neverleftharlan | (no subject)

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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."

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Raylan presents Mouse with his knuckles to sniff, fully aware that this monster could and would take his arm off if Dresden gave the word. "He's part horse," Raylan says. He glances over at Lia and sighs. "Georgiann. I suppose I'm too good-hearted, picking up a hitcher, but being nagged at to get her a meal has surely cured me of that."

He leans back in his chair, hat still set back slightly on his head and a musing look on his face. "I had a dog once. Not near this size, of course, a mutt if you ever saw one, rangy thing and not the best looking. He was a good dog, though. Easy to train, protective, went with me everywhere. I suppose Mr. Mouse goes with you everywhere, being a service dog and all - how do you manage travel? Airplanes and such?"

Raylan pushes back in his chair, lifting the front legs off the ground for a moment before he thumps back down and continues. "Anyway, me and my dog, we went everywhere together, folks knew who was coming the minute they saw that ragged mutt turn the corner. And then one year, we went on up to the picket lines, during a strike against I think Lannaster Coal? We went up to the picket lines, early in the day, watch the scabs come on through, herded by the company's gun thugs. They went down in the mines and got to work."

He smiles at Mac as the man brings over two bottles of ale and leaves again. Raylan takes a sip and whistles. "Damn. Well, about half-way through the morning, they got their powder man working, blowing things up, and my dog - well, the shaking and the rumbling started and he lit out faster than I could catch him. Never saw him again. Is that why you left Mouse here went you went and blew up that block in Lexington?" The question is mild, punctuated by Raylan taking another drink from his bottle. "Bit surprising, considering your anxiety."

Lia slugs Raylan in the shoulder (not hard as she could, but enough to remind him that she can) before she slumps down in the chair next to Mouse while rolling her eyes. Talking about her like she's some kind of freaking stray. "Like you could pay my diner tab if I really got going," she grumbles quietly before settling down for story time. "And I don't freaking nag, okay."

...All right, now she's settled, happy? And she's following along pretty well, one hand idly scratching along Mouse's neck. It's half to have something to do, half to be able to grab the scruff and keep the lug back before shit happens and Dresden calls in for the sic. She's not entirely sure how much of Raylan's yarning is bullshit or not - never mind it's not really the point here, still a legit question. Once Ray pops the question, Lia cocks her head to the side and watches Harry out the corner of her eye.

Right now, if this was a cop show, she'd say something to be the supportive, cautious good partner, like how it's really not a good idea to start fibbing to Raylan here. But it's not a cop show and she's really not looking to be sidekick material, and she's pretty sure Raylan's ornery enough without her poking more. Let it never be said that Lia is entirely without some sense in that head of hers.

"I'm not that fond of airplanes," Harry answers slowly, all his bad feelings about this conversation suddenly ratcheting up to eleven. "I drive everywhere." And travel through the Nevernever when he doesn't have another choice, but somehow he doesn't think Mr. Marshal is going to appreciate or accept that explanation.

Mouse's tail sweeps genially over the floor while Lia scratches his neck, but he glances up at her after a moment, and quirks an eyebrow in silent amusement. He sees what you did there, Lia. It's a nice try, at least.

Harry's attention, meanwhile, doesn't waver from Raylan's face, without coming close to actually meeting his eyes. His eyebrows shoot up and he rocks back in his chair a little as the marshal comes to the point of that little story, picks up his own bottle and takes a drink while he thinks back to what, at the time, had seemed like just a false alarm from the Paranet - just concerning enough to convince him to check it out himself, but nothing came out of it.

"I was in Lexington a little while ago," he says with a faint frown. "I remember there was an explosion while I was there, but I was a little busy at the time to run around blowing up city blocks for fun. I could do that right here in Chicago if I really wanted to."

Mouse turns his head slowly to give Harry what might be a reproving look. Or maybe just dubious that Harry's dumb enough to actually say that. Harry realizes that maybe he should not be so flippant with law enforcement officers who don't know him. "If I was the kind of person to do that sort of thing," he adds blandly.

"I know you were," Raylan says, still amicable. "I have a witness that puts you in the vicinity of the explosion, in fact, not an hour prior to the event. Bit of a stand-out, what with the staff and all."

He takes another pull from the bottle, the friendliness gone from his expression. "I suppose Chicago has a higher population density, you get more bodies for your buck. Was the store you blew laundering money for Marcone, maybe skimming more than their share? That's the simplest explanation that comes to mind, given your history."

