by: Brian
“Three wide!” the announcer yelled as the fastest cars shot down the dirt-track straightaway. “Three wide going into the turn!”
The spectators in the bleachers stood up, beer cans held high, cheering on the three-car duel. The front-running race cars were slugging it out in the final laps of the Friday Night 50, and at lap number 46 it was still anybody’s race. Behind the pack leaders came a dozen runner-ups who were trading paint in the bump-and-run of the Hazzard County Speedway.
“HANG ON TO IT!” Luke yelled from the pit area, though he knew Bo couldn’t hear him. The General Lee was the outside car in the leading three, caught precariously between the center car and the grandstand wall. For twenty laps, his cousin Bo had fought and clawed his way from the center of the pack to third place, but for all his dogfighting, he couldn’t do better than third.
Luke watched anxiously as the General was forced to give ground in the turn, the center car next to it skidding wide and causing Bo to drop back a notch. The engines howled into a high-rev roar as the three cars shot out of the turn and bolted down the backstretch. Again, they became three-wide, but the General was pinned to the outside. Fast enough to keep pace…but never having enough time to pass before the low, sharp turns forced Bo to rein in and drop back.
The two lead cars were running tight, double-teaming against the upstart driver in the bold orange car. The Duke cousins had only recently joined the track, going from moonshine runners to weekend race warriors in one fell swoop.
That the orange Dodge Charger had speed and stance, none doubted. Any doubts about the Duke’s ability to handle short-track racing quickly evaporated. In the first heat, the General shot out to the front of the pack, took first position, and stayed there comfortably until the checkered flag fell. Luke followed his cousin’s example in the third event, taking the wheel himself and making short work of the twenty-lapper.
Now, in the feature race, two veteran drivers had become allies to shut the door on Bo’s chances taking the big prize. Bo didn’t realize it, but the more he put up a determined fight for the lead, the more he was convincing his rivals to resort to drastic measures. It was soon 49 laps down, with one to go. The white flag fluttered out.
The General Lee was on the outside and getting aggressive, nearly cutting ahead as the three cars came out of the second turn. It was enough to get the General’s nose in front of the other two cars down the backstretch. Bo was planning to gun it hard, cut inside sharp on the turn, brake-slide through the curve and claim the lead. He knew it…the other drivers knew it…and Luke knew it.
Luke saw something else setting up. He was powerless to stop it, though he screamed himself hoarse in the effort. “BO! WATCH OUT!!”
Bo had just punched the gas to send the General into the turn head of the cars on his left. But instead of braking, the center car kept going and aimed smack for the “01” on the drivers’ side. The hard bang of metal caused a collective gasp from the grandstands. Only after biting into the ribs of the General, did the colliding car hit the brakes and turn, sending both vehicles to careen off the dirt track into the grassy field beyond.
The resulting off-track spinout was no threat to the remaining cars. No yellow flag was issued, and the checkered flag waved seconds later over the lone leader. The rest of the pack hurried up in a frenzy of late opportunity, two lucky drivers claiming an unexpected second and third place in thanks to the collision.
As the winner collected his trophy, the fans were more interested in the erupting brawl happening off of the first turn. Bo had yanked off his helmet, climbed out of the General and walked over the steaming hood of his opponent’s car. Bo made his grievance known without regard to the other driver’s physical match-up. “Just what the heck are you tryin’ to pull! You hit me broadside on purpose, you coulda got us both killed!”
The burly veteran racer removed his helmet and climbed out of his now-battered Chevy Monte Carlo. He gave a thin, insincere smile beneath his mustache. “Racing is a dangerous hobby, kid. Accidents happen. If you don’t want another accident, you’d best mind your mouth.”
“Is that a threat mister?!”
“Call it advice.”
“I’d call it reason enough to show you what a good hit feels like –“ Bo was winding himself up when the veteran driver literally beat him to the punch. A heavy fist caught Bo’s jaw and made his head turn, and the kick to his hip that followed it sent the blonde Duke stumbling to the ground.
“BO!” Luke yelled as he sprinted up from the pits. “Bo! Don’t!”
“I don’t take that from nobody!” Angrily, Bo scrambled up and plowed into his assailant, taking a wild swing that was efficiently blocked and earning himself a punch in the stomach for his effort. The older driver was as good of a bar-brawler as anybody in Hazzard County, and Bo was finding this out.
He would have been clobbered over the head in the bargain, but Luke was now in the fray. The older Duke cousin grabbed the veteran driver by the shoulders and bodily threw him aside. “Cool it down!” Luke yelled, putting himself between the two combatants, arms extended. “Take it easy!”
