Sitting at his desk and doing nothing but filling out BOLOs all day and purging files and putting case files together made Raylan antsy as hell. He was irritable, crotchety, and willing to bite the head off of anybody who crossed him. Maxine wondered if he could possibly act any more like an old, angry grandpa.
So, when Boyd Crowder came in, the general consensus of the office was to let Raylan handle him. Hell, maybe Boyd would rile Raylan up, Raylan would shoot him, kill him, and get rid of his stress. They'd get Boyd out of their hair and get Raylan's anger dealt with. Two birds with one stone.
Meanwhile, for Maxine, the past three weeks had been crazy stressful. That morning, the entire office was in the war room, going over their cases. Maxine had one of the most high profile cases in the office and, for the past week, had no advancements to report. Just set-backs. A lot of the men she had arrested already had lawyered up and refused to give her any information, despite the fact that she could talk to the ADA and get them leniency. All of her resources for information - her friend Tristen in the CIA, Quin in the FBI, and even an old Marshal buddy who was currently stationed in Boston - had been drained. She couldn't keep asking them for favors like that, and she couldn't make any headway without an informant. But no one would talk.
Well, except maybe...
She looked up Edgar Gaynor's information once more - including his cell phone number, DMV records, and the information on his LPD-sponsored protection detail. She figured if she could get anybody to talk, it would be Ed.
She printed it off and walked over to the printer next to Tim's desk, snatching up the information. Tim, who was seated at his desk munching on pistachios, glanced up at her.
"What's that?" Tim asked curiously.
"Edgar Gaynor's information," Maxine said.
"Oh, finally going out to dinner with the snitch?"
"Timothy James Gutterson," Maxine said, smiling at him in a rather smug manner. "Are you jealous of a convicted felon?"
"No. Why would I be?" He tossed an unshelled pistachio in the air and caught it in his mouth, munching on it. Maxine nearly snorted. He was so cute when he was trying to pretend he didn't have emotions. He was such a teenager.
"I dunno. Why would you be?" The implication of her words and her arched eyebrow was clear: Edgar Gaynor didn't have jack shit on Tim Gutterson.
She had just pivoted her hips, ready to walk back to her desk, when the sound of shattering glass had her pivoting toward's Art's office. Boyd Crowder's crazy, untamed hair was the first thing Maxine noticed. Then she saw Raylan sprawled on the ground, getting the shit knocked out of him, and she went to stop it. Tim was there first. Track star.
He had actually barreled into Art's office so fast he nearly fell when he stopped and grabbed Boyd's collar and the back of his shirt. He jerked the man to his feet and slammed him into the glass beside Art's door, cuffing him faster than Boyd could say "Miranda Rights." Tim shoved Boyd over to the holding cell and Maxine stared at him, admiring his competence and his reflexes and his ass, Jesus fuck.
"Quite a stunt you pulled," Maxine said, sidling up to Tim after he had finished filing the report on the arrest.
Tim glanced up at her, eyebrows furrowed a little. "Uh, thanks?" His eyes scanned the way she was leaning against his desk, the swell of her hips, the way her ankles crossed, and he felt himself chuckle a little. "Oh, okay, I get it."
He leaned back in his chair, one hand on his pen, tapping against the desk, the other on his arm rest. His legs were spread wide and his head cocked to the side, powerful and masculine as he taunted her. "You saw me in action with Boyd over there, and it got your engine purring. You're obviously here to ask me out. Sorry, Max, but it's not me you're impressed with. It was what I did."
Raylan snorted from over the partition. "Yeah, Maxine, really. There's nothing particularly impressive about Tim."
Tim took his pen and chucked it over the partition, nailing Raylan in the head with it. Raylan twitched in surprise before grimacing in the pain that put his left side in.
"I got off the phone with Edgar Gaynor," Maxine said randomly, and both Tim and Raylan turned their attention to her. Tim's eyes were wide, smile gone. Raylan, however, looked more confused, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly parted, pressing for more without really asking.
"And?" Tim continued, sitting up in his chair and bringing his legs closer to him, looking like a school boy about to take notes.
"Well, he said he didn't feel comfortable talking about it over the phone, which I figured was understandable. He said he wanted to meet at the hotel, discuss the case."
"Bad idea," was the first thing out of Raylan's mouth. Tim nodded.
"I hate to say it, but I agree with him," Tim said.
"Why not? He's got a protection detail. The hotel is -"
"The protection detail is a bunch of locals," Tim said. "Let's face it; Lexington's finest aren't exactly the best."
Maxine rolled her eyes. "Whatever, I'm going." She stormed off towards her desk, leaving Tim and Raylan to themselves. Tim turned to Raylan, giving him the universal hand gesture and head shake for 'what the hell is she thinking?'
