Well, hello there. Yeah, I'm still alive. Now, if there is ANYONE still interested in this, there are a few things I need to say. First off, I'm sorry for the wait. I thought I would be a lot quicker, but life kept interfering; first a writer's block, then university, then private problems that took a lot out of me, then university again, yadda yadda. Fact is, I only have four chapters done, and Lord knows when I'll be able to continue, but if there is anybody left who actually wanted to read Part 3, this is me telling you I didn't abandon it, so I'm gonna post the first four chapters with the promise of more to come. Just don't know when.

Secondly, this starts off directly after the last chapter of The Very Cold Night and a few hours after the end of The Wolf Mother, just so you know what you're reading here. Also, The Penny Part 3 is still a season 3 AU and has nothing whatsoever to do with season 4, as I (and I guess I made that quite clear) really did not like that season.

The quote at the beginning from "Young Goodman Brown" I chose because, well, if you have about the same survey of the previous Penny parts, you'll see that it's just perfect on so many levels. And it's also a foreboding for this part.

As is the case with all my other Justified fics, this story contains explicit language and violence.

Disclaimer: Neither Justified nor any of its characters belong to me and I am not making any money with this. Also, the opinions expressed in this story are those of the characters and not to be confused with mine.

WARNING: Usage of the n-word.

Here goes nothing. Have fun!


The Penny in the Parking Lot: Part 3

The One with the Match


Chapter 1


"You miss it so much. Harlan. You still wanna go back there."

"Well, yeah, course. It's my home."

"Then you should just go."

"What, Nina-"

"Tell this Boyd that you ain't takin' no for an answer any more, Devil. I ain't askin' you to leave me, and I ain't mad at you. I just… I see how much you miss it. You're homesick as all hell and don't dare lie and say you ain't. And all I want is to see you happy, Devil, and you are happy with me, I know that much, but I also know you'd be a lot happier in Harlan."

"But you ain't in Harlan."

"Yeah, but you still wanna go, right?"

"Yeah."

"I thought so. Look, I… we can make this work. I'll visit you, you'll visit me, we can figure somethin' out. We made this work, this batshit insane thing, so far. We can do this, too."


With this excellent resolve for the future, Goodman Brown felt himself justified in making more haste on his present evil purpose. He had taken a dreary road, darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through, and closed immediately behind. It was all as lonely as could be; and there is this peculiarity in such a solitude, that the traveler knows not who may be concealed by the innumerable trunks and the thick boughs overhead; so that with lonely footsteps he may yet be passing through an unseen multitude.

"There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree" said Goodman Brown to himself; and he glanced fearfully behind him as he added, "What if the Devil himself should be at my very elbow!"

(Nathaniel Hawthorne: "Young Goodman Brown", 1835)


It was late in the night in Harlan County, and Boyd Crowder sat on the couch in Ava's house and stared through the darkness. He long since had turned off the light and given up trying to coax his girlfriend into going to bed, and although Ava had insisted to sit and wait with him, at 1 o'clock she had succumbed to her exhaustion and fallen asleep next to him. Boyd listened to her quiet intakes of breath, felt her hand twitch right next to his thigh. He himself was beyond foreworn after the events of the past day. The effects of a tazer gun were more painful than he'd thought. Every time he shifted, he felt a pull and burn in the muscles of his back, where the resentful Eddie Moran had tazered him.

But Boyd wanted to stay awake and wait; he had an incentive after all. Tonight was a night he himself had been waiting for, but intentionally postponed, for the last six months. He did not understand Ava's insistence to wait, though. He did not quite believe her explanation of "when they get here, you'll all wake me up anyways"; but Ava was an intelligent woman, and he never spent too much of his precious time questioning her motives.

It was a very cold night, and Boyd could hear the wind howl and the rain crackling on the roof and windows. He kept his eyes on the porch, ready to move as soon as he saw the light of a nearing car.

He did not wonder whether Devil had changed at all. That was not the question. The question was, how much.

Boyd Crowder had been aware that sending Devil into enemy's territory was a high risk that could have come with a high price. The hurt Boyd had felt at Devil's betrayal outweighed that knowledge in the end, though, because Boyd and Devil had known each other for such a long time and Boyd had been convinced he knew the man; and when he had been proven wrong, he had not only been disappointed with Devil, but also with himself, something that did not happen a lot. He would never forget the day he met the young Derek Lennox with the Honorary Title of "Devil", who was really just a kid freshly released from jail that had lost everything he valued save for his cousin, a hardened military man of Boyd's age who scrutinized Boyd with the suspicion of a man who had seen too much.

