Summary: Raylan Givens and his friend Mike Graves play mailbox baseball and are caught in the act. Based on the story Raylan tells Loretta from Season 5, episode 2, "The Kids Aren't All Right."

Warning: This story contains the disciplinary spanking of a teenager. Don't read it if the idea offends you.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Justified characters.

Riding the Rap

As the breeze billowed through the open windows of the Impala, Raylan took his first satisfying breath of the day. The cool, rushing air and music blasting helped settle his wandering thoughts.

Mike Graves continued to tell his story, laughing, and turning to look at Raylan, who smiled back. Mike was always good for a laugh and a few beers. They had just won a tough game against Bennett County High.

"Alright, Givens, time for some practice. You were a bit rusty out there tonight."

"The Hell you say! Tonight was my best game of the season!"

"Well…" Mike said slowly, "practice is how you're gonna keep improving!" He reached over the seat, grabbed a bat and handed it to Raylan.

"The bases are loaded, Givens. Bennett's pitching is all over the place. How are you gonna handle this next ball?"

Raylan sat starring at the bat in his hands. Mailbox baseball. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't want to play. His mood had been sullen since that morning when Arlo had thrown a glass of milk at his mother's head. He had better ideas of how to use this bat.

"Come on, now! Get in position," Mike coaxed, pushing his friend's arm for encouragement.

"Fine," murmured Raylan as he leaned out the car window and readied himself to take a swing. Here it comes, Mr. Johnson's mailbox, Raylan thought. Never taking his eyes off his target, he swung the bat with such force that the mailbox flew from its perch.

"Whoa! Go again!" exclaimed Mike, excitement building in his voice.

Around the bend, the Bickerstaffs' mailbox came into view. Sorry, Raylan whispered as he took aim. The wooden box shattered on impact.

"Woo hoo! One more, boy! Do it!"

The distance between houses was getting longer, giving Raylan more time to think. Maybe he could fix those mailboxes without getting caught. Just one more and that would be enough.

"Mike, don't go down this road. I don't want to pass Cawood Ledford's place. He has ears like a bat and they say his rifle's always loaded."

"Don't be a wuss, Givens! That old bastard deserves it more than anyone! He's the one that told my dad about me racing Frank Tuppers."

"No way. I'm not doing your dirty work! You can do it. I'll drive." Without a word, Mike pulled the Impala to the side of the road. Raylan got out of the car and walked around the front. Mike passed him and smiled, any argument or annoyance gone from him.

While Raylan steered the car back onto the road, Mike got himself in place, the bat hovering near his right shoulder. Raylan concentrated on positioning the car so that Mike could hit his target. After this, he thought, I'm going home… or to Aunt Helen's. Her house was his frequent shelter when life with his father got to be too tough.

With the mailbox in sight, Mike prepared to take his swing. The hit was strong, but so was the box, which stayed mounted in place.

"Damn," said Mike, sliding back inside the car. "I almost had it. Second chance?"

"Boy, did you wake up stupid this morning? Ledford's grabbing his rifle as we speak. I wouldn't be caught anywhere near his place."

They drove down the long country roads in silence, making their way back to town. A car approached quickly from the opposite direction. Raylan held his breath hoping it wasn't a police car. As it passed, suddenly, blue flashing lights were blazing. Raylan slapped the steering wheel, as the deputy's car u-turned and pulled up behind the Impala.

"Oh shit," muttered Mike.

Deputy Maithers sauntered up to the window. Raylan sat in furious silence and Mike looked as though he might be sick.

"You boys have been busy tonight. Turn the car off, Givens, and get out. You, too, Graves."

"Any chance you can let this slide, sir?" Raylan asked hopefully. "We've learned our lesson. We'll go apologize and fix the mailboxes first thing tomorrow."

"No doubt you will, but no free passes tonight. You're gonna wait in a cell until your daddies come to get you. Come on now, let's go." After a moment, "Move, boys!"

With that, both boys hurried out of the Impala and crawled into the back of the patrol car.

The boys exchanged looks. Raylan's expression was grim. He had the hot, giddy feeling of being in serious trouble, like just before a whipping. Then he noticed that Mike was shaking. He whispered, "You ok?"

Mike shook his head, murmuring, "My dad'll show up with a belt."

Raylan nodded, understanding. He had no idea how Arlo would react, but he knew what his father was capable of and that was worth worrying about. He turned to watch the dark sky and hills go by. Why did he let Mike talk him into this? Better question: why was he bothering to blame anyone but himself? How could he be so stupid? Aunt Helen always said that a hard head led to a sore behind. Oh crap, Raylan nearly said aloud. Aunt Helen would skin him alive. Now he felt sicker than he'd imagined possible.