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]

"I'm in therapy," Malcolm reminded him. "My therapist hosts the light of day dealing. Though she doesn't agree with me pursuing my repressed memories. She thinks they could trigger a spiral instead of a resolution," he admitted. "At any rate, if I get completely out of control, make sure it's a padded helicopter," he deadpanned, "and I'll take care of the bill."

[tinstar]

"Don't make me sit on you again," Raylan threatened.

"We'll get you back into Lexington tomorrow. Come hell or high water. You can get your meds and a fresh suit." He was sure Malcolm was ready for one of those; Kentucky was dusty. Raylan took a deep breath. "Hell, since we ain't sleeping, we could head up there now and back down before 8. That's practically sunrise to some people."

[abrightboy]

"Being steer wrestled by a cowboy is honestly not the worst way I've woken up," Malcolm said innocently, though the offer of an immediate ride back to town also made him perk up. "Would that be okay? Are you fine to do all that driving on no sleep?"

[tinstar]

Raylan chuckled and followed it with a sigh into his coffee cup. "You give me time enough to get another half cup down, I'll put the rest in a travel mug."

Yeah, he wasn't touching that with a ten foot pole, for a number of reasons. Wasn't like it was gonna happen again.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm held up his hands. "As much as you need," he said. He pushed his cup towards Raylan. "You can have that, too. I..." he gestured towards the cup. "Really shouldn't when I'm off my meds. It winds up what Gil calls my 'off the charts manic thing'." He got up. "I'll get dressed," he said before bounding upstairs.

[tinstar]

Grunting noncommittally, despite the almost fond tilt of his smile, he reached over and collected Malcolm's cup after he'd vanished from the room and shook his head a little as he married the cups together.

Excuse him while he enjoyed the coffee, listening to the sounds of life in a house that hadn't had it in a while before pushing to his feet and taking the last of the cup with him to get dressed himself.

By the time Malcolm came back downstairs, Raylan was pouring his travel mug full, hat and tie back into their appropriate places as he put the pot back on the burner and turned the machine off. He'd have to come back later to deal with the pot itself but he could handle whatever would grow in there in the meantime.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm returned impeccably buttoned up once more, no lingering signs of having been rumpled in a full body tackle only an hour or so earlier. He glanced around the living room once more as he waited for Raylan to give the word, eager to get back in the car despite his interest in the house as Raylan's origin story.

[tinstar]

"Let's hit bricks,' Raylan declared, shutting down the lights as he went and closing up the house behind him.

The drive to Lexington took only about 2 and a half hours, but the roads were almost eerily empty and Raylan's black towncar was sleek on it. The joy of driving at night and the timing of Malcolm's nightmares were almost a boon - it was only coming on 3:30 by the time they pulled into town.

"Where're you stayin? I'll drop you off." But he'd have to cab or walk back to the Marshal's office - Raylan was going to take advantage of the next few hours and find somewhere to pass out.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm was silent on the ride back to town, following Raylan's stoic lead. He'd been enough trouble for one night. He watched the dark countryside pass by the window. The only sounds that came from the passenger side of the car were the faint noises of his fidgeting. The quiet rustle of him tapping his fingers on his leg or the brushing of skin against skin as he wrung his hands.

When Raylan spoke, it shook him out of reverie and he looked over at the taller man.

"Oh. It's the Microtel Inn and Suites. On Buena Vista." He paused and then added "It's a suite, if you want to get some sleep. I haven't used the bedroom and I'm really not going to tonight. You're welcome to it. They serve a breakfast in the morning."

[tinstar]

There was always something about night driving that made Raylan quiet. It coulda just been because it was the time when he was supposed to be passed out in a bed, but it was the only time where the world was peaceful. For a short time, anyway.

The blinker was clicked on with Malcolm's answer - who needed GPS when you knew the state backwards and forwards, for the most part. The offer that followed surprised him and he glanced at Malcolm as they turned before he was looking at the road again.

"Thanks but I've got my own motel room a few blocks down. On contract at this point, I think." It would be undoubtedly cheaper for Raylan to get an apartment but he refused to do that too. This wasn't going to be his home. For now, it was just a place to stop moving for a few hours. "'Sides, I'd like to start tomorrow with clean clothes and I don't think you're lending any of your italian suits."

His mouth curled on one side with his little joke. What an image; he'd look like a carpetbagger.

[abrightboy]

He'd look like a giant. Malcolm's pants would stop around mid-calf like a pair of capris.

He looked down at his suit. "You recognize Italian style tailoring over British?" A beat. "Oh, you just mean 'fancy', don't you?"

His suits were all bespoke, of course. His mother's tailor recommended Italian style tailoring for him; it complimented shorter, slimmer men.

Then he realized what Raylan had said first.

"...You live in a motel?"

[tinstar]

Raylan gave him a sidelong, wholly amused smirk that flashed his teeth as Malcolm adjusted further. "There's only two types, right?" He had no idea. "New York money tends towards Italian and everyone seems to want to mention it."

Yes. 'Fancy' is what he'd meant. Raylan had a suit but it was saved for special occasions like court appearances and he didn't want to think what someone like Malcolm would think of it.

"They don't serve breakfast, but I don't have to worry about anyone minding my coming and going and it's a single bill. It works for my current situation." Technically homeless but working and doing something he was good at. He figures it could be worse.