Devil and Boyd talked in the hallway of the small apartment, where Boyd told Devil that he could use a man like him. Back then, when Boyd had nothing to go by but Devil's grim, slightly vulnerable exterior and the Southern Justice flag on his arm, he had meant nothing by that comment but, "I could use a simple-minded, ignorant racist like you", and in many situations later on, Devil proved to be just that; but there were differences to the other supremacists he hired to do his dirty work.

For one, Devil was not as dumb as he appeared. There were times when he offered real insights not even Boyd had considered, and on more than one occasion he had seen and uncovered breaches in plans and crucial shortcomings in participants of these plans. Boyd started seeing his value as more than a simple henchman.

A year and a half after Boyd had recruited him, Devil started loosening up. He smiled more, cracked jokes, and Boyd understood that Devil was beginning to trust him. That alone demonstrated to Boyd that he was a little more complicated than the others, who had put their destinies into Boyd's hands after five minutes of his speech about mud people and blowing up nigger churches that he knew by heart at this point. Devil had listened to it and looked at Boyd while he was holding the speech, and after the speech he shrugged and said, "cool", but it was obvious he never bought into it. And Boyd Crowder, the man he was, could not help but be impressed by that.

The other thing was Devil's attitude towards killing. When Boyd had given Devil the order to kill for the very first time, Devil had grown into a man in the four years prior, and he had shot a lot of people in those four years, proving to be an excellent shooter, but he had never shot with the intention to kill, and Boyd was conscious of that lack of determination. He wanted the kid to stop valuing the human life. Boyd Crowder knew it was a terribly cruel thing to do, but back then he truly did not care.

And so he had Devil kill a chandler in Evarts who was said to be a nigger lover, and after they buried the body together he watched as Devil vomited into some bushes near Bowman's place and felt a small, oh-so-small pang of regret. That pang of regret did not last long, and Boyd would soon understand it need not have been there in the first place. The second time Devil killed someone, Boyd was standing next to him, and he was pleased to see that this time around, Devil pulled the trigger without hesitation; but his face was set in a grimace that Boyd took a few moments to interpret, and when he did eventually understand, it amazed him. This man called "Devil" had not stopped valuing life as Boyd had wanted him to. If anything, it seemed he valued it even more than before.

Boyd could have resented Devil for that innocence, because Boyd had lost that feeling of value a long, long time ago. He placated himself with the thought that, at the rate they were going, Devil would lose it at some point or another. And if he did not, it appeared not to hinder his ability to kill. If Devil wanted to torture himself with thoughts of regret at taking lives, who was Boyd to tell him not to? Should Devil ever decide to quit, or even possess the audacity to betray Boyd, Boyd would just kill him.

Boyd smiled through the darkness in the living room. He remembered thinking this clear as day even nine years later. Now he knew nothing was really that simple. When the day had come he had envisioned back then, he had not killed Devil. He had not been able to perform the needed action to the bitter end.

After the first shot to Devil's side, Boyd should have gotten up, put the gun to Devil's head and finished their business once and for all, because in their business you could not abide traitors. That was what he should have done, and Boyd was certain that, if there were universes other than this one, there had to be at least one version of himself that had done just that.

But he had not done it. He had righted Devil in his chair, all the while having him be held at gunpoint by Johnny, who looked quite pleased with himself, and then he had given Devil a chance to explain. A tiny part of him did not want to hear it, that was how disappointed he was; what most of Boyd wanted to know was what had gone this terribly wrong, and for a fellow like Devil, who really did not have much, and who was probably jealous of what Boyd and Ava had (after all, Boyd knew how Devil had earned himself his Honorary Title), it seemed plausible. A little too reckless after all they had gone through together. But plausible nonetheless.

