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

I figure they're already late? Mbe they find one of the subs in the girl's house as a warning 2 her?

[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.

yes def

[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.

[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.

[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?"

[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."

[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?"

[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."

[abrightboy]

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

[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?"

[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?"

[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.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm's albatross was more about his father's actions than his own, though his bouquet of mental illness didn't help lend him more credibility than that.

"...You're going to eat her food?"

Was that adding insult to injury or was it tampering with evidence? He wasn't sure it was either of those. Maybe it was an unspoken rule. Maybe it was fine around here?

"Is that normal?"

[tinstar]

"She ain't dead yet, she can get more. What's a ham sandwich in the face of the Marshal's protection and service? If it'll make you feel better, I can leave a few bucks," he replied, his amusement clear in his voice.

"Not that it'll put much of a dent in the screen and glass costs this place's got."

Raylan was utterly unworried and unapologetic as he got into the kitchen and spun open the bread.

"Hey, how much does a PB&J cost in New York?"

[abrightboy]

"I don't actually know," Malcolm admitted, following him into the kitchen to lean in the doorway. "I haven't eaten one since I was eleven. Can you buy those in a sandwich shop?" he mused. "I suppose you can buy pretty much everything in New York," he concluded.

[tinstar]

"You got enough money, I'm sure that you can," Raylan said, dropping the bread on the counter to open the fridge door and pull out mayo, a pack of cheap ham and a couple of slices of cheese. After a pause, he dug back in and pulled out a small butter container, covered in foil, peeking inside and deciding it was worth the keeping.

"Big City and all. Get your tamales with a side of Lo Mein and curry, I imagine. Not to say that Kentucky doesn't have some culture and class," he continued, setting about the swift and practiced movements of making his sandwich. The mayo was spread to the crust, slight pains were taken to make sure the cheese didn't go outside those crusts and the ham was almost artfully piled before he laid over a few tomato slices, curtosy of the butter tub. Once everything was put away, Raylan would meander back towards the table in the center of the room, nabbing the salt and pepper.

"Up north, Louisville is almost civilized, compared to the hills here. 5 star restaurants, booming metropolis and all." With the sandwich made and seasoned, Raylan put everything away before cutting it in half. "Normally, I eat breakfast," he finished in way of explanation before picking up one half of the sandwich and leaning against the countertop as he bit into it.

"Don't tell Art."

[abrightboy]

"Don't tell Art which part?" Malcolm asked. "That you didn't have breakfast or that you stole a sandwich from a witness' house?"

He walked through the kitchen, looking at where the oven mitts hung and what sort of tea towels she had and the family photos on her refrigerator.

"Both secrets are safe with me," he added with a smile, looking at Raylan over his shoulder from where he stood looking at the fridge door.

[tinstar]

"He tends to frown on grazing potential victim's houses," Raylan admitted before taking another bite, far too casual for being where and when he was.

"'Course, he tends to frown on a lotta things that I tend to piss him off on," he ceded with a chuckle and another bite, curious eyes wondering why Malcolm was so put off food. Didn't seem natural.

"I'm trying to not give him a heart attack til he's really ready to retire, though I might not manage that. The way I'm goin'."

[abrightboy]

"Do you do it on purpose?" Malcolm asked with vague curiosity, his eyes still examining the items pinned to the fridge door with brightly coloured magnets. "For the reaction? Or is it just a basic clash of personality types?"

[tinstar]

Raylan scoffed, chuckling as he eyed his sandwich, dark eyes flitting up to meet Malcolm's starkly brilliant blue.

"No. Art is just an older, stricter generation than I am. Doesn't quite understand my situations. Doesn't understand why I don't deal with them the way he would." But then again, Art wasn't as angry as Raylan was against the type of people he came up against. Criminals, openly and happy to be so.

"The way of the world, our elders resisting change and telling us how things outta be done." At least out here. The carefree sentiment was coupled with a deft bite of his quickly vanishing sandwich.

"Where'd you grow up?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm met his gaze as he spoke, moving to sit down at the table with him as he asked the question.

"New York. I moved back after my stint in the FBI," he explained. "I guess I figured you can't just...keep running away. Eventually you have to go home."

[tinstar]

"Don't mean you have to stay there. Unfinished business?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm considered that a moment.

"When I left, I really thought it was done," he admitted. "Long done. But also... never done, I suppose and when I got back I realized it was less done than I thought." He shrugged and started unconsciously wringing his hands together. "It's complicated."

[tinstar]

"Tends to be the way of it," Raylan comments before tucking in the rest of his sandwich and checking his watch.

"Sounds like a story I don't care to hear - they outta be pullin up in a minute. C'mon," he said, pushing to his feet and heading towards the door. If he asked, if he heard the story, there'd be some social demand that he share his own and neither of them wanted that. God willin', Arlo wouldn't make enough noise for Raylan to be forced to make a detour.

Adjusting his hat as he came out onto the porch, he propped a thumb into his belt-loop as he leaned on the porch support.

A familiar face, Tim, steps out with sarcasm on his lips. "Couldn't save the exciting stuff for me, huh? Should have known New York was shiny."

Raylan scoffed. "Gotta show the new kid a good time, right?"

[abrightboy]

Bright looked at Raylan. "Shiny?" he asked.

He really didn't know what they were saying, even though it sounded like English. Sort of.

He also sort of objected to 'new kid', but not enough to make a fuss about it. He felt like that would somehow make him even more kidlike to these.... mountain man types. Besides, it wasn't like Malcolm made an effort to not seem like a soft and dapper gentleman in his fussy, expensive suits. It wouldn't do to have dark and sharp corners on display where people might fail to underestimate them. Men this rugged could call him worse than 'new' and 'kid'. Many of their ilk had.

He stepped aside as Tim approached, allowing him to lead the way back into the crime scene, but Malcolm was quickly at his heels.

[tinstar]

"Means you attract dirt because you're new to our dust," Raylan supplied, face curled and wrinkled in amusement. Rachel followed behind Tim with a half amused looked at Raylan, who filed in after them.

Tim let out a low whistle as he steps into the dining room, hands finding his hips. "Messy remodeling," he quips, glancing back at the group of them. "Do we know who she is yet?" As he asked, he stepped further in, giving Rachel a chance to look at the blood bath and direct the new car full of people pulling up. The house was about to get busy.

"Not the lady that's supposed to be here, that's for sure," Raylan said, lifting his chin at Malcolm for the man to take over with his weird specificities.