Bo wasn’t ready to give it up – not without getting in at least one good punch of his own – but the Sheriff had been watching near the grandstand, and he jogged up with a hand on his gun holster. Rosco’s voice announced an official end to the scuffle. “Awwwriiiight! Just hold it right there! With you Dukes bein’ on pro-bation, fightin’s a naughty-naughty!”
“It wasn’t me that started it Rosco!” Bo whirled on the Sheriff. “He crashed into me, he hit me, he…”
“Spoken like a little boy.” The veteran driver laughed. “Sheriff, don’t bother locking him up. I’d rather hear him cry some more.”
“Why you –“
“BO!” Luke stepped forward and got in front of Bo’s face. He looked at his younger cousin with urgency. “Bo, let’s get the General into the pits and check things over. There’s another race next week.”
“Yeah! Get into the pits and…” Rosco hesitated and looked at the veteran driver. “You don’t wanna press charges?”
“Not today. I’ve got friends to meet down at the Boar’s Nest for a victory drink.”
“Oh! Well….awright. But get this mess cleaned up outta here. This ain’t no parkin’ lot.”
The burly, mustached driver gave an oily smile. “Will do.” He walked off towards the growing crowd of onlookers, leaving the car’s collection to his pit crew.
Bo looked at Rosco accusingly, fuming. It was Luke who voiced his thoughts to the Sheriff. “Rosco, your brand of law lately seems mighty focused on us.”
“Yer on probation. Keepin’ an eye on you two is part of my job.”
Bo couldn’t hold back anymore. “Did Boss buy you a ticket to get in, or did you have to climb the fence?”
“I didn’t climb the fence, I came in through the –“ Rosco caught himself in time. “Never you mind! Now you two git, and git this vee-hicle outta here, and I don’t wanna see you startin’ any more fights!”
Bo opened his mouth to protest the blame, but Luke hooked his cousin’s shoulder and turned him away, back towards the General. “C’mon Bo. We got other races to win. We can’t do it in jail.”
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
The post-race celebration at the Boar’s Nest drew the usual crowd of racers and die-hard fans. Two of the racers who met up there, were the same two who had shut the door on Bo’s pass maneuver and conspired to keep him from the checkered flag.
The big, mustached driver, Dalton, hailed his cohort at the bar. “Wade, old buddy! Save me a beer?”
“You bet.” Wade was another veteran driver, hard-bitten and tough. He lifted a foaming glass and handed it over. The two drivers edged over to the side to speak privately. “I also got your share of the prize money. Good job on taking out that Duke boy.”
“Stubborn kid. If he had the brains to back off, I wouldn’t have had to crunch my car. You’ll need to replace my radiator for this.”
Wade smiled. “Consider it done.” He pulled out a folded stack of bills from his pocket. “Here’s your cash, that’ll make you feel better.”
Dalton counted the money. “Next time, I get to win and you get to crash.”
Grunting noncommittally, Wade rubbed his stubbled chin in thought. “Neither of us would need to crash, if we could keep those Dukes at a distance. Can’t have all our winnings ending up in car repairs.”
“Sooner or later the track officials will catch on, too.” Dalton glugged down his beer and wiped the foam from the ends of his mustache.
“Has to be a way to get them out of our hair …” Wade trailed off as he noticed the Sheriff walk in. The noise in the Boar’s Nest quieted slightly, until Rosco’s uniformed presence walked into the back office and shut the door.
“That’s it!” Dalton hissed in glee. “Seeing the Sheriff reminds me! He said those boys were on probation!”
Wade’s slow grin brightened as it spread. “Wouldn’t take much to get them into hot water, would it.”
“Nope. That Sheriff seemed to be looking for a reason to take them in. I didn’t have much of a case tonight since I’d hit the kid first, after nailing his car.” A nasty chuckle came from Dalton with the statement. “But I bet we can make something stick real good.”
Wade nodded. “Puts us back in the prize money without the dents.”
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Inside the private back office of the Boar’s Nest, Jefferson Davis Hogg was an unhappy man. He sat frowning at his desk, listening to Rosco’s report, with a cigar in one hand and a chicken leg in another. Rosco watched Boss alternate between the two, thinking Boss might get confused and smoke the chicken leg and chew the cigar, but no matter how animated Boss became he always kept his compulsions sorted out.
Rosco was snapped from his musings by Boss’s sharp question. “You mean those Dukes didn’t break a law tonight?”
