abrightboy | (Reply)

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"Ain't those kind of safe houses," Sol supplied darkly. "We don't shit where we sleep, if you know what I mean. And if he's holed up, he's loaded down. That's the one thing we keep there. A spare gun in each place. He might still have a contact or two. Not much else."

Art shifted. "Can we get those addresses on a list?" The question was asked with the production of a notepad and a pen that were slid across the table.

Raylan looked back at Rachel and Tim, giving them a small nod that sent them just as non disruptively out the door as they'd come in, though Tim hung around the entrance, watching them all through the glass. Raylan moved over to Malcolm's side, touching his elbow with two fingers to pull him back from the situation.

"Sol and the Dixie Mafia have been trading guns for coke and weed for more than a few decades. I'd bet money that whatever contacts Quarles has in Jersey will end up relating to someone from Memphis. We're gonna have to go out there, but this puts this outside of NYPD unless we can draw him back across the bridge."

Raylan turned around to face the elder men. "The number he used to call you too. Your ex-guy's number. Add that on."