[abrightboy]

"There are three types, but American style tailoring doesn't flatter anyone's body type," Malcolm told him. "A British cut would look better on you," Malcolm told him. "Saville Row style. Like James Bond."

Something occurred to him, as he realized that he probably wasn't the only person who didn't routinely eat in the morning, unless you counted a protein shake. "Do you eat breakfast?"

[tinstar]

That wasn't a bad image to be compared to, James Bond, making Raylan bob his head once to one side in consideration. "So I guess Men's Warehouse isn't your kinda place," he joked. Is that what American Style was? He wasn't sure what the difference was, to be honest.

Raylan shrugged. "Depends on if I've got time... Or when I wake up. It's hit or miss, most days. You can always get a bigger lunch or dinner." Raylan might not do breakfast anything close to consistently, but lunch and dinner were much more important to him.

"Or a ham sandwich from someone's fridge." Three guesses as to why Raylan was hungry enough to do that. Yes, that also meant he'd only had one meal and a few beers on top of it, but he'd make up for it later.

[abrightboy]

"I've never been in a Men's Warehouse, so it's hard to judge," he admitted.

Definitely not his kind of place.

"Where do you want me to meet you in the morning? We could grab something on the way."

[tinstar]

Raylan doubted it would be. Just like the idea of Malcolm in a JCPenny's was also comically odd to a point. Unless he was playing a mannequin; that he could have pulled off.

Glancing at him, Raylan had to ask. "Thought you didn't eat anything other than shakes and soups." It felt weird to eat alone.. with company. He didn't mind the offer but he couldn't imagine it was any more comfortable to watch people chew and swallow, the second grossest thing that people could do.

[abrightboy]

"I've been known to eat an egg," Malcolm said. "Plus I haven't had anything since early yesterday."

[tinstar]

An egg was something. Raylan considered it for a moment before speaking up again.

"It'll at least prove you can eat solids. Guess it couldn't hurt. If you're back out front at 8:30, there's a decent place on the way to the courthouse. It's gonna be another long day tomorrow, you'll need it."

[abrightboy]

"I'll be ready," he said as they pulled up outside his hotel. "Thanks," he told Raylan as he opened the truck door. "For taking this seriously before the corpse showed up."

He hopped out and went inside. His room was already set up the way he needed it, his pill bottles in a tidy row on the breakfast bar just like at home, tray of affirmations beside them. He took a shower, reviewed his notes, did pushups and some yoga, took his meds, read an affirmation ("Things will get better in the end. If it's not better, then it's not the end."), put on a fresh suit (burgundy with a navy tie over a crisp white shirt) and packed a small bag. He could leave it in Raylan's truck, but he wouldn't be caught in the wilderness without a couple of protein shakes, his medication and a set of restraints he could slip under any mattress. He'd intended them for the hotel, but now it wasn't clear he would be sleeping there.

He was standing outside the front door of the hotel with the bag slung over his shoulder at 8:25.

[tinstar]

Raylan nodded back, letting Malcolm head towards the door before he drove off and to his own motel. His next few hours were gloriously silent, aside from the soft sounds of his dead to the world breathing and by 8, he was up again. A quick shower woke him up the rest of the way and he got dressed in darker jeans and an equally forgettable shirt.

Pulling up to the hotel at 8:35, Raylan stopped where he'd stopped before and rolled down the window on his town car, letting his hat and pointed gaze alert Malcolm to his being here.

"You ready?"

[abrightboy]

"Absolutely!" he said brightly, opening the back door to throw his bag inside before sliding into the passenger seat.

"Did you manage to get some rest?" he asked.

[tinstar]

Oh god. He was perky. Raylan grunted noncommittally, eyeing Malcolm side long. "Enough." Which he would have said regardless of the real answer. Throwing the car into gear, Raylan got them moving.

It was kind of amazing that Malcolm sprung back up so peppy.

"This how you normally are after nights like that?" He wasn't judging, just half confused and a little amazed. He sure as shit couldn't do that. "Meds must really work."

[abrightboy]

"Um, the meds actually depress those systems," he corrected. "Anxiety and mania need dialed down, not up. But three hours of sleep is a pretty solid night for me and I do a lot of yoga in the morning."

He took his notepad out of his jacket pocket and flipped to the last page he'd been writing on. "And I was working on my notes," he said, scanning them over. "And I really think if we don't identify him before the final murder, we may lose him. It's his denoument and he'll either disappear after that or he'll take his own life after he takes hers."

[tinstar]

Somehow that left Raylan with more questions than answers. So instead, he echoed 'Yoga'. "And that's different from Pilates how, exactly."

Raylan glanced over at the grown notes before pulling them into the diner parking lot.

"Let's hope he's still looking for his next display. We got a hit on the plate early this morning too. We'll put up the paperwork at the office, check in with Art and Rachel before we go back out to the boondocks."

Adjusting his hat, Raylan stepped out and waited for Malcolm before leading them into the diner and towards a booth with a tip of his hat at the waitress. She didn't mind them picking their own seat, even if the sign did specifically say 'Wait to be seated.'

[abrightboy]

"Yoga and pilates are completely different," Malcolm replied, almost offended.

He followed Raylan into the diner, tucking his notebook back into the inside pocket of his jacket, past the 'Wait to be Seated' sign, though he glanced at it.

"Where was the plate seen?" he asked as they slid into the booth.