Title: Hostile Takeover, Hillbilly Style (4/10)
Author: Romantique
Email:
Classification: Raylan/Winona Drama/Romance
Rating: T for coarse language, violence, suggestive sexual situations. No worse than the show.
Summary: A brand new Justified fan, this is my first Justified fic. What happens next?
Disclaimer: SPOILERS: Takes place immediately after 'Bloody Harlan.'
Legal: These characters do not belong to me. I'm just a fan and have not made a dime. Please email me to obtain permission to post.
"That was fast," Raylan remarked to his coworker. He had placed the call to 911 only minutes before.
It was true. Tim arrived about the same time as the paramedics. "I hadn't even made it to the Interstate when the call came in. I can take it from here," he said, drawing his weapon and relieving an off-duty Raylan from holding the two suspects at gunpoint. Then, upon noticing Raylan's pummeled face, Tim added, "Why don't you take a seat over there, and let the medics take a look at you?" He pointed to the steps just outside Raylan's motel room with the barrel of his rifle. Then, in one sweeping move, he bent down and grabbed Raylan's hat from the ground where it had landed during the scuffle and handed it to him.
"Thanks. I'm fine … by the way," Raylan insisted, taking the hat and gently placing it, sitting slightly back, on his throbbing head. The thought of sitting down and then, having to stand back up again was still not an appealing one.
Instead, Raylan stood and watched as a helpless observer while the paramedics loaded the one guy he shot onto a gurney and then, into the back of the ambulance. Then, his attention turned to Tim, as he turned over the larger of the two men, the other one who reeked so damn bad, to the local PD for transport to Booking.
Once the custody of both suspects was transferred, Tim approached Raylan and asked, "Good Lord, what is that smell?"
"I know. Awful, isn't it?" Raylan agreed, as one of the paramedics placed an ice pack on the beaten side of his face and checked out the pupil reaction of his already swollen, black eye with a pen light. Then, speaking to the medic, Raylan said, "Oh, it's not me, honest. It's that guy who evidently doesn't know the meaning of the word 'shower.' He got his stink all over me when we struggled." Raylan winced when the medic pressed on his bruised orbital socket to check to see if it was broken. It wasn't … but it was sore as hell.
The paramedic worked hurriedly and gave Raylan a quick nod of the head and a look that showed he may not have believed him about the origin of the gagging odor.
"You can go," Raylan was becoming frustrated with the medic, with the entire situation. "I'm fine here. Really. Go!" he raised his voice.
"Okay," the medic said, as he quickly packed up his things and, even more quickly, returned to his truck.
"Run!" "You coward," Raylan said under his breath to the medic.
Tim then slowly approached Raylan. "I'm gonna need to get a statement from you."
Raylan looked over at him. "Do you think maybe you could take my statement while I'm in the shower?"
"Good idea," Tim agreed, as he followed Raylan into his room ... from a distance. He was satisfied to stand near the door with it wide open so that he could breathe in some fresh air. "I'm gonna need your weapon, too. Standard Operating Procedure," he had to shout a little so that Raylan could hear him from the bathroom. "Do you have a spare?"
"This one is my spare," Raylan lamented, as he turned on the hot water in the shower, allowing the water to get warm before stepping in. "But yeah, you've got it."
Before disrobing, he walked back out into the room to hand Tim his gun. Tim made some kind of an unpleasant face as Raylan approached.
"How 'bout I leave it right here," Raylan said, as he placed his firearm on the bed between them. "I'm just gonna go and take care of this. I really don't like bein' this unpopular."
And he quickly returned to the bathroom leaving the door a little ajar so that they could talk. Raylan answered all of Tim's questions, including why these two guys who Raylan didn't know would have a motive to kill him. Raylan told Tim all about the jailhouse hearsay of Dickie's threats and that he had told Art about the threats earlier that morning. Once he was all showered, he put on a fresh pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt and placed his smelly clothes in a plastic bag and set them outside. Then, he walked over to the freezer where he found a small bag of frozen peas. The law man always kept a frozen bag of peas in the freezer for occasions such as this. He grabbed the bag, slowly lowered himself into the chair at the table, and placed the ice cold vegetables along the side of his swollen face.
Tim was already seated at the other end of the table, finishing up his paperwork. "What's the address here?" he asked, still scribbling.
"It's on the back of the door," Raylan answered, pointing to the room door.
