abrightboy | The Lengths That I Would Go To

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."

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From:

tinstar

"That so." Interesting, to say the least. "And now you're workin' for him." Even more interesting. Of course, Raylan couldn't help but be curious as to why this NYPD cop was raising kids but that was too forward a conversation for a first meeting.

From:

abrightboy

"Well, to answer your previous question: the FBI doesn't take my calls because they think I'm crazy. Gil hires me because he thinks I'm reasonably....not. Plus I catch a lot of murderers. He's not the kind of guy who hands out charity."

Unless you're eleven.

"I performed well at Quantico," he added. "Including on marksmanship," he explained as they stepped outside.

From:

tinstar

"Quantico, impressive," he conceded with a bob of his head as they swaggared into the parking garage. "I trained at Glenco myself, if you know it." Swinging his car door open, Raylan slid in, hat and all.

"You really don't eat?"

From:

abrightboy

He huffed another of his self-deprecating laughs as he slid into the passenger seat.

"Well, obviously I eat. I mean, I'm still alive. But most food makes me sick, so I tend to stick to....a minimal and very narrow sort of diet," he explained, demonstrating said narrowness by holding up his two index fingers maybe an inch apart. "It's easier on me and the plumbing."

From:

tinstar

"Could be on that Soylent Green diet, for all I know. All liquid." Malcolm didn't look like a drinker, generally speaking. "Food out here almost tastes just as good on the way up."

But he wasn't going to harass the man.

"It'll take us about an hour to get up to those parts; suppose I shoulda told you to go to the little boys room before we left. Sorry 'bout that."

From:

abrightboy

"I'll be all right," Malcolm told him in response to the length of the trip, after wrinkling his nose a little at the comment about how the food might taste on the way back up. That had never been his experience.

He was silent for a moment as the car began to move, then looked over at Raylan, going back to a remark it might have seemed he'd glossed past.

"You know Soylent Green is made of people, right?"

From:

tinstar

He hadn't had Kentucky food and Raylan knew a little something about a liquid diet, more than a few meals consisting strictly of beers or Jim Beam. Not that he was admitting that.

"1973. We get T.V. out here," Raylan says, one eye squinting over his smirk as they pull out onto the highway. "California's been working on a plant based liquid solution. Vegans or somesuch." He shrugged, shoulder barely moving while the rest of the shrug was on his face and the way his lips downturned.

"The ideas that come out of some peoples heads," he clucked, tone full of humor.

From:

abrightboy

"I'm not a cannibal," he promised with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but even that attempt at levity was betrayed by his left hand starting to shake. He squeezed his own knee to hold it still.

"I do drink meal replacement shakes or smoothies when I can't stomach anything else," he admitted, just to keep talking like nothing had triggered his complement of nervous tics.

From:

tinstar

Raylan caught the steadying grip on Malcolm's knee but made no move or comment about it. Just something else to file away until he had a better picture of the trim suit next to him.

"You'll have to go to a grocery store for stuff like that. Might find a Smoothie King in Lexington somewhere, but elsewhere, all you're gonna find is Slimfast. But, to each their own. Personally, I don't mind pulling a few light food days but I will admit that I am a sucker for a good steak."

From:

abrightboy

"Oh, I brought my own," Malcolm told him, flexing his left hand wide open and then into a tight fist and then resuming the alternating hand wringing that he'd been doing earlier, squeezing one hand with the other and then switching, back and forth and back and forth absently.

"Basic life support: don't leave home without it," he joked awkwardly.

He looked at Raylan sidelong. "I would have pegged you as a red meat man. And... whiskey. Bourbon, specifically. Is that a stereotype?" he asked almost more to himself than Raylan. "Well, I guess stereotypes come from somewhere."

From:

tinstar

For some reason, that struck Raylan as funny. What kind of man travels with his own food supply? But much like everything else, to each their own. Didn't bother Raylan at all - now he knew to not invite the man to lunch.

