Tim changed into jeans, wore a vaguely familiar checked red shirt over his tee-shirt and they headed out. They got to the Main Street and they stood for a while.
Tim casually, as if it was no big deal at all, reached into his pockets and withdrew a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He handled the pack like and old hat, tapping one out and raising it to his mouth to pinch between his lips, lighting it one handed. Every movement was fluid and Raylan felt like he was watching an old habit emerge.
Tim inhaled deep and held it for a few seconds before exhaling a long plume of smoke.
"You smoke?" Raylan was frowning deep.
"Not really," Tim said, taking a second drag.
Raylan blinked but he knew Tim well enough to know he wasn't going to elaborate until he was ready, if he ever was. Raylan had spent enough time with Tim to know this wasn't a regular thing, a current and ongoing habit, but he could recognise an experienced smoker when he saw one. If it was an old habit Tim had fallen back to, it probably wasn't a good sign.
"You alright?" he asked, the question obvious but Raylan not much caring.
Tim inhaled, scratched his eyebrow with the thumb of the same hand, tapped the ash off. He ignored the question and checked up and down the street, watching the few pedestrians, a car that cruised past slowly. Raylan waited a while and eventually Tim turned to him. "So, I left town when I was seventeen."
"That's adorable," Raylan said.
"I mean I never got to know the bars. I know most folks favoured the bowling alley since it was like 'Roadhouse'. I ran by before, looks…friendlier," Tim said, turning to lead the way.
"How like 'Roadhouse'?" Raylan asked. "You used to practice Tai Chi on the shores of your lake?"
"Only when I could be totally nude," Tim said.
Raylan laughed, a real one. The walk was a decent length, or Tim took a route that was, walking off their dinner and some of the beers they had already indulged. Tim smoked slowly, having to relight a few times but he managed each occasion without pausing or breaking his step.
Raylan had wondered if Tim might offer a commentary, a spoken tour but it didn't materialise. Tim spoke if Raylan asked something but he wasn't pointing out favoured spots or adding any context to what they saw.
"So many memories," Raylan said pointedly. "This is the corner where I first kissed Wendy Hornberger. Over there is where I threw the winning touchdown and saved the Youth Centre from demolition."
Tim watched the performance with a half-smile. Raylan spotted a diner with the same sign as the logo on the food Tim brought back. "When I graduated my daddy took me for a burger and fries in that there diner and he told me how proud he was of me."
Tim laughed this time, not just at Raylan's play acting. Both of them knew Raylan was engaging in the highest of fantasy at this point. If Arlo had ever taken Raylan out for food, Raylan would have assumed there was poison in it. And there would have been.
"When I graduated Arlo….actually he was in prison," Raylan recalled as he stretched his legs a little to catch up, having fallen behind the younger Marshal. Their difference in height was just enough that one or both had to adjust their pace to walk in step but they had gotten used to it long ago.
"I never bothered," Tim shook his head. "Picked up a GED, eventually."
Raylan settled into a rhythm beside the younger man. Their difference in height was just enough that one or both had to adjust their pace to walk in step but they had gotten used to it long ago.
"Any reason why you didn't? You seem smart enough. I mean you can spell your name and you hardly ever write reports in crayons anymore," Raylan told him, still teasing. They both understood the sincerity behind the words, their mutual jibes.
Raylan knew for a fact Tim was smart. Sometimes he found it a little intimidating. Tim barely spoke, read books about magical warrior princesses and once, when they had to baby sit a 12 year old witness, Tim talked with the boy for three hours about Pacman. But when he did speak it meant something. He favoured books written for teenagers, but simultaneously, Raylan had seen him finish an 800 page tome about Napoleon in thirteen days and Raylan was confident he had memorised every single word. And the discussion about Pacman had been an in depth exploration of the history of video gaming going back to the earliest days. He had been a sniper. He had to be intelligent.
"Rachel took my crayons away from me. But I can do my letters in pencil now. Next week; biros," Tim was playing along.
