Title: The Swear Jar 26/X
Author: Romantique
Email: dolph1n
Classification: Raylan/Winona Family/General
Rating: T for language (but no worse than the show)
Summary: Raylan is a new dad. This one is a stand-alone, not a sequel to 'A Change of Scenery.'
Disclaimer: It's 'Justified' hiatus time, and I'm bored. This fic is based on nothing but my imagination and takes place sometime after the end of Season 3.
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.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"You want me to go in there with you?" Art asked as, the two lawmen entered the visitation area.
Signing the Visitors Log, Raylan didn't look up and gave his shoulders a quick shrug. "Sure. Why not?" he answered the question with one of his own.
Art followed suit by signing the log underneath Raylan's signature. There was a showing of badges and recording of ID's with the Corrections Officer in charge and then, they were led to a small room containing only a table and chairs. As instructed, the two took a seat on the side of the table that left them with their backs facing the door.
All talked out from the drive from Lexington, the two sat in silence, each keeping their thoughts to themselves. Shortly thereafter, the silence was interrupted. Boyd Crowder was escorted into the room dressed in the prison's gray pants and shirt, his hands cuffed in front of him.
"Well, well, well ... I'm a popular guy, today," Boyd flashed his mega-watt smile upon seeing Raylan's face.
"We ran into Ava on our way in," Raylan confirmed, figuring she was the reason for the remark. "How ya' doin', Boyd?"
Raylan extended his left hand of which Boyd took by the fingers and shook with his cuffed hands. Art did not extend his hand. Rather, he looked over at Boyd and gave him a nod, acknowledging his presence.
"What happened to your hand?" Boyd asked, noticing Raylan's splinted, bandaged finger.
"You don't want to know," Art rolled his eyes and scoffed.
"The boss is here," Boyd noted, as he took the empty seat across the table from the two marshals. "This must be an official visit."
"Are ya' farin' better here than you did the last time I saw you when you were in 'The Volunteer State'?" Raylan asked.
"Much," Boyd answered.
"So glad we taxpayers could be assistance in making your prison sentence a more comfortable one," Art interjected, unable to mask his annoyance at the transfer trouble caused by this worthless felon who had no regard as to what it could have meant to Raylan's career.
It had been Raylan's last visit of Boyd in Tennessee that brought this latest episode with Raylan to a head. And even though Boyd was clueless as to what this visit was all about, it was easy for him to ascertain that Art Mullen was no fan of his.
Boyd decided to cut right to the chase. "So, what brings you two gentlemen all the way out here to see me?"
Raylan removed his hat and set it on his lap. Combing through his hair with his fingers, he began. "I need you to think back." He then proceeded to place his hand on the table. "You see this scar here," Raylan ran his index finger from one hand along a long scar on the top of his other hand, "and this one here?" He proceeded to show Boyd another smaller scar on his forehead.
Boyd nodded his head and then looked as if he was not following his frenemy.
"Do you remember how I got these?" Raylan asked, referring to his scars.
The lost look on Boyd's face gave into a big grin. "Well, Raylan, you are rather accident prone," he remarked, and then, pointed over at Rayan's bandaged hand as if to make his point.
Raylan continued. "I recently remembered a cave in … down in a mine. And you were there."
"Did ya' now?" Boyd remarked, his eyes narrowing, trying to read his old friend. "You and I had several near misses in the mine. As I recall … that's why you hightailed yourself outta the business."
"No," Raylan shook his head. "I was never comfortable bein' underground. But this particular instance to which I'm referrin' involved you and me … and a large sum of money."
Boyd licked his lips. "You and me? We barely got by workin' the mine. We were paid far, far less than scale. Hell, we couldn't afford to move away from our Daddy's homes. I can't ever remember seein' a large sum of money, back in those days."
"As opposed to later in your criminal career?" Art couldn't help himself.
Boyd flashed Art a look of annoyance.
Seeing that he was getting nowhere by being indirect, Raylan decided to become very direct.
