No Mercy

FIFTEEN

So I went looking for trouble.

I called John-John. Trey was at the bar, knocking back a couple of beers. Maybe my luck was about to change.

Gravel roads are hell on metallic paint. By the time I’d bumped into the parking lot at Clementine’s, an amethyst glow cast the Badlands in shadow.

The metal door banged open. An angry ranch woman stamped out. I paused to see if her significant other would chase after her. But she climbed in her Chevy truck alone and roared off in a powdery puff of dirt.

I sauntered inside and John-John came out from behind the counter to give me a big hug. He whispered, “I don’t like the gleam in your eye, Mercy.”

I almost said, “Which eye? The good one or the bad one?” but I offered him a toothy grin. “Trick of the light, kola.”

“Uh-huh. What can I get you?”

“A Coke. Straight up. But make it look like you dumped whiskey in it, okay?”

“You’re scaring me.”

I playfully slapped his cheeks. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day.”

Trey returned from the back room the same time John-John slid my drink in front of me. He’d even added a maraschino cherry. I lifted the lowball glass in a mock toast. Trey loped over with a big cowboy smile.

“Hey, Mercy. Ain’t seen you around much.”

“Haven’t really been in the party mood.”

His grin died. “Yeah. I heard. Sorry about your nephew.”

“Thanks. I needed to escape from the house for a while, so I took my car out for a spin. Thought I’d stop in and get a little something to wet my whistle.”

“Car? You ain’t driving your truck?”

I shook my head. “Wanted to drive fast so I rolled out the Viper.”

Trey’s mouth hung open like a broken cellar door. “You have a Viper?”

“Yep.”

“No way.”

“Way.”

“A Dodge Viper?”

“Is there any other kind?”

“You pulling my leg?”

“Nope.”

“It’s out there right now? In the parking lot?”

“No. I parked it on the roof.”

He blushed. “Shit. Sorry. Can I see it?”

“Sure. Let’s go.” I downed my Coke and waved good-bye to John-John.

Even without light the black metallic paint on the car gave off its own radiance.

Trey was mesmerized.

“Pretty, isn’t she?”

“Yep.” Trey’s hand caressed the front quarter panel like the curve of a woman’s backside. He whistled. “This is one sweet machine, Mercy. How fast will it go?”

“It’ll blow the doors off anything around here.”

“Bull.”

I looked at him. Tried to keep from glaring at him. “Name one.”

“Boxy Jennings’s 1969 Barracuda.”

“Still won’t beat what’s under this hood.”

“You’ve raced her? On the track or on the road?”

“Both. Don’t argue with me on this point, Trey, because you cannot win. Some pissant forty-year-old muscle car can’t hold a candle to the performance of this baby.”

“What’s the fastest you’ve ever gotten it up to?”

I angled across the hood and flashed him a bit of cleavage. Smiled seductively as I twirled my keys. Yeah, I was feeling wild. Cocky. Cruel. “Wanna hop in and see what she’ll do?” Come on, I’m danglin’ the rope, cowboy. Grab for it with both hands.

His blue eyes lit up bright as the neon Bud Light sign. “Hell yeah.”

“A couple of conditions first.”

“Name ’em.”

“No telling me how to drive. No grabbing the steering wheel at any point. And we stop only when I say we stop.”

“That it?”

“No. If you mess your pants, you’re cleaning it up.”

“You’re serious? Like I’ll be so scared I’ll…” He drawled, “I ain’t skeered a’ nuthin’.”

At any other time that might’ve charmed me. “Remember you said that.”

“Anything else?”

“Before you ask, no, you don’t get to drive it. Ever.”

“Shoot. That ain’t no fun.”

“You drop ninety grand on a car, Trey, and come talk to me about who you’ll let drive it. I guarantee the list will be short. Very short.” I stumbled in a sinkhole and caught myself on the driver’s-side door.

“Ah. Maybe this ain’t such a good idea. How much you been drinking?”

“Why?”

“’Cause you seem a little… I don’t know. On edge. You all right?”

No. I’m not all right. Half my family is dead. My military career is over. My sister is pregnant with some bozo’s spawn. My friends and neighbors wish I never would’ve returned home. To top it off, I’m lonely as hell even though I’m hardly ever alone.

