It turned and walked away, back into the house. The corpse it had worn for decades lay discarded on the ground like an out-of-style coat. Ledger let go of Wren and crawled toward it.
“What are you doing?” Wren asked. “We got a get-out-of-jail-free card, so we should get before the boss changes his mind.”
He was right. Ledger knew that.
“Just a second,” Ledger said. “Please.”
He dragged himself onto his knees, weight tilted awkwardly to one side, and pushed the husk onto its back. The gouged-out eye socket stared up at him, empty and ragged, but it was the other eye Ledger was interested in. He peeled the eyelid back with his thumb and peered into the murky remnants of it.
Nothing looked back at him.
So maybe he’d found Dale his death, too. That thought didn’t help yet, but maybe it would once Ledger had some distance from his betrayal.
“Come on,” Wren said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Ledger wiped his hand on his shirt.
“Do you think we could take this with us?” he asked as he stared at the shed skin.
“Why?” Wren asked.
Ledger shrugged. The flicker of habitual avarice was damped down by pain and exhaustion, but…
“I know three people who’d pay a fortune for this,” he said. “Even without any provenance.”
“No.”
“But—”
“No,” Wren repeated. “Take the win, Ledger. Get out while you can.”
Fair enough.
Ledger held his arm out to Wren.
“Help me up,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Wren grabbed his wrist and dragged him to his feet. “That’s what I’ve been saying,” he said. “So what now?”
Ledger looked down at his blood-soaked leg. “How about you take me to the hospital?” he suggested. He took Wren’s hand, their fingers woven through each other. It was half caress and half what he needed to stay upright. “Then maybe we can finally go on that date.”
EPILOGUE
AWEEK LATER, Ledger hobbled into the Jawbone Bar. The bruises on his forehead had faded, although the Y-shaped split where his head had hit the car was going to leave a scar. The doctors thought he’d get full use of his leg back, albeit with some nerve damage. For now, though, he had a crutch to keep his weight off it.
He leaned on it as he limped over to where Syder sat in a booth at the back of the bar, nursing a bottle of Scotch.
“Sheriff,” Ledger said as he sat down.
Syder looked up from the shot glass in his hand. He swirled the Scotch around idly. “The doctors say I shouldn’t drink,” he said. “But I can just ignore them. The problem is that it doesn’t taste right anymore.”
With a grimace, he tossed it back anyway and set the glass down sharply on the table.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Ledger leaned back. “To put this to bed,” he said. “I don’t want to have to look over my shoulder every minute until you’re dead, so I want to make it right. No more debts.”
Syder squinted at him suspiciously. “Are you trying to be smart?”