And after Devil had stuttered and stumbled over his words to explain himself, Boyd could still have killed him. SHOULD still have. But he did not. Instead he sent Devil to Frankfort to infiltrate the Dixie Mafia, and maybe a small part of him did expect Devil to let his life there, because there really wasn't much for him to do but entice Dixie Mafia employees away and get to know Quarles a little better. Boyd knew himself well enough to know there was still a certain amount of resentment at play when they had their occasional phone calls over the first several weeks. Devil kept asking him whether he could come back now, and Boyd kept answering no, and he felt a tiny bit of satisfaction at Devil's disappointment every time.

Then something happened that changed Devil; he did not call for a longer period of time, and when he did, he was less talkative, essentially only asking whether he could come back now, and when Boyd answered in the negative, he wanted to hang up. Boyd asked him what had happened, because something HAD to have happened, and Devil hesitated, remained silent for a few seconds, and then mumbled, "I hate workin' for Quarles. I wanna shoot him in the motherfuckin' head."

Then he hung up, While Boyd understood that notion (and he very much did, indeed), he did not think it was a good idea for Devil to do that, but he did not get the chance to say so. That was when Boyd started getting worried.

Resentment turned into regret when Boyd learned of Devil getting stabbed. It had not been Quarles to do the stabbing, but it had been an assignment for Quarles that led up to it, and Boyd would have liked to chop off Quarles's other arm for that. After that he wanted Devil to stay away from Harlan to give him time to heal up, and when Quarles was gone the enticing employees away seemed to work even better for Devil than before. Duffy paid him the money Devil had rightly deserved.

Around Christmas Boyd understood that Devil was needed back in Harlan. Him leaving had left a free spot in his team, and Johnny seemed to view himself as the incontestable successor to this spot, but he lacked Devil's people skills and was not mobile, for obvious reasons. Jimmy wanted to fill that spot just as much, but lacked experience and smarts. Danny did not care to take on any other position than being Boyd's eyes and ears, and Boyd was fine with that. And somehow, other than Jimmy, none of the fellows Johnny was able to recruit lasted longer than a month.

Boyd's stomach grumbled. It made him chuckle silently. After having felt sick all day, it was a nice change to feel hunger again, although it was probably a little late for dinner now. When he looked out the window again, he saw headlights nearing, and he knew Devil had returned.


When they arrived in Harlan, it was 2 am and the temperature stood at a solid 38 degrees. Freezing rain was lightly drizzling down on the road, and Devil had narrowly avoided falling asleep at the wheel twice. Carlisle kept on sleeping like it was all he ever did, and Caleb kept on staring out the window at the passing blackness, not saying a word. The music from Keegan's farewell CD seemed to be swallowed by the silence of the night.

Devil pulled up in front of Ava's house and barely recognized it in the darkness and rain. He parked his 4runner still half on the road, he just stopped and got out of the car and outright stared at the house like he had never seen it before. Caleb woke Carlisle and left the car to stand himself next to Devil, looking at him questioningly. Caleb had never actually seen the place before, so he could not tell what had thrown Devil.

"You alright, man?"

"Yeah" Devil said after a few seconds. "Just… glad to be back."

"So that's it, huh?" Carlisle said, slamming the car door shut. "Harlan?" He looked around.

"Yup."

Devil rubbed at his forehead. It was itching under the damned wool hat Nina had made him wear.

"That's the place where this Boyd guy lives, right?" Caleb asked.

"Yeah."

"So… what do we do?"

The question didn't need to be answered as light suddenly shone from the windows of the house, blinding Devil, who had seen nothing but the street in his headlights for the last five hours. Caleb also had to blink.

"Seems like they already know we're here."

"Yeah" Devil murmured. He felt strange.

The front door opened, revealing the bright hallway, and a figure stood in the door frame, illuminated from behind so that his face was difficult to discern; but Devil recognized Boyd immediately.

"Devil" Boyd said, with his typical, slow, broad pronunciation. It was hard to see, but Devil was pretty sure he was grinning.

"'lo, Boyd" Devil said and suddenly felt incredibly misplaced. What was he to do now? Should he go to Boyd? Should he hug him? His not being a fan of hugging aside, he had never hugged Boyd before, in all the years they knew each other. He was aware Boyd didn't have inhibitions about it. He'd seen him hug the Marshal. Devil had not been in a re-uniting situation since Lewis had left the Army, and that was a damn long time ago. Devil felt so out of his depth he didn't catch on to the fact that Boyd was descending the steps from the porch until they stood face to face and Boyd grabbed his shoulders.

