tinstar | Malcolm x Raylan: Cowboy Surprise

Malcolm x Raylan: Cowboy Surprise

Art was suspicious right off the bat when Raylan took a week off with the express note that his phone would be Out Of Order til the next Monday, but the Chief Marshal wasn't going to look gift horses in the mouth. Not when it suggested he'd have a few days of peace, until Raylan caved to turning his phone back on again. Still, he watched the younger Marshal walk out of the office and promised himself to check into the state of Harlan within 3 days to make sure that the place wasn't on fire. The smoke would reach him before he called, he was sure.

But Art didn't have much to worry about - Raylan had no plans on staying in the state for his vacation, beyond one day spent closing up Arlo's and securing it the best way he could before getting on a plane to New York City. He wanted to surprise Malcolm - it'd been near two months since they'd last seen each other and frankly, Raylan was tired of missing him. They'd called and texted, stayed in a fairly consistent, if odd houred, touch but it wasn't the same.

Once he landed, Raylan rented a car and navigated his way towards Malcolm's apartment, stopping to grab a bouquet of flowers. It was.. Extra, but Raylan didn't want to show up empty handed, just in case. Thirty minutes later, Malcolm's door buzzer was being hit, like Raylan was here to deliver something. Well, he was, but that was half the fun.

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Raylan grinned and headed for the door too, stopping Malcolm before he could get all the way out with a soft 'Hey', so he could hook one hand on Malcolm's elbow to pull him into soft kiss. Once it broke, he smiled. "Now we can go."

--

The black town car pulled up to a collection of SUV's in a parking lot about an hour outside Lexington, Marshals standing around talking to each other as everyone got ready. Raylan's car got the attention of about half the group but only 3 faces stayed turned towards them. Art, Tim, and Rachel, all watching to see who Raylan had with him.

He adopted his usual affable and unbothered expression as he slid out and adjusted his hat, heading towards them with Malcolm in tow.

"Did I miss the party invite where it said plus one?" Art asked with a confused look.

"Nah, but he showed up and I figure-" Raylan shrugged. "Why not put 'em to use. We got a spare vest?"

Rachel opted to look at Malcolm. "Mr. Bright. Another vacation?" There was the faintest curl around the edges of her full dark lips, and a glint in her eyes. Vacation, her ass.

"Actually," Malcolm said, holding up a hand, "I heard that guy who killed all those women in Chicago was hiding out down here and I thought I'd, you know. Come find him," he explained with a cocky grin. "He found his purpose in life when he killed the women in his office. He's taken on a mission of cleansing the world of what he sees as women who tempt men into sin, or so he tells himself as justification. He's addicted to the power rush of taking life and that dopamine hit is a high with diminishing returns. He's been escalating since he started. He won't stop. It's almost certain his kills will become more frequent or more violent. Or both."

Edited 2020-08-14 18:33 (UTC)

"You heard, huh?" Art asked, looking at Raylan in time with the rest of the team before Tim's gum popping broke the passing, brief silence.

Raylan looked over at Tim like he might be more helpful. "Vest?" he asked, gesturing out one hand, index and thumb having come together at some point. Tim cracked a bare little smile from under his ball cap and turned around with a jerk of his head towards the back of his SUV.

Raylan glanced at Art and Rachel before heading that way as he shrugged off his jacket.

Rachel continued. "Didn't think we could handle it, or can you just not stay away from the fun?" She was starting to get a sense of what kinda man Malcolm Bright was.

Raylan came back a few seconds later, sans hat and jacket, wearing a vest that read 'Police' across the chest with a matching one in his hand. "Here, put this on," he said, free hand propping on his gun as he held out the vest.

Malcolm laughed almost self-consciously at Rachel's question, tilting his head in concession. "I did tell you that I brake for cases," he reminded her.

When Raylan handed him the vest, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and threw it in the back of Raylan's car before pulling the vest on in its place.

"Has he been spotted recently?" he asked the team as he tightened the velcro fastenings.