"I need your help, Boyd," Raylan was talking with his hands. "I seem to be havin' these recurring dreams of late that have become very clear to me … about you and me comin' into a very large sum of money from Arlo. And that you and I went down into a mine shaft near Ten Spot to hide it. That's where the cave in happened. And as you did on several occasions, you got me outta there in one piece."
Boyd's eyes pierced into Raylan's, searching the marshal's soul for his motivation.
"Memories, huh?" Boyd carefully tip-toed into the water. "All of a sudden?"
"Yeah," Raylan continued to explain. "I had no memory of anything until a few weeks ago. And I must say, I'm not proud of the memories that have returned. It seems I was the master mind of a plot to use money I stole from Arlo that, no doubt had been stolen from somewhere else, to use as seed money to go into the weed business … with you."
"And you want me to confirm or deny these 'flashbacks' you're havin' as real or just a figment of your fertile imagination?" Boyd asked his old friend.
"Exactly," Raylan answered. Then, with is eyes, he pleaded, "Boyd, I need to know."
"Well, what do I get if I tell you?" Boyd grinned ear to ear.
"Nothin'," Raylan continued. "You'd be helpin' me. Maybe clearin' your own conscience."
Art interjected, "There's a statute of limitation for any money crime that may have been committed, and you and Raylan are long, long past that."
Boyd then searched Art's eyes to see if he was telling the truth.
"He's right," Raylan backed up his boss. "You're not gonna get into any more trouble, than you're already in, or do any more time by tellin' me the truth."
Dumbfounded, taken aback by the reason for this visit, Boyd was speechless.
Maneuvering past the silence, Raylan began. "Back when you were ministerin' to your flock, you've since referred to me and my 'demons.' Is this what you were talkin' about? That I stole money from my old man … with the intention of enterin' into a life of crime? For commitin' a crime I couldn't remember?" After a beat, he added, "Because I must look like some kind of a hypocrite to you, sitting over on this side of the table with my badge and my gun … when in fact, I'm no better than you."
"Raylan," Boyd finally spoke. "It is true you are no better than me."
"Oh, he's better than you, alright," Art corrected Boyd. "He's a hell of a lot better man than you will ever be. That's why you're in here, and Raylan is out here wearin' this badge with distinction." And Art unclipped his Marshal Service badge from its lanyard and firmly slammed it down on the table for emphasis.
Once again, these two men, long on opposite sides of the law, glared at one another. Art was breathing fire. It was only after some time, that Art noticed Raylan was glaring at him as well, but for an entirely different reason. Raylan was here for a reason, and one reason alone.
Catching Raylan's drift, Art then promptly announced, "Why don't I leave you two alone to talk in private?" Then, looking direct at Boyd, he said, "I'm only here to, number one, inform you that you are beyond the statute of limitation for anything you may have done in the past that I don't know about, other than murder. There IS no statute of limitation on murder. And number two, Raylan is one of the finest law men I've ever known. You don't get to fuck with his head anymore about what you know … and he doesn't."
And with that, Art stood up and silently left the room, leaving Raylan and Boyd alone in the room, other than the guard.
"When's the last time you saw Arlo?" Boyd asked.
"Are you tryin' to hurt my feelin's? Throw me off guard?" Raylan narrowed his eyes and snarled.
In an exaggerated voice of surprise, Boyd answered with a question. "Why, whatever are you talkin' about?"
Raylan let out a long sigh. "I saw him, not that long ago. He's not doin' real well. His mind is pretty much gone."
"I see," Boyd nodded. "Well … I can tell you if he was able to communicate with you, he'd tell you that the money you stole … which I don't believe he ever found out it was you who stole it from him … was stolen by the Bennetts."
"After all these years, you expect me to believe that you never said anything to him?" Raylan asked in disbelief.
"Why would I?" Boyd asked. "There was never any reason to say anything about it to anyone."
"And did you use the money I stole from Arlo to go into the weed business?" Raylan asked, part of him not wanting to know the answer to his question.
