see what crazies it’d bring out if we actually ran happy-hour specials.” He tossed a handful of nuts into his mouth. His eyes locked onto mine. “Why are you palling around with Hope?”
“Last-minute thing,” I said, and didn’t explain further. “When it dies down, I’d like to pick your brain about a couple of things.”
“Did Unci put you up to grilling me about my mom?”
“No.” Was he touchy and snappish tonight, or was it just me? “She’s worried about Penny.”
“Join the club.” He pulled taps and opened the cooler.
I should’ve waited to get a better bead on his mood, but the question had just popped out. “Has Saro been in lately?”
John-John lifted his head abruptly. The war braid with the red feather tip swung into his face, and he impatiently batted it aside. “Why are you asking me for this information?”
“I’m asking because I’ve had Saro’s blade at my throat, and I’m not eager to repeat the experience.”
He shot me a look that I interpreted as distrustful. Before I could cajole him or try charm, he said, “Why don’t you ask your partner? He’s been in here several times.”
Partner? At first I thought he meant Dawson, but I figured out he meant Shay. “Why has Turnbull been in here?”
“I asked him the same thing. He said he can drink anywhere he wants. Which sucks for me. If I blackball him, he’ll show up with a federal raiding party to see what I’m hiding, even though I ain’t hiding a damn thing.”
Christ. Talk about paranoid. But my defense of my employer and Shay would only piss him off, so I bit my tongue.
“So I serve him. He’s been in here once when Saro showed up. They ignored each other, although the brooding G-man was awful damn interested in Saro’s new recruits.”
“And here I hoped Saro had given up his evil ways after his brother was murdered.” I sipped my beer. “Is Saro recruiting in here?”
“Doubtful. He’s only been in a half-dozen times in the last five months. But he don’t have to do much to recruit anyway. People line up to get in with him, even after all the shit that went down. People you’d never expect.”
That comment caught my notice. “Like who?”
“Like punks with no other job choice. Like idiots who have a falling-out with their family.”
I frowned. He wouldn’t give me names; he expected me to guess. Or he expected me to know. Except I didn’t have insight on the inner workings on the Eagle River rez. I never had. The one person who had that knowledge, Rollie, was currently pissed off at me. Rollie was pissed off at everybody, it seemed. Me. Verline. His son.
Wait a second. My eyes met John-John’s. “Junior Rondeaux?”
He nodded.
“Holy shit.” Jesus, I was an idiot.
It hit me, then, the seriousness of my rookie mistake, keeping the information Mackenzie Red Shirt had given me about Junior Rondeaux to myself. It could have tremendous impact on this case, since Junior had ties to that murderous bastard Saro, and to Arlette. Turnbull would have every right to dress me down when I finally came clean with him.
John-John leaned closer. “Why’s this so surprising to you?”
“Because I tried to track Junior down yesterday.”
“Why?”
“Some of that pesky fed stuff you don’t wanna know about and I can’t tell you about anyway.”
He shrugged. “Well, you ain’t gonna find him in here because he’s banned.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
“What did he do to get blackballed?”
“He’s a Rondeaux.”
“That’s it?”
John-John glanced away and then refocused on me with eyes as hard as concrete. “I know you’re friends with Rollie. But he ain’t no friend of mine or my family. I’d lose customers if him or any of his spawn stepped foot in here. So they ain’t welcome. Ever.”
“Rollie knows this?”
“Yep.”
“But… you let him in when Geneva’s group talked me into running for sheriff.”
“They didn’t give me a choice.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this Rondeaux clan ban when I worked for you?”
John-John ignored me and walked to the end of the bar.
Goddammit. I hated not knowing shit like this, even when I told everyone to leave me out of their family dramas. For years Rollie had made barbs about John-John’s psychic abilities. And about Sophie being uppity. I don’t know why I hadn’t drawn the parallels that there was bad blood between him and the whole Red Leaf family. I’d always chalked it up to Rollie being an ass.