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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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.

"And you think they can get in here before I find the gun," Jeremy was saying.

"I think there's a good chance. You haven't spent your time here learning the house." He cocked his head slightly, assessing. "How have you spent your time?" Malcolm asked.

"None of your fucking business!" Jeremy said, suddenly irritated. "Who the fuck are you?"

"My name is Malcolm Bright. I help the police with... difficult situations."

Jeremy squinted at him. "Wait. Are you Malcolm Bright the FBI profiler that caught the Kingdom Lake Killer?" he exclaimed.

"Um, I composed a profile for that case; I wasn't an arresting..."

"Shut up! Are they calling me a serial killer?" he asked with some degree of excitement.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "You're actually considered a spree killer. Your murders are too close together and your methodology too..."

"You are the FBI serial killer catcher."

"I was."

"Come in here. I want to show you something," he said, backing up from the door.

"You know, I don't think...."

"I have another hostage," he said dangerously. "Some kid that was sleeping upstairs."

Malcolm watched his face for a moment. It looked like truth.

"What do you want to show me?"

"I tried something new. I want to show you. I bet I'm a serial killer now."

"You're suggesting that you're evolving," Malcolm said reasonably, taking a step up onto the next step of the porch.

"Those guys, people talk about them all the time. Did you see the interview with Martin Whitly a couple of months ago? They let us watch it in the common room. His crimes were twenty years ago and people are still talking about him. You know who he is, right?"

"The Surgeon," Malcolm said carefully, stepping up onto the porch. "I'm familiar with his work."

"Of course you are. You're the leading expert. Everyone says so."

"Everyone who, exactly?"

"On the true crime boards. Real crime buffs. Come in here. Come look at what I did to this bitch."

"You know, there's a little problem here, though."

"What's that?"

"She doesn't fit your victim profile. You were carrying out justice against perceived sinners. She was a victim of opportunity."

"EVERY WOMAN IS A SINNER!" he screamed. "GET YOUR ASS IN HERE BEFORE I KILL THIS KID!"

Good, Malcolm was keeping him talking. It was enough time for Raylan to squat down and untie the kid, helping him to his feet with a wary eye towards the conversion happening. "Stay here," he mouthed, not wanting the kid to see the body in the kitchen without support.

Rising again, he moved forward, stilling as Jeremy started inviting Malcolm in. He held, catching Tim coming out of the other room across from him who shook his head. Nothing of interest.

Raylan stayed where he was. He knew what kind of negotiator Malcolm was, and honestly, he didn't like shooting people if he could avoid it. But the swearing and screaming indicated a tilt towards seriousness that none of them needed. He stepped out into the 'hallway' that connected all the rooms and the stairs upstairs, gun only half raised.

"'Fraid that's going to be a little hard for ya," Raylan spoke up, drawing the attention away from Malcolm, if even for a moment. "Considerin'." Considering them.

"You oughta do what Mr Bright suggests. Expert, and all." If they weren't in the situation they were in, Raylan might have sounded casual with the way he laid it out.

Malcolm, lingering just outside the door, lifted his eyes from Jeremy to Raylan when he heard his voice. He couldn't be blamed for the faint smile he couldn't completely suppress at the sound. He looked at Jeremy, who was looking over his shoulder at Raylan, then looked at Malcolm.

Then suddenly lunged forward to make a grab for him, pushing the screen door messily aside.

Malcolm shifted to the side, grabbing his offhand to pull him off balance and encourage his face into the door frame.

"SHIT!" he shouted as Malcolm took steps backwards away from the door. Jeremy was still holding the knife. He looked murder over his shoulder at Raylan, not noticing Tim as he then pushed himself up to advance on the Marshal.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you!" Malcolm called after him, but he wasn't sure how much good it would do. "Choose life, Jeremy!" he called. "Surrender now. I'll ride with you back to the station. We can talk about your methodology. Compare it to some of the greats."

Jeremy hesitated, looking at Raylan, but not raising the knife, his head tilting slightly towards the door where Malcolm's voice was coming from.

The lunge had Raylan stepping forward, gun raised.. But Malcolm clearly didn't need that much help. He could only furrow his brow as his head pulled back a fraction, all in slightly aroused surprise, eyes narrowing a little.

Well then.

In the field behind them all, the violence triggered a flood in of the team; Art, Rachel, and three other guys, all guns drawn.

As Jeremy started towards him, Raylan's gun was suddenly trained up, eyes sharp and hard, even without his hat to add extra intimidation. Jeremy didn't see Tim judging the set of Raylan's shoulder, waiting for him to step back and indicate he needed the backup.

