The Man Who Hated Ned O'Leary (Dig Two Graves 2)

Rory cleared his throat. “Mr. Flores, is there anything you can tell me about your life after the Three Stones massacre? I know it might sound rude, since it’s your last day and all, but I’m gathering a little crime compendium for posterity, and was hoping for some insight. It’s a rare opportunity to meet someone of your caliber in Beaver Springs.”

Cole’s instinct was to say no, but he stopped himself before the words left his mouth. “Under one condition.”

Rory gravitated closer, his eyes growing wide with greed. Perfect. “I want to enjoy my final meal. I want roast beef with potatoes, and pie or cake. And r-raisins,” he said, hating the way he stumbled over that last word. The treat would last him this entire night and sweeten his sorrows the same way it had quieted his fears when he’d slept in the brothel, listening to all the shouts and moans without knowing what they were about.

“Cole always liked raisins,” Ned mumbled from his blanket cave. “I could ask for some and give them to him,” he whispered more quietly.

Rory stared at them before clearing his throat. “Ned? Any food?”

The auburn head snapped up, as if he’d been awoken from slumber. “The same. With raisins.”

Cole frowned but stayed quiet while Rory picked up some things. “Right. I’ll be back very soon, so you better make peace. You only have until tomorrow to come clean about whatever animosity you’re harboring.”

For a while after Rory left, Ned kept tapping his foot on the floor. Eventually though, he rose with a crazed twinkle in his eye and walked up to the bars, close enough for Cole to possibly-maybe reach him from his own trap. If he used his legs.

“I’ve got an idea,” Ned said.

“An idea? You? I’m surprised you’re still able to talk like a normal person,” Cole mumbled, watching him from behind his own set of bars.

Ned licked his dry lips, which were barely visible under the beard, and stared at Cole. “Your bench is broken.” He pointed to the gap in the middle of the wooden cot. “Give me the plank. It’s by the wall.”

“No. It’s my bench, and you’re not getting it unless you tell me what I want to know,” Cole said, his voice growing in strength with each word until his throat ached.

Ned groaned. “We don’t have a lot of time. Give me the plank. I might be able to reach the keys from here.” He nodded toward the set of keys hanging off a curved nail in the wall.

Heat burned the sides of Cole’s face, then his neck, but when he looked at the nail, already hopeful, it became clear to him that while the keys might be reachable with the piece of wood, they hung way too far from his own cell and just close enough to Ned’s for this mad plan to work. His heart beat faster at the perspective of running off together, like in the old days, but the moment he stepped back to reach the broken plank and saw hope light up Ned’s eyes, it occurred to him that it was yet another trick.

Ned O’Leary, the greatest liar Cole had ever met was about to strike again. Use Cole to free himself and then leave him to rot while he returned to whatever hell he’d come from.

“You think me a fool?”

“What? Why not at least try?” Ned spread his arms, and the blanket fell off him again. Could even this be an attempt at manipulation? Ned hoping Cole was still weak-willed when it came to his body?

“You’re just going to run off and leave me here, like last time. I might have been a fool seven years ago, but you taught me no one should ever be trusted.”

Ned frowned. “You were the one to tell me to go to hell. I got shot, and—I did actually come back a few days later. Couldn’t find you. I knew you meant what you said when I went to our tree and found it mutilated, our initials cut out like what we shared had never existed.”

Cole spread his arms. “By that time, I was locked in a rancher’s cellar, with this mark still burning on my forehead.” He growled, touching the uneven skin of the brand. “So spare me your excuses.” He took a deep breath, fighting the little shivers running down his legs. “You want to run? Fine. I can throw you the plank if you tell me what I want to know. Tell me,” he said more firmly, trying to yank at the bars, but they wouldn’t budge at all.

He was already planning to not keep his side of the bargain, because if Ned could lie to his face, then he didn’t need to be a paragon of honesty either.

“What will it change, huh? You will still hate me. Does it matter why I shot the girl? She’s still dead. You’re better off with your fond memories of Tom. Such a good guy after all. Adopted you when no one else took notice,” Ned said through clenched teeth and turned around. “But who am I to judge? I’ve got no moral fiber left.”