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]

"Well, obviously, if you received a letter of acclaim, that'd be memorable," Martin noted. "It's probably never happened before. But, like I said, get them all the time. They kind of start to blur together. How am I supposed to remember one letter from a year ago?" He shook his head and glanced at Raylan. "'Mentor' is an interesting word choice, though. What has my boy been telling you?"

[tinstar]

"Oh, I very much doubt that's the only letter you got from him, but its the only one the hospital has record of. And it's not yer boy that's been saying anything. Your stories tend to speak for themselves.." Raylan bobbed his head thoughtfully.

"Well, that and I got very good reason to think he's coming here to see you. That doesn't happen after one letter. So," he continued, leaning against the near bookshelf to watch Martin working. "I mean, you can try and stick to the bullshit but you're only playing with yourself, at this point."

[abrightboy]

Martin looked up at Raylan, raising his eyebrows and looking entirely delighted.

"I have a stalker? Well. That is exciting." He glanced back at Malcolm and then looked at Raylan. "I suppose I should be asking you for protection, if he's going to try to get in here."

"Dr Whitly, we know you've been corresponding with him. He hasn't kept it a secret. We need to know where he'd hide. He tortures children to death. Be decent for once in your life," Malcolm said bitingly.

Martin swiveled in his chair and looked at Malcolm. "When you say he tortures children to death, do you mean a violent pedophile?"

Malcolm nodded curtly.

"Ah. You should have said so. That I remember. Despicable practice, but I try not to judge other people's proclivities. Rocks, glass houses." He huffed a laugh and looked between the men. "You know how it is."

"No. We don't."

Martin shrugged. "Well, before he headed south, my understanding is he had a place here in the city where he'd, um... take them. I don't know if you've added the runaways he found on the streets that he started with to his total, but because he was mob muscle, he actually took one of their safe houses over without old Sol knowing about it and he used it as his..." Martin contemplated a term. "...intimate boudoir, if you will."

[tinstar]

Apparently, Raylan hadn't framed that information correctly. Something to think about later maybe, but it didn't much matter, as long as they were getting the information that they needed.

"And where about is this place?" If it was one of the addresses on their list, he was going to be irritated. Then again, this was already going a little easier than the thug they had to shake down in New Jersey to get this lead.

[abrightboy]

"Well, I don't know the address but I'm pretty sure it was in Hell's kitchen. A basement mob safehouse that they haven't used since he started killing should be pretty easy to find with your resources," Martin informed them. "You could always ask Sol; from what I hear, surrogate daddy doesn't approve of little Bobby's hobbies," he told them in the tone one might relate page 6 gossip in.

[tinstar]

"Kicked him outta the family for it," Raylan said, leaning in conspiratorially with the words before straightening and nodding. Page 6 gossip wasn't his thing, but if he had to work it, he would.

"Thank you for your help, Dr Whitly. I'm sure Malcolm will keep you up on our success." If he'd had a hat, he would have tipped it. "You have a good day now."

He lifted his eyebrows faintly at Malcolm before lifting his chin at Mr David for him to go ahead and open the door.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm turned to follow Raylan out of the cell.

"Oh, Malcolm," Martin called after him. "You should speak up more. You're a clever boy. You don't want to be dominated in this relationship."

"Good-bye, Dr Whitly," Malcolm told him flatly slipping out the door.

"Any time! Nice to meet you, Deputy!" he shouted after them.

[tinstar]

There was a sense of showmanship that wouldn't let Raylan glance behind him or otherwise acknowledge Martin's cheerful goodbye. Of course, that didn't mean he didn't hear it, or the admonishment to Malcolm. He waited until they were out of view before pausing to let Malcolm get up in stride with him.

"I don't know why but I don't feel like that was a total success. Can't say as to why." But he felt a lot better once he'd collected his gun. Maybe it was Martin's insistence (an invasion is what it felt like) that they had anything other than a decent working relationship that put him off.

"He's... something."

[abrightboy]

"My father, the notorious serial killer," Malcolm said with a sort of weariness. "That was classic him from start to finish."

[tinstar]

"You okay?" he asked as he held the door open for Malcolm out to the parking lot.

[abrightboy]

"Oh..." He waved it off with a 'psh' that was clearly bullshit. "I do this all the time," he said with a nod, like he was trying to convince himself. "You just have to let his manipulation tactics just... go in one ear and right out the other and not, for example, let them burrow their way right into your amygdala."

[tinstar]

"Uh-huh," Raylan sounded, resettling his jacket. He had no idea what that word meant but he knew enough to gather it was some part of the brain. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, people who don't speak up, don't have angry thugs threatening to beat their ass outside. So you've got that goin' for you."

