abrightboy | The Lengths That I Would Go To

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."

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From:

abrightboy

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

From:

tinstar

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

From:

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."

From:

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?"

From:

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."

From:

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.

From:

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."

From:

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?"

From:

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?"

Edited Date: 11 Apr 2020 01:12 (UTC)

From:

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.

From:

abrightboy

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

From:

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."

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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.

From:

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."

From:

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."

From:

tinstar

Raylan couldn't help the curl of amusement in his face. "I meant to make the soup with, Malcolm, not on the side."

From:

abrightboy

Malcolm nodded. "I know. I can't eat every kind of soup. I find cream soups too...heavy. Water based is better for me," he explained.

From:

tinstar

"I shudder to what you'd think of gumbo," Raylan said with a chuckle, straightening himself as the waitress came back with their food and drinks, laying out Raylan's omelette and hash browns with iced tea and Malcolm's soup, crackers neatly tucked in packaged on the side.

"One day, I'm going to talk you into something more solid," he teased as he dug into cutting the omelette. "Gateway food."

From:

abrightboy

"I like jello," Malcolm offered as he pushed the crackers towards Raylan. "That's ostensibly a solid."

From:

tinstar

"Barely. It's held together by bone juice. What flavor?" he asked after consuming a bite, taking the crackers and opening them only to dip one corner into Malcolm's soup, quickly
transferring it into his mouth before he sogged out. There was a half thought afterwards as to if Malcolm would mind, but it was too late now.

"Helen would say that you're far too skinny."

From:

abrightboy

The cracker dipping made him smile. It was a familiar sort of gesture; something a friend would do and he recognized it as such.

"Lemon. Then orange. Then cherry." A beat. "I won't go through all of them. But peach is at the very, very bottom."

The comment about Helen made him smile even wider, with a hitch of a laugh. "Helen would probably be right." He looked up at Raylan suddenly, pointing at him with his spoon. "Sometimes I eat chicken."

From:

tinstar

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, far too amused that Malcolm had a grading scale for the flavors of Jello. "No peach."

It felt good to see Malcolm smile and grin after the shit they just went though and Raylan did look a little pleased with himself for it, breaking into a half grin at the spoon being pointed at him.

"Helen usually was. That's a good start. Wish you coulda had her fried chicken. Only rivaled in the county by Ava's... Well, til she shot her last husband over dinner. Not that he didn't have it comin' but.. Ya know. Puts people off."