Rachel only arched a very amused eyebrow at him. Alright white boy.

Raylan asked a few questions while Malcolm stepped off, turning his head to watch him step back up as he strapped himself into a vest. Good, now they could work.

"About 3 this mornin' the local PD got a call about a murder that fits his style and a few hours later, we caught a call to his New York lawyer from a farmhouse about five minutes from here. We're already sittin' on the roads in and outta the hollar, so now it's just about flushin' him out from whatever building around the house that he mighta holed up in. We're gonna start at the house and go from there. You ever seen the Marshals hunt down a man in force?" Asked Art.

Edited 2020-08-14 23:33 (UTC)

"In a video they showed us at Glynco when I was with the FBI and attended an interagency course there on fugitive tradecraft," Malcolm said distractedly. "Who was the woman he killed last night?" he asked with much more laser focus. "And who lives in the house he made the call from?" A beat. "And who's his New York lawyer?"

'Glynco' got a lift of Art's eyebrows as he looked over at Raylan. What were the chances then, that Malcolm mighta been there when both Art and Raylan were teaching?

Rachal continued, answering Malcolm's questions. "A young woman, about 22. Did a number on her too. The house is owned by a windower, a Yvonne Gene, age 50."

"And the lawyer?" Raylan followed up as Rachel opened her notebook.

"Andrew Walker, Herfings Law offices."

Raylan looked over at Malcolm. "That name ring a bell?" Since he knew that the Whitly's saw a LOT of lawyers.

It was about eight years earlier, that he'd taken the course at Glynco.

"I think we can assume the hapless widow has been dead for hours now," Malcolm told them. "And he'll be itching for a fix. So why did he call his lawyer, is the question. Does he want to be caught?"

Malcolm pulled out his phone and dialed, turning away from the group for a moment. Putting on a figurative hat.

"Andrew Walker, please." There was a pause. "Oh, he'll want to take this call. Tell him it's Malcolm Bright from the NYPD." He paused. "Thank you." A moment later, "I thought you might remember me. Can we talk about your 6am phone call? ...Yes, you did. Don't lie to me. I thought you'd know better after the last time." There was a pause. "Now, Andrew. I'm sure you know as well as I do that client privilege doesn't protect you from accessory to murder charges. I'm in Kentucky right now. What did he tell you?" A pause. "Mmhm. Well, if he lives that long. Does he have a gun?" A beat. "A knife." He half turned to glance at the team. "Did he? Interesting. Thanks." He hung up.

He turned back to the team. "He informed Andrew Walker in the course of their phone call that he would no longer be requiring his services. After he asked for money. So it seems flight is a more likely reason for discharging his attorney than any intentional suicide by cop. To Walker's knowledge, he doesn't have a gun, but he does have a knife. That being said, based on what I've learned about Kentucky so far, chances are good there was a gun in the house that the owner won't be needing anymore."

"We're leavin' open the idea that he might use her as leverage, if he knew we were coming," Art replied, face furrowing in a more pointed confusion as Malcolm pulled out his phone. In true Southern Fashion, he let Malcolm go about whatever he was doing and just watched, to try and figure it out.

Raylan knew exactly what he was doing and simply waited, head down but cocked to the side, to hear Malcolm's side of the conversation. And it everything about Malcolm's commanding, plying tone made Raylan smile, something he tried very hard to hide under the brim of his hat.

Tim narrowed his eyes a little as Malcolm turned back around and unloaded a new set of information on them. "We been trying to get through to his office since this morning."

"Yeah," Art echoed. "Why'd he talk to you?"

"Why's it matter?" asked Raylan with a turn of his hand. "Isn't that what we wanted to know? C'mon, let's go apply it to our situation - insteada standing around here with our thumbs up our asses."

Art hummed but held a moment, in case Malcolm might answer his question anyway.

"Oh," Malcolm waved it off as no big deal, "he was implicated in a pyramid scheme where the architect of the scheme ended up dead. He tried to deny involvement but... psychology."

