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

“Ned needs to find his own way.”

Chapter 24

Cole had barely slept. Daylight snuck its way into Terje’s wagon before he managed to get some shut-eye on the floor, and once he woke up to the sound of shouting and de-construction work, he was less rested than he had been before laying his head down.

Still, the moment Terje’s cuckoo clock struck twelve, it became clear that further rest made little sense, and he gravitated into the sunlight, which was so bright he ended up keeping his hat low over his eyes.

He must have resembled a ghoul from a story meant to scare children as he made his way through the encampment, so he washed in cold water, and then settled by one of the tables left standing close to the chuck wagon to sip coffee while troupe members pulled down stages and packed everything for today’s journey. Soon enough, there would be nothing left of the circus but a circle of sparse grass where too many feet had been digging into the dirt for the entirety of the past month.

He hadn’t touched liquor, yet felt as if he’d been drinking all night, and was fatigued as if the effort of saying goodbye to Ned has drained him of all strength. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been a coward and stayed ‘till morning to deliver the news in person?

The oatmeal in his bowl had brown bits of vegetables he didn't recognize, but at least trying to guess what they were was a game he could play to distract himself. Old carrot? Burned leek? Onion cooked in gravy?

“I know for a fact she let Leo slide two fingers up her cooch behind the stage,” a young man said to his friend with a snort as they rolled up the floor of the main tent. Both were strangers to Cole, so they must have been Jan’s recent acquisitions, unworthy of his attention.

The oatmeal had a burnt aftertaste, but eating it wouldn’t have made him happy even if it contained honey and nuts, so he fed on the gruel, watching the two men work. They were still built like boys, with arms that seemed too long and sparse muscle on their chests. One even had the misfortune of suffering of acne, but as all young men who hadn’t yet learned that this kind of talk marked them as curs, they loudly discussed the erotic encounter that likely never happened.

Cole didn’t care much about the vulgar chatter until the lecherous laughs turned into jeers as Roger walked past the two workers with a large tool box.

“Hey, Roger?” One of the boys started with a mean smile. “Do you stand in the corner when Parita gives the extra shows?”

His friend cackled like a madman. “If I had a woman like that, I’d keep her to myself, not let her—”

Roger gave them a level glare. “But you don’t.”

Cole smirked and would have whistled if he’d ever learned how to. He gave a short clap instead. “Well said, friend. Care to join me?” he asked to show his solidarity with Roger, who deserved a medal for not letting talk like this drag him down.

Some people believed lewd comments about the man’s wife or suggestions that she took him for a fool, were the height of humor, but for most it was yet another way to make themselves feel better. Cole figured the pimpled youth couldn’t fathom why a beauty like Parita had chosen a man whose face was deformed. But love didn’t care for propriety, and made unlikely matches just as often as the likely ones. It had been kind to Roger and Parita, but Cole suspected Cupid harbored a personal grudge against him. The poison on the invisible arrow stuck in Cole’s flesh might have tasted sweet, but it had brought him more pain than he was willing to take.

Roger slammed the tool box to the ground and sat next to Cole, pouring himself a bowl of oatmeal from the cooling pot in the middle of the table. “I didn’t know you were back.”

Cole sipped some coffee. “I’m here to leave Tommy in Judith’s care. But he might need a father figure too. Care to teach him how to build things next time you’re setting up?”

“Jan kept boasting that you’d rejoin the show. Shoulda’ known he was full of crockshit.” Roger laughed and stuffed his mouth with the gooey oatmeal. “But sure, I’ll look out for the kid. Whose is he anyway? The other fellow’s?”

Cole felt mildly offended on Ned’s behalf, even though Roger barely knew him and had no reason to remember his name or acknowledge his existence when he wasn’t present. “Ned’s? No. No, he’s… an old friend’s. Has no one in the world, and I guess it’s time for me to pay back a debt to his parents.”