Boyd Crowder has been in some tight spots in his lifetime. But this particular tight spot is taxing his ingenuity to its limits. And his strength of will.
He truly doesn't know whether he hates or loves Raylan Givens. What he does accept, as much as he really doesn't want to, is that the fate, fortune and future of Boyd Crowder is wholly dependent on Deputy US Marshall Raylan Givens being alive to see it. He rather suspects that Raylan's fate, fortune and future depend on himself being in it too. Yin and Yang and that whole nine yards.
Alive would be good.
Someone he knows screwed up somewhere, and now someone very angry has Boyd Crowder in their clutches. The worst part, Boyd hasn't got a goddamn clue what this is all about.
He talks up a blue streak, in the hopes of simply being able to silver tongue his way out of it. Earns himself some hefty slaps from the three goons that have been sent to acquire him, so he points out that it's hardly sporting to slap him around with his hands tied behind his back. The fist that slams into his jaw drops him like a stone.
He wakes to considerable discomfort. The ropes holding his wrists behind his back seem to have gotten tighter, someone's tied his elbows too, forcing them closer together. It hurts like hell, but then so does the hefty knot of cloth in his mouth, practically dislocating his bruised jaw. Whoever they are, they've tied the cloth tightly behind his head. He's finding it tough to breath with this huge knot in his mouth forcing his tongue down and impeding his airway. Especially as he's been dumped face down on a filthy dusty floor. Even if he could get up, someone's tied his ankles.
Boyd screws his eyes closed, and lays there in the dust wheezing like miner's lung is upon him and he's not long for the world. Not all of it is a fake.
A brief mental inventory tells him that the headache that is starting behind his left eye is either the worst case of neuralgia he's ever experienced, or the migraine from hell. Either way, his brain aches and his face hurts and he really, really wants Raylan to come charging to the rescue in his black Lincoln.
The part that's scaring him to death, is that he knows that's not going to happen.
Raylan and Boyd squaring off to each other. Someone could have dropped a grand piano and they wouldn't have noticed. Raylan obsessing on whatever he thinks Boyd has done now, and Boyd seeking to bring Raylan around to his point of view.
The explosion behind Raylan, dropping him to the ground instantly, the look of shock on his face chased away by agony. The few pellets that missed him slammng into Boyd's upper chest and shoulder. They sting.
All Boyd can do is watch in horror as Raylan crumples to the ground. Something hits him hard from behind, and Boyd follows him down into the dark.
Boyd squirms, trying to ignore the pain in his arms, and legs, his sore face and the mounting pain in his head. Trying to ignore the fear too.
The fear that comes and whispers in his ear that Raylan's dead and gone.
In the end he's all alone and there's no one coming for him. Which Boyd knows is a flat-out lie. Because Raylan will always be coming for him.
Raylan's alive, and Raylan will come for him.
Boyd screws his eyes closed again, and prays with all his sinner's soul that Raylan is going to come and get him. Raylan's alive and he's going to bring the might of the US Marshall Service down on these people.