Unlocking the car, Raylan opened and slid into his seat, fishing in his inside pocket for the small notebook that he'd transcribed the list of addresses on, flipping through them.

"But you trust the information, right?"

[abrightboy]

He got in next to him, clenching his hand distractedly.

"Yeah, the information will be good. He'll want me to thank him for it later." He looked over at Raylan. "He didn't feel I was being 'dominated' in the conversation, he just wanted me to feel small. The less confidence someone has in themselves, the more he can control them."

[tinstar]

Dark hazel eyes slid over to meet Malcolm's, a hint of angry disapproval swirling behind them. "You ever read the book 'If you give a mouse a cookie'?" He knew his thanks weren't enough because Martin needed that validation from Malcolm, not another rando - there were plenty of people he didn't know who gave him praise or criticism and now Raylan could see that there wasn't much difference.

"If you can help it, don't give him a cookie. You do a good job, and you're ballsy. Ballsier than most. And I know your team agrees." More than good, but Raylan wasn't the type to lay it on too thick. What was important was that Malcolm knew that no part of him was small.

[abrightboy]

Being called 'ballsy' by someone like Raylan was possibly the coolest compliment he'd ever been paid. He endeavoured not to look too giddy in the face of it, but it did make him smile, which he directed down towards his lap. He flexed his hand a couple of times and, when it seemed to be behaving, let it rest there on his leg.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, glancing over when he felt like his face was ninety percent under control. "Still feel like breakfast? My treat, since you had to deal with both of my parents before even eating."

[tinstar]

There was no way for Raylan to not notice Malcolm's face and it softened the quiet intensity in his eyes and the tightness around his lips, letting the Marshal pull a soft, reassuring curl of his expression, resisting the urge to pat Malcolm on the thigh.

"Amazingly, I am," he said, pulling a crooked smile as he finally shut the car door and turned the car engine over. "You got any good places near Hell's Kitchen?"

[abrightboy]

"Yeah, actually. There's a great place in Midtown called 'Andrew's Coffee Shop'. People rave about it." He gestured towards the windshield. "I can direct you. Hell's Kitchen is just west of there." He looked at Raylan. "It's a big neighbourhood, though. Do we have an idea where to start?"

[tinstar]

"We've got three different addresses. I was hoping the NYPD could run a check on them, see which are abandoned. It also gives Art and the team time to come back us up. Gil too, if he doesn't have anything more pressing.. Which I find hard in a city like this," he said, pulling them out of the parking lot and back onto the road.

"I figure, that gives us enough time to grab a bite to eat." They couldn't run on nothing. Well, he couldn't anyway. It would put him in a very bad mood, which no one wanted. "He's not going to make anything easy for us, so it's better that we're on top of our game."

Not distracted by fitting looks of giddiness or asshole fathers.

[abrightboy]

"No. Yes. I could eat," Malcolm said confidently. "I wonder if it's too early for their soup of the day."

[tinstar]

"If they're good, it won't be."

Twenty five minutes and two phone calls later from each of the men and Raylan was pulling into a parking spot, minutes later walking inside to find a booth with Malcolm. It didn't take either of them long to order and Raylan sat back as the waitress walked away, one arm over the back of the seat.

"This'll be twice in as many days that I've actually watched you eat, I'm shocked."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm held up a finger. Point of order. "I eat every day," he insisted matter-of-factly. He paused and then conceded "There were extenuating circumstances in Kentucky." He did not eat ham sandwiches, even if they didn't come from a dead woman's fridge. "And I'm pretty sure I did eat an egg at some point that weekend."

He unfolded his napkin and set it across his lap.

[tinstar]

Raylan chuckled. "Coulda fooled me. At any rate, guess it taught me that I oughta keep some Campbell in my cupboard, just in case you find yourself back down there. Maybe something fancy like Gazpacho Soup, that seems about your style."

In Example, Fancy as Fuck.

[abrightboy]

He grinned. "You know gazpacho's served cold, right?" He considered that. "That would save time, I guess," he admitted. "Though, of the tomato soup genre, I prefer a plain old-fashioned tomato soup." A beat. "Served warm. Paired with a not-too-tanniny red wine." Couldn't disappoint his image of Malcolm's taste as 'fancy', after all.

[tinstar]

"Now I do," he countered with a smirk. "The real question is if you like your tomato soup with water or milk - any kind of wine, I hope you know, I will not be able to be an expert for it's tannin level."

[abrightboy]

"Well. Water stays down easier," he admitted with a wince. That wasn't a pleasant thought. "But the low tannin level is just for the best possible pairing. Tomato soup is acidic..." he waved it off. "I'm actually happier with tea."