A Justified New Year's Eve

Raylan locked the door of Art's office behind him. At the last minute, he remembered to turn off the coffee maker in the break room before he left. Tim and Rachel were long gone, her off to chaperone a youth lock-in at her church, and Tim to whatever celebration he might have planned, or not. Nelson was on holiday duty with Raylan and the Bowling Green office had sent over a wet-behind-the-ears newbie named Sherman Jones to help out. Raylan sent them both home earlier, too. They all carried pagers, and the office was empty on this New Year's Eve.

He'd planned on spending this New Year's Eve with Winona and Franny, but she was still at Gayle's for the evening, watching all the kids so that her sister could have a night out with her husband.

"It's the least I can do, since she's put up with us for the last month," she said over the phone earlier. "You're welcome to come over and keep me company if you want."

"Would you be disappointed if I didn't?"

"No, I'll probably fall asleep by nine," Winona said, chuckling. "Long day?"

"Yeah." He pushed the elevator button and leaned against the wall."

"How's Art?"

"Feeling good enough to call and boss me around from his hospital bed."

Art's emergency triple bypass the day after Christmas had shocked and upset them all. In his absence, Raylan was acting Chief Marshal at Assistant Director Goodall's request and to Rachel's undisguised annoyance. His work load had tripled. Art was feeling well enough post-surgery to call the office three times today with instructions. Raylan spent almost the entire afternoon going over the office statistics for the past year, due to Washington next week. His head ached and numbers swam before his eyes. At least he understood Art's constant exasperation and frequent chomping of antacids a little bit more.

Winona's company aside, the thought of dealing with Gayle's two rambunctious boys and Franny's teething made a night alone quite appealing.

"How 'bout I call you at midnight?" He said.

"Alright, Cowboy. Franny and I will try to stay awake."

He hung up, slid into the front of the Lincoln, tossed his hat on the seat, and sighed. There wasn't any food at the house - he couldn't quite call it home yet since he'd just moved his meager belongings in yesterday - and for once he didn't feel like sitting in a bar. Tonight the bars would be filled with too many people, all of them either way too happy or way too sad. He was somewhere in-between for once, and he kind of liked it.

But he was also hungry.

He thought about a drive-through or take out, but nothing sounded good. Then he remembered the grill on the small patio. The people who sold the house had left it, along with a bag of charcoal in the garage. Maybe he could grill himself a nice steak. There was a bottle of Woodford reserve Nelson had given him for Christmas that begged to be opened, and at least a half-dozen post season bowl games he could watch. He'd call Winona at midnight and wish her a Happy New Year. Now that was a plan.

His cell phone chimed just as he pulled into the Piggly Wiggly. "Givens."

"Raylan," Constable Bob huffed. "Got a problem down here at Arlo's place."

"Arlo's place isn't my problem anymore, Bob. It sold."

There was more huffing. "Realtor said you haven't closed yet, so it's still your responsibility."

"What's the problem? It's New Year's Eve. Can't you take care of it for me?"

"I could I guess. Just thought you might wanna know someone ransacked the place. Any damage is gonna be up to you to fix or the sale might not go through and I know how happy you were when it sold."

"Well, shit," Raylan muttered. "I'm on my way."

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

"Ransacked, huh?" He stood in the doorway to survey the damage, one hand on his hip. He couldn't believe he'd driven all the way down here for this. "A raccoon? How the hell did a raccoon get into the house?"

"Probably came down the chimney. That's how one got into my Aunt Elsie's place one time. Chewed the doorknob off the pantry and twisted the lids off all the jars with those freaky little hand-paws." Bob held his hands up in front of him like claws. "Ate all her apricot preserves."

"You're sure you saw him? He's still in here? Why didn't you just take care of him?"

"I don't much like raccoons, Raylan."

"I'm not askin' you to buy it a drink and take it home with you, Bob. Just shoot the damn thing." He stared at the constable and shook his head. "Come on, at least back me up here."

He made his way through the living room, baseball bat in one hand, gun in the other. After, a moment, Bob followed, several paces behind, gun drawn.

There was a skittering noise above their heads and both men looked up. Raylan pointed to the stairs. Bob hesitated.

"Where's the Constable Bob I know?" Raylan said over his shoulder. "Just pretend it's a dangerous mob henchman up there instead of a furry little forest creature."

"Raccoons can be dangerous," Bob insisted. "And they carry rabies." But Raylan heard the creak of the step as the heavy man came up the stairs behind him.

The upstairs hallway was clear and the noise had stopped. All the bedroom doors were shut. "Looks like it's all clear up here. Maybe he went out the same way he came in," Raylan said. He turned to go back downstairs, but Bob blocked his way, standing frozen on the top step.

"R-r-raylan," he stuttered. As he lifted his arm to point, the raccoon launched itself from the banister where it was perched, flying past Bob's head. Before Raylan could raise his gun, sharp claws grazed his cheek and Bob screamed and fell backward, pinning him to the floor.

