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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"...Really?" he said dubiously. He started working on writing out the profile he had in his head for Jeremy. "Well. My mother is overprotective, my father is remorselessly manipulative and my sister is the toast of her network." He looked up at Raylan and shrugged. "So about as usual."

He curled a smile as his pen started scratching away.

"Well so long as they're not throwin' themselves off anything or nearly gettin' hauled away. I guess that's all we can ask for. What're you thinkin' to go with this salad? Chicken? All's I ask is the next chicken we have is fried. I've got a need but no real drive to do that much work."

"Actually, I was thinking we could get a small package of steaks and a small package of chicken and grill one of each and put the rest in the freezer," he said. "I bought a meat thermometer. I want to grill you a steak."

"Really?" Raylan flashed a grin up at him briefly. He couldn't remember the last time that someone wanted to cook for him. Well, he did, but that was Ava and felt like forever ago already.

"Then I guess we're stoppin'. There's a butcher shop a few blocks away we can hit too, after we get your beans and greens. Better to get it fresh when ya can, ya know... Okay, this is what I'm puttin' down..."

There was a verification of stories and the little details that Raylan already knew far too well, from when they arrived on scene all the way through to the end. The closer they got to it, the doors to the main office opened and spilling through it was Art, Rachel, Tim and the kid. Raylan's pen stopped when he noticed them.

A half second later, Raylan glanced at Malcolm. "Hold tight, I wanna see how the kids doin' and what the plan is for him."

Malcolm nodded, watching him go before rereading his statement and adding a bit more to the end.

A police officer came into the office looking grim, in the meantime, walking over to Art and the Marshals.

"Jeremy Lerner got out of the grasp of the officer putting him in his cell twenty minutes ago and he's holding a cop hostage with a pair of scissors to his neck. He wants to speak to a Malcolm Bright. Apparently he was with you guys this morning?"

Raylan caught what the officer said as he ambled out, brow furrowing heavily at the first half and manging to pinch a little further at the last.

"Jesus." It took him another second before he turned around and walked back to knock on the glass door and jerk his head towards the action. "Y'all can't hold onto one guy?"

Art watched him move. "You gonna take him?"

Raylan bobbed his head in a half nod. "Or do what? Let him cut some innocent kids throat? 'Course I am. Y'all are invited," he added on as an afterthought as he slid his hat onto his head.

They'd come but it was overkill. Supportive overkill, but overkill none the less.

"We got about 15 minutes," Raylan said to Malcolm as they hit the hall with the team in tow, "Before someone calls the SWAT team to put him down. Now I do so hate to let those assholes get their way, but don't be doin' any stupid shit where you're trading your life for the cops. We've got protocols to keep everyone safe, including you, including him."

Malcolm tugged his waistcoat straight and buttoned his jacket before taking a breath and stepping into the room.

"Hey Jeremy," he said brightly. "How's it going?"

"I promised to make you suffer," he spat.

"You did. But you have to know that they won't let that happen in the middle of a police station."

"I trade the cop for you. You take the Marshal's keys and drive his car to where I say."

"It's a reasonably plan," Malcolm said evenly. "But I can't drive." He shrugged expansively, keeping his hands visible. "But I'd be happy to take a walk with you."

Raylan followed Malcolm to the door and in, glancing at the other two cops that had their weapons trained on the guy dumb enough to get himself stuffed into a corner. Clearly, this was his first time taking someone hostage for trade. They already had more access than they normally did.

"You know doin' this only gets you more time, right? Kill him and they'll put you away for life," Raylan added, hand kept propped on his gun. He'd let Malcolm lead as he moved around for a clear line of sight, but he wasn't letting Malcolm do this alone.

"GIVE HIM YOUR KEYS!" Jeremy shouted at Raylan.

"I told you, I can't dr..."

"THAT'S BULLSHIT!"

"Jeremy, the police are going to kill you if you don't just put those scissors down and step away from your hostage. I thought you didn't want to die today."

Jeremy's eyes darted from Malcolm to Raylan and around the room.

