This story happened only two weeks ago, so it’s fresh enough to still hurt. Of course, what betrayal doesn’t hurt? When your best friend, your partner of crime, turns on you, everything good is spoiled. Even if I weren’t to be hanged in the morning, thoughts of Samson taint all my happiest memories of heading up the Scales gang. And if you have to know that I spent time with your daughter, I suppose it’s fitting you hear me suffer too.

  It started in our hideout. I could tell you where, but I won’t. The only thing I will say is it’s in one of the few areas around here that actually has trees, and even that might be too much. We sat under a great sycamore, Samson and me, talking about the state of things, and an old recurring argument.

  “We’ve done our time,” Samson insisted. He elbowed me in the side for emphasis before raising the beer to his mouth and downing it. A small keg stood a foot away on a tree trunk for easy access, but we were nearing the end of it. “We’ve done more for the little guys than anyone else, but there’s talk of bringing the army in for us. We did good, Jesse, now let’s fuck off before it kills us.”

  I was tipsy but too frustrated to get a good drunk on, which just made me try harder. “There are worse things to die for.”

  “There are worse things to die for,” Samson mimicked in a high pitched voice. “I’d rather not die at all. We did more than anyone thought we could accomplish. Why not walk away while we can?”

  “Because that would mean they won,” I snapped. “Sheriff Rickens, Mayor Gandor, every last stinking one of them up the chain. Those bastards have been making everyone’s lives harder for years now. If they’re sending in the big guns to take us out, then we have them scared. It’s a last ditch effort before they lose control. If anything, this is the time to be more daring, more bold than ever.”

  I refilled my mug. Across the clearing, Mademoiselle Maria stared off into the distance, tears permanently etched onto her face. She’d lost her two lovers recently, and was only just barely hanging on. Joey was dead, thanks to you, Sheriff. So was Grant, and too many others. Good men and women, the only ones willing to stand up against greed and tyranny, like our ancestors did when making this country.

  Now, the gang was barely holding together.

  “I want you to be honest with me, Jesse, and none of your usual bullshit.” Samson sat up straight and looked at me. After the last few years, his normally vibrant beard had patches of white in it. “Do you actually think we can win anything, or do you just want an elaborate suicide? You’re too stubborn to give up, so you want us all to die in a blaze of glory, don’t you?”

  I nearly spat out my beer. “No! Screw you, Samson. How dare you?”

  He was one hundred percent right, I just didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to lose at all, especially not to assholes like you. I didn’t want to die, but it would be better to die while trying than to just give in and let it happen or run away because you’re scared. I may be many things, but a coward is not one of them.

  “Just admit it. I’m tired, Jesse.” It broke my heart to hear the truth in his words. It hurt worse because I understood it so well, and didn’t entirely disagree.

  I nudged him back, sloshing beer all over his pants. “One more job. One last gambit to see where we stand. We do that, and I’ll stop if it doesn’t work. You have my word.”

  Samson laughed. It started as a chuckle, then grew and grew until it oozed disbelief and bitterness. “One more job. Of course you want to do one more job. One last chance to die a legend.”

  “I can’t do it without you,” I said, my brain conjuring the plan almost wholly without my participation. It was daring, it was desperate, and it was decisive. One way or another, things would be over without any more harm coming to the gang. We’d walk away with enough money to start a new life down in Mexico, maybe join up with the rebel army and continue the good fight there.

  When I told Samson, he did the worst thing he’d ever done in our entire friendship. He looked me in the eye, and said, “Huh. That could work. That could work, you crazy, suicidal bitch.” He laughed, and he let me believe that he cared about the plan.

  That’s the worst thing about betrayers. It wouldn’t hurt so bad if we hadn’t been so close, if I didn’t care so much. He made me believe there was a chance of this working, and then, he went and handed me over to you. He turned our men against me and together, they gave me up to our mortal enemy.

  But first, he let me plan. Our target was to be the Sheriff, of course. The time had finally come to deal with you decisively, and maybe take out the mayor with the same bold stroke. It was risky, and came with the chance of failing before we could get started. It was such a good plan. I wish things had gone differently and we’d get a chance to see the look on your face when it went off, and everything you’ve worked towards burned to ashes around you. See, it was never enough to kill you, it had to be killing you in style. This plan had all of that, and more.

  Alas. Instead of that plan, we got a classic bait and switch, where my own ideas were turned against me.

  The night before we were set to enact the plan, we had a small feast to celebrate our friendship and three years of surviving outside the law. Samson, Henny, Jaque, and Indi were still alive, and they toasted me with drink after drink.

  And why not? I led this gang for years, I was the one most at risk. It was only natural that people cheer me on and offer me drinks. I never once suspected there might be anything wrong with those drinks.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “A toast!” I said for probably the tenth or eleventh time. The cup wiggled, as did the world. “To the finest group of thieves, liars, and murderers around. We all know that you can only be pushed around so long before someone pushes back. We’ll push…” My eyes went blurry. “We’ll…back at them, you know? We’ll…”

  The words lost all sense of meaning as the drugged beer and wine did their work. We’d drugged and poisoned drinks dozens of times, but I never thought my friends would turn it around on me. I slumped back in my chair, cup clattering to the ground. I couldn’t move, but I could, vaguely, hear and feel.

  “I don’t feel good about this, Sam,” said Henny, his girlfriend.

  “We need that amnesty,” Samson said. He looked around the camp, at how small we were compared to how we’d been. Even with the world spinning, I saw the grief on his face, heard it in his hurried, hushed words. “I had to end this before anyone else got hurt. This is my chance to get us out with our lives, and I’m taking it. I’ll have no part in her suicide. Does anyone here have a problem with it?”