Tim walked over with his clipboard and scanned the motel's Emergency Instructions, including contact information, posted on the back of the door. Then, he returned to the table to complete the forms. After a few moments, he looked up and said, "Here, you need to sign this." He passed the statement and his pen on over.
Raylan first read the pen scratched statement with his good eye, as the other had almost swollen shut. Satisfied of its accuracy, he took Tim's pen and signed the form. "Once you're all finished up here, would you mind drivin' me to the nearest gun shop?"
Now that he was privy to Raylan's plight of having a price on his head and no weapon, Tim looked up without hesitation and answered, "Sure thing."
About fifteen minutes later, Tim and Raylan were on their way to the Double E Gun Shop in Hazard when Tim got a call on his cell.
"Hey, Art," Tim answered and adjusted his earpiece. "Yeah, he's right here."
Tim quickly changed his phone setting so that Raylan could talk on his phone, and passed the cell over, saying, "Art wants to talk to you."
Raylan raised his uninjured eyebrow and put the cell to his ear. "Yeah?" He was almost afraid to ask.
"Where's your cell?" Art raised his voice, causing Raylan to pull the phone away from his ear. "I've been tryin' to reach you for the last half hour."
"Uh, I guess I left my phone back at the motel," Raylan explained, "but you've got me now."
"Raylan, Dickie Bennett escaped from jail this mornin' when he was in custody, bein' transferred on his way back from a hearing to set his trial date," Art informed him. "Let's just say he had some kind of inside help with this one."
"I'll be damned," Raylan said, his wheels were turning. "Winona," he uttered.
"Don't you worry about Winona," Art said, his voice immediately changed from one of frustration to one of reassurance. "We'll keep an eye on her here."
"Thank you," Raylan said, grateful Winona was still at the court house. "I'll be comin' back there as soon as I can. I have a couple of things I need to take care of first."
Later that morning ...
The trip to the gun shop had been a successful one. Tim drove Raylan back to the motel, newly armed with a Glock 26 and extra drop-free magazines. Upon their arrival, Tim first helped Raylan check out the parking lot and his room to make certain everything was secure, and then, he waited as Raylan quickly gathered some things and threw them into a duffel bag. Next, Raylan grabbed his cell phone and charger, as well as his car keys. Tim had been with him long enough that morning to be satisfied that his fellow marshal was no less for the wear after being pummeled. Though the left eye and cheek looked like hell, he seemed to be tracking just fine and showed no sign of a concussion or any kind of impairment.
Raylan had been unable to take any pain meds and decided that foregoing them was a fair trade to being able to drive his own car. So, it was there, at the motel parking lot, that the two marshals got into their respective vehicles and went their separate ways. Raylan took off down the highway with a single focus he had kept to himself: There was something he needed to do before heading back to the court house.
Heading into the long driveway to Ava's house, Raylan was met by the defensive gun barrels of six or seven, scruffy looking men he did not recognize when he stepped out of his car. Flashing his badge with one hand, and securing his hand on his weapon, he shouted, "Hey, Ava?"
Ava came out of the house and through the swinging screen door with her loaded sawed-off shotgun in hand. "Y'all need to back off!" she yelled to the group of men. "The marshal's allowed to come in."
Immediately, the men backed off their weapons and then, went about their business.
"I think we can talk right here," Raylan said.
"Oh, my," Ava said, as she looked at Raylan's face. She looked genuinely concerned. "Raylan. Are you alright?"
"Yeah. I'm fine," he nodded, slowly approaching her. "How are you? Are you recoverin' alright?"
"I'm doin' good," she nodded. "Almost back to normal. Thanks for askin'."
It was almost as if these two had been transported into a world all their own.
But then, Raylan had to bring them back to reality. "Ava, what's up with all the hired fire power?"
"Dickie Bennett. He busted out of jail this mornin'," she answered. "That's what's up."
"I heard about that," he acknowledged. "And where's Boyd? I need to talk to him."
She walked a little closer. "Boyd's not here."
Looking at her from underneath the brim of his hat, he asked, "Do you know where he is or when he'll be comin' back?"
"Well, not really." Ava took in a deep breath. "Dickie's on the lamb, and Boyd is gone. Without tattlin' on Boyd, I'm thinkin' you're a smart man. You can put two and two together." She cocked her head while still holding onto her lowered shotgun.
Raylan relaxed his trigger finger. Then, he asked, "Is Arlo at home?"
