A Harlan Holiday – Chapter Ten (Epilogue)

"Why would he do this? I feel like someone's told me that there is no Santa Claus." Tim did look like he'd just been betrayed by his best friend.

"Because," Raylan explained, "the man is an evil punishment genius. He can deal out retribution with a smile and often you don't even know it's punishment until you're in the middle of it and by that time it's too late. You could die and wake up in hell and think you were getting off lightly in comparison. I used to watch him with the trainees at Glynco…" Raylan left it at that, a knowing look and some room for Tim's imagination to take over, then shook his head in awe and admiration. "Evil genius."

"I'm glad he was gone before I got there."

"And I'm glad he was still working in the field when I went through."

"And to think, I actually chose to work for him."

"If I'd known you then, I'd've warned you…maybe." Raylan smirked.

Raylan finished signing one set of release forms then started on the next. The prisoner they'd dropped off was Eddie "The Mouth" Edison, grifter, car thief, fraud artist, octogenarian, his nickname given to him affectionately by the Kentucky law enforcement personnel for his penchant for telling, retelling and retelling stories of his glory days, each time more exaggerated and unbelievable. The ride was excruciating, and longer than necessary since Eddie had to stop to use the bathroom five times. Tim and Raylan were patient with that inconvenience – unless someone shot them first there was going to come a time when they, too, were slaves to their prostates. It was a solidarity thing – guys had to stick together.

Art had phoned when they were on their third pee break to tell them they had a prisoner to collect at the other end. He wasn't due to be picked up for a couple of days but it seemed a more efficient use of time and resources and tax-payers' money to do the transfer early and Art had gone out of his way to clear it with the prison and the local lock-up. He was very organized and thorough.

The prisoner was Dewey Crowe.

"You brought back-up?" Dewey looked confused, but then again he always looked confused. He puffed up his chest, sneered, "They worried about you driving alone with me?"

Raylan huffed, eyed his prisoner. "Worried for your sake, you idiot. Get in the back."

"Aw, I wanted to ride shotgun," he whined.

"I'll ride in the trunk," Tim offered. "It's not a problem."

Raylan closed his eyes. "Shit."

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Author's note: Thanks for reading and reviewing the silliness. The holidays are over and it's time to get back to work. As a morally serious aside: Driving drunk is just effing stupid. Don't do it. And I do not condone violence to solve problems. This world aforewritten is a fairy tale, like the ones with witches in the woods that eat children. It makes for great storytelling but lousy living.

Happy New Year to all!