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Winona takes some convincing before she gets on board with this ill-advised field trip, but they’re already well on their way by the time that conversation ends. He assures her that Willa will be staying in a safe place, with supervision. Now he just has to try to make that happen. He really only has one option.
“Raylan Givens, you ain’t been back in more than a decade, ain’t heard from you in at least two years, and now you’re calling me up looking for a favor?”
“I just thought you might like to meet my kid, Helen. Look, you want I’ll pay you board for her. I just need a safe place for her to stay while I’m working.”
Helen pauses. “Working. In Kentucky. Why?”
“Just a case bringing me there. Don’t worry, I ain’t transferring back.”
“He ain’t here, Raylan.”
Speaking carefully, so as not to betray the rush of adrenaline that sends through his whole body, he says, “Who might that be?”
“He ain’t here. You’re wasting your time. You want to bring your child to meet her kin, well, that’s fine. I’d be happy to have her. Teach her how to cook some decent food, as I’m sure that snooty beanpole of an ex-wife of yours never—“
“Helen.”
Helen laughs wheezily down the line. “Don’t worry, I won’t say nothing like that to her. Probably.”
Raylan sighs. “Okay, then. Thanks.”
“But Raylan, you should leave this thing be. Let it play out the way it’s supposed to.”
“I can’t.”
“I figured,” she says, resigned. “You and that boy, I always wondered, you know.”
“Oh yeah? You think this means you got your answer?”
“I guess I do now. You’re a damn fool.”
“See you tonight.”
He hangs up and tosses his phone in the well between the front seats. He grinds his teeth a few times before recalling what his dentist told him the last time he visited. The man had recommended he take up smoking weed before his molars turn to dust.
“You gonna tell me now?” Willa asks, looking at him slant-wise. “Why are you doing this when everyone you talk to is telling you not to?”
Raylan still can’t decide what she needs to know about him, so he says, “I told you. He saved my life. Maybe I can save his now.”
“Dad, that was more than thirty years ago. Didn’t you say he was a criminal? What kind of criminal?”
“That ain’t the point. That’s—that don’t have to do with me, and anyway, he did what was asked of him. He paid the debt he was required to pay, and he’s owed the protection that was agreed to. Simple as that.”
She’s quiet for a bit, looking out the side window. Finally, she says, “You know, if you want to tell me something, you can. I’m not a baby, I can understand stuff.”
Now’s the time, and he knows it. But what, exactly, is he supposed to say? If he tells her about Boyd, what else will she want to know? Will she ask if he sees other men? He does, but those encounters are not something he’d really want her to hear about. He’s not even sure, if he says it out loud, that it won’t sound tawdry to his own ears. Even if it works for him, even if it’s all he really needs, is it maybe a little bit ugly, a little bit cheap? Not that his relationships with women are that much healthier, but at least he usually sees them for more than a night.
“Willa, if there’s something you want to ask, go ahead. I don’t want to keep secrets from you. I grew up doing that, you know, as a matter of course. The way I was brought up, you don’t say shit to anyone about anything, because you don’t know what someone might be able to use against you. Kin or not. But I don’t feel that way about you, and I don’t want you feeling that way about me. Okay?”
“Whatever,” she says, shrugging. She’s apparently reached the end of her courage on this subject, and if she’s not going to push it, Raylan certainly isn’t.
“I’m stopping for coffee next exit. You want something?”
“Pink drink. Venti, no berries—“
“And light ice. I know.”
They drive until Raylan starts to feel like he’s falling asleep, and stop to sleep somewhere south of Atlanta. Raylan crashes hard, but he’s wide awake by three in the morning, his mind spinning in circles. He rousts his daughter and they get on the road.
He ain’t here.
Raylan can’t get there fast enough.
They roll into Lexington around two in the afternoon. Raylan would have preferred to drop Willa off with Helen first, but he needs to find out what information the Marshal’s office has before he goes down there. If he went to Harlan first, he’d be off on a tear with nothing but his anger to guide him. He’d waste too much time.
Willa has been in courthouses before, and she’s been in the Miami Marshal’s office plenty of times, but she gapes at her surroundings like she’s fresh off the farm. Raylan can’t imagine what she finds so fascinating.
Raylan sees a bunch of new faces, but he picks Tim out right away. Still got that baby face, but a good amount of grey in his hair, and his eyes look tired. He spies Raylan and gives him a sardonic smile.
“What a surprise,” he says. He’s so full of shit. As if he didn’t basically invite Raylan to come here.
“Timothy,” Raylan says in greeting. “Willa, this is Tim Gutterson. Tim, Willa Givens.”
Tim leans forward from his desk chair and extends a hand to shake. “Nice grip,” he says. “Your dad teach you how to shake hands?”
“My mom did,” she says, rolling her eyes.
Tim grins at her, and then looks at Raylan. “Rachel’s in her office. Don’t you dare tell her this was me.”