While Tim was out, finding some parolee that had skipped out on a meeting with his parole officer, and Raylan was 'on lunch,' Maxine walked up to Art's office and hesitantly knocked on the glass. Art glanced up and sighed in relief, removing his reading glasses and motioning Maxine in with a wave of his hand.
"Everything alright?" Maxine asked, eyeing the paper work on his desk. A bunch of charts, a bunch of numbers, a bunch of categories. Looked like he was budgeting.
"Yeah, except with you and Raylan in this office, I have to entirely reconsider my medical budget for next quarter. And then that'll take away from the car repair budget and the weapons budget and... Ugh. Anyway, what did you have to ask?"
"Oh, right. I contacted Edgar Gaynor, and he agreed to meet with me and help me get a lead or two on my board." She pointed into the war room through the broken glass to her commandeered white board, covered in about three or four interwoven pyramids of photos and names. Some serious progress had been made, but as of the past week, the case was almost catatonic.
"Seems pretty sketchy. Take Garcia with you," Art ordered.
Maxine huffed. "Why is everybody so convinced this is dangerous?"
"Because. It's sketchy." Art said simply, giving her a look. He had heard nothing but good things of this girl (except from the chief deputy down in Mobile) and her apparent attention to detail. But how could she not see the threat here?
"Art, I don't need to take Garcia. I'm completely able to defend myself. Besides, he has a protection detail!"
"You still need to take Garcia," Art insisted. What the hell had they taught her and Raylan in Houston? Because they were both becoming major pains in his ass.
"If this was Raylan or Tim, would you make them take Garcia?" Maxine contested, folding her arms and cocking her hip and staring Art down.
Art stood, anger flaring in his eyes. Maxine had never seen Art this stressed, but considering the day he'd had, she figured she picked the wrong day to challenge authority. "You think that's what this is about?!" Maxine grimaced as the commotion in the office came to a standstill. The door was open, and his screaming was for all to hear. "Deputy O'Nan -" Oh, shit, he broke out the last name.
"- I don't know what sort of misogyny you've had to deal with in the past, either in the Navy or in the Marshals Service, but that's not happening here. This is about you being on a high profile case, chasing a string of dangerous people from fucking Boston down to Mexico. This is about a lot of dangerous people knowing that it's you out to get them, and this is about the possibility of one of those dangerous people sitting on Edgar Gaynor and waiting for us to drop our guard."
Maxine just stared and shifted her weight to her other foot, unable to reply.
"You're taking Garcia," Art said finally, sitting back down at his desk. "That's final."
Maxine nodded and went to leave when Art called out her name again. She spun around and he handed her a couple of leafs of paper work. "You asked about repairing your car, right? Well, fill out those forms and fax it to the number here." Art scrawled out a number on a post-it and slapped it onto one of the papers before handing it over.
Maxine stared at them as she took it, meekly thanked Art, and walked back to her desk, not looking at Rachel or Garcia or Nelson, who were all staring at her. Out of all the chiefs she had, Art was the most fatherly. He could be callous and logical one moment, concerned only for your protection, then joking and fun the next.
She decided as she sat at her desk and got to work on the paperwork Art had just given her that she really liked her chief.
She went to talk to Edgar just after she clocked out. The hotel they stationed witnesses and CIs in wasn't the Sheraton, that was for damn sure. But it wasn't half bad, Maxine thought. Garcia had rather graciously agreed to Art's command and had assured Maxine that it wasn't her fault for keeping him after the clock.
"Besides, I pissed off the wife the other night," Garcia commented as they walked up the stairs to Edgar's motel room on the third floor. His room faced the courtyard of the hotel, with the door opening right onto the balcony walkway and down to the motel pool. "I'm avoiding grovelling."
Maxine laughed. She liked Garcia - he was very candid and he had an easy smile. With the help of LPD, they secured each hallway and, once sure that the building was safe, Maxine knocked on the door to Edgar's room, smiling awkwardly at the LPD officer by the door.
Edgar opened the door and smiled, toothy and squinty-eyed, as always. "Hey, Max! Come on in... Who's your friend?"
"Deputy US Marshal Charles Garcia," Garcia said, smiling a little and shaking Edgar's hand. "Don't mind me, I'm just here for backup." He stepped inside and shut the door, standing at the wall between the window and door. He shut the blinds on the window and Edgar sat in a chair near the back of the room. Maxine sat on the bed.
"Doesn't this motel room remind you of homecoming, sophomore year?" Edgar asked, laughing.
Maxine snorted. "You mean the one you broke into? Yeah, kind of."
"God, you remember the police coming and us having to slip out the bathroom half-naked?"
Garcia's eyes widened and she let out a breathy laugh. Maxine was a little mortified, but she nodded anyway. "Yeah, no. I remember. Um... Anyway. You said you had some information you'd be willing to give up?"
"Yeah, sure. Where do you want to start?"
