(no subject)
It had been a while since Raylan had gone far from Lexington for an assignment, the last time being his trip to California, he was fairly sure. Chicago was not his comfort zone, though the stigma of a southern accent did allow for most people to underestimate him. Just another Dixieland moron out of his league in the big city.
He stuck a leg out as his soon-to-be-informant staggered out of a bar apparently owned by a local mafia thug, Marcone, and the man - more of a boy in Raylan's opinion - crashed headlong to the ground and threw up on his way there.
Raylan grimaced. "Now, that just figures. Folks like you never can tell when they've had too much, and can't hold it even if they do."
He kicked the kid, lightly, to make sure he was conscious. The boy groaned and rolled over to show a recently broken nose and chunks of something Raylan didn't want to spend time identifying smeared over his face. Early twenties if that, with ragged brown hair that needed washing and scars from a teenage life of zits and fistfights, if Raylan was any judge.
"Evening," he said, and touched the brim of his hat. The kid stared at him. Raylan waited, then said, "This is where you say hello."
The kid tried to spit at him and Raylan brought the heel of his boot down between the boy's legs. The boy doubled up and rolled back onto his side with a squeaky wheeze.
"I do believe we'll try that again. Good evenin'. I'm Deputy US Marshal Raylan Givens, and I would like to ask you a few questions."
He stuck a leg out as his soon-to-be-informant staggered out of a bar apparently owned by a local mafia thug, Marcone, and the man - more of a boy in Raylan's opinion - crashed headlong to the ground and threw up on his way there.
Raylan grimaced. "Now, that just figures. Folks like you never can tell when they've had too much, and can't hold it even if they do."
He kicked the kid, lightly, to make sure he was conscious. The boy groaned and rolled over to show a recently broken nose and chunks of something Raylan didn't want to spend time identifying smeared over his face. Early twenties if that, with ragged brown hair that needed washing and scars from a teenage life of zits and fistfights, if Raylan was any judge.
"Evening," he said, and touched the brim of his hat. The kid stared at him. Raylan waited, then said, "This is where you say hello."
The kid tried to spit at him and Raylan brought the heel of his boot down between the boy's legs. The boy doubled up and rolled back onto his side with a squeaky wheeze.
"I do believe we'll try that again. Good evenin'. I'm Deputy US Marshal Raylan Givens, and I would like to ask you a few questions."