“Okay. But I need to talk to you for a minute first, in case she kicks me out.”
Tim nods, sighs and gets up and gives Willa a not-too-convincing glare. “You can sit there, but don’t touch anything and don’t look at my computer.”
“Why? You got porn on there?”
“Holy shit, Raylan. You clone her?”
Raylan looks at Willa with a fair amount of fatherly price, pats her on the shoulder, and says, “Come on,” to Tim.
They walk out into the hallway. “I don’t have much to give you,” Tim says. “We can’t even figure out how he was compromised. He’s not on social media under his new name or any other. We looked at his online purchases, and nothing stands out as identifying.”
“Oh, you mean he ain’t buying ortolan buntings and rare harpsichord recordings on 78?”
Tim snorts. “Pretty sure we’re not looking for Hannibal Lechter. All he buys are electrical parts and random house shit, and some clothes once in awhile. Not even books, and I know he reads because we went through his house back then.”
“Electrical parts? Please tell me this ain’t bomb making shit.”
Tim smiles a little and says, “No, not as far as I can tell. He’s an electrician now. Got his license under the new name.”
“Which is?”
Tim shakes his head. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“You got anything? Anything at all?”
“If you can convince Rachel to let you in on this, you’re welcome to look through the file. Who knows, maybe you’ll see something we couldn’t.”
He should tell Tim that Helen clearly knows something. He knows he should, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.
“What happens if you do find him, Raylan?”
“I assume he goes back into Witsec under another name I ain’t allowed to know. Right?”
Tim shrugs. “That’s what he should do, but it’s up to him, really. No law saying he has to stay in if he doesn’t want to. But then he doesn’t get our protection.”
“Why wouldn’t he do that?”
Tim looks Raylan up and down, pointedly. “Couldn’t say.”
“You hitting on me, Tim?”
“Nah. I got a boyfriend. He doesn’t mind me looking, though.”
“Too bad.” Raylan says, and quirks his eyebrows at him.
“Oh, there is one thing,” Tim says, turning away from him immediately and heading back into the office. “Not to help find him, but something I thought you might want. I went through considerable trouble to get it, so you owe me.”
“What’s that?”
“Hang on, it’s in my desk.” Tim walks over and Willa rolls out of his way on the chair.
“Why’s your face all red?” Willa asks. “You blushing?”
“No,” Tim says.
Raylan busts out laughing and leans on the desk. He stops abruptly when Tim hands him a photo. He looks back up at Tim and asks, “This was in his house?”
Tim nods. “Up in the crawl space. Don’t worry, it’s not listed anywhere. You’re welcome.”
Raylan nods. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll go talk to Rachel now.”
“What is it?” Willa gets up and tries to grab the photo, but he puts it in his jacket pocket.
“It’s confidential.”
Raylan leaves Willa to continue her harassment of Tim and goes to knock on the Chief’s door. He peers through the glass door and Rachel looks up. She stares at him for a moment, perhaps wondering if the past decade has been but a pleasant dream. But then, her face breaks into a wide smile and she beckons him in, coming out from behind the desk.
“Raylan! My goodness, what on earth are you doing here?”
“Hey, Rachel. Good to see you.” He hugs her, and it really does feel good to be back. He feels at home. “I ain’t sure how happy you’re gonna be about my reasons, though, tell you the truth.”
She frowns, and gestures at the sofa. “Best sit down then, and tell me.” She sits next to him. “I’m afraid I don’t keep a bottle in my desk drawer. I think Art was the last one to be able to get away with that.”
“Shame,” Raylan says, “‘cause this ain’t gonna be the easiest conversation.”
She raises her eyebrows and waits, so Raylan takes a breath and starts talking. He knows he won’t have any chance of her letting him on this unless he tells her the whole story, all the reasons. Those could also work against him, he knows, but he’s counting on Rachel to understand.
When he’s finally finished, he feels wrung out, and she’s looking at him with an unreadable expression. Finally, she asks, “Who told you?” That’s the one detail Raylan had left out.
“Someone who knew I’m the right man for this job.”
“Tim, I suppose. It’s okay, you don’t have to say. Look, Raylan, you know by all rights I should throw you out of this office. I get why you want to help, but I don’t see why you think you can do better than the Marshals already tasked with it.”
“This is Harlan. I can feel it, Rachel. You know there ain’t anyone better than me for that shit.”
“And no one more likely to get shot doing it. Don’t you have a kid?”
“Yeah,” Raylan says, smiling. “She’s here, want to meet her?”
She looks at him like he’s gone around the bend, but nods anyway. “I’m dying to know what kind of child you produced, to be honest. Is she a handful?”
“And then some.”
They walk out into the outer office. Tim and Willa are looking at something on Willa’s phone, and they both laugh at the same time. Tim looks up as they approach the desk. “Cat videos,” he says, and Willa nods.