Raylan just looked at Jeremy from under the brim of his hat. His stance gave off a general 'no' kinda vibe, of the unmoveable sort. Malcolm already knew what kind of shooting Raylan could do and Jeremy wasn't hidin' nearly enough to stop his bullet.

"You wanna throw your life away, ain't much we can do but watch, but it don't gotta be like that. Your story don't gotta stop here."

And if he was an egomaniac, maybe that would be enough.

"You won't be giving an interview in twenty years if you die here today," Malcolm pointed out in agreement.

Jeremy glared at him and dropped the scissors, putting his hands up.

The cop stumbled away from him as soon as he could and, once the path was clear, Jeremy lunged towards Malcolm.

There were enough free bodies to stop Jeremy; Raylan wasn't going to shoot him, as much as the hot stone in his stomach wanted to fulfill that particular promise. There was no value to this sack of shit.

He and the two deputies in either corner jumped in; Raylan stepping forward in front of Malcolm to punch Jeremy down as the other two grabbed him in his fall and twisted him so he landed on his belly, only to be half tackled by the men.

Raylan looked over his shoulder before walking over and picking up the scissors to hand them to Malcolm handle first.

"Go back to the office with Art and Rachel. Tim and I are gonna stay here, make sure this shitsmear gets into a cell where he belongs."

Malcolm's eyes trailed from Jeremy on the ground, to the scissors now in his hand - which he'd just accepted from Raylan on autopilot - to Raylan's face. It took him half a second to process the instructions.

Jeremy started screaming "MALCOLM BRIGHT! YOU TELL THEM!! TELL THEM WHAT I AM!" He wriggled in their grasp, trying to see the profiler. "MALCOLM BRIGHT!!!" he howled.

Malcolm's attention was pulled there for a moment and then he looked at Raylan again. "Okay," he said easily and turned to find Art and Rachel to follow them out.

His mind was still on the killer and the case and Raylan being in the room with him and he didn't consider that Art and Rachel might have... questions.

Tim stepped in to join Raylan and give Malcolm a way out and Raylan joined him in staring at the psycho on the floor as Art and Rachel escorted Malcolm back to the offices.

"So you're pretty well known up there, huh?" Art asked. "This sorta thing happen often?"

Rachel, for her part, looked subtly interested in the answer as they made their way down the hall.

--

Raylan and Tim waited until the cops had him in cuffs before taking over. If they needed to, they could drag or carry Jeremy down the halls.

"Not a lotta luck today, huh," Tim asked dryly of their still trashing prisoner that was held evenly and tightly between the two men's grasps.

Malcolm huffed a brief laugh.

"It's not a New York thing, it's a serial killer thing," he assured them. "I did most of my work with them out of the FBI's DC office, but since I was sort of the resident expert on this...niche subject, I chased them all over the country. My last case with them was Claude Springer. The Cedar City Butcher? He pickled his victims faces and kept them in jars. I wouldn't say this kind of thing happens 'often', though. I mean. Okay, John Watkins - the Junkyard Killer - shackled me in a basement and stabbed me in an attempt to turn me into a killer like him, but that was an outlier."

---

Jeremy struggled all the way to the cell, still riled up.

"You dumb hicks can't understand what I am. You can't understand what I've done. Bring Malcolm Bright down here. BRING HIM!!"

"Lucky that you came down here then aren't we?"

Rachel had lifted an eyebrow at the telling of John Watkins purposes and all it suggested, but she kept her mouth closed on that for now. Art shifted as he breathed, gut sticking out a little further as they ambled up to the office doors.

"But considerin' how often I see you around my office now, I have a feelin' that that luck might continue."

"Much more than vacations," Rachel quipped. "You must be runnin' up a hellva hotel bill."

--

Raylan smirked at the insult. "Yeah, cause no one's ever killed women before. Real genius. Tell you what's gonna happen. We're gonna put you in a cell and then let the judge throw the book at you. Maybe, if you're real lucky, you'll see him again at trial."

Tim smirked as he hit the button that released the gate to the general cells.