"You look good, son" Boyd said, and Devil shook himself awake.

"Uh, yeah, you, too."

Boyd was grinning, shaking his head. Devil huffed a bit. "S'real good to see you, Boyd."

"I could say the same to you. And who are those young men standin' in the dark right there?"

Boyd looked behind him, at Caleb and Carlisle, who had been keeping silent in the background.

"Oh, right. Uh, that's Caleb Danvers, the one who needs a place to hide, and that's Kevin Carlisle."

"The man who wants to try himself at somethin' other than muscle work, if I remember correctly?"

"Yeah, that's me." Carlisle smiled and grabbed Boyd's hand. By the way how Boyd shook it out afterwards, Devil knew Carlisle had been a bit too enthusiastic, as usual.

"Well, fellas, don't stand outside in the cold all night, I'd suggest we step inside to ascertain that you properly arrive. You gentlemen must be rather overwrought, I'd think, after bein' on the road so long."

Devil sighed. He'd missed Boyd's ridiculous language more than he'd thought.

He was the first to enter the house, Boyd, Caleb and Carlisle in tow, and suddenly Ava stood before him. She had obviously just woken up from a too short nap, her hair was mussed, but she still looked beautiful as ever. Devil hardly remembered why he didn't like her much when she looked like this.

Ava blinked at him sleepily. "Devil" she greeted. "You're back."

And then she did something he would have never suspected. She stepped forward, and then she hugged him.

Devil stiffened up. Not sure what to do, he lifted a hand and put it awkwardly on her shoulder. The hug probably only lasted two seconds, but to Devil it felt much longer. Afterwards Ava scrutinized him.

"You look tired" she stated. Devil huffed.

"So do you, woman."

"You want coffee?"

Devil suppressed the urge to rub at his side when the question brought up an unpleasant memory. Ava caught his gaze and he could see she too thought of the day she'd been shot by Dickie fucking Bennett.

"Devil? Do you?"

"Yeah, sure" Devil answered. "No sugar, by the way."

Ava smiled a little as she nodded. "Alright. And who would you two handsome boys be?"

Caleb was incredibly uncomfortable in this foreign environment and its hospitality that had to be almost too forthcoming to someone as paranoid as him.

"My name's Caleb, no coffee for me, thanks" he mumbled quietly, and it made Ava smile at him warmly.

"D'you want anythin' else then, sweetie?"

Caleb shrugged. Boyd could probably sense his discomfort as much as Devil, and he put a hand on Caleb's arm and spoke to him as calmly as he was able to.

"There ain't nothin' to worry about, son, you're safe with us. We ain't got nothin' wicked in store for you."

Caleb nodded slowly, still not a hundred percent convinced. "I'm starving" he eventually said.

"Me, too" Devil chimed in.

"Alright, you boys. How bout some sandwiches? I got ham and cheese in the fridge?"

Ava proceeded to make the sandwiches, introducing herself to Carlisle, who was a stark contrast to Caleb's aloofness, seemingly having no inhibitions at all. He shook Ava's hand, trying consciously to not crush her delicate fingers, and introduced himself in a stream of words; his name was Kevin Carlisle, he used to live with his mom in Coxs Creek, and yeah, he knew nobody had ever heard of the place, it was a really small town, and he was sure he was gonna miss his mom, but he still wanted to leave, and he didn't like coffee much, but did Ava have a coke for him?

"Pepsi would totally do, too" he said and grinned at her good-naturedly.

"You really don't look tired at all, Kevin" Ava said when she grabbed a coke for him.

"Well, he spent the entire drive passed out on the backseat" Devil said.

"I feel fine" Carlisle stated and took a huge bite from his sandwich to prove it. Boyd laughed at that.

"We should still think about where you can set up camp for the night, should you need any more rest. Your travel companions sure look a lot less energetic than you do."

All eyes shifted to Caleb, who had only taken one bite of his sandwich, his eyes falling shut every few seconds. Devil bumped an elbow into his side.

"Wha'" Caleb slurred.

"You wanna take a nap, dude?"

"Yeah, sure, why not." Caleb rubbed at his eyes and yawned into his shoulder. "I'm just gonna finish this." He picked up the sandwich again. "It's delicious" he said sincerely, throwing a glance at Ava, who smiled cordially.

"It's just ham and cheese."

