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]

Jessica responded with a dazzling smile and then looked at Malcolm, eyebrows raised.

Malcolm had no comment. He sipped coffee. Sunshine fluttered past Jessica and landed on the counter, hopping around near Malcolm's elbow. She gave the bird a look and then directed it at Malcolm, clearly an extension of previous conversations.

"She needs exercise," he said matter-of-factly. "Did you come here for a reason or is this a driveby criticism of my general lifestyle?" he asked. "Because we have to leave soon."

"Actually," she said, her gaze taking in Malcolm and then Raylan in turn, "I've purchased a table at a major charity gala for tomorrow night and I'm looking for people to sit at it. You're both welcome," she told them, her gaze lingering on Raylan. She'd gotten less sass from him.

Malcolm put his coffee down and carefully picked up the parakeet, taking her back to her cage and shutting the door behind her.

"I don't know if this case will be solved yet, Mother," he said as he did so. "We might be working. And if it is solved by then, I'm sure Raylan will want to go home."

"And I'm sure Raylan can speak for himself," she said, turning the full force of her gaze and expectation on him.

[tinstar]

Oh, this was an interesting relationship. Raylan didn't even need to have heard the previous conversation to 'hear' Jessica's judgement in only her eyebrows and he listened to the back and forth like he was listening to tennis. He could nearly see it, if he looked hard enough.

His eyebrows pitched back up at the sudden offer, smart enough to say silent until more of it played out which ended abruptly with the heavy expectant gaze.

"Ah," he demurred, glancing down with a faint shake of his head. "I'm afraid people like me only bring down the class level in a room like that and I very much doubt it's appropriate for the jeans and button-downs that a Marshal can afford. Though I very much appreciate the offer," he said with an equally faint lift of his coffee in something of a cheers.

"This is the first time I've been to New York, ma'am. Lookin' to take it in."

[abrightboy]

"Well, this is the way to see it," she exclaimed, placing a hand on his forearm.

"No, no, no," Malcolm was saying as he returned to the kitchen island. "You can't just call your tailor and... coerce people into suits."

"Tuxedos, darling. It's black tie. I assume you still own one," she said absently, looking over Raylan with a more appraising eye.

"Mother..."

"You're... what? Six feet? I'm sure he can have something suitable ready in time," she said with a flutter of her hand, as though he'd accepted. "I'll drop it off for you tomorrow afternoon," she informed them, picking up her bag to head for the door.

[tinstar]

"Just one room," he countered, giving her his best charming southern grin as she put her hand on his forearm. But it quickly became clear that either Jessica hadn't heard him or.. didn't care? What that meant, he wasn't sure, but he didn't take offence to it either way.

"Y-yeah," Raylan continued, replying with a confused tone, impressed at her eye of size and sitting up a little straighter as Jessica headed towards the door. "If the case is over!" he tried to helpfully supply but that too didn't hold much hope towards impressing upon her the uncertainty of him being there, looking back towards Malcolm like he could supply an explanation as to what the hell just happened. He'd said no.

Sort of.

[abrightboy]

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry," he said, propping both elbows on the counter so he could put his face in both hands. He dropped his hands to the counter after a moment and looked at Raylan. "Please don't feel like you have to go."

[tinstar]

"She... she heard me, right?" He wasn't completely sure. "That's your mother?" Raylan shook his head once in one direction, eyes wide as he continued. "Did you say she had her own tailor?"

No. No, poor Raylan Givens was not ready for the Whitly's level of wealth, by any means and there was.. somehow a lot to unpack there.

[abrightboy]

"Oh, she heard you," he said with a wince. "And yes," he said with a sigh. "Yes, that's my mother. Her tailor isn't... on her staff, per se. I mean, he might as well be. She tips very generously; he'll drop anything to make a suit for her. But..." He just waved it off. "Anyway. Um. At least you'll have a tuxedo to take home to remember your time in New York?"

[tinstar]

"Some I feel like she left with my measurements, which is something I don't even know." Raylan blew out his cheeks and took another pull of his coffee. "She didn't even say what it was for. Does that matter?"

[abrightboy]

"She's worked with a lot of prominent charities over the years; it'll definitely be above board. Just." He took a breath and let it out. "High society attends these things. And we're pariahs. It won't be the best scene, sitting at our table."

[tinstar]

"Somehow I don't imagine your worst scene at the table being worse than mine," he assured. Sighing again, Raylan shook his head and drained his cup. "I guess we better hope that this is tied up tomorrow night. Lemme go grab a shower and if possible a second cup of coffee. If not, I'll survive somehow." With that Raylan walked over to his overnight bag and started to get into it.

[abrightboy]

Was Raylan honestly considering attending the charity dinner? Malcolm hadn't been expecting that.

By the time Raylan emerged from the shower, there was a fresh cup of coffee waiting on the counter and Malcolm was dressed in a crisp charcoal suit with a pale blue tie.

[tinstar]

It might be nice to sample the way the other side lived, if only for a few hours and the elite of New York was something not to be missed, if the opportunity presented. Coming out in a fresh ribbed shirt that stuck to him in the spots where he hadn't dried as well as he thought, and a handful of his dirty clothes under his arm, Raylan glanced at Malcolm and the coffee with a pull of his smile.

"Thank you." Rummaging through his bag, Raylan held up a couple of shirts, one after another before picking one and random and slipping it on, leaving it unbuttoned as he tended to his shoes and socks.