Malcolm looked towards the house and then looked at Raylan.

"Let me talk to him. He won't be using the widow as leverage. He's a junkie. He needed the hit. He'll need another by now. You've seen the swathe of dead women he's cut."

"Uh-huh," came Art's still suspicious, but slightly less so than before, reply before he glanced off at the rest of the forces around 'em.

"Eh, I'll give you a bullhorn while Tim, me and some of the others circle the back if you want."

"Aren't I running this thing?" Art protested as they started to break apart towards different cars. Raylan smirked at him as he walked away.

"Don't worry Art, we'll let you take all the credit for it."

"A bullhorn?" Malcolm protested, ignoring Art's indignance. "I was going to go up there," he said, pointing towards the house. "I need to see his face when I'm talking to him. Besides, he'll probably open the door to one unarmed man. He won't be picky about where he gets his power now."

"What?" Raylan asked over his shoulder. "No. We got no idea what this guy's set up is, nor do we know how many people are in that house or who's got what.I'd say he mighta slipped out the back but we've already got a man up on the ridge-" That Raylan was kind enough to point out, roughly speaking, as he continued.

"Now you can negotiate from here, or from the midyard, but you don't wanna be up on that porch. Do me a favor, stay behind a car or somethin'. You're right about the gun, even if he doesn't know it's there yet."

There were guns everywhere.

"I actually do want to be on the porch," Malcolm insisted. "I can get him to surrender."

"You can also get a bullet or worse in the neck," Raylan argued with a look over at him as they got to the backend of the SUV Tim had opened the hatch on. "Let us get a handle on the situation first, before you start goin' all Mental Superhero on us, huh? Believe it or not we have done this before."

Tim and Rachel glanced at each other and pulled off towards Art with Tim quipping, "We'll let you ladies have a minute."

Raylan shifted his feet to lean a little closer to Malcolm with one hand stretched out. "Look, we don't know who all is in there. Just.. give us a little time to peek in some windows, get a feel for it."

Malcolm leaned in conspiratorially. "What if I go with you guys, but I stay behind you?" he countered.

Raylan shifted again to lean a little closer. "There's a reason that these units aren't just a couple of people. I figured you and all your negotiator skill would be better up here with Rachel. You know, talkin' him into comin' out, or keepin' him calm enough to let us into the back door. I thought that was your thing."

"It is my thing, but I need to see him. Listen. This guy? He kills because the first time he took a human life in anger, he felt powerful for the first time in his life and he doesn't want to give that power back. If you go in there in force, you'll make him feel small. Powerless. A place he doesn't want to go back to. He will try desperately to kill someone to regain his power high. If I go up on the porch, unarmed and inoffensive, I can get inside his head and maybe get him to surrender. And if I can't, you guys can still take him out the hard way. Doesn't that make sense?" Malcolm insisted.

Raylan sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose for a second. "It is not the US Marshal's Service job to care about his feelin's." But he understood the backlash of it.

"Fine. You wanna go on the porch, go on the porch. Rachel can introduce you with said bullhorn and Tim and I can still do our jobs, how's that."

Malcolm smiled. "I can live with that. Everyone goes home breathing, everyone wins, right?"

He headed for the house with his hands held just out from his sides, where they could be seen.

The Marshal was decidedly not smiling as he he broke away to grab the back of Malcolm's jacket. "Give us five minutes to get our asses to a safe place first," he admonished sharply before going over to the other three with an adjustment of his hat. Tim looked as nonplussed as always, and it was only Rachel and Art that lifted an eyebrow up over at Malcolm before Raylan and Tim walked away.

The landscape was their cover to get close and a few minutes later, Rachel had her bullhorn out.

"We're sending someone up to to talk to you. He's unarmed."

No answer. Rachel gestured Malcolm forward with a look.

Malcolm resumed his trip up to the house, his hands held out.

"Jeremy?" he called to the convict as he drew close to the porch. "How's it going in there?"