“Well…no Boss. I mean, not really. There was a little scuffle at the track, but Bo was the hittee and not the hitter.”
“Dang! You followed them home, and didn’t see them break no laws?”
“I followed ‘em sneaky-like, and they didn’t do nothin’. The lights were out at the Duke farm by ten o’clock.”
Boss bit down hard on the chicken leg and spoke with his mouth full. “Bah! Them boys have been playing possum since the revenuers cut that deal with Jesse Duke, but a skunk don’t change its stripes.”
“Would it need to, Boss, considerin’ the stink?”
“What? Oh will you hush up a minute, I’m trying to think. I gotta find me a way to get those Duke boys behind bars for good! Those meddlin’ Dukes have cost me a fortune in ruined deals with their snoopin’ around! I thought when the revenuers caught ‘em we’d finally have some peace around here.” Boss leaned back in his chair and looked genuinely distressed.
“They did wiggle off the hook there, didn’t they. Those rascals….ya know I figured maybe they’d see daylight in a couple years, and in the meantime I’d have me a nice vacation, and…”
“There won’t be no vacation for you as long as those Duke boys are loose!” Boss barked.
“Jit! But boss, if they ain’t breakin’ the law, what can I do?”
“Help them break the law! Break it for them and make sure they’re blamed for it!”
It was too much for Rosco to grasp. The Sheriff grinned, then paused in thought, then frowned. “How ‘zactly do I do that?”
“Railroad them, you idiot! Frame them!”
“DOHHO! But Boss! Wouldn’t that make me a…a…criminal ?”
“No, it’d make you an efficient Sheriff. They’d eventually break the law anyhow. You’d just be anticipatin’ the criminal intent.”
“Oh! Anticipatin’ the criminal intent! Well that’s different! Khee! I can anticipate!”
“That’s right. Now go out there tomorrow morning and set them up.”
“Set ‘em up!” Excited at the idea, Rosco chuckled to himself and hustled out the door.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
The next morning at the Duke farm, Jesse Duke gave a sober speech at the kitchen table to his nephews. Daisy listened silently, feeling the tension and not having a good way to ease it. Not even her best cooking had broken Bo’s ill temper from the night before.
Jesse finished his lecture gently. “I know you boys don’t like layin’ low. But ol’ J.D. is gonna go out of his way to try and reverse that probation of yours, so no matter how bad you wanna fight, you need to keep your heads.” He looked pointedly at Bo as he said it.
“Uncle Jesse, no Duke has ever tucked his tail in when he was in the right!”
“That’s all good and well, except there’s other ways to make your point than by fightin’! Now the way I see it, if this feller knocked you off the track, then you gotta take yer complaint to the track officials. They’re gonna listen to you a lot better if you don’t come across like some young hothead.”
Luke’s intense blue gaze flicked over Bo, silently agreeing with his uncle’s advice. Bo took the hint and threw his napkin down on the table, pushing back his chair and standing up. “I ain’t gonna complain to no track official and look like some rookie crybaby. If those drivers wanna play rough I’ll play rough right back.”
“Bo.” Luke’s voice was soft, quiet, but laced with warning. “Uncle Jesse is right. We were lucky to get probation instead of bein’ sent to the State pen. Folks are gonna test us. If we mess up…”
Bo looked away. He knew, in his heart, that his family was right, though he hated living like he had something to fear. It was unnatural to him. He was prone to act first and think later, and he resented having to adjust his behavior.
Finally he gave a sigh and conceded the point with a slight drop of his blonde head. “I’ll be careful, ya’ll. Uncle Jesse, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go work on the General some more.”
Uncle Jesse nodded. His eyes remained grave as he watched Bo stalk off through the kitchen door.
“I’ll keep an eye on him Uncle Jesse,” Luke promised. He pushed back his chair after another minute and followed his cousin out.
Daisy reached over to put an arm around her uncle’s sagging shoulders. “I’ll keep an eye on them both.”
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Outside in the farmyard, Luke didn’t have to go far to find his cousin. Bo already had his head under the hood of the General Lee, obsessively checking every last hose, clamp, and bolt. The impact from the race collision had only crunched the General’s metal hide, but Bo practically combed over the car with a magnifying glass. He tightened down every bolt with savage turns of the wrench.
This car was all he and Luke had left for a future. Now that moonshine runs were a thing of their past, it would be weekend racing that helped support the family. When someone messed with the General Lee, they were messing with the Dukes, and Bo didn’t intend to let anybody get away with it. Next race, he was going to find that Monte Carlo driven by the big ape with the mustache and put that car into the wall.
