I do not own Justified or anything else by EL. This first chapter is a prologue.
I Knew a Guy - Chapter One (Prologue)
"You shoot somebody, you're gonna have second thoughts. It doesn't matter how justified the shooting is," Raylan concludes. "But you can't let that stop you from doing what's right the next time. Not when lives depend on it."
A group of deputies are gathered by the desks near the coffee machine. It's after 5pm and most have left the office for the day except for the small handful discussing last week's incident. A young man had been shot, and a deputy had quit. It was his first; it was good; he just didn't think he could make that choice again.
Raylan is the most experienced marshal in the group, and certainly the most prolific shooter. For him, the killing's never easy but the choice is. His world is simple: Loretta is good, even if she is pointing a gun at him; Tommy Bucks is bad, even if he isn't. His world is simple: the situation dictates his actions and second thoughts are dealt with.
Rachel nods in agreement. She faced her second not that long ago and has advanced beyond even Art Mullen in understanding regret and resolution.
"I knew a guy," Tim speaks up from behind them and pauses. He'd walked up on the conversation unnoticed and is leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
"You knew a guy," responds Raylan. He lets it hang and turns and faces Tim with a yeah-so?
"In Afghanistan. A sniper. He was doing back-up during a patrol. He'd set up on a water tower on the outskirts of this village. Got the street in his scope. Watching his buddies." He stops to lick his lips and swallows.
Tim is speaking carefully, like he's negotiating a verbal minefield, and consequently he's getting the story out more slowly than usual. And since he usually speaks in a slow drawl, today's narrative is particularly painful. Raylan wonders if this is going anywhere, but bites down his impatience. Tim never discusses his time in the military – ever. It's probably worth listening. Everyone else in the group is riveted by the same thought.
"And?" Raylan eventually prompts him with a rolling hand motion.
Tim is struggling with something. He licks his lips again and looks intently at Raylan.
"And this kid, maybe 10 years old, steps out of a doorway the guys just passed. He's armed with an AK-47, aiming up the street at the patrol. The sniper sees him. What does he do?"
Raylan waits for more, but realizes that the question is not rhetorical. Tim is expecting an answer. What would he do? He dips his head down and frowns and thinks. He was just saying how there's only ever one clear moral choice. The other marshals are silent, watching the exchange.
"What did he do?" Raylan asks finally, diverting the question back at Tim.
"He shot the kid," Tim states, his voice flat. "He only had a second to choose. But it was no choice, not really."
He pauses again for a moment, his face tenses with emotion. He looks away from the group and rubs his hand across his forehead. When he turns back, the grief in his eyes is undeniable. He waves his hand and continues, "He's fucked either way. Shoot, you gotta live with killing a kid. And how do you do that? But you save your buddy's life. Don't shoot, your buddy goes home in a body bag. You gotta live knowing there's a widow and kids without a Daddy and you could've prevented it. And somebody else probably shoots the kid after anyway."
Nobody responds.
"He's fucked," Tim repeats, jams his hands in his pockets, turns and walks back to his desk.
Raylan knows that Tim has just made a point, but he can't get his head around it. This war-zone lesson just doesn't fit in his world.
Rachel walks over to Raylan, visibly upset.
"Do you think..?" she starts quietly, looking over at Tim.
"Jesus, I dunno," he replies.
He walks over to Tim's desk, takes off his hat and worries the brim for a minute. Rachel trails behind. Tim looks up and raises his eyebrows in a question.
"What happened to him?" Raylan ventures. He needs to know but dreads the reply will be that he's now working for the US Marshals Service and drinking himself to sleep every night.
"He couldn't deal with it, couldn't shoot anymore, was discharged, went home," Tim replies. There's no emotion on his face or in his voice now. He sits back in his chair, tilts his head and looks up at Raylan. "His shrink told him to talk about it, so he talked about it. But his wife couldn't deal with it 'cause they have a 10-year-old son. She wanted a divorce. It made him crazy. He drove out into the desert and shot himself."
a/n: Thanks to 50ftQueenie for inspiration, though unintended. I apologize for any continuity errors. I can't quite reconcile how Harlan is a dry county, yet Johnny Crowder runs a bar. I guess that's why they call it fiction.