"Get him to talk about me on the news," Jeremy told them. "GET HIM TO TALK ABOUT ME ON THE NEWS!!"

---

Malcolm looked over at Art. ”Technically, you didn't see me last time I was here," he pointed out. Art had been at home with a gunshot wound. But he'd no doubt heard things.

He turned his attention to Rachel. "I'm not going to bill you guys for it, if that's what you're asking. I don't even bill consulting fees when you don't, you know. Ask me to consult. I just like putting bad guys away."

"No," Raylan replied flatly as they came up to the right cell and the cop down the way opened the cell door. Shoving him in, Raylan propped his hand on his hips as the bars closed behind him.

"I'm sure someone will come let you outta those cuffs. Sooner or later." With a faint dry smile that fell after it rose, Raylan and Tim turned around and walked away leaving Jeremy impotently with himself, to scream himself raw if he wanted too.

--

"Ain't gotta," Art defended with a lift of his chin. "I know what goes on in my office." And it was almost a point that he went first into the glass doors.

"It wasn't," Rachel replied with a sweet smile.

Art looked over his shoulder as he continued. "Don't expect that to change either. The Marshals service is real cagey about us doin' contracts outside the standard system. C'mon into my office Bright, I wanna talk to you."

Rachel veered off to her desk, sitting down with a smile.

Malcolm watched Rachel veer off, not liking the degree of satisfaction on her face too much. He started to make for Raylan's desk when Art asked him to come into the office. He looked faintly startled and glanced around on the off chance that maybe Raylan was back, but no such luck.

He followed Art into the glass room and stood somberly in front of the desk with his hands clasped in front of him. 'Come into my office, Bright' was how most of his reprimands from Gil started.

"How can I help, Chief Mullins?" he asked with simple, polite and practiced innocence.

"Deputy Chief, there's only Chief. Sit down," he said with a nod as he moved around to sit in his own chair.

"I think maybe it's time you and I had a talk, got to know each other. Your name's popped up in several case statements, and while I don't mind Raylan takin' the help or the time, I don't like havin' people I don't know workin' on my cases."

"That's fair enough," Malcolm said amicably as he sat.

"I'm a forensic psychologist. I used to work as a profiler for the FBI. Now I work as a consultant for law enforcement agencies that need a profiler from time to time but don't keep one on staff. I do most of my work with the NYPD these days." He made a gesture towards the main office. "Deputy Givens called Lieutenant Arroyo to check my credentials the first time I was here." He paused and watched Art's face. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

"Not so much, no," Art replied. "Anyone can have credentials; I've seen brilliant assholes who couldn't tell their ass from a hole in the ground if they fell into it. But not everyone that works with Raylan ends up followin' him around. Or bein' followed around. I know he took his vacation up north with you.

Fact, I don't recall Raylan ever havin' any friends that didn't work in whatever office he was in. Makes me wonder why we're seein' so much of you out here in the country. You know he's got a kid, right? Cute little thing too, last I saw her."

Malcolm nodded faintly when Art mentioned Raylan's vacation, his brain calculating what he could get away with admitting.

"Yeah, we went to a Yankees game. Saw Times Square. He didn't have time to sight see when you were up on your case," he noted.

The next comment and the seeming non sequitur that followed it made him frown faintly, if only for the way it brushed against the concerns that Winona had wailed at them when they told her about their relationship.

"I've met his daughter. What does she have to do with us being friends?" he asked. "We have similar interests. We have similar jobs," he said with a shrug. "We've both been accused of spending too much time at work."

"Raylan? Sightseein'?" That made Art chuckle once with a little shake of his head as he leaned back in his chair.

"Just makin' sure you understand that Raylan isn't the most.. stable of men outside of his job. Not always his fault, but the man finds himself in severe bullshit on a regular basis. His ex-wife doesn't make that any easier. 'Course, I don't think Winona's ever made anything easier in anyone's life, far as I can tell."

Malcolm nodded.

"I've met her, too. But I'm not sure I agree with you about Raylan. I think a lot of the perceptions about him are...taken out of context. He's probably the steadiest person I've ever known."

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