Raylan makes the introductions, and Rachel asks her questions about Miami, and her school, and if Raylan is still a stubborn pain in the ass. Willa giggles and responds with an enthusiastic yes.
“Show him the file, Tim,” she says, finally. “Maybe he can actually help. Who knows.” She turns to Raylan. “Don’t make me regret this. Don’t get hurt, and for God’s sake don’t shoot anybody.”
Raylan gives Willa money and tells her to go get whatever she wants from the coffee shop downstairs. He takes his time going through the file, taking notes on anything that seems at all relevant. The photos from inside Boyd’s house are interesting, but not because he sees anything helpful. He just likes to see the way he’s been living. It’s sparse, but neat and clean. There’s a bottle of Blantons on the kitchen counter. Raylan wonders if he has anyone special to share it with. He wonders if Boyd ever pulled out that photo from the crawl space when he had a drink of an evening.
Willa is quiet for a stretch once they’re on the road to Harlan. Raylan puts music on, and Willa gives him some side eye. “Southeastern, again? Really?”
Raylan shrugs. “It’s a modern classic. If you really want something else, go ahead. Please not Taylor Swift, though?”
“It’s fine.” And she goes silent once more.
Miles stretch by, and the sky is starting to darken. …I thought it’d be me who helped you get home… Raylan doesn’t sing along, but every word hits just where it’s supposed to.
“That picture is not confidential,” Willa says, breaking the spell the music had laid on him.
“It’s just a secret. You said you don’t want to keep secrets, but you are.”
“How’d you get so smart?”
“Dad, come on. It doesn’t take being smart to know you’re acting weird.”
Raylan pulls the photo out of his pocket and hands it to her. She takes it gingerly, and looks at it for a long time. “That’s you, huh?”
“Used to be,” he says.
“That’s from when you were a miner?”
“Yep.”
“And that criminal in witness protection kept this hidden in his house for all that time? And all the time before that, too. Did he take this?”
Raylan nods, eyes on the road. “He got some fancy new camera when we were working there. I assume it fell off the back of a truck, if you’re familiar with that particular euphemism. He was taking pictures of everything for awhile.”
“But he only kept this one.”
“Well, you don’t know that. Maybe this was in a stack of pictures of mine carts and headlamps and scraggly dogs and shit.”
“Dad.”
“Yeah. Okay, Willa, damn.”
“He must have loved you, right?”
Raylan doesn’t answer for a bit, but eventually says, “I guess.”
She looks at the picture some more. “You’re smiling but you look sad. Were you?”
“Probably,” Raylan says. “I knew I was leaving by then.”
“You were sad to leave Harlan?”
He looks over at her and sighs. “I was sad to be leaving him.”
She nods. “You could have just told me, you know.”
“I probably should have. I was worried it would be confusing for you.”
“I know what bisexual means. It’s not too confusing.”
Raylan laughs. “Yeah, I know you do, kid. Okay. I’m sorry. I’m old, forgive me.”
“Is that why you never introduce me to anyone you’re dating?”
Raylan shakes his head. “I don’t really…date men? But the reason I don’t introduce you is because they never stick around too long. Seems pointless. I never wanted to make your life chaotic with new girlfriends coming in and out.”
“Why don’t they last long?” She gets a sly smile on her face and asks, “Is it because you’re still in love with this dude?”
“No! Shit. No. I loved your mom, didn’t I? We lasted a good while. The first time, anyway.”
“Is it because you’re still in love with her?”
“No. It’s because—well, I don’t know exactly why, to be honest. I’m kind of a nightmare to live with, you know. The job was always…a lot. But I think I’ve just gotten used to being by myself. I like it, mostly. Sometimes you’re there, and that’s great. Sometimes I’m seeing someone, and that’s cool too.” He glances over. “I’m not unhappy, sweetheart. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“And yet you love to listen to this sad shit about cancer and alcoholism and traveling alone.”
“Wallowing has its good points,” Raylan says. “Nothing like a sad song to put your life in perspective.”
Willa smiles and shrugs. “That’s true.” She puts her seat back and closes her eyes, and Raylan thinks she’s fallen asleep when she says, ”I’m really glad you told me. I was worried you didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?”
“That you like guys. I couldn’t tell if you knew you were looking.”
Goddamn, these kids
“Like I said, you don’t have to worry about me. Not in that way, anyhow. I get that my job probably made you worry.”
“Not really. Mom worried, but I never thought anything could happen to you.”
Raylan is relieved that she’s still at least enough of a child to believe that, even if she’s sharp enough to notice him checking men out. Or maybe he’s just not as slick as he thinks he is.
“I feel I need to stress, again, that this situation could be dangerous. I know you’re never scared of anything, and believe me I get that, but just because you ain’t scared don’t mean you don’t have to be careful. Where we’re going, it ain’t Detroit. It’s gonna look safe to you. It’s not. Mainly because of who I am, and what your last name is.”
“Okay. I promise.”
Raylan nods. That’ll have to do