My life had been going to shit for months, and it didn’t look to end anytime soon.

“Mercy?”

“What?”

“If you wanna go back in and have a beer or something, I’d understand. We could-”

“You gonna talk all goddamn night, or are you gonna get in the goddamn car, Cowboy Trey?”

“Getting in the car.” After he’d buckled up, he said, “Never seen orange leather before. Sweet. You have it customized?”

“No. The interior is original and part of the reason I bought it.” I let my fingers drift over the dashboard. “I love this color. Like being Cinderella inside a pumpkin.”

“How’d you afford something like this?”

“What else do I have to spend my money on? I’m overseas living in barracks most of the year and my wages are tax free.”

“Do you keep it at the ranch when you’re gone?”

“Nah, I store it in Denver. When I hit the wide-open spaces of Wyoming I open her up and blow the cobwebs out.”

The engine made a throaty growl as I started her up. I switched off the radio. Drove slowly out of the Clementine’s weed patch and putted to the end of the gravel road.

“Thought you were gonna show me how fast this can go.”

“I will. Soon as we get on the pavement.”

Trey’s lips curled into a sneer. “What? It’s picky on driving conditions?”

“No. I’m picky. I hate rock chips.”

“That’s why a car like this ain’t practical.”

I turned onto the blacktop and said, “Fuck practical,” as I hit the gas.

The speedometer went from 0 to 60 in 4.2 seconds.

Trey whooped. “All right! Do it again.”

I slowed down. Stopped. Punched the pedal again. 0 to 60 in 4.2 seconds. Dodge engineering was nothing if not precise.

I kept the speedometer at a steady 65 mph. Be nice to have the windows rolled down, but at high speeds the velocity of the wind made conversation impossible. Not that Trey and I were yukking it up.

My lone set of headlights swept the black pavement. No other cars. No streetlights. No yard lights. Shimmering silver clouds covered the stars and moon.

When I was surrounded by pure black, the compromised vision in my right eye was less noticeable. Luckily enough, tonight everything seemed to be in perfect focus.

A long, flat stretch loomed ahead. Time to give the girl her legs.

I shot Trey a sideways glance. He was relaxed, gazing straight ahead, drumming his fingers on his knee. I increased the pressure on the gas pedal.

When we’d reached 85 mph, Trey took notice. “How fast we going now?”

“Ninety.”

“Huh. Don’t feel that fast.”

Just wait.

The needle crept up to 100.

The dotted white lines bisecting the road started to blur into one long ribbon.

One hundred and ten.

“You’re right. This thing hauls.”

Ol’ Trey didn’t seem so relaxed now.

I pressed the pedal to the floor. I actually felt the tires dig into the pavement. The engine hummed approval and we hit 120.

“Okay. Okay. I get it.”

“Get what?”

“This is one bad-ass car.”

“I know.”

“Can you just slow down now?”

“No.”

“But-”

“Did I warn you about not telling me how to drive?”

The dial on the speedometer jiggled toward 130.

I can’t describe the sensation of driving 130 mph. Most people don’t have cars that can reach that level of performance. And about two-thirds of the idiots who do purchase high-performance cars don’t have the balls to rod the piss out of them.

I’d never had that problem.

At this speed everything outside the windows blurred like a Mondrian painting. The rush of power was incredible. One false move, one tiny twitch, one little lapse in concentration, and we’d become airborne and spin end over end like a baton.

Usually I pushed the girl to her limits when I was alone. But Trey had pissed me off, not only because I’d discovered who wrote his paychecks, but because I realized he’d masked his sneering attitude toward me behind a helpful demeanor. That was not the cowboy way; he was an insult to men (and women) who lived their lives by that simple code of ethics.

He was undoubtedly on edge. Might be juvenile, but I wanted to see what it would take to push him over.

My hands clutched the orange wheel. I saw his white-knuckled grip on the dashboard. I imagined his heart pounding. Sweat popping up all over his body. I smiled. Knew it looked mean and didn’t care.

By the time you see the red lights on a semi at a cruising speed of 135, it’s time to pass. Since the road was straight, I wasn’t worried about coming up on another car.

“Watch this.” I cut the headlights.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Playing chicken.”