Lia interprets the look from Mouse as a cue to scratch more thoroughly, so she does. Firsthand fur knowledge tells her just how itchy that shit can get, and besides, it's just a dog. A hugely weirdly giant dog, so what else can the look mean, right. Of course right.

Never mind that she and said the 'just' a dog are practically mirrors with how they turn to stare at Harry here. Because just. Seriously. Seriously. Is he high? (A quick sniff says no, far as she can tell.) Maybe he's just bonkers then. Who knows.

Then again, she and Raylan could also qualify for white-coat status given that they're here talking to a Marcone powder guy like this. Which just brings her back around to the why did I even come here, man train of thought.

Harry goes very still for a moment, eying Raylan with an expression still carefully blank. It's not like he doesn't know the kind of stories that get around about him, but that doesn't mean being he appreciates having them thrown in his face like this.

"I don't work for Marcone." It's almost too even - he's trying for calm and reasonable, but he can't keep all of the annoyance out of his tone or off his face. "I'm a private detective, I work with the police, and I did not blow up that building."

A few of the patrons who know enough about Harry Dresden to be wary of the things that might happen when he gets annoyed are starting to look a little nervous... which is probably not helping his case with the marshal. Damn it.

A frown, less hostile and more confused, twitches across Raylan's face. Something isn't right here. Dresden's genuinely angry at the suggestion he works for the kingpin. He looks down at Mouse and Lia, then back at Dresden, a new thought making its way into clarity out of instinct.

"...Know anyone who'd want me to think you did?"

"Ooh, plot twist," is probably not the appropriate reaction to be having to all of this. Probably. That does not stop Lia from looking one hundred percent unashamed of herself for saying it.

She props her chin up in one hand and waits to see what'll happen next. Besides, Dresden isn't smelling like a liar should, and she can tell that Raylan can tell as much too - even without a super sniffer like she's got. And now that the possible Marcone involvement's gone down a couple notches on the totem pole, she can relax some.

Harry blinks - and then, between the marshal's question and the girl's comment, he really can't help but burst out with a short laugh. "You want the list in order of likelihood, in order of who I pissed off most recently, or just alphabetically?"

Raylan can't help his answering grin, either. "Oh, probably start with likelihood, and you can mark the ones who're recent."

He shakes his head and reaches down to smack Lia lightly on the back of the head before giving Mouse's ears a good scratching. "Lord knows I've had enough people gunning for me over the years to know how it is."

There's a contemplative silence, where he finishes off Mac's ale and savors the taste, before he says, "Though. If you know of any grudges with contacts in Lexington, start there."

Something about this is still bothering him, that barb of instinct that doesn't make sense yet, but probably will in a day or two. He sits up straight and offers Harry a hand as a kind of peace-offering shake. "This isn't to say I won't shoot you or haul you in if I find there's cause to do so, but for the time being, answer me one question - this wizard business. Bullshit gimmick or is there something to it?"

Lia's snort at Harry's answer is interrupted by the whapping going on. She yelps, more surprised than hurt because dude, that was not cool at all. "The hell was that for!" she asks indignantly while aiming a shoe for his shins under the table.

Then she rolls her eyes at the question because aw, man, is he really even asking that. Just - a wizard? This is not Harry Potter, okay, and they did not make a left turn at the yellow brick road. (Again. The hypocrisy. Enough to choke a pig, but not enough to apparently choke a teenage werewolf.)

As Harry runs through the list of people who'd have it in for him enough to frame him for arson and murder... somehow this all becomes a lot less funny. Again. Sending this marshal who has no idea what he'd been getting into against any of those people... Well, Givens would be lucky to come out of it alive, and even then...

The smile slips off Harry's face. "Yeah, I'm really a wizard. And you can believe that or not, that's up to you, but if you don't... I'm telling you now, you're going to have a real problem dealing with the kind of people who hate me that much."

Raylan keeps his hand extended another moment before letting it drop. He eyes Harry, then Mouse, and nods slowly. "I believe you. Stupid thing to lie about, really, and I've seen enough to know that I've got no clue about what's real and what's fiction."

He resettles his hat and checks his ale bottle to make sure it's empty. It's good stuff. Be a shame to waste it. "I would still like that list of names, though."

Lia cannot stop herself when Raylan says he's buying into this guy's bull.

"What are you, high?" Then it hits her that oh, yeah. She met Raylan shortly before he got all mauled by werewolves. Who were in fact after another werewolf. Her. "...Oh. Right."

Okay, so maybe - just maybe, mind - this guy might not be talking out of his ass here. Possibly. But Harry still gets one hell of a stink-eye just on principle. Even as she fishes out her handy dandy little blue notebook and a pen from a pocket, opens it to a blank page, and pokes them across the table to Dresden with a nod. "Quick-like, please."

