The Lengths That I Would Go To

[abrightboy]

The killer was moving around the country. Malcolm Bright could see the pattern, but he wasn't working for the FBI these days and they weren't exactly taking his calls. Short sighted of them, but they did fire him on suspicion of being crazy. The NYPD's jurisdiction was New York. With the killer beyond its borders, they handed it upwards and left it at that.

Let it go, Bright, had been Gil's sage advice. You can't catch every killer in America single-handedly.

Challenge accepted, some part of him retorted, though he'd only nodded mutely and forced a smile. Gil knew he hadn't simply let it go, but he wasn't going to have him followed to stop him doing anything stupid, either. He didn't have the will or the resources to keep tabs on Malcolm Bright 24/7 and Malcolm Bright knew it.

His mother, on the other hand, had extensive resources, so he simply didn't tell her he was leaving town. He did arrange for Ainsley to feed his bird, so the truth would come out eventually, but he'd be several states away by then.

He rode the bus. There was something oddly comforting about the anonymity of being in a crowd of strangers who had no interest in him whatsoever. He stared out the window and watched the country go by. When he stepped off the Greyhound in Lexington, Kentucky, he walked to a nearby hotel and checked in, then headed straight to the US Marshals office. There was no point in trying to talk to the FBI. If he was going to stop a killer from killing again, he needed someone in law enforcement to listen to him. The pattern suggested the next murder would happen in one of the rural communities around Lexington and it would be precipitated by a young woman's disappearance. He needed law enforcement with local knowledge, specifically.

He wandered into the Marshals' offices in a tidy three piece suit, charcoal grey with a burgundy tie perfectly knotted at his collar. He got a few suspicious sidelong glances but nobody asked if they could help him. He cleared his throat.

"Um, hello? I'm wondering if there's anyone here I can talk to about murder." He held up his hands. "Stopping murder, specifically, not... like... smalltalk."

Comments

[abrightboy]

Martin's eyebrows lifted just a tiny bit.

"And I take it you're the one that shot him," he surmised. "I suppose I owe you a debt for protecting my son. Don't know what I'd do without the little guy. Is that why you're here?"

[tinstar]

'The little guy' got under Raylan's skin and his jaw flexed, eyes hardening with the rising of his temper.

"That's all?" he asked, eyebrows lifting in return. "Quarles tried to kill Malcolm to finish what you started, so let's not talk debts because there's a goddamn line." Raylan just happened to be in that queue now.

[abrightboy]

Martin stood up.

"To finish what I started? I'd never hurt Malcolm, whatever he may have told you," he said firmly. "He's my son."

[tinstar]

"Whatever Malcolm might have told me or the big fuckin' kid killer that cut him," Raylan snapped back, not giving Martin time enough to answer before he and his finger that kept gesturing his point without his hand moving from the casual crook it'd taken at the start of all this.

But he knew his own temper and almost visibly pulled it back in, taking on a near patient tone as he continued, despite the fact that his eyes were a little wider and fully pissed off.

"Quarles took that initiative all on his own. Which means I don't know what you've been telling other people, but if you don't want your son dead, you might want to swing the other way with that one, go back to your 'Dad of the Year' bullshit and keep your bad fucking decisions to yourself."

[abrightboy]

Martin stepped forward, darkness in his eyes no longer hidden. The tether to the wall pulled taut as he reached the red line.

"So you're his advocate now?" Martin said with a hint of a sneer. "But you're upset on his behalf. What does that make you? His best friend? His bosom companion?" He looked Raylan over. "His boyfriend? Good luck sliding that past his mother; she wants grandchildren to get her family out from under my legacy," he said with a forced levity over the scorn.

[tinstar]

If he'd been looking to see or strike some uncertainty or fear in Raylan, he'd sized up the wrong cowboy.

Martin didn't get the last word in before Raylan punched him solidly with a right hook, left coming in to fist in that perfect fucking sweater to keep Martin from getting away so that he could pop him two more times with unbridled fury and shove him to the ground. No doubt there'd be some imprint from the horseshoe ring afterwards.

"Now its about you."

Mr David, ever watchful, had readied himself as Martin stepped forward, familiar with the look in the Doctor's eye but even that readiness wasn't quick enough to in the room and around Raylan before his hands were free. Mr David did, however, take Raylan up by his shirt and start pushing him out of the room.

That, Raylan let happen with a dangerous look as he turned himself and strode out.

[abrightboy]

Martin pressed his fingers to his nose to find blood there and looked daggers at the Marshal's back, shaking off the guard that came to check his condition.

He'd file that in the back of his head and wait for an opportunity to turn the dagger himself.

[tinstar]

Raylan's anger didn't ebb with the punches or the space that grew between him and the Whitly family, and his stride didn't ease beyond stopping to pick his weapon back up and him sliding in the car. Breathing deeply, Raylan examined his fist, swore at himself for losing his temper again, and threw the car into reverse.

He and his team had a twelve hour drive ahead of them, and an irritated Raylan to boot.

"All this driving shit to save money," he cussed to himself as he headed towards the hotel.