"Get off me," Raylan squawked. He elbowed Bob, who tumbled off. Then he rolled onto his stomach, aimed as best he could, and took a shot. The bullet buried itself in the baseboard sending wood chips flying, and the raccoon bumped against one of the bedroom doors which creaked open.

"I gotcha now you little bastard." Raylan scrambled to his feet and went after the animal.

"You're bleedin'," Bob called after him. "He didn't bite ya, did he? I've heard those shots hurt like a bitch."

"It's just a scratch," Raylan said. "Goddammit! Where'd he go?"

In the room, the closet door was open slightly. "He's gotta be in there, Bob. You open the door and I'll shoot him."

"Why don't you open the door and I'll shoot him?"

"I'm a better shot."

"You missed him back there."

"Bob," Raylan's tone carried a warning.

"Okay, okay." Bob inched his way across the floor and reached out for the doorknob. He eased the door open and Raylan fired. A cloud of feathers exploded into the room and a blur of fur shot past them both out into the hallway.

"Sonofabitch!"

Bob held up the tattered remnants. "You sure shot the hell out of this here pillow, Raylan."

"Shut up, Bob." Raylan stalked out into the hall, grabbing the bat he'd left leaning against the wall. The raccoon stared up at him from the corner, chattering, its tiny paws in front of its face.

"What are you waiting for," Bob asked from behind him. "Shoot it!"

Raylan raised his gun, but hesitated and brought the bat up instead. "Shoo!" He yelled. "Go on, get out!"

The animal's reaction was to drop down to all four paws and hiss. Bob shoved Raylan out of the way and fired off a shot, missing the coon by at least a foot. It did the trick, though. The animal ran down the stairs and Raylan followed, swinging the bat over his head. The raccoon never looked back, running straight through the dining room and out the open front door. The two men stood on the porch and watched as it sat on a tree stump by Arlo's old trailer and shook its tiny fists at them.

"You could still shoot it," Bob said.

Raylan pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, peeled off five twenties and handed them to the constable. "Can you get someone to fix that chimney so this doesn't happen again?"

"Sure." Bob pocketed the cash. "And I got a couple of kids need to do some community service. I'll have them clean up the mess."

"That'd be great." Raylan yawned and glanced at his watch. "Two minutes past midnight," he said. "Happy New Year, Bob."

"Happy New Year, Raylan."

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-

It was after two when he pulled up to the dark house. He let himself in, tossed his hat on the table, and took off his jacket. The lump of blankets on the air mattress across the room shifted and a figure sat up.

"Winona?"

"What time is it?" She reached up and turned on the lamp on the rickety table.

"About two-thirty," he said. He ran a hand over his head. "What are you doing here?"

"They came home early, so I thought we'd surprise you. Where have you been?" She squinted at him. "And what happened to your face?"

He fingered the bandage he'd dug out of the first aid kit. "It's a long story. Can I have a drink while I tell you?"

She scooted off the mattress, glancing into the pack-and-play to check on Franny, and followed him to the kitchen.

"Want some?" He held up the Woodford.

"Got any beer?"

He grabbed a bottle from the fridge, popped the cap off, and handed it to her. The he poured himself a generous glass of the bourbon. "I was in Harlan."

Winona raised an eyebrow. "Of course you were." She leaned back against the counter and sipped her beer. "Do tell."

"So," Raylan swirled the last of the dark liquid in the glass as he finished his story. "I let the furry little bastard go, and Bob's gonna take care of the repairs."

"That was nice," Winona said with a smirk. "For a change."

Raylan cocked his head, questioning.

"You started the new year off not killing something."

A smart retort was on the tip of his tongue, but Franny's wail from the living room cut it off. "I'll get 'er," he said instead.

He lifted Franny and held her up in the air. Usually this brought a giggle, but tonight she just kept screaming. He bounced her on the way back to the kitchen. More screams. He passed her to Winona and she settled in to nurse for a few minutes, then pushed away and screamed some more.

Winona checked the baby's diaper. "She's dry." She shook her head. "It's probably her teeth, poor thing. I don't know what to do."

"Give her here," Raylan said. He took the fussy baby, poured a finger of Woodford into his glass, and walked back into the living room, Winona on his heels.

"What're you going to do? Raylan, don't you give that baby any of that bourbon!"

"The bourbon ain't for her, it's for me. You rest. I'll walk her around."

Winona laid down, pulling Helen's old quilt around her. She propped herself up on one elbow and watched Raylan pace the floor with the baby. He walked back and forth in front of the fireplace, dipping his head every few minutes and murmuring into her ear. Eventually, Franny's screams faded into hiccuping sobs, and her head dipped to his shoulder. When she'd been quiet for awhile, he eased down beside Winona.

"Shhhh," Winona held a finger to her lips. "It's worse if she starts up again."

Raylan stretched out carefully, laying Franny on his chest. Winona shifted a pillow so the baby wouldn't roll off. She ran a hand through Raylan's hair. "I think it's going to be a very happy new year," she said, giving him a soft kiss.

"Well," he said, holding his sleeping baby girl close. "It's off to a damn good start."