"I don't think so," Ava answered. "I think he's hidin' out. He has some extra, hired fire power, too. You know, just to be on the safe side." Then, she noticeably softened her tone for, no matter how hard she tried not to, she always had a soft spot for Raylan Givens. "Your Daddy's okay, so far as I know." She gave him a little smile. "You can act like you don't care about him all you want, Raylan. I just thought you'd like to know."
Raylan gave her a little smile back, for he always had a little soft spot for her, too. "Thanks, I appreciate that, Ava." Then, he tipped his hat. "Don't you worry. I'll find Boyd before he finds Dickie. And yes, I did not hear anything from you."
As he was walking way, Ava followed him. "Hey, Raylan."
Raylan turned around to face her.
She continued, "You didn't hear this from me either, but I heard Boyd engagin' in some talk about some storage facility in Three Point."
Raylan tightened his jaw and shook his head in acknowledgement. Then, in leaving, he added, "Don't you worry. I heard nothin' from you."
Once back in his car, he drove towards the highway that would take him to Three Point, and he pulled out his cell phone and hit his speed dial. "Hey, Art. It's Raylan. I'm lettin' you know that I may need some backup over at a storage facility in Three Point."
Art was dumbfounded. Tim had just returned and told his boss that Raylan was following him to the court house. "And exactly why are you in Three Point? You're supposed to be here!" he raised his voice into the receiver.
"Because I hear that Boyd and Arlo are there. You know damn well that Boyd is lookin' for Dickie Bennett," he calmly explained.
"And how do you know that Arlo and Boyd are in Three Point?" Art asked. He couldn't wait to hear the explanation.
"I can't tell you that," Raylan responded, keeping his promise to Ava.
"What do you mean you can't tell me?" Art was quickly losing his cool.
"Hey, I did call you before rushin' in, just as you asked me to do," Raylan reminded him.
In frustration, Art ran his fingers over the top of his balding head. "Yeah, you gotta point there. That is an improvement … for you." Thinking for a moment, he finally said, "I'm gonna send Tim and Rachel out to meet you. You are out on medical leave. In other words, you're on inactive duty. I don't want you goin' over there alone. Do I make myself clear?"
"You do," Raylan acquiesced. He was in no position to do otherwise.
Over the next 20 minutes, Raylan contacted Tim and arranged to meet him and deputy marshal Rachel Brooks at Pope Cemetery, right off of Highway 987.
The three marshals checked out the small, rural cemetery to make certain it was all clear and then, they secreted themselves behind a structure that looked like it housed the lawn mower, gardening tools, and lawn chemicals for the grounds.
"Those boys sure did a number on your face," Rachel winced, commenting on the swelling and discoloration of the left side of Raylan's eye.
"My face is the least of my problems," Raylan flatly said.
"We found that the only storage facility in Three Point is out by the boat launch at Martins Fork Lake, further down Highway 987," Tim informed him.
"I know where that is," Raylan said. He used to go swimming there in the summer when he was a boy. "Now, listen. I've got to go in there alone. If Boyd or Arlo think I brought the two of you with me, they won't talk to me. Neither one of them."
"I'm not so sure that would be true if I came with you," Rachel said. "Arlo has no respect for me as a law enforcement officer ... because I'm black and I'm a woman. I get the feeling Boyd Crowder feels the same way."
"She's right," Tim chimed in. "You should take Rachel with you, and I'll hang back with my rifle with the scope. Just in case you should need me."
As embarrassed as Raylan was to admit it, what Rachel said about Arlo was true. The prejudice and the ignorance of his father's generation were so far beyond rationality and deeply engrained, it would literally have to die off. "You can go with me on one condition," Raylan looked at Rachel. "That you understand that in the case of me respectin' you as a marshal, a woman, and a human being, this apple has nothin' to do with that ignorant, old tree."
Rachel gave a little smile. "I know you don't share Arlo's feelings. I wouldn't be able to work with you if you did. You are in no way responsible for him and his beliefs."
"Good," Raylan shook his head, "because to be honest, it's embarrasin' havin' a father who thinks the way Arlo does."
"These hollers are full of people like Arlo," Rachel said, "afraid of people who are different from them. I actually feel quite sorry for them."
"I don't," Raylan said. "They have a chance to change, and they choose not to." After a beat he asked, "You ready to head on out?"
"Ready," Rachel responded, and she slid into the passenger side of Raylan's car.
To be continued ...