"Well, Kevin, since Caleb here seems to be rightly exhausted, would you mind if he occupied the couch? I think I've got an air mattress somewhere for you, just in case."

"Yeah, sure, it's cool" Carlisle said. He looked so happy it was almost abnormal.

"Alright. Devil, you know where the spare is."

Devil nodded, and Boyd clapped him on the back on his way out of the kitchen. Ava was almost falling asleep herself, and Devil told her to go to bed.

"We're good here. Jus' go to sleep, huh?"

"A'right then. Put the plates in the sink, would you? See you tomorrow."

Caleb was dragging himself over to the couch, and Carlisle was busy blowing up his air mattress that Boyd had given to him before going upstairs, as Ava halted in the kitchen door and turned.

"It's good you're back, y'know" she said. "Johnny's in over his head, and Boyd would never tell you this, but I think he feels a little guilty he sent you off like that."

Devil shrugged. "Well, I'm back now."

"Yeah, you are."

She left without saying good night, but he didn't say it, either. They agreed in not always agreeing with each other, and Devil knew he'd screwed up big time six months ago, so Boyd had had a valid reason for sending him away and really did not need to feel guilty about it at all, and Ava probably agreed with Devil on that at least. Her telling him it was good to have him back, though, and her hug, that really surprised Devil. Where her hospitality towards him had suddenly come from, he could not say. But maybe it was just like what she'd said – that Boyd felt guilty and Johnny was screwing things up. It wasn't unlikely. Johnny wasn't dumb, but he had the worst people skills Devil had ever seen, and he had sounded so weird on the phone back when he had told Devil that Boyd was arrested for the murder of Colton Rhodes. He'd sounded appropriately worried. But not as worried as Devil would have expected him to. Something had been off about that whole conversation. Not to mention Devil still could not shake the animosity of knowing he had confided in Johnny, and then Johnny had ran off and ratted him out to Boyd.

It might have been the right thing to do. Devil sure as hell knew he would have done the same thing. But he still could not get over how readily Johnny had ratted him out, just like that.

But perhaps, Devil thought, this was just Ava's own way of saying, "I don't really like you much, but maybe I kinda missed you."

The thought made him smirk. Maybe he'd kind of missed her, too.

An especially brutal gust of wind threw rain against the window. Devil put the plates into the sink as he had been asked, more out of habit since Nina had always asked him to do it, too. He switched off the light, fully planning to go to the bathroom and then lie down and try to sleep in the spare room, but he stopped, looking out the window.

Outside it was cold and raining and stormy. Inside, though, it was good. The kitchen smelled homey. The house was warmer. It felt like a safe haven. Devil felt at home.


He sat in his big, beautiful house and wondered. He'd ceased hoping she was still alive after months of futile search.

When her car was found, he'd first thought that maybe she had had to go into hiding; the girl was a business woman like no other, and he knew she'd been in contact with a lot of dangerous people, always having her own way, never taking no for an answer, regardless of potential consequences. That was one of the reasons why he liked her so much. When the blood forensics found proved to be hers, he still believed there was a chance she had just feigned her own death to start another dangerous business in another place equally as dangerous, with acquaintances equally as dangerous as the Dixie Mafia. Her business worked everywhere, because it had takers everywhere.

But after a month of silence on her part, he doubted himself. She would have never disappeared without telling HIM where she went. No email, no letter, no message through a middleman. Nothing. It was not normal, and he knew it.

A month turned into two months, two turned into three, and eventually he became sure she was dead. The body was never found, but he had heard enough to know the Dixie Mafia had people at their disposal who were far from amateurish when it came to covering up murders, hiding bodies, covering tracks. His occupation merged from waiting for her to contact him and looking for her into finding out what she had been up to in the last year, who she had been bargaining with, trying to understand who could have had the opportunity to kill her. He did not need to ask for a motive. Everybody had one of those in her milieu. Or several.

After narrowing down the potential set of candidates to no more than twenty people, he sent out henchmen to ask around, dig deeper, to find out who might be the most angry, the most inclined to kill. All of them would have resorted to violence at some point.

In the end he made the right conclusions. He had finally found the right address.

He downed his remains of Whiskey Sour and stared at the empty wall across from him, seeing only one name and the face to go with it.

Wynn Duffy, he thought. I'm gonna pay you a visit soon.