Harry mostly ignores the girl's initial outburst - disbelief doesn't really surprise him, and he's busy watching Givens, a little confused about how easily he accepted it - but the pen and notebook shoved across the table at him do get his attention. He glances toward her, then smirks as he looks back up at Raylan. "Pretty helpful hitchhiker you picked up, marshal."

He does pick up the pen, though, and pull the notebook toward him, but before he actually writes anything down, he stops. "I want to come with you when you talk to... whoever you want to talk to. It's that, or I keep this to myself, you can go back to Lexington, and I work this out on my own. Okay?"

"She has her uses, now and again." He smiles at Harry, that careful neutrality back on his face for a moment. "I think you mean it's that, or I put you through the inconvenience of an arrest for obstructing a federal investigation. Another arrest, if I recall from your file. So you know how that goes, all the time and the paperwork, et ceterea. And while you're keeping company with the night's crop of drunks and working girls, I'll be off sorting out another way to get what I need. On my own. Which I do suppose you don't want on your conscience, given the warning."

Raylan sighs and leans forward. "Mr. Dresden. I think I've been fairly reasonable thus far. But I have to ask - if I were to say yes to your company, what exactly would you do to the folks we went to see, if one of them did what you're being blamed for?"

"He didn't pick up shit," Lia snorts, but the way she hitches herself up a bit tells a sight more about someone else recognizing her fine talents. "I'm here on my own whatever ya wanna call it."

She says this all with an easy grin even as she slugs Raylan in the shoulder because now and again, you can just freaking bite her. Never mind this 'on his own' nonsense. You are so amazingly denied on this front before you ever got there, Givens, so don't even.

"But I'd just go along and give him the info he wants." She shrugs the advice off for Harry to take or leave. "Makes things super easier in the long run, cause he can get damned annoying when he has to really start on the cowboy Fed junk."

Edited 2011-06-18 06:28 (UTC)

"Can you-" Harry starts to ask, and then breaks off with a grimace. He is getting the sense that it really doesn't matter if he's allowed to arrest him when he hasn't actually done anything. There are plenty of legitimate reasons to arrest him, if the marshal really wanted to.

"Just ask them a few questions about why that happened. And maybe request as politely as I can that they not do it again." As politely as Harry can is... not even in the realm of what most people would call polite, but there are some things that just can't be helped. He sighs and adds, "Whatever you've heard about me, I don't actually go out of my way to cause property destruction. I usually try to wait until someone tries to kill me first."

Raylan's eyebrows go up very slightly. "Honestly, Mr. Dresden, I haven't heard that much. But just because you don't go out of your way to do it doesn't mean it won't happen just the same. They blew up an ice cream shop, killed the proprietor and several bystanders, and seem somewhat intent on making my life difficult and making you appear to be the cause of it. I think it's not outside the realm of possibility that they might try to kill you first. ...Granted, I'd shoot them before you could blow us all to hell, but the point stands."

He scratches Mouse's ears vigorously, for all intents and purposes focusing on the dog instead of the conversation. "Give me the list. I'll do some calling around, see what I turn up, and if I think there's a possibility they won't try to add you to their body count, then, maybe, you can come along."

Lia just rests her chin in her hand, the other still working at Mouse's neck. She arches an eyebrow at Dresden and the look on her face is basically one large study in Did I not freaking just tell you so.

"Takes ice cream very seriously, this guy. So again. List. Please. Thank ya. 'Cause gotta say, I'm getting pretty bored waiting for you to do as he's telling ya here."

"Sorry to bore you," Harry snorts. He starts writing down the list of suspects - the Red Court, Marcone, the White Court... He leaves off the Council, White or Black. It's not their style, and if it is them, letting a US Marshal get involved can only cause trouble.

As for the rest of the list... At worst, he can probably track Givens and make sure he doesn't walk into any trouble he can't get out of.

"If they wanted me dead, they could have just taken a hit out on me. If they wanted me arrested, they could've blown up a building in Chicago. This is something else."

"I know." Raylan takes the list, looking it over with a tiny frown on his face. He's not familiar with any of the names on this list save Marcone's, and he doesn't think the Dixie mafia has much to do with people this far north. He grunts, a mixed expression of annoyance and resignation, and hauls himself to his feet. "Thank you. You have a reliable number where I can contact you? I'd rather not go hunting around half of Chicago again if I have more questions."