Valuable information.

"Just as much a potatoes and greens man," Raylan assured, still wholly amused by the character next to him. "Maybe it is, maybe it's not. Alls I know is Bourbon is a whole lot simpler than a lot of the alternatives. Tastes like a warm summer day. The stereotype can be useful, even for us." His face curled. "People come down here, see how people live, hear our accent and think we're backwater, backwoods hillbilly folk. All the more to their detriment."

The stereotype of people being less than intelligent in Kentucky was a lie too, if the vocabulary he used was any indication.

"Just like they'll see you as nothin' more than a carpetbagger from up north." There was a subtle warning in there, just to make Malcolm aware of the hostility he might find here. The country had teeth.

From:

abrightboy

"I'm used to being judged as effete," Malcolm told him. Expensive suits. Precisely knotted ties. Wool coats. Italian leather shoes. An anaemic look to him. A big vocabulary. "There are few advantages as effective as being underestimated."

He understood.

"I've very occasionally enjoyed a glass of scotch. Or red wine."

Just one. He was heavily medicated.

"I mostly drink tea. That probably doesn't help fight my image, but I'm pretty much embracing that these days."

His hands continued their absent wringing.

From:

tinstar

Raylan bobbed his head, but the shift of his eyes out his window before they locked back on the road suggested that he didn't quite agree with the equalization. Plenty of effete people lived and functioned here, but Malcolm would learn the difference between the assumption of inaction and the hyper assumption that anyone with fingers could pull a trigger.

Somehow, he thought Malcolm might be fine. He'd see - the first press of the reality of the place would tell him a lot and no amount of talking would hasten that informations coming.

"You ever drink it cold and sweet? Might earn you a few points with some Grandmama's and waitresses. Pro tip, you want tea down here, you'd best as for it hot otherwise you're libel to get somethin' else. You never answered my question from before about if you've ever been this far south or not."

From:

abrightboy

He smiled self-consciously. "No. I suppose I didn't." He glanced over, watching Raylan's profile. "I made arrests in Alabama, South Carolina... most recently in Utah. I mean, most recently before New York."

From:

tinstar

"Might give you enough to pass by. Or at least not gawk at some of the shit you might see." He'd see.

50 minutes later, they were pulling up at an unassuming country house, semi-isolated from the rest of the town on basis of distance alone, as much was the case with a lot of houses across Kentucky.

"Stay polite," Raylan cautioned as he threw the towncar into park before turning it off and stepping out of the car with only an adjustment of his hat. He glanced at Malcolm as he joined him in stride and hoped that if there was someone in the house, that they wouldn't have a gun. Just because he'd trusted Malcolm with a firearm didn't mean he trusted his temper in using it.

From:

abrightboy

"Do people you work with usually lead with rude?" he asked as he fell into step alongside Raylan.

Naturally observant, he took in the state of the house, how much care (or lack of care) had been paid to the yard, what sort of truck was parked beside it. He'd let Raylan lead, unless something really distracted him from the niceties. Like Raylan not taking his expertise seriously.

From:

tinstar

"People I deal with usually lead with gun barrels," Raylan conceded easily. He made no excuses for how situations seemed to crop up around him. "Victim of the times and situation, I'm afraid."

Like many places, it needed a coat of paint, the yard was largely untended but not to the point of wild, just overgrown, but the windows were dressed with cream print and the porch was clear, decorated with a lone rocking chair and a wooden spindle, the ones used for large industrial cording set on it's side as a table. People here were poor and those who weren't usually aimed to not look like they were.

Raylan knocked on the door with one hand, his off hand coming up to rest on his holster and unsnap the securing snap.

"Miss Rochester? US Deputy Marshals, open up."

Silenced answered him and after a long moment, Raylan glanced at Malcolm, unholstered his weapon and opened the screen door, before opening the front door and stepping in, gun half raised.

If no one answered him before, they weren't going to answer him again, and as Raylan stepped into the dining room, he saw why.

