2. Derek Reese
He is never bored in Miami, he'll tell you that much. Any day of the week – say a Tuesday – even when you think you are just going to the liquor store on the corner to pick up some milk in your favorite plaid shirt, you can always find something that catches your attention. On a good day, it's just your run of the mill oddity. On a bad day, like today, it's a criminal violating federal law.
Raylan abandons his carton of milk in the candy aisle and ignores the store clerk's shouts as he follows the guy out the back and into an alley. Months ago a bulletin hit his desk that included a number of fugitives escaped from custody in California. It's either a curse or some kind of Jesus-given savant thing that allows him to remember faces of evildoers so well. Whatever it is, he tries to focus on this current evildoer and keeps his hand on the piece resting in the waist band of his jeans as he tails him around the corner.
He's got to have cause (just in case his facial recognition skills have steered him wrong this time), and his perp obliges when he reaches his truck and pulls what looks like a military grade rifle from the back. The guy replaces the gun, shuts the tailgate, and ducks around the truck nearly out of sight. Raylan has no choice but to come out from behind his dumpster vantage point with his weapon drawn. Trouble is his fugitive is just a bit quicker than he is.
It's dark and the alley is not as small as he'd like, but Raylan has no trouble making out the man's features once they are face to face, guns pointed at one another. Tall with some facial scruff, the guy looks every bit like a battle-hardened vet who doesn't know anything else but war. Raylan's knows plenty of guys who have that same look. More than that though, he is also definitely, 100% the man from the bulletin listed as a John Doe, wanted for murder.
"Deputy US Marshal Raylan Givens. You're gonna want to put your weapon down and get on the ground."
"Not happening," is all the guy says for a moment.
"You're making a mistake. Just put it down and this can all be over real quick."
John Doe smiles and shakes his head. "If you were smart, you'd walk away and forget this happened, but you don't look too smart."
"Is it the accent?" Raylan quips. "'Cause that's not something I can really do anything about."
"I don't want to hurt you," the man says seriously.
"I'd appreciate that."
"But I will."
"How'd I know you were gonna say that?" They stand there silently for a few moments. Raylan reckons they are about fifteen feet apart. He could take this guy down easily enough, but something tells him his opponent is probably a pretty decent shot.
"Still have that tattoo on your arm? The barcode thing?" That gets the guy's attention and he takes a step towards him. "Hey, hey, hey. Whoa. I was just wondering. Saw it in your file, thought maybe it had a special meaning."
"I'm not who you think I am."
"I'm fairly certain that you are."
"Turn around and go home. This is your last chance."
"Looks to me like we've come to an impasse. Itn't that what they say? An impasse?" Raylan sees his guy quirk a small smile, and the next thing he knows he's on the ground.
/\/\/\/\/\
He must have been out for only a few seconds, because he opens his eyes to a sideways world where a pair of cowboy boots and then the teenaged girl standing in them discard a crowbar that he's sure just struck the back of his head. There's no time to wonder how she snuck up on him, because he stays conscious just long enough to see her get into the truck with his tattooed fugitive.
When the clerk from the liquor store finds him on the ground behind the store a half an hour later, he helps Raylan to his feet and tells him he's closing in ten minutes if he still wants that milk. The truck, the guy and the girl are long gone. He stands there for a few minutes, leaning against a wall and rubbing the back of his head only to come away with blood on his hand. And his gun is gone. It just figures.
Milk is the last thing on his mind when he walks back through the store and out the front door to get to his car. This might possibly be the weirdest thing that's happened to him in a long while. He's not sure he should even file an incident report seeing as how he didn't get a license plate number or any helpful details whatsoever. But he will file one. Tomorrow.
He might just leave out the part where he was incapacitated by a girl though.