He's starting for the door as he says it, fishing out his keys and making a mental list of priorities without really waiting to see if Lia or Harry are following. They will. It's not until he's almost at the rental that he stops, frowning at the vehicle with his finger on the button to unlock the doors.

Something's making him uneasy, and it's not the names or the magician. Wizard. Whatever. He takes a few steps back and pushes the unlock button - and the car beeps and the locks give with a quiet clunk. He waits. When nothing explodes, he shifts forward slowly to check the wheel wells, check under the car, tucking the list in his pocket and holding his hat on his head as he does so. "Lia," he says, absently. "Stand clear a minute."

Lia salutes Dresden before hopping out of the seat with one last ruffle to Mouse's ruff and following on Raylan's heels out the door. She almost bumps into him when he stops out of the blue and almost starts into him, "The hell's up with y-" But the look on his face stops her and she just slides back those steps to stand behind him until she figures out--

Oh, yeah. Chicago. Looking into possibly Marcone-related things and asking snoopy questions. Crap.

She tries to tally up just how long it'd taken them to get Dresden to stop being a stubborn ass while the marshal does his little inspection. Which of course she's right next to him for because fuck hanging back.

"Something not smelling right to ya?" she says quietly, crouched down by the back wheel wells as she checks for - well, she figures she'll know it when she sees it. Probably.

Harry doesn't move for a few seconds after Raylan and Lia get up. He's done all he technically has to. Of course, if one of any number of people find out he did even that much, they're going to be very annoyed he pointed a mortal authority at a primarily supernatural conflict, but it's not like he dragged Givens into this in the first place.

He's aware that defense is not likely to hold up with any of the people involved. And he can't count on Givens to sort this out for him - whether he goes with the marshal or alone, someone took a shot at him, even if it was in a really roundabout way. He's going to have to deal with the problem one way or another.

Harry looks at Mouse. Mouse raises his eyebrows and just waits. After a moment, Harry swears softly under his breath. "This couldn't wait until I had something to eat?" he growls, grabs his staff, and follows the pair out, Mouse trailing along patiently at his heels.

He pulls to an abrupt stop as soon as he spots Raylan and Lia crouched down by the car. There are only so many reasons Harry can think of for them to be doing that, and "checking for bombs" is right at the top of the list. They could just be paranoid, but it wouldn't be without good reason - and if there is a bomb, and it's electronic, Harry would rather not get too close. Fifty-fifty shot on whether his magic would disable it or set it off, and he doesn't really want to play those odds.

"Problem?" he calls, hanging back at a safe distance. They might think he's a chicken, but at least he won't accidentally get them killed just by standing too close.

"Not sure," Raylan calls, before giving Lia a tired, impatient look. "No, it don't. And I'd feel better about trying to sort out if something's wrong if you weren't where you can get hurt easy. Stand back with Mr. Dresden."

He eases the door open, runs his hands under his chair and starts to check under the dash- and goes very still, like a raptor scenting prey. There's a wad of wires yanked loose and a little box he knows shouldn't be there, for all that he doesn't know a great deal about cars. "Lia, get back."

There's no room for argument in his tone. He slips his hand out from under the dash, stands up slowly, and turns to grab Lia's arm and get away from the car ASAP. Once they're back at the bar's entrance with the wizard, Raylan pulls out his phone and frowns at it. "Quick and dirty, not much of a hazard if you're expecting someone to try and blow you up."

Not that Raylan was, but. He glances at Harry before flipping his phone open. "Hardwired in, so presumably I'm not going to do any harm using this to call the bomb squad."

He dials nine-one-one, and the operator automatically responds Nine-one-one, what is your emergency? but Raylan frowns at Harry instead of answering. "Something ain't right about this."

Why set him on Dresden's trail if whoever-it-is just planned to kill Raylan himself once he was in Chicago? Why go through the trouble of breaking into the car without setting off any alarms to hardwire in an explosive that easy to find? He could have bumped it with his legs climbing in, even if he hadn't felt something off.

Hello? Nine-one-one, please state your location and the nature of your emergency.

He hangs up, strides back to the car, swings into the driver's seat and jams the key into the starter without closing the door. Deep breath. He twists the key and the car growls to life, and from under the dash there's a soft click and white fog hisses into the air from around his feet, pouring out the door into the street and flooding up and into the passenger and back seats.

Raylan climbs out again, his eyes watering, and slams the door. He waits to breathe again until he's a few feet from the car. He's feeling a bit light-headed just from the dose of whatever-it-was he just got hit with, but he's not on fire. That's a plus.

He braces himself against the next car over. "...I like it better when folks just want to kill me straight up. At least then their motivations are clear."