“Hey,” Luke said quietly. He watched Bo wrestle with the mounting bolts while he waited for an answer. When none came, Luke held back his sigh and tried another avenue. “I’m thinkin’ we should take the General over to Cooter’s and have them dents hammered out.”
“What for?” Bo’s retort was angry and sharp. “He’s just gonna get bashed up again.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t care.” Luke’s tone grew irritated. “Bo, you think I ain’t mad? You think I don’t wanna slug the guy that crashed into you?”
“So why don’t ya?”
“You know why. Neither of us get to do whatever we please anymore. Now we can stew over it, or we can do everything we can inside the letter of the law.” Luke took a long breath and let the thought settle into Bo’s head. “Now c’mon. Let’s go see Cooter. Then we’ll go over to the track office and let them know that collision wasn’t no accident.”
Bo relented. He put the tools aside and shut the hood of the General. He climbed through the open window of the driver’s side, staring the car as Luke climbed through the passenger window. The orange Charger lunged out of the driveway, taking to the road with a roar.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Early mornings were no friend to Sheriff Rosco P. Coltrane, and he watched Mill Pond Road with half-open eyes. His white patrol car was parked in a speed trap, sitting off the road behind a patch of trees. Patience was a part of police work, and what little patience he had left, was getting used up rapidly in waiting for his quarry. “Dang Dukes…” he muttered. “If I ain’t lookin’ for ‘em, I can’t get rid of them. When I want ‘em, they’re nowhere to be found.”
Rosco looked down the road at the bait he had set. Boss’s orders had been to prod the Dukes into a wrong move, and Rosco was doing just that. A small part of him nagged his conscience, saying that truly good lawmen never resorted to this sort of thing. He nagged it back, saying he wouldn’t either, except that being honest had stopped paying the bills. And so the moral compromises had begun, putting the Hazzard Law square in Boss Hogg’s pocket.
Rosco consoled himself with one thing. At least his sister Lulu wasn’t living with him at home. Whatever abuse Rosco caught from Boss, Lulu paid back to Boss in spades.
The noise of an oncoming engine, high-tuned and strong, broke into Rosco’s thoughts. He grinned to himself and started the patrol car’s ignition. He waited in idle, ready to pounce the minute the Dukes took the bait.
The General Lee sauntered down the road, unwary. Bo was relaxing behind the wheel, finding the combination of the fresh morning air and the country drive agreeing with him. From the passenger seat, Luke was benefiting from the same. Neither of them expected the small object that sat in the middle of the road.
Bo hit the brakes and slid the General to a stop. “What the heck is that?”
Luke climbed out of the passenger side. “Looks like a lunch bucket that somebody lost.” He walked over to the old, half-rounded metal lunchbox that sat in the road. He opened it out of curiosity. “Got a baloney sandwich and an apple here. Big thermos too, probably full of coffee.”
“Who said there’s no such thing as a free lunch?” Bo quipped.
“Very funny….” Luke looked at the abandoned lunch pail again. “Couldn’t have been sittin’ here too long. Let’s drive on a ways, maybe we’ll find somebody who’s lookin’ for it.”
Somebody was looking for it, but it wasn’t who Bo and Luke might have guessed. They had no sooner went a half-mile down the road, when the blare of Rosco’s siren demanded their attention.
“I ain’t speedin’,” Bo said automatically.
“I can’t think of anything else we mighta done. Pull over, let’s see what he wants.”
The General moved over to the shoulder of the road and parked. Bo and Luke sat back in their seats, naturally apprehensive, but not overly worried. They politely gave Rosco their full attention as the Sheriff walked up to their car. “Mornin’ Rosco.”
“…Goooood mornin’…..” The Sheriff beamed.
Anxiety built up quickly in both Dukes. Rosco was in too good of a mood. The Dukes looked from each other back to the Sheriff, and Bo blurted a question. “Rosco, ya mind tellin’ us why you pulled us over? We weren’t doin’ nothin’.”
“Well, we’ll just see about that, won’t we. That’s why I do these routine traffic stops. Ya just never know what I might find…khee khee! Awright, now let’s see yer license, Bo.”
Sighing, Bo dug out his wallet and handed over the license. Rosco pretended to look it over and handed it back. “Let’s see yer registration.”
Luke opened the glove box of the General, and passed the document over to Bo, who handed it to Rosco. Rosco unfolded it and pretended to look at it, then tossed it back carelessly . “Awright, now let’s see what you got in that lunch bucket.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Bo asked. “It’s a lunch bucket, Rosco. It’s got lunch in it.”
