Raylan didn't really think much of it. Not that night, not all Saturday and Sunday – though, to be fair, it was a little hard to think of much of anything when you were passed out, drunk, or some combination of the two – and hell, not even that morning.
It wasn't until after lunch had come and gone that he became acutely aware of something missing in their little bullpen.
"Hey, Rachel, you seen Tim around today?"
Rachel glanced up from the stack of paperwork she'd been working on for the better part of the morning. Raylan had a similar stack sitting pretty in front of him, a little heavier on the "to-do" than the "done." That was a slow day in the office for you – shit tons of paperwork and not much else.
"Not that I remember," she said, before dropping her eyes back to the mess of lines and letters and carpel tunnel in the making. Apparently, she had more important things to do than a game of "Where's Waldo," U.S. Marshal style. Head still down and eyes still on her papers, she did throw him one last bone. "He's might've called in sick. You should check with Art."
Now, Raylan never claimed to be the brightest bulb in the box – not the dimmest one, either, and he was probably one of the brighter ones from his home carton – but he actually had thought of that. Problem being, Art had been out of the office for the last couple hours meeting with some Feds.
More power to him.
"Check with me about what?"
Raylan spun in his chair to see Art passing in front of the bullpen, his jacket slung over his shoulder and, if Raylan wasn't imagining it, his buttons stretched just a little tighter over his gut. Must've been a good lunch, he reckoned. He hoped the Feds were buying.
"Tim," Raylan said, before realizing he probably needed to fill that in a bit. "I haven't seen him around. He call in sick or something?"
"Well, Raylan, I don't know. Let me just check my roll book." He started to reach into his pocket, but then slapped his thighs. "Aw, shucks, I forgot to take attendance today."
"Could do without the sarcasm, Art." Raylan didn't know why, but he was feeling awful tense all of the sudden. Something about this just wasn't sitting right with him, and though he couldn't put his finger on it, he knew it had something to do with that empty desk a few feet away.
Art crossed his arms over his chest, one gray brow arched high. "There something on your mind?"
"Just wondering's all," Raylan said. "I'm guessing that's a no on the call in?" Even as he spoke, that feeling in his gut got stronger, like a knot pulling tighter and tighter.
"If he called, I haven't heard about it."
Which meant he hadn't called, because as much as he liked to play dumb, Art knew everything that went on in that office.
So, Tim hadn't shown up, and he hadn't called in. The first bit alone would've been enough to stand out – Tim didn't skip out at work, especially not without good reason – and the last bit definitely didn't sit well with Raylan. Color him paranoid, but he had a funny feeling saying something was wrong, and he didn't make a habit of ignoring his instincts.
Before Raylan could consciously make the decision to do it, he was standing and grabbing his coat off the back of his chair.
"Should I ask where you're going at—" he checked his watch, "—two in the afternoon, or is this just one of those things where you go off and do your own thing, to hell with what I think anyway?"
Raylan ticked a finger at the last one. "Let's go with that," he said, and dropping his hat on his head, he headed for the door. He'd be back in a few, he told himself – no need to lock up his desk or anything. He just needed to check on something first.
Or, more appropriately, someone.