They walked on in a comfortable silence but one Raylan knew this time his question wasn't being ignored. He was getting used to how Tim talked about himself. It didn't come easily or totally naturally and it was a slow, sometimes halting process but Raylan didn't mind waiting it out.
Tim took a long drag and talked around it as he exhaled. "There was this thing with my dad," he said, "and when I got out of hospital he wouldn't let me move back in. I didn't have any couches to sleep on and it got harder to go to school, so I stopped."
Raylan blinked, "Hospital?"
"It was a pretty serious thing." Tim said mildly, becoming the living embodiment of the understatement. He finished his cigarette, crushing it against the wall so any remains of the cherry fell to the ground and dimmed and he threw the remains of the butt and filter in a trash can they walked past.
He turned a corner and they approached the bowling alley. A brightly lit sign told Raylan it was called Pins and they joined a few other customers approaching they door. Two families were leaving. One smiled and laughed at some private joke. The son, a kid of 12 was half skipping alongside his long legged father, talking animatedly, his hands drawing out shapes to emphasise his point. The older daughter walked with her mother and despite her 'too cool' Rock Chick outfit, she had her arm looped through her moms, showing off something on her phone.
Behind them a less happy family marched towards their car. Mom carried two grumpy toddlers, their faces and shirt fronts coated in sticky and half dried ice cream. Her husband marched behind a sulking tween girl who pouted and stomped her way across the lot.
Raylan and Tim watched them go. Another family left as they reached the door and headed inside. Tim pulled up short so close to the door hat Raylan almost ran into the back of him.
A large, hard to miss sign inside made it clear that after 10pm the 'Family Time' was over. Anyone underage had to leave and as they looked around Raylan began to understand the 'Roadhouse' conversation.
The bowling alley was basically two establishments; On one side, the alley with its colourful lights and milkshakes and big eyed cartoon faces painted on almost every surface. On the other, a real spit and sawdust bar with The lanes and brightly coloured family area of the alley were being shut down, the lights dimmed while pair of teenagers wrangled floor polishers in the lanes. Another kid cleaned off plastic, easy wipe tables and chairs, sweeping the remains of kid meals into a trash bag.
In the 'family' half a brightly coloured, franchised looking kiosk served hot food, candy and desserts. A few beers but a sign seemed to suggest a limit on how many you could have. Getting drunk before 10pm was a no no.
Tim was looking at a darker corner of the bowling alley. It was the house of the real bar, where all the fun happened. A house band was warmed up and setting the mood with some heavy, twangy guitars . Raylan could see the remains of what might have been a redneck style barricade around the stage. There were two pool tables set up in a nook just the right size
Behind the actual bar Raylan saw beers and spirits, the grown up drinks. A bartender was setting out bar snacks in plastic dishes, beer nuts and pretzels laid out in front eager patrons while her co-worker began to take the first of the orders from the eager patrons.
The men and women waiting to drink ran from young to old, fat to thin. Some slouched in wearing sweatpants and trucker hats while some were dressed up like the nights drinks would be the social highlight of the Season.
Tim visibly hesitated, wouldn't go further, but Raylan brushed by. "Go get a table before they fill up," he leaned in to be heard over the music.
Tim's posture was rigid, his shoulders locked up and Raylan caught the look on his face, wide eyes but the expression locked down, cold and stern.
Raylan carried on to the bar, leaning on it when he got there and pretending he wasn't blatantly checking that Tim had listened. He had, and Raylan spotted the slight frame weaving through a small group of chatting drinkers, heading for the most out of sight table he could find.
Raylan noticed the locals notice Tim. There was curiosity on a few faces, attraction for the handsome young Marshal on others. Some tried to recognise him, some looked like they already may, or at least realised he wasn't a total stranger. Raylan drew a few stares himself. He was taller than a lot of people and most assuredly a stranger to everyone in the bar. He was good looking too and it drew equal parts attraction and ire. He used his powers for evil, flashing a grin at the barmaid when he caught her eye and she sashayed across to him.
"Can I get your and your friend a drink?" she asked over the music.
"Two beers, two bourbons," Raylan asked. "Each."