“Open it up, c’mon, let’s see it.” Rosco’s demeanor was changing, and the edgy tone was making Luke’s hackles raise. Something was wrong.
“Now!” Rosco ordered.
“Take it easy, I’ll open it!” Luke opened the lunch bucket. “There, see? A sandwich.”
“It’s baloney,” Bo piped in. “Just like….”
“Hush! Let’s see what’s in that thermos.”
Luke hesitated. Rosco was obviously following a scent, and the elder of the Duke cousins suddenly had a sinking feeling he knew who put that lunch bucket in the middle of the road. He changed tactics, needing time to think. “Rosco, get your own lunch! You’re not getting ours.”
In answer, Rosco’s hand slapped the leather of his gun holster. “Open that thermos, I mean it.”
“Okay…” Luke pretended to be defeated. He handed the sandwich over to Bo. “Here, Bo, you might as well give Rosco the sandwich to go with it.” Luke gave Bo the barest of winks with the words.
Bo took the hint, and threw the wrapped sandwich out the window. Rosco’s gaze followed it, like a dog’s. “Hey, don’t be throwin’ good food around like that.” The Sheriff instinctively stepped away to recover food. He’d made the sandwich, after all, and he couldn’t see it going to waste.
The General started with a roar as Bo turned the key. Luke reached over and shifted the car into drive. The orange Charger sprang away, leaving Rosco standing in the dust. He coughed to clear his lungs, running for his patrol car. The cruiser took to pursuit, siren blaring and lights in motion.
Luke watched the cruiser advance in the General’s mirrors. “So much for your free lunch,” he muttered to Bo.
“So much for our probation! What the heck’s in that thermos, anyway?”
“I’m afraid to look, but we’re gonna find out.” Luke turned the cap of the thermos and removed it. The whiff of strong alcohol hit him in the face.
“What’s in it?” Bo asked, unable to take his eyes from the road.
“About 5 to 10 years if we’re caught with it,” Luke answered. “This thing’s chock full of moonshine.”
“That’s some lunch.”
“I’d hate to see what he has for dinner. Hit it, Bo! Rosco’s gainin’!”
“We’re gone!” Bo tromped the pedal and yanked the wheel. The General left the road on purpose and took a detour up a grassy hill, smashing through an old wooden fence and scattering a herd of cows in the process.
“Looks like we’ll be mendin’ fences this week,” Luke remarked.
“Beats breakin’ rocks.”
“You got that right.”
Rosco followed the General’s mad course, grinning ear to ear. There was nothing like starting the day with a hot pursuit. He swerved his patrol car around a panicked heifer and angled an intercept route, uphill, to cut off the Charger’s escape.
Bo saw the police cruiser coming up fast. “Hang on Luke!” Bo suddenly cranked the wheel hard to the left, sending the General down the same hill back towards the road, like an avalanche of orange metal.
“You’re gonna miss the road!” Luke yelled. There was nothing but fast-flying green filling the windshield with the sharp decline.
“Who wants the road?” Bo grinned and let the General go all the way down. The dirt road cut across the middle of the hill, but it was no more than a hard speed bump as the General dove across it and kept heading to down, rocking and jolting but holding together.
Bo hit the brakes as the main highway grew nearer, then finally pulled the emergency brake for good measure. The General skidded down with frightening velocity, but obeyed the steering wheel when Bo released the brakes and gave the wheel another turn. Like a cat, the General landed on all fours in the middle of the highway, rocking in place as dust and small rocks rained down around it.
Near the top of the hill, Rosco wasn’t so lucky. He turned the wheel sharply to follow the General’s new route. But the police cruiser lacked any counterweight in the passenger side, and the light bar on the roof added weight that worsened the physics problem.
Rosco cringed down low and held the wheel tight as he felt the car tip.
Below on the highway, the Dukes looked up and saw the patrol car begin a sideways roll.
The cruiser banged heavily on to its driver’s side, then tilted again, landing on its roof. The light bar crumpled and flew off as the car banged over itself once more, a heavier bounce causing the car to lose the windshield. The CB antenna snapped off, and the side mirrors busted free. All the while, the sound of banging, wrenching metal and the roar of the still-running motor continued, the rear wheels spinning in the air. Another hard crunch, and the motor went silent, though the cruiser’s brutal descent continued.
“Oh lordy….” Luke swallowed. The cruiser rolled downhill like a discarded beer can. The entire exhaust system tore itself loose and flew to pieces.
