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]

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."

[tinstar]

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

[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.

[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."

[abrightboy]

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

[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."

[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."

[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."

[abrightboy]

Malcolm leaned forward with interest.

"Did he complain about the chicken?" he asked with a nod. Motive, right?

[tinstar]

Raylan grinned. "Believe it or not, yes. There was a lot more too it, but.. One night, one opinion too many..." Raylan gestured, filling out the statement by allusion. "There's a reason I watch what I say over food."

And why he had no issue thinking that women could be just as, if not more, dangerous with firearms.

[abrightboy]

Malcolm grinned. "Well. You may not believe this, but my mother doesn't cook," he mock-revealed. "Shocking, I know."

He ate a spoonful of soup.

"She did always expect us to be respectful to the staff. I don't think she was worried about them shooting us if we weren't, though. Maybe more about them telling tabloids a story about how rude the Surgeon's children were or something."

[tinstar]

"Your mother?" Raylan gasped teasingly before breaking back into grin and taking another bite of his breakfast.

"Shooting and not poisoning? Seems like an easier way to do it, in my opinion. But I'm sure your family paid well enough for that to not be a problem. Do I get to ask where you guys get your money? Was it just from Martin's earnings as a doctor? I know they do well but.." He wasn't sure any doctor of that type lived the same level of lifestyle as Malcolm was used to.

[abrightboy]

"Of course you can ask! I...actually would have volunteered it, but I'm used to people knowing, I guess." He contemplated that for a moment, then shrugged off the tangent and looked at Raylan. "My mother's family are the Miltons. They're one of New York's oldest and wealthiest families. The money is and always was hers. My father made decent money, but not until he got established, after they were married."

[tinstar]

That... Well, Raylan wasn't sure what he was expecting but Old New York money wasn't one of them. "Art might know the name.." He scoffed a chuckle that didn't really reach his mouth and shook his head. "Your father really hit the jackpot and then messed it up, didn't he."

It was a little mind boggling, when it was all put together.

"But good for your mother, keeping her hands on what's hers." Raylan knew how badly no money or poor money could affect a life; he equally understood how that worked on the upper side of the scale. "I imagine that's what put you through private schools?"

Boarding seemed too distant for these parents and the idea of Malcolm in the swamp that is public schools was.. laughable.

[abrightboy]

He gave Raylan a mock-suspicious look. "How did you know I went to private schools? Profiling is supposed to be my thing," he teased.

He had, in fact, also gone to boarding school for a couple of years, when he started high school. His mother had thought that, if he got away from the house and the family and the daily reminders, maybe he'd stop seeing his father. The problem was, the daily reminders were inside his head and they always would be. After Vijay stopped hanging around with him, he'd fit in less and less there until his mother pulled the plug on that experiment and decided he could at least do with the chance to get into a prestigious college and put him in the most academically stringent private school in New York. He'd always done well with academics. Socialization less so.

"But yes. It put us both through private schools. And various extracurriculars. And prestige colleges."

He took a bite of soup.

"Though, to her credit, my mother has gone from despairing of my career choice daily to only weekly or even biweekly."