She nodded, acting impressed and turned away to fill the orders. Raylan looked around for Tim, spotted at a table set in a corner.
She filled the order and his subtle flirting saved him a few dollars and won them a free tray of chips and dip. Raylan carried he beers and chips over to Tim and set them down, returning for the bourbons and to collect his change. He spotted the barmaid a ways down the bar but as he waited the manager, or at least a middle aged dude who looked like an aging biker and radiated boredom crossed with his change in hand. "Hey, you visitin'?" the manager asked as he dropped a couple of bills and some change into Raylan's waiting palm.
"Just for a few days," Raylan nodded.
"You got people around here?" the guy asked, playing 'casual curiosity' with admirable conviction.
"No sir," Raylan shook his head.
"Your friend?" the manager asked him.
Raylan frowned, taken aback by the question. The tone of it was different, blunter.
"Pardon?" he asked.
"Your friend," the manager jerked his chin towards Tim over in his corner. "He got people? He looks so familiar it's drivin' me crazy."
Raylan didn't even consider saying yes, but he wasn't sure why. "I wouldn't know. We work together." He grinned wide, like he was a moron and buzzed and only half following the exchange.
He took the drinks, turned away and headed back to their table but found himself decide not to tell Tim about the barmans questions.
Back in Lexington Tim had told Raylan and their acting chief and friend, Rachel Brooks about the funeral for a girl who died twenty years ago. He had no plans to attend the service but on request he intended to visit with the girls mother, tell her his account of the day her daughter died. There was, it appeared, some dispute over the facts. Tim hadn't said much more, but it had been enough that Rachel decided he needed an escort.
Now, Raylan found himself on edge. He took his seat, set out their drinks and the snacks and joined Tim in people watching, checking faces, noticing the attention they were being paid, working out if it was the wrong kind or not.
While they were definitely being watched and noticed but so far, no one was too interested.
The atmosphere was nice, the music was good and they sat and listened, drank their drinks, ate their chips. Tim was by no means relaxed but he tried to be, watching the band calmly, impassively. He was doing that 'sniper' thing where he disappeared, became utterly still. The eeriest part was that he didn't just freeze. He seemed to be able to withdraw his very presence from the air around him. Raylan knew from experience that people had a natural instinct for the presence of others. It was why you could return to a quiet house and know if it was empty or if someone was inside, unseen.
Tim could turn that off. If Raylan looked away, he felt like he was sitting alone rather than sharing a table with a co-worker and friend.
"You do that as a kid or learn it in the Army?" he found he was asking Tim, picking up his beer and taking a sip. He rested it atop his knee rather than back on the table, the cool glass pleasant against his fingertips.
Tim glanced at him. "Drinking?"
"That," Raylan motioned towards Tim, indicating the posture, the careful stillness. Even Tim's glance had been a tiny, almost imperceptible movement of his head, so taut and controlled that it looked artificial, like Tim was a machine. "Blending in. Doin' your impression of a tiger in the long grass."
"I learned to be quiet a long time ago," Tim said, another of those vague allusions to something sad and horrible a long time ago.
They finished their drinks and Raylan went back for more. The flirtatious young barmaid served him the same order again but this time her nosy boss didn't turn up to muscle in so Raylan scored more snacks and she promised to try and discretely drop a half bottle of bourbon off at their table if they stayed past midnight.
The place was busy but the mood stayed pleasant, most people enjoying their good time and their buzz and their few, responsibility free hours. Tim's drinks got to him and he began to unwind, fractionally and slowly, getting more comfortable in his seat, getting into the music. They began to talk about music, what they liked and didn't and Raylan wasn't surprised to hear Tim's tastes were eclectic, his knowledge detailed and expansive.
Tim finished his beer. "I'll be back," he rose, heading for the exit. Raylan, a little merry, was briefly confused but he remembered the cigarettes and Tim's new old habit that he wouldn't admit to having.
