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]

At the first word, both of the older men were looking up at Malcolm like he'd grown a third head and it was only because of how quickly and well he was speaking that he was allowed to continue to do so without interruption. It was the Dead Kids point that sealed the deal, Sol looking suitably disapproving and uncomfortable with the bluntness of Malcolm's approach.

"Hey look, we mighta raised him, but he ain't blood," Sol shot back, the only real defense that he had. "Not anymore."

"You know he still uses the name and word don't travel that fast, Sol," Art admonished with a 'You should know better' kinda tone. "It doesn't hurt that the little prick could talk Eskimos into buying ice cubes. We already know he's called. Just point us in the right direction. No way he comes back to town and doesn't tell Uncle Sol what he needs."

Sol looked between the three men, eyeing the only one who hadn't said anything yet before looking back at Art with a heavy, put out sigh.

"Two days ago. I told him I wasn't givin' him any money or any help. Found one of my guys dead over in Jersey this mornin'. I know it was him, that little ungrateful shit."

Raylan spoke up, head tilted slightly into the conversation. "What's in Jersey that he's gonna be able to use, aside from the car he just lifted off ya?"

Sol looked over at Raylan, just as unimpressed with him as he had been with Malcolm. "Few safe houses that we still use that he knows of. They're empty right now. Might find him there."

[abrightboy]

"What does he get at a safe house, besides shelter?" he asked. "It would be a gamble, killing your man and then staying in a house you own. Is there money stashed there? A phone? If he hit all of them, how much cash did he come away with?"

[tinstar]

"Ain't those kind of safe houses," Sol supplied darkly. "We don't shit where we sleep, if you know what I mean. And if he's holed up, he's loaded down. That's the one thing we keep there. A spare gun in each place. He might still have a contact or two. Not much else."

Art shifted. "Can we get those addresses on a list?" The question was asked with the production of a notepad and a pen that were slid across the table.

Raylan looked back at Rachel and Tim, giving them a small nod that sent them just as non disruptively out the door as they'd come in, though Tim hung around the entrance, watching them all through the glass. Raylan moved over to Malcolm's side, touching his elbow with two fingers to pull him back from the situation.

"Sol and the Dixie Mafia have been trading guns for coke and weed for more than a few decades. I'd bet money that whatever contacts Quarles has in Jersey will end up relating to someone from Memphis. We're gonna have to go out there, but this puts this outside of NYPD unless we can draw him back across the bridge."

Raylan turned around to face the elder men. "The number he used to call you too. Your ex-guy's number. Add that on."

[abrightboy]

"Well, technically I don't work for the NYPD," Malcolm told him. "I'm a self-employed consultant. So I guess I'm consulting for you now." He looked over at Sol. "Does he have any friends in New York or New Jersey that you know of that aren't connected to the family? I mean, if his behaviour concerned you, you probably kept something of an eye on him, right?"

[tinstar]

"Yeah, but the resources do." It was the downside to being a marshal - they could act as law but that didn't mean all Law worked together.

Sol looked up. "I know one guy and I can't promise they still talk. That's the best I got, hot shot." Needless to say, they were already pushing their luck on Malcolm's words and Malcolm was only asking for more. "Don't let me get in the way of you doing the work for yourself," he continued, pushing the pad towards Art.

"Now, unless any of you gentlemen are wanting some of Nora's glorious lasagna.." It was time for them to go.

[abrightboy]

"Thank you for your cooperation," Malcolm told him, giving him a wave before letting Raylan herd him out of the restaurant.

"Did he write down the name of the friend?" Malcolm asked Art as they reached the car. "If his family turned him away, he might have turned to them. He's going to be desperate at this point; his meticulously constructed worlds are all crumbling. He needs any ally he can muster. We should talk to this person right away."

[tinstar]

Even without his hat, Raylan couldn't help but tip his baseball cap at Sol before following Art out of the restaurant. No way in hell Art or Malcolm was going to pull up the rear, they were the 'precious cargo' of the unit.

He breathed easier once they were outside, sidling up to the two, listening to Malcolm's point and Art's answer.

"Yeah." A name was rattled off, old eyes coming up to Malcolm and expecting no recognition. "Think your boys at the office could get us something on the name? A place to add to our list?"

[abrightboy]

"Yeah, I'll text it to Dani," Malcolm told him, pulling out his phone as he got in the car. "She'll get us a location if he's known to police, which - let's face it - given the company he tends to keep, it's likely." He looked around at them. "Are we headed to Jersey in the meantime?"

[tinstar]

Raylan scoffed as he slid in next to Art in the drivers seat, car prestarted by Rachel before she slid into Tim's car.

"'Course. Crime doesn't sleep and we barely do," he said as Art keyed in the first address. It was going to be a 45 minute drive at least, with traffic. Malcolm would have to help.

"So," Art started, unable in the southern way to deal with silence. "Raylan tells me you're from around here."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm considered him a moment.

"Yeah. Born and raised. Then I lived in DC for... about ten years. Then I moved back here." He leaned forward. "How long did you live here?" he asked with real interest.

[tinstar]

Art scoffed. "Like I'd live here." His eyes drifted guiltily out the window. "I stayed in the Village for 8 months on assignment up here."