I eased over into the passing lane. Whoosh. We were around the truck and back on our side of the road before Trey choked out a curse word.

I turned the lights back on and slowed down. To 100. I said, “Bet that trucker thinks he had an UFO experience.”

Trey didn’t respond.

“You lay an egg over there?”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Oh, you ain’t seen crazy yet.”

“You trying to kill me?”

“Maybe.”

“Let me out.”

“Uh. Let me think about that.” Pause. “No.”

I think he whimpered.

“I’m not kidding, Mercy. Stop the car.”

“Fine.” I lifted my foot off the gas. Took a while for the car to slow. When we hit 30 mph I slammed on the brakes.

Even with his seat belt on Trey smacked into the dash. Hard.

I whipped around 180 degrees so we were in the other lane and floored it.

“Jesus Christ! I said stop the fucking car!”

“And I did.” The needle on the speedometer ripped past 70.

“You’re gonna kill us!”

“Only if I lose control. So quit whining. It’s distracting. Let’s see what this bitch feels like when you push her. You like to push, don’t you, Trey?” My eyes left the pavement for a second. “Guess what? I push back.”

At that point Trey started praying. For a second I thought I smelled urine. It required every ounce of concentration to let her run at 120 and then let her fly.

We reached 130 mph five miles from the turnoff to Clementine’s. Once I hit that magical number, I whooped, “Yee-haw!” and gradually dropped back to the legal speed limit. “Feels like we’re crawling now, doesn’t it?”

Trey didn’t say a word. Poor baby appeared to be pouting.

Didn’t mean I had to put up with his sullen attitude. We were in my car. “Swallow your tongue, sugar?”

“Just shut up. Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, you need professional help, Mercy. I swear to God, if you were a man, I’d-”

I slammed on the brakes again and skidded to a stop on the shoulder. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get the fuck out of my car.”

“But… We’re a mile from the bar.”

“I don’t give a shit. Get out.”

He opened his mouth. Shut it when he noticed my expression.

“You ever threaten me again, I will cut you open and yank your tongue out through your nose, got it?”

His hand froze on the door handle.

“I said, got it?”

He nodded.

“I know you’re working for that son of a bitch Kit McIntyre. I don’t know what you’ve done for him in the past, or whether it involved me and my family, but I’m warning you now: if I see you put one toe on my property, I will shoot you. And I will make it hurt before I let you die.”

Trey ran away from me so fast his boots were smoking.

I smiled and headed home.

The TV was blaring in the living room when I walked into the house. It was surprising to see Hope’s Honda parked out front. Normally she’d say her good-byes after Sophie left.

But tonight she looked more fragile than usual. Pale and wan and I just wanted to… feed her. To take care of her. To mother her, which was a new sensation for me. “Can I get you anything?”

She said, “No,” but she followed me into the kitchen.

“You sure?” I rummaged in the fridge until I found the foil-wrapped baking pan. “Sophie made peach cobbler. That wouldn’t upset your stomach.”

Hope shook her head.

“Where’s Shoonga?” I asked, just to make conversation.

“Jake took him.”

I dished up a healthy portion for myself and saw her watching the digital clock on the stove. “You don’t have to sit here with me, Hope.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

She didn’t answer for so long I was afraid she wouldn’t.

“I miss him. Everywhere I go in that trailer I see him. Yesterday I tripped over a pair of his stinky old running shoes. Know the ones with grass stains? The shoelaces are completely frayed, they’re too small, and I hated those shoes. Couldn’t make myself touch them, but I can’t make myself toss them in the burning barrel neither.”

Tears poured down her ashen face.

My hands clenched into fists on the table.

“And last night, I woke up about midnight and laid in my bed, listening for him to come home. Waiting for that cheap tin door to slam. Waiting for thumping rap music to turn on. I lay there and lay there and I worried. I worried something happened to him. Then I drifted off again, and when I woke up, I realized something has happened, the worst thing I could ever imagine has happened to my boy.”

“Hope-”

“Oh God, why would someone do that to him?” Blindly, she reached for my hands. “Shoot him like a dog? Why? I don’t understand…”

Hope cried so hard I was afraid she’d forget to breathe. She squeezed my balled fists like they were lemons. But my bitter tears stayed inside me, acidic as vinegar.

