Dewey Crowe was looking very pleased with himself. In a way that only Dewey Crowe could manage.
Of course it was Raylan who had found him, and uncharacteristically actually waited in the car while Tim had gone in and dragged Dewey and the wife out of the cheap motel room in Corbin.
Now Dewey and Mrs del Toro were in the conference room with Art, Tim, Rachel, Raylan and Vasquez, and Art was having a very hard time trying not to either burst out laughing or leap over the table and beat Dewey to a pulp.
Apparently, the arsenic was not arsenic but sleeping pills, Mrs del Toro wanted out, and with some kind of death wish in her make up had chosen Dewey not only as her exit strategy, but her new partner in life.
Art focused hard on Dewey's face, tried not to let his eyes slip to the ridiculous and repulsive tattoo which adorned Dewey's neck. Apparently, Mrs del Toro, call me Honey, had also decided that part of Dewey's life needed to be erased, or at least covered up, until it could be permanently erased by laser some time in the future. It was a little difficult to take anything seriously that said eil Hi bracketed by some large purple hickeys.
Technically Dewey and the Mrs have committed no crime except that of questionable taste on Mrs del Toro's part. The shit storm that is crashing over everyone's head is courtesy of del Toro alone.
But that won't keep Dewey and his Honey safe, or save Boyd Crowder's life. Nor would it undo the wounds that Raylan has suffered. Art throws a quick look at Raylan, noting the lines of pain and tiredness on his face. He could… should… order his deputy to go and rest, but knowing Raylan the way he does, Art's not one to try. It was Raylan who found Dewey. Even Dewey seemed a little shocked and upset about the state Raylan was in.
Vasquez is, honest to god, confused by Raylan. The deputy is one tough, trigger-happy lunatic as far as Vasquez is concerned. But there is a great deal more to him than that and Vasquez is still trying to work out who Raylan is. Brave, loyal, an exceptional shot, he's all of those things too. Vasquez has heard all the hillbilly whisperer stuff too.
He can read from Raylan's face and body language that the Marshall has pushed himself beyond what is reasonable for a man only recently left his sick bed.
As badly as Raylan wants to crawl home to a warm bed, pop some of those good drugs to kill the ache in his shoulder, and tune the world out, he wants to find Boyd, because this time Boyd is in deep into something that is not his fault and no one deserves to die for something that has nothing to do with them. Even Boyd Crowder.
Del Toro has stopped beating on Boyd. Boyd is still slumped face down on the floor, his right arm arranged into some very odd angles. He can hear every word as del Toro speaks to someone on the phone, and he knows then that he's going to die, unless Raylan and the Marshalls can get to him before del Toro gets to Dewey, and that will only be a couple of hours.
The tethered goat scenario is playing out quietly, Raylan can't help but think of the irony of the situation. This time he's not the goat, Dewey is, but Raylan recalls the last time, reflexively he rubs his nose. Remembering Dewey's encounter with the steering wheel, courtesy of Raylan's hand around the back of his neck.
Raylan knows that situation is never going to be reversed, for one thing he would not be dumb enough to trail someone and give away his position at every turn and for another, it will be cold day in hell when Dewey Crowe finally manages to sneak up on Raylan Givens.
Raylan's well aware that he's a bit punchy, but he wants so badly to see this through. He went from blame to belief for Boyd Crowder and he just wants to see him back in one piece. Then he'll crawl away to bed to lick his wounds.
Del Toro shoves Boyd roughly into the car. It hurts, but in the grand scheme of things, the pain scarcely raises a whimper. Boyd's whole body is one big hurt. He doesn't care where they're going, he doesn't expect to survive the experience.
Del Toro is a careless and aggressive driver, and Boyd wishes for oblivion. He isn't that lucky.
They can hear the commotion long before they can see del Toro. Dewey and his Honey have fled to the tiny bathroom. Art is stationed by the door, gun drawn, Rachel on the other side. Raylan knows that Tim is on the roof, and that Raylan isn't needed. It's only his stubbornness that has brought him to the motel at all.
Raylan chances a glance out of the window.
Oh god.
Boyd is dangling from del Toro's hand like a side of beef. He's thirty feet away. Close enough for Raylan to see every terrible detail. Boyd's right arm is dangling at a weird angle, from the way he's bending to the side a little Raylan knows that he's got bust ribs, through his torn shirt Raylan can see a myriad of dark-colored marks, bruises.
"HONEY." Del Toro bellows. He has a gun in his hand. His fingers look too big for it, the gun almost disappearing into his huge meaty fist. Boyd is being held so hard against him that Raylan knows that Tim doesn't have a shot.
They're moving closer, Raylan can see the look on Boyd's face clearly. Boyd thinks it's all over, he can't think straight any more, he just wants the pain to stop.
He's given up. Del Toro can kill him any time.
Raylan knows that he can't let that happen. He gets to his feet, puts his hat on his head, makes sure his badge is clearly visible, and unsnaps the strap on his holster.
Art made him wait in the other room, so Raylan uses the other door, walks right past Art who's busy telling del Toro that he's surrounded and to put his weapon down.
Raylan steps forward. Putting himself in the firing line. Just so Boyd can see him. See that he's battered and bloodied but unbowed.
Alive. So there is hope.