"You think your dad will be surprised to see you show up with company? Does She know about these.. little get togethers or am I going to have to figure out how to lie to that?"

[abrightboy]

Malcolm's focus was largely on pretending not to notice just where that undershirt clung.

"He'll be surprised and probably delighted," Malcolm said. "He gets so few opportunities to manipulate new people these days."

He glanced towards the door his mother had departed through and shook his head. "She knows. She doesn't love it but I think she pretty much accepts it now."

[tinstar]

"Glad to pretend to be of service," Raylan joked as he pulled on his second boot, fully confident that Malcolm's father would find him a little harder to read then most.. As long as he kept his temper in check. He stopped to take a sip of his coffee before starting on his buttons.

"Good. Pretty sure I wouldn't be able to get 95% of one past her." He couldn't help but glance at the door too, almost concerned that Jessica would sweep back in at the mention of her. "Has she always been so...."

Was there a word for that? He wasn't sure so he let an idle useless gesture fill out the rest of the question.

[abrightboy]

"Intrusive? Overbearing? Controlling? Um. Yes," Malcolm replied. He pointed to the floor. "She owns this building so it's partly my own fault that I agreed to rent here when I came back, but look at the space." He half-shrugged. "I tried changing the locks once. She told me if I didn't have a new key to her by the end of the day, she'd turn my apartment into a Panera."

[tinstar]

"Now that, I believe," Raylan laughed as he buttoned his wrist and started tucking the shirt in. The height of the counter top let him unbelt and button to get everything squared away. Next was his gun and a back pocket comb to tame his hair, speaking as he continued.

"She feels like your version of Helen. Unstoppable, with or without a gun in her hands."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm had believed her, too. She had a key by the end of the day. Hence that morning's disaster.

He smiled when Raylan compared her to Helen, though. He knew how much Raylan respected and admired Helen.

"Not to say she hasn't had a gun in her hands. I believe she keeps one hidden in a book on her bookshelf, just to be as dramatic as possible."

[tinstar]

"I believe that too," Raylan said with a deep breath and a lift of his eyebrows. "Considering what your bookshelf has in it." He jerked his head slightly towards Malcolm's living room wall before popping his collar and slipping his pre-tied tie over his head.

"Here's hoping your dad isn't following suit. And I'm basically ready, so when you're ready.." He'd busy himself with getting down what was left in his cup real quick.

[abrightboy]

"Security at the maximum security hospital prison for the criminally insane is slightly better than that," Malcolm said, slipping his highly shined shoes on. He walked over to the rack by the door and pulled his coat on, opening the door for Raylan to lead the way down to his car.

"It'll take about twenty minutes to get there at this time of day," Malcolm told him.

[tinstar]

Raylan's expression was one of amused doubt. He'd heard the stories. Maybe the mental institutions were the exception to the rule. Leading the way out and down, Raylan nodded.

"You tell me where to go, I'll drive," he said, fishing out his keys and unlocking the car. "We'll see if it takes 20 minutes with someone who doesn't know where the hell I am, functionally speaking."

With a turn of the key, the car sprung to life and Raylan pulled them out into traffic.

"Will he know we're coming?"

[abrightboy]

"He'll know someone is coming when the staff put him in his restraints and he'll probably guess that it's me, but he won't know, no," Malcolm answered. "I'm sure they'll tell you the rules when we get there, but... it's really important to stay behind the red line, okay?"

He might not have said anything, except for Raylan's penchant for crossing lines. His insistence on intervening in Malcolm's night terrors scared Malcolm a little, but not as much as him potentially underestimating the Surgeon's... creativity in harming people.

"He kills people in horrible ways for fun."

[tinstar]

Raylan nodded at the first and glanced at Malcolm sidelong at the second, trying to gauge his intent around the warning without crashing them in the narrow streets.

"What happened to the faith in security at the maximum security hospital prison for the criminally insane? Cuffed and chained, he's not killing anyone, boring ways or not. Now I'm not saying I'm gonna poke the bear-" He was going to poke the bear. "-but he can't do much of anything in there."

He could tell Malcolm was still scared of his father, and for good reason. Raylan would agree to that in a heartbeat but the leggy man wasn't keen on his own fear and tended to grind it into a dust.

[abrightboy]

"Cuffed and chained, he's not killing anyone who keeps their butt behind the red line," Malcolm insisted firmly. "That is the security. He's tethered to the wall." He looked at Raylan. Yes, he was afraid of what his father was capable of. Almost as much as he was afraid of whether he was capable of it, too. "Please don't underestimate him. He's a volatile predatory psychopath and he hasn't had the opportunity to kill anyone in twenty years."

[tinstar]

"This isn't my first ride around the block," he reassured, glancing over as he could to Malcolm's worried gaze. "I'm not underestimating anyone." Including himself. "And I'm not planning on giving anyone any chances to do the same, don't worry."

He half expected Malcolm to wrest a promise out of him, at this rate. It really spoke to how deeply held Martin Whitly was.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm huffed a small sigh at that, like he wanted to say anything but couldn't see pushing it any further. He looked out the window, wringing his hands, his right leg bouncing faintly as he tried to swallow his anxiety and preempt his tremor. It wouldn't do to walk into Dr Whitly's cell already displaying a stress reaction.