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

[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.

[tinstar]

Raylan made a face. "Winoa does pilates - I thought it was the same thing."

He sighed as he slid into a seat, adjusting his hat back on his head just far enough to break the hardedge it gave him.

"At a gas station outside of one of the hollars. Its close to one of the properties that I was talkin' about last night. Gives us a good place to start today. Do you think he'd hold her while he looked for another one or would his.. it get the better of him?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm shook his head.

"He needs to complete the pattern and he needs her to watch. He needs to show her what he'll do for her. He wants her to understand how he feels."

He paused.

"Yoga is much more meditative," he added. "And more of a full body exercise. Though they're both mindful of breath and intention."

[tinstar]

He hummed and nodded shortly. "Gives us the day at least, unless we're behind."

Frowning, it was clear that even with the explanation, it hadn't really cleared things up. But it would have to wait - the waitress had come with two cups of coffee and a small tray of cream, and Raylan was sitting back with a friendly smile as he looked down at the menu.

Alright the sigh was a little dramatic, but after ordering a spinach omelette with hashbrowns and bacon, he was done and blinking expectantly across to Malcolm.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm looked up at her. "I'll have one egg, scrambled. Um, plain. Don't... don't put anything in it. And the smallest slice of ham you have in the kitchen, would be perfect."

The waitress just looked at him. After a moment she said "White, brown or rye toast?"

"No toast. Thank you for offering."

She looked at Raylan.

[tinstar]

"Wheat and I'll take it," Raylan offered with a 'We got this' kind of wink and half nod as he handed her his menu. The waitress gave the pair of them a very odd look as she collected their menus and promised to bring them water in a minute.

Raylan smirked. "So when you 'don't put anything in it', what do you mean. Like cookin' it in some low fat ultra virgin olive oil with no seasoning? What about salt?"

He just had to know how far the Lack of Things went, really.

[abrightboy]

"I'd prefer no salt. I guess it's not the end of the world if they put salt. But basically if a food has too many ingredients and it makes me sick, I don't know which part is making me sick. Also, combinations of ingredients could make me sick." He waved his hand. "It's complicated chemistry." He took a tentative sip of black coffee. "Anyway, I can't take chances when we have to drive for a few hours."

[tinstar]

"You know technically we need salt to live, right?" Now that it was morning, he could stand a couple of creams in his coffee, each torn open and poured in before being stacked inside each other and discarded.

"Smart guy like you, I'da figured that would have been something you already worked out. Tests or something. Kinda surprised you haven't wasted away to nothing. Doesn't make sense, that's all."

And he accepted that. Not everything had an answer, he knew that better than he should.

"But thank you for caring about my car. You gotta puke, you tell me, there's plenty of shoulder that isn't going to linger after you're back up in New York."

[abrightboy]

He shrugged a shoulder.

"My problems have side effects, my medications have side effects, my needs change. I know what I can eat. I eat every day, I promise."

He took another sip of coffee.

"Anyway, a little bit of dietary inconvenience is better than hallucinations and panic attacks," he added conversationally.

[tinstar]

Raylan shook his head in return. "Well, I won't pretend to understand it-" Much like many things he chose to not understand for lack of time and better uses of it. "But so long as you're eating and I don't have to worry about you passing out in the heat or something."

He knew he couldn't say anything about the latter; he hadn't seen it, he didn't know what it entailed and it was easy for ignorant people to bestow advice like they knew what the hell they were talking about.

"What do you do when you're not doing this or freaking out or.. doing yoga? Or does that take up most of your time."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm laughed, genuinely.

"I do try to spend most of my time working. Too deep in my head is not the best place to be." He considered Raylan. "That seems like something you might relate to, actually."

[tinstar]

"It's why I'm a divorcee," he supplied with enough humor to make it seem like that loss didn't still hurt him. "She said she couldn't stand wondering if I was going to come home with a hole or bring a gunfight to her front door. I keep saying I'll quit, get a desk job but.."

Raylan gave a sheepish look and a roll of his shoulders. "One more big case up here and I'll be able to transfer back to Miami. Do something a little less volatile."

Raylan might transfer but he was fooling himself with the idea that men like him lived a less volatile kinda life.

[abrightboy]

"Is that what you really want?" Malcolm asked. "I mean, if you couldn't do it for her...."

[tinstar]

"I am doing it for her. Once I deal with Boyd, I can get outta this hellhole, do what I said." The statement was given with a sure nod. He was resolute..

Too bad it would fail him. But the effort was what was important, right?

[abrightboy]

"If that's what's important to you, why not let someone else deal with this Boyd character and do it now?" Malcolm pressed curiously.

[tinstar]

Something shifted in Raylan's face as he looked down into his coffee cup. It was in his jaw and the way he held his shoulders. Subtle was the word, unless someone knew him well enough to pick it out because as he continued, there was a carefully controlled casual tone behind his words.

"Because Boyd is smarter than the average hillbilly. A former Nazi and born again preacher and a bomb expert, not to mention being a well read asshole. A dangerous man that's going to burn the county down with his bullshit and the Marshal's have been trying to keep him behind bars for several years. I hit Boyd's trigger." He hit Raylan's.

"All I gotta do is catch him doing what Boyd does best. Help them build an actionable case. Then I'm out."

[abrightboy]

"Seems reasonable," Malcolm told him. "How long have you been working on it?"

This was personal. Intensely personal, from what Malcolm could tell, but he'd let Raylan say it if he wanted to. Or not, if he didn't want to.

[tinstar]

"More years then I'd like. Slippery little bastard keeps getting out of prison."

Sweet relief came in the form of their breakfast being delivered and Raylan greeted it with open hands, instantly in a better mood for it. Grabbing up his fork and knife, Raylan wasn't shy about digging in.

"There's only a few big crime families in Harlan. Crowder was one of them. Mags Smith was the other." Then there was the Givens, but Raylan didn't mention that. "People that didn't grow up here, they're known. Stick out like a sore thumb and nothing makes Harlan county clam up like carpetbaggers or a badge. I'm the only real leverage that the Marshal's service has out in these lands."

[abrightboy]

"Because you're one of them," Malcolm surmised, taking a small bite of plain scrambled egg. The slice of ham was bigger than he'd like. He cut it in half. "Complete with crime family," he noted, recalling the stories of Arlo's misdeeds. He gestured to the ham. "Do you want half of this?"

[tinstar]

Raylan nodded. There was no better way to put it. The question got a shrug and nod. Sure he could tuck away whatever Malcolm didn't want.

"Gets me into doors, gives me a.. social currency that they don't have." The words were followed with a healthy bite. After all, Raylan wasn't sure when his next meal would come.

"I'm sure you've got some version of that, with your situation."

[abrightboy]

"Some version of that?" He laughed lightly, pushing the extra ham towards the edge of his plate closest to Raylan. "Oh. No. I have the opposite of that," he said, punctuating the word 'opposite' with his fork in the air. "My name opens zero doors, hearts or minds. I don't tell people who I am and I hope they don't figure it out while I'm worming my way inside their head."

[tinstar]

Malcolm was just looking at the wrong doors. The wrong coin of life. But on second thought, Malcolm using that currency was.. probably not a Great Thing. It would be a fine line to walk for anyone slightly fractured. Malcolm Bright was significantly more damaged than 'fractured'.

"Knowing enough to worm inside their head is the currency." That was a better way of looking at it from that side. Raylan speared the extra ham and drug it over onto his quickly emptying plates. "Just not one you can use everywhere." Just like his own.