“I can’t go back there. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.”

“You can stay here as long as you want. This is your home, too.”

She pulled away and dabbed her eyes with a soggy tissue. “Yeah? But for how much longer?”

A warning screamed in my brain. Her mood could change at the drop of a hat. Rarely was the change for the better. “If you’ve got an opinion on what you think we should do with the ranch, I’d like to hear it.” I emphasized we.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

Hope paused and studied me. “I guess when you came back I thought you’d keep things the same, letting Jake or whoever run the ranch until Levi was old enough to take over. Not that it matters now.”

Tick tick. The pressure valve on my patience was about to blow. “Your opinion matters to me. I don’t know why you don’t understand that.”

“Yeah? Know what I don’t understand?”

Off on another tangent. Big surprise. “What?”

“Why Daddy made you the executor. Why he left you in charge when I’ve always been here. When everybody knows you don’t want nothing to do with this place.”

“You think you could handle all the details?”

Eyes completely dry, she gave me a dull stare. “We’ll never know, will we? Unless something tragic happens to you and the responsibility would fall to me by default.”

At least she had full grasp of the situation. “Dad made that decision, not me. What do you want me to say? I can’t change it.”

She harrumphed.

“You know, I’m tired of pissing around with this. People second-guessing me. Trying to sway me on what I should do.” I angled closer and locked my gaze to hers. “If you had to make a decision right now, what would it be?”

Hope didn’t even blink. “Sell it.”

My jaw nearly hit the table.

“Not what you were expecting?”

I shook my head.

“If you’d asked me two weeks ago, I would’ve said keep it. Now I agree with Theo. I need to put all this behind me and move on.”

Move on? Levi’s funeral had been a few days ago. Yeah, Theo was the father of Hope’s baby, but his advice seemed a bit harsh and more than a little selfish. “Has Theo been staying with you?”

“Sometimes. Might sound mean, but since Levi died I don’t care whether he’s around. Most days I wish he wasn’t. That’s part of the reason I’d like to stay here.”

“I’m sure Sophie made up the guest room.”

“But I always sleep in the front bedroom,” she said softly, pleadingly.

It figured she’d want my room; it was the nicest, and she always wanted what I had.

Truthfully, it didn’t really matter where I tossed my pillow since I wasn’t sleeping much these days anyway. However, it’d be a complete bitch to move my guns. But I’d do it. I slapped on a happy face. “No problem. I’ll grab my stuff right after I finish eating.”

While Hope indulged in a bath, I indulged in Wild Turkey. I sat on the porch swing, soaking in the beauty of the night.

When my vision doubled and the harsh edges of the day blurred, I stumbled into the house. I shut off the lights. Checked on Hope. She’d fallen asleep sprawled in the middle of my bed with a pink towel wrapped around her head turban-style. I covered her with our mother’s wedding-ring quilt.

The mattress in the guest room sucked. I can take hard beds. I’d rather sleep on the ground than spend the night tossing and turning on softball-sized lumps, so I curled up on the braided wool rug, next to my guns. Exhaustion-emotional and physical-sent me to dreamland almost immediately.

Baghdad burned. The thick, black smoke roiled over the skyline like an apocalyptic snake. Car and store alarms blared. Chunks of buildings crashed to the street, cracking the concrete like stones rippling in an empty pool. The continuous sound of gunfire jarred my brain. When I did get a brief respite from the noise, I panicked, because then I could hear screams of terror. The stench of burning garbage. Of rubber. The sickly sweet odor of fried skin.

My partner had left hours earlier. I’d stayed behind-voluntarily-to tie up the last loose end, a diplomat named Rajeem who’d gone into hiding in the Fadhil district. In addition to leaking classified information, which had gotten five American soldiers killed, he’d raped and murdered a few orphans.

My mind kept returning to the pictures I’d seen, the horrified expressions on those dead boys’ faces. The blood. The damage a full-grown man can inflict on supple young bodies.

If I had my way, Rajeem would’ve seen my wet work up close and personal. I didn’t get to use a knife often; consequently, I’d spent way too much time planning how to cut off Rajeem’s dick and balls with one slice. How I’d keep him from bleeding to death before I pried his jaw open and rammed his genitals down his own throat as I watched him choke to death on them.

