Raylan's mostly right on the second guess. The bar is empty, though it's difficult to tell if it's because it's just opened or if Boyd likes things that way, and he's particularly fond of not letting anyone know the answer.
Boyd himself is particularly fond of not letting anyone know much of the answers. Or the big game, or the play. Arlo swooped in earlier and Devil let him know, and Boyd had given instructions accordingly with mild annoyance that didn't show but stained his words, just a little. Arlo is becoming a liability.
Perhaps, Boyd thinks, Arlo ought to go. But that would mean he would miss one Raylan Givens, and on cue the other all but swaggers onto the scene, walking from the hip, a cross between a man's man and a real old fashioned cowboy.
When Boyd moves out of his office, his smile is genuine, the whiteness of his deeth sliding perfectly into place.
"Raylan Givens," he announces, all charm, arms open in a cross between a welcoming gesture and feigining surprise. "I would offer a drink, but the way your feet hit the floor suggest you're here on business."
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Boyd himself is particularly fond of not letting anyone know much of the answers. Or the big game, or the play. Arlo swooped in earlier and Devil let him know, and Boyd had given instructions accordingly with mild annoyance that didn't show but stained his words, just a little. Arlo is becoming a liability.
Perhaps, Boyd thinks, Arlo ought to go. But that would mean he would miss one Raylan Givens, and on cue the other all but swaggers onto the scene, walking from the hip, a cross between a man's man and a real old fashioned cowboy.
When Boyd moves out of his office, his smile is genuine, the whiteness of his deeth sliding perfectly into place.
"Raylan Givens," he announces, all charm, arms open in a cross between a welcoming gesture and feigining surprise. "I would offer a drink, but the way your feet hit the floor suggest you're here on business."