milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Kate went out for a run with deputy Bradley this morning, and so Bill is on his own for breakfast.

She offered to be back in time to get it, but he declined and left early before she was home.

Still out of uniform until he arrives at the station, Bill steps into Milliways expecting the local diner. Deciding to go ahead and stay, he takes a seat at a table and orders from a passing waitrat.

A few minutes later he has a cup of coffee, plate of bacon and eggs and a copy of the Wheelsy Register.

The front page article headline reads "Meth hotline going live". Bill barely gives it a glance before opening the paper and shuffling back to the sports page, checking up on how the Earl Bassett High football team is doing.

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Raylan can't help but glance at that front-page headline once more.

"No sign of letting up, huh?"

"None yet." Bill frowns, glancing at the headline again.

"That's their brilliant idea for solving the problem."

"And by 'they,' I take it you're not talking about your people."

Raylan's guessing Bill means the city council, but there's that old adage about assumption to consider.

"Nope. We just get to do the leg work when they implement it."

"Oh, so the local politicians are up your ass."

Wheelsy may not be Harlan, but Raylan knows small-town politics, and this smacks of just that.

And, usually, the smaller the town, the bigger the headache.

"Far enough they're hittin' the back of my teeth."

It's now when Bill misses Jack MacReady. Jack was just as big a pain in the ass, but Bill at least felt the man was partially on his side.

Bill's not so sure he has that with Kimbrell and his council; not with all the things going on over and around Bill. Like this task force. Like Bradley.

"They're tryin' to hustle a solution, and really they're just boggin' us down, more."

"Jesus. Sounds like you're having a real big time out there," Raylan says, as wry as he is commiserative.

"Yep, but hey, nature of the job I guess. Been navigatin' this nonsense awhile now, so it's nothin' new."

It just gets wearing.

"Business in other areas has slowed down, though. Ain't heard a peep out of Mrs. Freeda since you dropped in on her."

"Well, it's nice to know I made an impression."

The likes of which he'd rather never repeat.

"Yep. What was it she called you... " Bill tilts his head, reciting, "the tall, drunk, Marigold murderer. Apparently her an' Buttons the cat greatly disapproved of your sloppy imbibing."

Bill smirks and chuckles into another cup of coffee.

He swallows a bite of ice cream, eyebrows rising.

"Murderer? Shit."

He puts down his spoon.

"I'd take offense, but it sounds like she and Buttons have taken it upon themselves to be my judge, jury, and executioner."

"Just be glad you were already out when she found you. Ol' Mrs. Freeda has been known to take a crack at people with whatever is heavy and handy."

Bill winces, knowing full well what that feels like.

"No kidding?"

(From what little Raylan remembers, she would be the Louisville Slugger type.)

"No kiddin'. She's a fiesty old gal."

Lifting his hand, Bill gestures to the side of his head.

"Took a skillet to the head myself one time."

"Was it fresh off the stove?"

"Lucky for me it wasn't."

Running a hand through his hair, he shakes his head.

"Not so lucky, she was totin' cast iron."

Raylan's mouth opens.

Closes.

Opens again.

"Just when I think I've heard 'em all," he says, with a slight shake of his head.

"Yeah, never a dull moment."

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