"Well goddamn," he said, eyes sharpening in disgust as he views the murder scene before him.

From:

abrightboy

Malcolm never went for his gun. He wasn't accustomed to it these days. His own eyes widen as he joins Raylan in surveying the scene and he's instantly moving to get a closer look at the mangled corpse before standing again to scrutinize the room.

"She's not the woman we're looking for," he noted. "But there's a resemblance. He's barely keeping up the pretense of an accident anymore. Why would a woman be using a circular saw in the living room of a woman who looks kind of like her? There are no other building supplies here."

He crouched close to her and inspected her wounds without touching; Edrisa had drilled it into him.

"Needle mark in the neck. He brought her here unconscious but alive," he surmised. "He needed a beating heart to go for the really big blood spatter," he explained, making an accompanying expansive gesture. "Let's remember he's a showman. He's putting on a show for an audience of one. The question is where is corpse number two and what does he have in mind for his grand finale?"

From:

tinstar

Raylan was more worried about some dim-minded idiot with a sawed off coming out of nowhere to get these strangers out of their house but then again, he'd been shot at so many times, it was no surprise.

He tries to stop Malcolm with a half raised hand and a half given sound that was clearly brushed off by Malcolm's weird enthusiasm and Raylan followed him in a couple of steps as he glanced around for other archways that someone might come out of.

"So this was what, a preview of what he's plannin' on doing to her?" Raylan came up to a window and glanced out. "Where's the reward in not seeing her reaction?"

AKA is he a runner or a vouger? Either way, Raylan pulled out his phone and hit a few buttons, ringing up his office. It was a short call, one for the corner and the techs - this was a crime scene now. He added a BOLO on the lady they were supposed to find here before hanging it up.

"I need to clear the upper floor and the kitchen, stay here."

From:

abrightboy

"We don't know that he didn't see her reaction," Malcolm pointed out. "We have to assume he has her now."

He looked up from the body at Raylan's instructions.

"Don't you need backup?" he asked. "What if he's still here?"

From:

tinstar

"We don't know that he did. Stay here," he reiterated with one hand lifting up in prompt, ignoring the question in favor of working his way out of the room, boots nearly silent as he walked, dark eyes darting around the hallway as he left Malcolm's sight.

The backdoor was open, making Raylan think their guy probably ran off when they pulled up, but just in case, Malcolm would be able to see Raylan going up the stairs. Room by room, he cleared the house, calling out when he was done. "CLEAR."

A few seconds later, he was trotting back down the stairs.

"To answer your question, I woulda shot him."

From:

abrightboy

"Is that the outcome you want?" Malcolm asked him bluntly, still standing near the body.

From:

tinstar

Raylan shrugged. "It's not an outcome I'm against, strictly speaking. If they make me," he said, pulling an over the top, unbothered expression, face wrinkling in his unique way as he shrugged.

"What makes you so sure he's got her?"

From:

abrightboy

Malcolm wasn't sure someone could argue that the perpetrator 'made them' shoot if that was the first thing they tried, but he didn't know enough about Givens to say so yet.

"It's what he came for," Malcolm said simply, in answer to his question. "She's not here. A corpse with his signature is. I think it's a pretty reasonable assumption." He gestured to the body. "When will your ME get here?"

From:

tinstar

It'd only take one internet search of his name to bring up the most famous bullshit that Raylan's temper had gotten himself into - Miami. He'd given the guy 24 hours to get out of town before Raylan was going to shoot him.

The guy drew, Raylan shot and was consequently reassigned as he was investigated. His file of sins was a bit bigger than punching a FBI and Malcolm would surely find the paper trail of bodies that followed Raylan Givens.

"'Bout 30 minutes. We're gonna have to hold tight. I saw some bread in the kitchen and frankly, I'm hungry enough to chase a horse," he declared, striding that way.

No, a murder scene didn't bother him, even one like this.