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

Somewhere, 'You'll never leave Harlan Alive' is playing

[tinstar]

"Three full and one waiting with my name on it.. Literally." Not exactly the friendliest reminder that life was short and he'd be in the ground sooner than he meant to be.

Raylan glanced over from his driving for a half second as he answered.

"Because it's personal. And I'm not using the land, or the house. Don't want it, never did. Once it sells and I get finished with some.. cases down here-" Namely Boyd Crowder- "I'm getting on with my life."

Raylan continued. "You got anything in New York besides your rented apartment?"

[abrightboy]

"My family lives there," he said distractedly, watching the line of Raylan's jaw; the tension in his face. "You didn't want to come back here. Something happened that made you. Something personal or something professional? ... Something professional. You had some sort of setback at work that sent you here. Personal came after. When you get rid of the house, where will you go?"

Sorry, Raylan, he can't always shut it off.

[tinstar]

His jaw was telling, tensing subtly in all the right moments as Malcolm pieced him together. He'd told Malcolm about his shooting people, the idea that he'd been pushed out into a more tolerant or a more controlled situation, as Art mighta put it, wasn't a hard leap to get to.

If Raylan was stupider, it might have seemed like magic, but magic was one of those things Raylan didn't believe in either.

"Back to Miami. They got just as many fugitives there." And with less personal history.

They turned off the main road onto a smaller one with just enough dirt across and in it that one might thing it wasn't paved somewhere underneath all of that, and pulled up to an equally unimpressive house. It might have been impressive once but now..

"Ain't a soul around for a good half mile," Raylan sighed, not exactly with a thrilled tone. "Come on, I think there's still beer in the fridge."

He hauled himself out of the car, adjusting his hat as he stared for a second too long at the headstones that would greet them on the sidewalk before striding that way and nonchalantly past them.

[abrightboy]

Nobody around for half a mile and the two of them in a very big house. Maybe he'd survive the night without causing an incident after all.

He looked up at the house after following Raylan's glance to the headstones.

"This is... grand," he noted. He raised a finger. "You know, the gravestones might not be the problem. It might sell faster if you put in a little... cosmetic work. What do they call it? Curb appeal. Power wash the siding. Plant some flowers. That sort of thing." He looked at Raylan, because the man had to know it looked like something from a movie about people getting lost in the woods and murdered at a creepy old house. "Do you really want to sell it?" he asked, watching for the same telling tension in the man's face.

[tinstar]

"Might be worth more if I just razed the place to the ground. I'm not down here long enough to do that kinda thing, and you already see the state of our windows. Small town assholes with shit else to do but break into an old house and tear the copper out of my walls. Almost got that one fixed," he replied as he pulled the screen door open and unlocked the door, flipping on the porch light and the inner lights as he glanced around.

"Yeah, I do. Truth is, I never much liked this place. Arlo didn't make me love it either. Make yourself comfortable."

Moving right, through the sitting room, one might call it - a couple of couches and a coffee table that had seen better years, and into the open kitchen. Malcolm was right - the house was fairly grand. For all the dirt and age on the outside, the inside was open and cozy. Not poorly decorated, though the touches were scant in some places, and definitely decorated by someone other than Arlo or Raylan.

[abrightboy]

"You never liked it because of the problems in your relationship with your dad, or is it more than that?" Malcolm asked, looking around. Everyone's adult self was made in their childhood home. Of course, it didn't take a skilled profiler and an introduction to that home to guess Raylan's relationship with his father was strained. He called the man by his name, not 'dad'. Malcolm did that too. It was dissociative.

He turned and looked at Raylan as something else in that equation occurred to him. "There are two women buried out front. One more recently than the other. Which one was your mother?"

[tinstar]

Everything made more noise out this far, from him opening the fridge to the beer he cracked open, to him setting it and one for Malcolm if he wanted it onto the kitchen table before starting another habitual practice.

The hat had to come off sometime.

"The one less recent. The other is my Aunt Helen. Helped raise me after Mom died, took on Arlo as her husband a few years after. Hellva woman. Hellva shot too, you let her get a shotgun in her hand." The hat was set on the table, his jacket getting pulled off and put around his chair, followed by his tie before he sat and started working on his cuffs.

"Probably can't see it out there on those things, it being this dark, but my mother was Frances. Frances McKinley Givens," he said behind the lift of his beer bottle.

"You wanna know how Arlo got those headstones? Bought 'em with stolen cows. Even better, you wanna know his last words to me? 'Kiss my ass'." Raylan lifted his eyebrows in a 'how do you like that' kinda look before taking another drink.

[abrightboy]

"His grave was the most recent. ...Did he buy his own stone with stolen cows or did he just have.... extra ones hanging around?" Malcolm asked, shrugging off his own jacket to hang it on the back of his chair, which would only accentuate that he showed up in Kentucky in a proper bespoke three piece suit.

He took a seat at the table, but didn't open the beer.

"Was there context for his last remark, or was it a sort of... general sentiment?" he added curiously.

[tinstar]

Raylan scoffed a chuckle. "He bought 'em in bulk, all on the same day." He hated Arlo as much as a son could hate their father while not denying them, but there was and would always be a little respect for the way Arlo was. If only because he was terribly like his father, with much smarter life choices.

Generally speaking. Some would say Raylan was just as stupid.

Malcolm's 3 piece was not overlooked, earning another amused tilt of Raylan's expression. He'd noted it before but without the jacket, it drew much more attention.