"The Bennetts beat me to the weed business in Harlan County," Boyd explained. "That's the point in time they went into the business in a big way. I always suspected they stole the rest of Arlo's money. I mean, he always held their clan in the greatest disdain."
Raylan thought for a minute on the timing on the rise of the Bennetts, and it all fit.
"But what about the money you had? What did you do with it?" Raylan asked.
Boyd grinned. "Why? Because half of it's yours?" he asked. Then, he sat back a little in his chair. "When you were injured in that cave in, it soon became clear to me that you didn't remember anything about any money, or why we went down there in the first place. Besides that cut on your forehead and the gash on your hand, you had a pretty good size goose egg on your head. You went in and out of consciousness for several days, after the cave in. We got you out of there and I took care of you, and when you were better, I took you on back to your father's home. Your Aunt Helen thought you'd been in some kind of a fight, and I said nothin' to make her think any different. So, I wasn't surprised when not very long after all that, you told me you were leavin' Harlan to go make a better life for yourself. I figured your aunt had somethin' to do with you quittin' the mine and leavin' town."
Funny how Boyd talked about everything but the question asked.
"And the money?" Raylan was growing inpatient. "C'mon, Boyd."
"I was gettin' to that," Boyd said. "It soon became apparent to me that I no longer had to share with you. It wasn't like I was lookin' not to share, but the 'opportunity' presented itself to me, and I took it. After all … I am a Crowder. You were none the wiser, and you turned out alright. I'd say I made the right decision … at the time."
Reaching up, Raylan began rubbing the back of his neck. It was tight from all the tension of having this discussion. "One last time … what did you do with the money?"
"It's long gone," Boyd answered. "I went through it pretty fast. Back in those days, I was young and dumb and didn't know how to handle money. I bought some dope, bought a fast car. I got me an apartment in Baxter, you know, furnished it with top of the line stereo equipment. I spent a lot of my time out at Audrey's playin' 'Mr. Big Shot.' I was so stupid back then … I pissed it away in no time. Before too long, I had smoked and drank and screwed 'til I just couldn't do it no more. I accumulated a lot of tickets for speedin' and drunk drivin'. Soon, there were warrants out for me to the point that, after the money was all gone, I enlisted just to get out of Harlan. Kinda like you did."
Raylan shook his head. He was both disgusted and relieved.
"One more thing that's been botherin' me," Raylan shifted back in his seat, this time. "When I first returned to Kentucky, and you and I first met up at that church … were you feelin' me out about what I remembered?"
"You could say that," Boyd answered. "I thought maybe you were comin' at me for the money, after all those years. I had to find out for sure."
Raylan stared, his eyes boring into Boyd's. "As opposed to me comin' at you because you blew up that church in Somerset with your rocket launcher and killed that Arian knight?"
"Or maybe I was tryin' to see if I could bring you back into the fold," Boyd went on. "Can't blame a guy for tryin'."
"I'll tell you somethin', Boyd," Raylan changed the subject. "You and me? We came from the same place. Hell, our fathers could have been brothers for all that matters. And I owe you for savin' my life … more than once. But I chose my path on the 'straight and narrow,' and this is where I belong. And that is where you and I parted company, a long time ago."
And before Boyd could open his mouth, Raylan continued. "I don't shoot people because I like to. I shoot people only when I have to."
Boyd grinned. "I don't know what more to say. You got everything all figured out."
Raylan set his jar, firm, and leaned forward. "Thank you for tellin' me what happened. I know you didn't have to, but you and I are now square, done. I don't owe you anything, and you don't owe me anything … anymore."
Still grinning, Boyd asked, "Are you sayin' our karma is over?"
Placing his hat on top of his head, Raylan stood, towering over the seated Boyd Crowder. "I'd say so," he said, turning on his heel to leave the room. But before he left, he turned and added with a tipping of his hat, "You enjoy the rest of your stay."
Boyd bit his lip, thinking it better he not say anything more and watched the law man walk away.
(To be continued …)