"Oh Jesus, Art, a joint operation initiative pilot program?" The question was asked with an expression like he'd had shit waved under his nose, head pulling back like he could get away from the suggestion via space from the file in front of him alone.
"Yes, Raylan, because believe it or not, we are supposed to be on the same side."
The curl of Raylan's face suggested he'd believe that when pig sprouted wings. "Except when they get in our way, take over our cases and treat us like we're shit on their shoes."
"Yeah well, it's still a day that ends in 'y' and you ain't got a choice. There's cases we ain't solved yet the the Federal Government would like us to practice on."
Raylan sighed and dropped the file onto the table. "Fine. They at least tell you who we're stuck with?"
"One agent and one consultant. A.. Jack Crawford and Will Graham," Art replied, head pulling back as he tromboned the file a little, glasses lost somewhere on the desk. "And we already got your first case." The thump of the file dropped on the desk was almost intimidating. "Read up, because you're gonna be the one greetin' them when they get here."
"Joy," Raylan drawled, eyeing the file with distaste.
"They get here in two weeks, so read up."
Raylan just grunted and looked away.
--
Two weeks later, Raylan was sat behind his desk, the fat file spread out in front of him. He already had a lead but he had to wait for his 'help'. It annoyed him, just like reading this file had. This wasn't what he was meant to do; be a desk jockey, waiting for carpetbaggers to come and tell him how bad he was at his job, regardless of the fact that he wasn't on the case when it happened.
He sighed roughly as he looked at the office doors. They should have been picked up by now, driven in by a Marshal that knew where he was going. Raylan couldn't imagine what was keeping them.
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"Yes, Raylan, because believe it or not, we are supposed to be on the same side."
The curl of Raylan's face suggested he'd believe that when pig sprouted wings. "Except when they get in our way, take over our cases and treat us like we're shit on their shoes."
"Yeah well, it's still a day that ends in 'y' and you ain't got a choice. There's cases we ain't solved yet the the Federal Government would like us to practice on."
Raylan sighed and dropped the file onto the table. "Fine. They at least tell you who we're stuck with?"
"One agent and one consultant. A.. Jack Crawford and Will Graham," Art replied, head pulling back as he tromboned the file a little, glasses lost somewhere on the desk. "And we already got your first case." The thump of the file dropped on the desk was almost intimidating. "Read up, because you're gonna be the one greetin' them when they get here."
"Joy," Raylan drawled, eyeing the file with distaste.
"They get here in two weeks, so read up."
Raylan just grunted and looked away.
--
Two weeks later, Raylan was sat behind his desk, the fat file spread out in front of him. He already had a lead but he had to wait for his 'help'. It annoyed him, just like reading this file had. This wasn't what he was meant to do; be a desk jockey, waiting for carpetbaggers to come and tell him how bad he was at his job, regardless of the fact that he wasn't on the case when it happened.
He sighed roughly as he looked at the office doors. They should have been picked up by now, driven in by a Marshal that knew where he was going. Raylan couldn't imagine what was keeping them.