But circumstances changed, as they did so often in war, and there was no safe way for me to get close to Rajeem. I had to satisfy the parameters of my op with a simple kill shot to the head. I felt cheated, but I finished the job.

I shuffled through the melee on the streets, hunched over, dirty burka dragging through the rubble, my head covered, but my eyes hyper-alert. I was another injured Iraqi woman, running from destruction and certain death at the hands of the Allies. No one bothered me. No one knew I’d strapped my stripped-down rifle to my right leg under my burka. Scary, how women are part of the background. Scary, how realistic the dreams were becoming. I even smelled smoke.

Smoke. I coughed and opened my eyes. Saw the French blue curtains in the guest room billowing against the red sky.

I sat up. I wasn’t in Baghdad or lost in a dream. I was at home. On the ranch. In South Dakota. The sky never looked red like that unless…

Something was on fire.

I raced to the window. The chicken coop was engulfed. Orange flames licked the black sky like angry demonic tongues.

Hope.

I dropped to all fours and crept down the quiet hallway toward Hope’s room. No flames crackled, no stifling heat, nothing but a bluish-gray haze filled the space. At her door, cool wood met my palm. The metal handle wasn’t hot, so I pushed inside.

The windows were closed; smoke hadn’t breached the room. My gaze zeroed in on the small white foot dangling off the edge of the bed. “Hope. Wake up.”

No response.

She was still sprawled on her stomach with the towel askew. “There’s a fire. Wake up.”

She didn’t move.

I shook her shoulder. My fingers connected with sticky wetness. I felt a bump on the back of her neck that hadn’t been there earlier.

Cold fear seized me. I pivoted into a fighting stance as my eyes scanned the room. No one jumped out at me. I picked up the receiver from the nightstand and punched in 911. The line was dead. Damn damn damn. And I’d left my cell phone on the coffee table in the living room.

On instinct I flung back the quilt and cradled Hope to my chest. Her weight didn’t register as I hustled from the room. Despite the muscles in my chest being strung rubber-band tight, I inhaled deeply, dashed down the steps and out the front door. Once my bare feet hit concrete, I headed for the gazebo.

Hope didn’t stir as I set her on the ground. I raced back inside the house, grabbed my cell phone, and dialed 911 as I sprinted back outside to keep vigil over my sister.

After dispatch rattled off their initial spiel, I said, “This is Mercy Gunderson. 43007 Gunderson Way. There’s an injured woman here who requires immediate medical attention. At least one structure on the property is on fire… No, ma’am… I’m outside… Yes, ma’am… Thank you.”

My cell rang not three seconds later. Jake. I flipped it open. “Mercy! You outta the house?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“By the gazebo. Where are you?”

“On my way.”

Two minutes later Jake came hauling ass around the corner. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. But… someone broke in and hurt Hope before they set the fire.”

“What? Hope is here?” He looked at the cell phone clutched in my hand. “Did you call it in?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Stay with her. I have to see if TJ put Queenie and Comet in the stables in the old barn. The north side of the small barn and the grass beside it are on fire, too.”

Shit. Three fires? “Anything else burning?”

“I don’t know. I’ll check and be back.”

Jake seemed startled when I grabbed his forearm. “The horses aren’t worth risking your life.”

“I know, but I ain’t about to let an animal burn to death if I can get ’em out.”

I phoned Sophie and asked her to come help. Hope would need coddling, and I’d be too busy putting out fires to tend her. I circled the outside of the house checking to see if anything had been damaged.

An ugly black stain darkened the white siding beneath the kitchen window, as if someone tried to torch the place but couldn’t get it to ignite, so they moved on to destroy the next thing. Or had they moved inside?

Why hadn’t I heard anything? What had happened to my finely honed powers of observation?

Right. I’d dulled them in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

Frustration built. I couldn’t help my sister. I couldn’t stop the buildings from burning down. I couldn’t do anything but stand there helplessly as my life careened out of control.

Do something.

Like what? Get my apron wet in the well and help beat the flames back like the pioneer women had done?