Maxine stood, laying out some photos on the bed - an exact replica of her whiteboard back at the office. Garcia watched, amused but impressed, as she set it up and pointed to a cluster of three men near the bottom of the web. "I can't tie these three guys - dog fighters - back to the Persians. What am I missing?"
Edgar, who was on his feet now beside the bed, pointing near the top of the web. "You're missing a Persian. His name is Arman Turani. He's got a younger sister who married Tanner Young, Alex Young's brother and -"
Maxine tapped his photo. "Dog fighter extraordinaire that no one's seen in two weeks... Alright, do you know the sister's name?"
"No clue," Edgar said with a shrug.
"Is she involved in any of this?" she asked, waving her hand over the map.
Edgar shook his head, thinking hard and biting at his cheek. "As far as I know, she's legit. She's got a diamond cutting business in Versailles. But, I mean, she could be working something under the radar."
Garcia piped up. "You remember that guy in California? He ran a diamond cutting business and would sneak out shipments of cocaine in the waste product? Like, side by side with the plastic baggies of diamond dust?"
"Yeah... I'll look into that," Maxine said, making a note of it on her pad. Turani-Young, female, Persian, diamond cutting, Versailles. Then, Ed spoke up and filled out another connection.
"That Reaver guy," he said, pointing to one of the photos. "He has a jewelry store in Frankfort."
"And he's got a previous record of cocaine dealing," Garcia piped up.
Maxine made another note of it. "So, Arman's little sister is a cocaine dealer? I mean, Tanner and Alex Young don't get involved in the drug scene, just chop shops and dog fights. What -"
The sound of a couple guns going off was enough to stop conversation. The LPD officer outside thumped against the wall and then to the ground outside. Maxine grabbed Edgar's arm, about to pull him out of the way of the window when a bullet ripped open the lock on the door. Maxine glanced over in time to see two forms cloaked in black across the courtyard and one floor up.
One of them pulled the bolt and reloaded, ready to shoot once more, but the smaller of the two grabbed the one that reloaded and yanked for the stairs.
Edgar's familiar eyes were still wide in shock, blood seeping out of the wound on his head along with brain matter, as Maxine stood, unholstered her sidearm, and ran after the attackers.
"US MARSHALS, DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" She ordered, having covered the distance rather quickly and staring down the stairs at the two perpetrators.
One of them, clearly a woman thanks to her skin-tight clothing, pointed her rifle at Maxine. Maxine didn't hesitate, firing a shot straight into her chest. She hit the ground, and Maxine pointed her gun at the man. Garcia was coming up behind him, having taken the stairs from the side of the pool Edgar was on.
"US Marshals," Garcia said, approaching slowly. The man whipped his head around, shocked at his presence. "I don't want to shoot you, man. Just drop the weapon and this doesn't have to end badly."
The man dropped the weapon and Garcia had him cuffed instantly before pulling out his phone and calling for backup and paramedics.
Tim had been on edge, thanks to his failure of an attempt on capturing Fletcher Nix. And, of course, Raylan had to go and steal his fucking limelight. But, such was life. Right?
When Art got Garcia's call, it had taken them maybe twenty minutes to get to the scene and provide backup. Maxine was in the hotel room, staring at the bullet hole in the wall when Tim got there with Art close behind. Art stared at it, then at the blood stain left by Edgar Gaynor and the LPD officer.
"They shot him through the wall?" Art asked, eyebrow arching."
Tim had made a similar shot before, so he explained. "Armored piercing rounds and a high powered rifle and a lot of skill is all you need. You can do it."
Maxine didn't reply. Tim stood there, awkward. He had never had a CI get killed with him in the room. That was just stupidly dangerous of the shooters. But he knew of Maxine's history with Edgar. He knew he had been there for a rough part of her life - well, he didn't know, but he was intuitive enough to gather that much. Having watched Edgar die in such a horrible way for helping her was sure to leave a scar on her psyche. And with how fragile her psyche probably was after the war and working in the Marshals Service for so long, he didn't know just how quick she'd snap.
"On the upside," Art said. "You knocked off two of the people from the web."
"Gee, Art, thank you for that," Maxine hissed. "That was really what I was thinking about right now."
Apparently, she was going to snap that quick. Art, for his part, took it in stride, patted her on the shoulder, and walked out to talk to the ME. Tim stared at her for a while longer and she looked at him, eyes covered in a film of unshed tears.
"He's gonna send me to the psychologist after this, isn't he?"
"Probably," Tim said, deciding to be honest. "To be fair, he sends me there every time I shoot someone."
"You must be down there a lot."
"More often than I'd like... Are you gonna be okay?"
She sighed and shook her head. "No. No way. I'm never going to be okay with shooting someone or jeopardizing the life of someone who trusts me like that."
She spoke like someone that trusted her had died before - like they had died because of her.
"Now, that, I can relate to."