Malcolm Bright

At the first word, both of the older men were looking up at Malcolm like he'd grown a third head and it was only because of how quickly and well he was speaking that he was allowed to continue to do so without interruption. It was the Dead Kids point that sealed the deal, Sol looking suitably disapproving and uncomfortable with the bluntness of Malcolm's approach.

"Hey look, we mighta raised him, but he ain't blood," Sol shot back, the only real defense that he had. "Not anymore."

"You know he still uses the name and word don't travel that fast, Sol," Art admonished with a 'You should know better' kinda tone. "It doesn't hurt that the little prick could talk Eskimos into buying ice cubes. We already know he's called. Just point us in the right direction. No way he comes back to town and doesn't tell Uncle Sol what he needs."

Sol looked between the three men, eyeing the only one who hadn't said anything yet before looking back at Art with a heavy, put out sigh.

"Two days ago. I told him I wasn't givin' him any money or any help. Found one of my guys dead over in Jersey this mornin'. I know it was him, that little ungrateful shit."

Raylan spoke up, head tilted slightly into the conversation. "What's in Jersey that he's gonna be able to use, aside from the car he just lifted off ya?"

Sol looked over at Raylan, just as unimpressed with him as he had been with Malcolm. "Few safe houses that we still use that he knows of. They're empty right now. Might find him there."