An ambulance ripped up the driveway, ending my mental breakdown. Two pumper trucks; two sheriff’s cars, sirens wailing; six pickups and assorted SUVs followed. Not gawkers, volunteer firemen. Vehicles were abandoned, shouts exchanged as the fireproof suits went on.

I flagged down the ambulance crew. “She’s over here.”

The male EMT was Geneva’s brother, Rome. “Is it Sophie?”

“No. It’s Hope. I don’t know when, or how, but someone hit her in the neck and I know I shouldn’t have moved her in case it’s a head injury, but I couldn’t tell if the house was on fire, too, and I couldn’t just leave her-”

“You did fine, Mercy. We’ll take it from here.”

I put my lips to his ear. “She’s pregnant.”

“Good to know.” When I didn’t budge, Rome peered in my eyes. “Take a deep breath. Do I need to treat you for shock?”

Was it that obvious? “No.”

“Good. See if the firefighters need anything. I’ll find you as soon as I’m done with Hope. See? She’s already stirring.”

I squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

As I skirted the concrete birdbath, I heard boards collapsing and a whoosh of air. I saw a shower of red and orange sparks soaring into the dark sky. Guess I wouldn’t have to worry about painting the chicken coop.

A few firefighters were in the pasture attempting to keep the grass fire from spreading. One guy stood sentinel by the propane tank. Others were hosing down the flames licking up the side of the barn.

Damn. There was a gas tank on the far side of the other smaller barn. Jake and the ranch hands used it to fill ATVs, chainsaws, and yard equipment. Jake had been dealing with the horses; he probably hadn’t talked to the firemen.

I glanced at the wooden structure. Yellow flames shot into the air, then sparks fell to the ground like gigantic lemon drops. One tiny flare and the blast radius might be enough to ignite the dry grass on this side of the barn. Then the haystacks, the cars, the farm and fire equipment, and the house were in danger of catching fire.

Run.

Instead of running away, I sprinted across the yard, yelling for the chief. Pebbles tore my feet. A chunk of logging chain embedded in the dirt by the old hand water pump tripped me, and I took the brunt of the fall on my knees, rather than twist my ankle again.

I looked up.

Fire danced across the shake shingles. An ember broke free and landed directly on top of the rusted metal gas container. Followed by two more. And two more after that.

Too late.

My heart stopped. I didn’t stick around to watch it explode. I scrambled to my feet and ran like hell, screaming my fool head off.

The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. I heard whump whump whump BOOM. Bright light flashed behind me; a blast of heat followed. Something solid hit me, slamming my body into the earth.

I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move.

Shouts, footsteps, the whine of mechanical equipment drifted around me. Couldn’t anyone see I was dying?

An eternity passed before I realized the unnamed entity shielding me was warm and panting like a dog. The object shifted. Rough hands frantically pushed at my tangled hair. Warm, moist lips grazed my ear.

“Come on, Mercy. Talk to me. Yell at me. Do something.”

I opened my eyes and stared into Dawson’s soot-covered face, inches from mine.

“You okay?”

I sort of nodded.

“Ah hell, I knocked the wind out of you, didn’t I?”

I nodded again.

“I shouldn’t have hit you that hard. But I heard you yelling and saw how close you were to the tank and I just-”

“Overreacted,” I choked out.

He didn’t crack a smile. “Better safe than sorry.”

“I guess.” I wiggled. His jeans scratched the front of my bare legs, gravel dug into the back of my thighs. “You’re crushing me.”

“Sorry.” Dawson scrambled off and held a hand out to help me up.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He frowned and tipped my chin up, his eyes searched my face. “Have the EMTs check you out.”

“Why?” I didn’t give a damn how bad I looked.

“To make sure you didn’t scorch your lungs. Or I didn’t break your ribs.”

“Oh.”

The tip of his shaking finger gently traced my cheek. “There’s a bloody scratch here, too. If it gets infected, it’ll scar.” He plucked debris from my unbound hair, letting it fall between us like confetti. His other wrist rested on my collarbone and his palm circled my neck as his thumb caressed my jawline.

“Mercy?” Rome’s voice broke the moment. “Can I see you for a second?”

“Umm. Ah. Sure. I’ll be right there.”

Dawson gave me an unreadable look before he stepped back and rejoined the firefighters.

Something had just happened. But I’ll be damned if I knew what.