  Silence. “I do,” Indi said, standing up. “You don’t turn on your friends. You’re giving into your fear and -- “

  My best friend, my partner, one of the best men I’d ever known, shot our friend in the chest mid-sentence. By the time Indi hit the ground, the feast fell silent. Samson got on the table and cleared his throat.

  “Our time is over, friends. Jesse Jane’s left us no choice but to turn her in. I’m not happy about it, but the only fair thing to do is to accept the reward money and pardon, split it all together, and then make our way out of Koda Junction. Don’t cross me on this.”

  And no one did. Before the darkness overtook me, I got to witness all my friends sit by and do nothing as my best friend readied me for the slaughter; three years of fattening up that bounty until it was enough to go to hell itself if it meant getting their thirty pieces of silver while alive. Between the treasures we sat on and this betrayal, Samson and Henny would live large off that silver.

  The last thing I remember before falling into the abyss was laughing at the way Samson accused me of suicide only to present me as a sacrifice, ready to die for all our sins so he could get away. The bitch of it is that I would’ve done it if they asked. But they didn’t ask.

  And the next thing I remember, I was practically mummified in ropes and chains in the back of a cart with Samson’s stupid face leering at me. He dropped me off, and you had a conversation I couldn’t overhear, and then you brought me to the jail.

  **********

  “And here we are,” said Jesse Jane, sighing in her cot. “It wasn’t much of a story, I guess. Maybe Samson was right, and I’m obsessed with an explosive ending. I guess being hanged in public isn’t so bad. That’s an honorable outlaw death. Not what I would’ve preferred, and I definitely don’t like the idea of Samson getting away with millions…”

  “Enough,” said Sheriff Rickens. He wiped at his watery eyes and drummed his fingers on the desk. “That’s unfortunate for you. And for me too. We still got a good six hours before we hang you, and it sounds like you’re out of stories. Maybe it’s time for you to hear stories of my own. I’ve got plenty from the survivors of your schemes, who had to live with the damage you’ve caused.”

  Jesse sighed and laughed. Here was the biggest part of the gamble, and she only had so much sway over it. Like all the most important moments, she threw herself into things and hoped they worked out for the best. It had never failed her before, though a traitorous voice in her head whispered there was always a first time.

  “Just promise me you’ll get Samson, amnesty or not,” she finally said.

  “Mmm,” the Sheriff grunted noncommittally.

  “Do you hate him?” Billy asked, shaking the outlaw from her focused scheming.

  “Samson? No, I don’t think I do. It hurts, and I go to my grave knowing the hanging will spare me further pain. It will be a mercy for the end to come.” Jesse eyeballed the whiskey in front of the Sheriff, but didn’t ask for it. Not yet.

  A chill passed through the jail. The middle of the night had a gloom to it that sat heavy and claustrophobic, and it was getting worse by the second. Before too long, her breathing grew ragged and racing.

  “Oh, there it is,” said Sheriff Rickens. A dark smile took over his tired, lined face. “The realization, the fear. There’s not going to be a last minute reprieve for you. You’re going to die, Jesse Jane, and it will be at my hands.”

  “I’ve already accepted that,” she whispered. “And I’m okay with it. But if I’m going to go out, I’d rather take someone out with me. You want Samson? I can give him to you .”

  “I bet you can,” he said, sounding bored. “And let me guess, the price will be really low. A steal, really. Just let you go, or get out a last minute message and you’ll give me your partner. I’m not falling for that again.”

  Jesse shook her head vehemently. “No. I’ve accepted my death, Sheriff. I just want to know that Samson went out with me. And if you don’t go after him soon, he’s going to get away. By this time tomorrow, he’ll be out of your reach forever. I’m offering you me and him both, and all the treasure we’ve collected but haven’t spread out yet. Enough to make you a rich man, or make you man of the year for recovering.”

  He stroked his chin, looking away. She knew what it looked like when someone didn’t want to be too obvious or come on too strong. “And what do you get out of it, other than the satisfaction that Samson dies too?”

  She put on her best shit-eating-grin. “All you have to do is give up on my public hanging. I deliver you right to my hide-out, and you shoot me twice in the chest, once in the head after Samson breathes his last. Quick, painless, and private. You get what you want, but you lose the pageantry. One last little tweak of your nose.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Rickens. He laughed his wheezy laugh, shaking his head. “You’re making that offer a bit close to the wire, aren’t you? Why not offer me this earlier, when there’s more time to go after Samson?”

  “I didn’t know if I was going to make the offer,” Jesse Jane admitted. “But I am, now. You get your deputies to gather up and go for a late night ride and I’ll take you right into the heart of our hideout. Just promise me you’ll let the children go without hurting them, and that Samson’s death be painful. Maybe a good gutshot, to reflect how gutless his betrayal was.”

  Sheriff Rickens had no doubt heard his share of last minute deals and confessions, and there was always the chance he’d say no. But that was the thing about men like him. Greed dominated their lives, and ruled their decision making. It was the only thing they understood, other than spite. Give them an attractive target, it didn’t matter if that deal seemed a little too good to be true.

  “What do you think, Billy-boy?” Rickens asked the kid. “Think we should follow the instructions of a famous liar, or should we sit around and enjoy one guaranteed execution? A bird in the hand, and all that.”

  The kid looked at the outlaw with a mix of excitement and sadness. But the answer was clear, even before he spoke.

  “Let’s get ‘em all!”