"DON'T TRY ANYTHING OR I WILL KILL THIS BITCH!" he shouted.

Malcolm paused on the stairs. "I don't believe she's still alive, but I'd love you to prove me wrong," he said confidently.

The man's face appeared behind the screen door, his eyes darting around, most of his body still obscured by the wall.

"What do you want?" Jeremy spat.

"I want you to get out of this alive," Malcolm told him simply. "Now, I understand why going back to prison doesn't sound like a great play for you, but - if you're alive - you have options."

"If I'm alive," he said suspiciously.

"You've killed two women in the last twelve hours, including the home owner. Do you think there's any outcome where you walk through this door to freedom?" Malcolm asked. "You're an educated man. Think about it. But, if you surrender, go back to prison... you can ask Mr Walker to look into getting you reclassified into psych, for example. You've done some pretty screwed up stuff. I would be willing to testify that you're almost certainly a psychopath."

"Are you trying to say I'm crazy?" Jeremy sneered.

"I'm saying if an expert, such as myself, was willing to suggest you were crazy, you could get out of gen pop. But only if you live that long. Your other option is trying to run away and then all these guys here..." he said, gesturing with his finger all around the yard, "they shoot you dead where you stand and just. Go to lunch. They don't care which one you choose. I'm here to help you, but only as long as this conversation remains courteous."

Raylan and Tim found themselves on either side of the back porch, covered from afar by a sniper that had already been set up. The dogs and extra men that had been used to chase the guy into the position that he was in were still there, hanging out behind the rest of the Marshals, watching them work like they were at a tailgating party.

Raylan glanced at Tim and got a nod back as they started in, peeking into the back windows before Raylan gently tried the doorknob. Locked. His face bore his 'well shit' expression as he listened to the conversation going on out front. They could make the homeowner out in the scant lighting, laid out on the floor in blood.

Time to start trying windows. Thankfully, it wasn't a straight shot from the front to the back, so Raylan figured they had a little cover as he hoped this lady kept her windows in functioning order.

Jeremy, held up a knife, resting it against his own cheek.

"What if it gets uncourteous?" he asked. "What if I have a little cop shield?"

"You won't get that close to me."

"You have that much confidence in their shooters, huh?"

"I know where they are. And you don't," Malcolm pointed out. "Maybe they're in the trees. Or on top of the barn. Maybe they're right behind you," he noted in an almost musical tone that suggested he wasn't completely serious but wanted Jeremy to understand the possibilities.

Jeremy gave him a withering look. "So you just want me to walk out there with my hands up and give myself up."

"After dropping your weapons," Malcolm clarified. "It'd be the smart move. But it's your choice."

Jeremy seemed to be considering him.

"How much money did you find in the house?" Malcolm asked. Jeremy looked almost startled by the change of subject and didn't answer. "Did you find the gun yet?" Malcolm asked.

Jeremy's eyes narrowed.

"You haven't," Malcolm deduced. "You didn't even look for one. The woman you killed, she never had time to go for it. How did you get in? Force the front door? Break a window?"

"The windows weren't even locked," he spat, looking over his shoulder like he was considering something.

"If you leave here to go look for the gun, the Marshals will force entry. You have no leverage in there. As soon as you stop talking to me, it's over."

The windows weren't locked and Raylan gave Tim a half surprised lift of his eyebrows when it started moving. Tim shrugged and gestured for him to go on inside.

For a man Raylan's size, it was always a little funny to see him fold himself up and slink him and his long legs into a house, and a half second later, he was opening the back door for Tim to come in. Thankfully, the doors were as well kept as the windows and it opened with no real noise to speak of.

They crept through the house, splitting it between them and coming across someone else in the living room. A grandkid or young nephew, 14 or 15 if Raylan had to guess, but it came with a creek of the floorboards and a whimper from the boy. Raylan lifted a finger to his lips and turned his hip to show his badge. They were there to help.

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The woman owner of said farmhouse will not be having a good day, or any days now

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