Raylan couldn't help but chuckle, earning a sharp look from Art before he glanced back at Malcolm. "It was hell."

"Oh c'mon Art - you were in the center of a cultural revolution of cocaine in the 80's," Raylan protested. Art didn't appreciate the comment, and half turned back to look at Malcolm to explain himself. "Nice people but too many and no porches or sweet tea to be found."

[abrightboy]

"They're not all nice people," Malcolm admitted easily. "You lived in the Village in the 80's? Were you undercover? It wasn't just drugs," he surmised, his eyes fixed on Art's profile. "It was the mafia. They ran the trade like they ran everything else before he gangs moved in. But it was more personal than that. Why was it personal?"

[tinstar]

"Indicative of the whole of New York," Raylan quipped with a huff, having already had an experience or two in the short time he'd been here. But Malcolm's question was an interesting one and he turned curious eyes towards his boss.

Art hrumped and shifted uncomfortably. "I had a lot riding on it." That wasn't all, but that was all he was willing to share. Art caught the faint questionable lift of Raylan's eyebrow before continuing, "Oh shut up and drive." Art glanced back at Malcolm. "You always ask this many questions?"

Raylan scoffed a laugh. "Yes."

[abrightboy]

Since Raylan had answered the question, Malcolm continued with his own.

"You had to prove something," Malcolm deduced. "And you don't want to talk about it. Does that have something to do with how Sol eluded you?"

[tinstar]

Art grunted, unsurprised that Malcolm didn't protest Raylan's answer.

"It's a twenty year old case that we spent seven on beforehand. What the hell do you think?" Despite his gruffness, he wasn't angry, just old and spent too much time chasing ghosts. "His family mixes with the Dixie Mafia. He's responsible for a lotta deaths." And that was enough to generally piss him off, much like it did Raylan. They were cut from a similar cloth.

[abrightboy]

"You're a career lawman and he's the one that got away," Malcolm noted. "Does he still run the operation? Does he still get his hands dirty?"

[tinstar]

Art breathed another disgruntled breath as he stared out the window, answering anyway. "He still runs it, but he has men and generals to handle higher stuff now, since he's gettin' on in years. Sol dreamt of being a Mob Boss, but he's just a two bit thug with a lotta history, blown up and outta proportion."

[abrightboy]

"The head and the body," he noted. "We only have to get one thing on him to open up his life," Malcolm pointed out. "Once we catch Quarles, we can help you with that."

[tinstar]

Art shifted in his seat to look back at Malcolm, not an easy maneuver for a man his shape and size. "The NYPD doesn't normally reopen cases that far back. Not useable in court, statutes of limitation. We'd have to get him on something now."

"Not that I don't think there's probably a metric ton of bullshit hiding in all those alleyways," Raylan quipped. "He's been there for so long, he's got dirty roots in a lot."

[abrightboy]

"The squad that deals with organized crime probably has a file open on him," Malcolm pointed out. "But that isn't Gil. Major crimes does... major crimes." He pointed out the window. "Wasn't that our exit?"

[tinstar]

"Shit." Raylan swore tightly as he glanced between his windows. "So we work on Quarles and hope we get enough to kick it up to Major crimes. I don't care who's on him so long as someone is."

Art nodded in agreement.

"One thing at a time. Like you focusing on driving and not enjoying all this bullshit," the older man said with a good natured smirk and glance back at Malcolm. No offence was taken; Art knew people were quirky and knew a few people that fell a little to hard into their work.

[abrightboy]

"If you get off at the next one and turn left, you can catch the road you wanted further up," Malcolm offered before settling back in his seat.

Art was free for the moment.

"I don't expect he'll find shelter in the sort of criminal element where he'd have old connections; most hardened criminals won't abide gruesome sex crimes against children. Do you have access to his computer? Did you search his residence? Is there anyone else he's been in communication with? Message boards on the dark web? Forums for the like-minded? That kind of thing?"

[tinstar]

Raylan was doing just that, forgoing the blinker entirely until they were turning left and back onto the interstate.

"That's if they know," Raylan replied. "He's the kinda man that's built up a reputation of cleanliness to go with the trigger happy record he's got." Art glanced at Raylan, causing him to roll his eyes. "Allegedly," he conceded almost sarcastically. "He'd keep that kinda news to himself. Did you just say 'Dark Web?'?"

There was a slight furrow of Raylan's brow, mostly hidden aside from one side under the brim of his illfitting baseball cap.

[abrightboy]

"That's a real thing," Malcolm said, settling back into his actual seat in the back. "It's a part of the internet where people anonymously indulge in less savoury... 'hobbies'. Not just child exploitation, either. White supremacy, misogyny and sexual violence, incel communities. That sort of thing. But if you have a good tech department, they can usually find the login info for those sites if they can get into their computer."

[tinstar]

"You know last month and for the last 13 prior, he's mostly been hanging out in a Winnebago, right? I'm not saying it ain't real but.. Harlan ain't known for its technological stability. Then again, I don't know where else you'd source little boys.."

"Let's hope he's got his computer then," Art said from the passenger seat.

Ten minutes later, they were pulling up to the first house. Raylan looked at the both of 'em. "I suppose it would be a waste of breath to tell you two to stay in the car, wouldn't it?"