"Both. Stubborn old bastard wouldn't help stop something with his dying breath." Raylan didn't add 'Not even for me' because with Arlo Givens, that didn't really mean much. "Died in a prison bed after shanking one guard and slitting another's throat before catching one himself from another prisoner." Couldn't have happened to a more deserving person, he thought.

"That what you always wear to this kinda work? Three piece suits? A few days and I'll bet money you'll lose that waistcoat or jacket. Gets hot out here, ya know."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm's attention perked up a little when Raylan mentioned his father had died in a prison hospital, but he didn't comment on it. He wasn't going to go offering information about his own father, in a hospital prison for the rest of his life.

He looked down at what he felt was his understated suit and tie, running a hand down the front of his waistcoat.

"I have... other clothes," he said. "At the hotel." A beat. "But yes. Is the answer to your question." It helped that his colleagues in New York also felt he overdressed.

[tinstar]

"Who you dressing up for? The corpses or an M.E.?"

Malcolm didn't seem like the type who would do interoffice romances, seeing how as he didn't have an office, which left Raylan with a few choices. A cop on the Force or someone that interacts with the bodies and crime scenes.

[abrightboy]

"Um," he looked confused by the question. "None of the above?" Though their M.E. did have a crush on him, so maybe it had unintended side effects? "I suppose," he mused, clearly turning his analyzing eyes on himself in real time, "that anyone that's a bit of a mess on the inside can pretend they're not by being well put together on the outside."

[tinstar]

Judging by the tone Gil had used on the phone, Raylan was guessing that was more true than Malcolm might like to admit.

How's that going for ya.

"That what your prescription is for? Internal mess?" He just needed to know if he needed to sleep with his bat or hide all the sharp edged things.

[abrightboy]

"Some of them," he conceded.

A beat and he held up a finger.

"That's not to imply that our Medical Examiner isn't worth impressing, I just..." He paused and waved it off. "You don't care. Anyway, my chemical balance will survive until tomorrow."

[tinstar]

Raylan couldn't help but chuckle, eyebrows lifting with a gentle shake of his head.

"There are plenty a Medical Examiner that's worth impressing," he replied knowingly with a tone of experience behind the chuckle. "I'm sure it ain't that bad, hell - the shit I seen drunk people do? You can't beat drunken crazy with bored 'good ol' boys' out here, I tell you what."

"Anyway, this place has got it's own bedrooms so no one hasta sleep on a couch. The sheets are relatively fresh too, no one's slept in 'em but it's been a good month since I've been here. I know this ain't no Hilton, but I promise the mattresses are comfortable."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looked up at the ceiling.

"How many bedrooms?" he asked, trying to judge how they might be arranged.

[tinstar]

"Four, and a small terrace off the Master. You mighta seen that on the way in." Raylan looked up at the ceiling with him. "We never had enough people to fill 'em. Arlo didn't talk about his daddy or his daddy's daddy - I think the Givens clan just.. whitered to be honest. Bunch of drunk criminals ain't worth the tax they pay. Better that it ends here, ya know? Where it started. Without my ass involved."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looked at him.

"I don't know if that's true. Weren't your mother and aunt worth something? Maybe they could have been the influence going forward if you were there to steer things in that direction," Malcolm observed.

He paused and looked up.

"Do you sleep in the master?"

[tinstar]

"Just cause they were unlucky enough to love Arlo and me doesn't make them responsible or part of all the shit that Arlo got into. They suffered it. Him. The McKinley clan are hill people and are still pissed at the Givens name for how Arlo got her off said hill."

Raylan shook his head, taking another drink of his beer.

"Nothing really good happened here. No reason to pretend it did. Plus, I got an ex-wife that's much closer to town."

The following question made his face turn down with a shake of his head - not a displeased or bothered look, just like it would never happen or cross his mind.

"Nah, I use one of the guest rooms or the couch, whichever I hit first."

[abrightboy]

"Clearly there are a lot of politics at play here that I don't understand, but if shedding the skin of your past frees you from a burden, I'm hardly the person to condemn it," he remarked, considering how he might calculate the furthest bedroom from Raylan without knowing which one he was using.

[tinstar]

Raylan scoffed. "Condemn all you like, ain't gonna change the wind." He took another drink just to break things up before continuing.

"But I'm not here to tell you any stories, ghost or otherwise. C'mon, I'll show you your sleepin' options." He had a feeling he was going to couch it. New, strange people in his house tended to not make him completely comfortable.

"You'll even get the bathroom to yourself."

Raylan and his beer gave Malcolm the 'grand' tour, ending back at the top of the stairs.

"I'll be up for a bit, if you're not looking to go down now, but I don't wanna pin you down in smalltalk. I hate when people do it to me." He headed down regardless, leaving Malcolm to his own decisions.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm frowned faintly and followed Raylan downstairs.

"You're... not sleeping upstairs?"

[tinstar]

"You ain't even bought me dinner yet," he replied with an amused look from under his eyebrows as he and his boots hit the landing. "Trust me, there isn't a couch I met I haven't been able to sleep well on."

[abrightboy]

"Right. Okay," Malcolm said, still lingering on the bottom step. "So...those rooms are all up for grabs," he confirmed, pointing at the ceiling.

[tinstar]

"Take your pick. Just let me know which one so I can run the sheets through the washer come morning. Do me a favor and don't look in any of the dresser drawers. Haven't quite gotten to clearing all of them out, so I'm also not completely sure what is in there."