He let him go. Over the bar a TV had been turned on and there was some form of sports on. Raylan tuned out a little, let the music lull him, watched the brightly coloured screen flicker and move. He noticed movement and though he was tipsy a few different instincts made him turn. He saw three guys leaving, trailing out in a line like they were boarding a bus. One of them glanced back, caught Raylan's eye and looked away quickly.
Raylan watched them go, feeling a faint trill of something like alarm and when he turned back to their table he began to realise he wasn't quite sure how long Tim had been gone. He was on his feet and weaving through the crowds without much thought about the process but the bar was pretty rammed by that point. It took more time than he would like to pick his way to the door, grumbling to himself about fire safety and overcrowding.
When he finally reached the outside the air was just as thick and heavy as it had been indoors and he grimaced, glanced skyward in the hopes he could somehow spot the signs of approaching rain, something heavy that would wash the air clean, but there was nothing that suggested relief.
He glanced around, saw a small crowd of those who had gone outside to smoke but he couldn't spot Tim. He couldn't spot the three men who had filed out of the bar either. He glanced around, saw the narrow alley way that ran along the side of the building and turned towards it, picking up pace the closer he got.
He rounded the corner in time to see Tim's skinny ass get tossed into the side of the dumpster. He was back up again as soon as he touched the ground and he came up swinging. His closed fist slammed into the gut of one attacker who had a crop of red hair, so hard the bigger man folded in half, and he turned to a second, a blonde, with murder in his eyes. A third, a brunette intercepted, managed to catch one arm, twist it so he could get at the other. Tim was restrained and the second assailant moved fast, one fist crashing into Tim's solar plexus before he struck out twice, and fast, at Tim's face.
It all happened in the time it took Raylan to sprint into the alley way and grab the collar of the blonde, yanking backwards as hard as he could. The third man let Tim go to face Raylan and the younger Marshal fell to the ground, wheezing and gasping for air. Raylan dodged the wild swing by the third guy and backhanded him across the face, sending him reeling to the ground.
"Hey!" Raylan turned, got a glimpse of a uniform and a badge and threw his hands up quickly.
"US Marshals!" He barked automatically, though here there was a good chance it meant nothing since they were in town on personal business. He ducked down, hauled Tim to his feet, making damn sure the bloodied face got caught in the uniforms flashlight beam.
"The hell is goin' on?" the cop was tall bulky but since he was behind the light Raylan couldn't say much else.
"Near as I can tell they jumped my partner here," Raylan said, keeping his free hand open, supporting Tim more than he was happy about with the other.
"Henderson? Steve, that you? The fuck you doin'?" the deputy strode into the alleyway, easily convinced of his own control of the situation.
The groaning men, drunks, slowly got to their feet and as they did Raylan moved himself and Tim away from them
"They got any reason to jump your partner?" The deputy asked but he was letting Raylan move away.
"None as near as I know," Raylan said honestly.
Tim lurched, pushed himself away from Raylan and was sick noisily on the ground. "He been drinkin'?" the deputy asked pointedly.
"We're at a bar," Raylan stated, making sure his tone reflected his frustration at even being asked..
The deputy shook his head, stood amongst the drunks as they all got upright, all glaring not at Raylan, but Tim, still Tim. The young Marshal was pushing himself up on the wall and Raylan sensed him move, heading back to the fight. He stepped backwards without taking his eyes of the deputy, stepped into Tim, pushed him back.
"I'll fuck you up, Gutterson!" the blonde croaked , barely able to stand upright.
The Deputy turned like he was on a wheel, eyes locking on the furious young Marshal. "Tim?!"
Raylan sensed Tim go still, try and do the disappearing thing.
The Deputy glanced around and seemed to catch himself. "You stayin' in town?" he asked Raylan, dropping the volume of his voice just a shade.
Raylan nodded. "Got no intention of sayin' where, though," he looked at the three assailants, made it obvious why.
"I can find you easy enough, Marshal," the Deputy said. "Take him back there and I'll come get his statement later."
He turned away, signalled the conversation was over. Raylan didn't argue. He turned, got a grip on Tim's arm and dragged him out of the alleyway.