"You drop it, we can make that happen," Raylan promised. "This doesn't have to end here. Hell, I'll even play the radio, if you want."

There was no way Malcolm was riding in a car with this asshole without Raylan there.

Malcolm advanced on the doorway again, still cautious, as Jeremy looked at Raylan, then over his shoulder at Malcolm.

"You written a profile of me?" he asked.

Malcolm nodded. "And I've been adding to it this whole time," he said, tapping his temple.

"I want you to post it online."

"I don't think you do want that, but put the weapon down and we can discuss it in the car," he said, stepping into the doorway.

Jeremy's eyes lingered on him, then he let the knife drop, putting his hands on his head. He knew the drill.

The group behind Malcolm advanced as he did, staying off the porch but at the ready.

As soon as the knife hit the floor, Raylan stepped forward as he holstered his gun and Tim stepped out behind him as the older man pulled out his hand cuffs. Raylan moved one hand after the other down, cuffing them in before nodding forward.

"Alright, let's go."

Once Raylan got him into the car, he headed back towards the house, hand propped on his gun as he pulled up next to Malcolm, standing over the woman that the locals were already sending a coroner for.

"They've got the kid out front waiting with Rachel, on an EMT," he informed as he looked at the gruesome scene at his feet.

"This is.. kinda outta the ordinary for him, ain't it?" This lady wasn't a whore or even particularly pretty, both of which their guy seemed to like more. "Pressures of being chased, I guess."

He was disgusted.

Malcolm shook his head.

"He's been building up to this. Escalating. He first killed to feel power and it still gives him that, but he went to prison for it and found out he was a small fish in a big pond. He wanted more. For some... inconceivable reason, the prison let them watch an interview with Dr Martin Whitly and he found a notoriety to aspire to. He wanted people to feel the sort of sick awe they feel when they talk about the Surgeon when they talk about him." He looked at Raylan. "Which I would love it if he never finds out he's been so... inspirational," Malcolm noted dryly. "This was his master work to date. He wanted me to see it when he realized I specialized in serial murderers. He thought I'd... appreciate it," he explained with an edge in his voice.

"I don't get these people," Raylan admitted.

"Fame should be declared a public health crisis," Art quipped from nearby as he took a deep breath. "I take it this 'Surgeon' guy is big news up there, huh?"

Raylan smirked. "You could say that. He killed 23 or more people in different, intricate ways. Somethin' of a celebrity up there. Though clearly, Malcolm is too."

Art focused on Malcolm. "Why'd the FBI let you go again?"

At Raylan's comment about his own fame, Malcolm half waved and half shrugged it off.

"Serial killer superfans have usually heard of me for...one thing or another. I've put a lot of serial killers away."

At Art's question, he looked over, looked at Raylan, opened his mouth, closed it, then looked at Art again. "Creative differences?"

Raylan snorted, and his face screamed 'Yeah right' at Malcolm's 'creative differences'.

"Don't we all have 'em," Art commiserated. "Anyway, if you plan on keepin' your promise, y'all should go ahead and get on. We'll tie things up here. You wanna take Tim with you?"

Raylan looked over. "And put him-" His head bobbed at Malcolm, "In the back? Hell no."

"We'll be all right," Malcolm assured Art with a grin, waiting on Raylan's cue to head to the car.

Art couldn't find any ground to argue with Raylan on that point, so he shrugged with his face and looked back at the body. Raylan jerked his head towards the door in a faint gesture and led them that way.

"You weren't really gonna come in when he asked you too, right?" He had to ask in the passing private moment they'd have on the way to the car. "Like you know that woulda been a bad idea, right?"

"Well, it wasn't Plan A or anything, but... he had a hostage," Malcolm said in an answer that definitely was not 'of course not'. "I knew you were around somewhere. I could at least keep him busy if I couldn't get him to surrender."

Raylan didn't think there would ever be a solid 'Of Course not', not from Malcolm Bright.

"You did good, keepin' him talkin' as long as you did. Gave me all the time I needed." Pulling out his keys, Raylan pulled off his vest and walked around to the trunk to trade it for his hat and jacket.

"Just don't expect me to get all talkative on the way. He didn't give up for me." Not that his stance would have changed if that had been the case.

Malcolm peeled his vest off as he followed Raylan, depositing it in the trunk before pausing.

"I, um... left my jacket in the back seat," he realized. He looked at Raylan. "I'm fine without it," he assured him. "I don't think he gave up for me, either, except as a mechanism to stroke his serial killer ambitions."

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