Talking to Tim when he was this drunk was a lot like navigating a minefield. It was hard to tell which sentence would trigger the thought that would get him talking. One wrong step and Tim would be spilling his guts about something he'd normally keep private.

But that would be his own damn fault, not Raylan's.

"Oh, come on, now." He stretched an arm across the back of the couch, leaving his fingers inches from Raylan's shoulder. "The shootin's the fun part."

It was ironic, the thing he was best at also being the thing to cause so many nightmares.