Bo forgot to breathe. The crash seemed to go on forever, in slow motion. Distantly, Bo thought about moving the General out of harm’s way as the patrol car kept coming. The cruiser was a falling star about to catch flame….
..except that halfway down the hill, it landed on it’s roof in the middle of the dirt road. A small landslide of dirt and rock followed it, pelting the underbody of the wrecked car.
Luke managed to make himself reach for the CB, though his eyes couldn’t leave the sight of the mangled patrol car some yards above them.
He didn’t have much hope for the Hazzard County Sheriff, and was trying to sort out his words, when movement in the wrecked car caught his attention. Incredibly, Rosco was clawing his way through the open driver’s window. The Sheriff crawled out, stayed on all fours for a minute, and then hauled himself upright using the crunched car. He leaned against it, and looked down the rest of the hill, seeing the flag-painted roof of the General Lee below him.
Bo’s eyes were wide with amazement. He watched as Rosco stared at them, just as they stared at Rosco. The Sheriff was battered and none too steady on his feet, and his dark uniform was dusted and torn. But he raised a fist at the Dukes and reassured them of his continued health. “I’m gonna git you two Dukes if it’s the last thing I ever do!”
“It dang near was,” Luke muttered, still awed by Rosco’s luck.
Rosco couldn’t figure out why the Dukes were still standing there, slack-jawed. “I’m serious!” he yelled down at them.
Bo called up a question. “Rosco, are you hurt?”
“Hurt?! You two bein’ a pain in my posterior is what hurts! Now you freeze it right there!”
“He’s okay,” Bo said with a smile.
“They say the Lord watches over fools. Now I’ve seen it for myself.” Luke grinned and gave a huge sigh of relief. “C’mon, let’s get outta here. We’ll call some help for him on the road.”
****** ***** ***** ***** *****
Later in the day, Cooter listened to Bo and Luke tell their story. The three of them were holed up inside of the Hazzard Garage, with the General parked inside. Cooter examined the thermos Luke handed to him. “Eeeeyep! That’s a thermos.”
“It’s what’s inside that’s the problem,” Luke said. “Rosco tried to plant evidence on us. It almost worked.”
Cooter sniffed at the inside of the thermos. He took a drink from it, pinching his face shut in distaste. “Phew! That’s gotta be from one of Boss’s stills. You’re lucky you didn’t pay for shine this bad.”
“Cooter…” Luke was getting exasperated.
“Aw, ain’t no problem, buddy roe! Ya see, Rosco didn’t get the evidence, so he can’t prove a thing on you boys. You could testify that the thermos held soda pop.”
“But it’s our word against his, and Rosco’s the Sheriff,” Bo pointed out. “Wouldn’t they just believe him instead of us?”
“Mighta been the case once,” Cooter answered. “These days though, Rosco’s reputation ain’t what it used to be. He’s gone more crooked than…”
“…a dog’s hind leg,” Luke finished. “All right, we still gotta get rid of that stuff somehow and get this lunch bucket back to Rosco, before he says we stole it.”
“Consider it done, Lukas!” Cooter opened the gas cap on the General Lee, and merrily dumped the contents of the thermos into the General’s tank. “I’ll rinse this ol’ thermos out and take it over to the courthouse for ya’ll. I’ll just say somebody turned it in.”
“Thanks Cooter.” Luke slapped his friend on the back and climbed into the General. “We got business over at the track, but we’ll give you a holler later on.”
“I’ll keep my ears on. You keep it between the ditches now, ya hear?”
“Ten-Four!” Bo slid into the General’s driver’s side and fired up the car.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Rosco sat at the booking desk and rubbed his forehead. Battered and bruised, but not broken, he was in a foul mood from the morning’s events. Not only had he scuffed himself and ruined a patrol car, but he was now in hot water with Boss, who was upset about the loss of county property. Rosco had a lot to live down. It would take nabbing the Dukes to get back in his brother-in-law’s good graces, such as they were.
In the meantime he had a patrol car to replace. He flipped through the car ads in a law enforcement magazine. The Plymouth Fury was an eye-catcher, and its resilience in crash-testing was impressive. “Ooo! Highest safety rating of any patrol car smacked into a brick wall! That’s the one I want.” Rosco folded over the corner of the page to mark it.
Cooter suddenly strolled into the booking room, interrupting Rosco’s car-dreaming. “Rosco! I got this here from somebody who says you mighta lost it. This yer lunch bucket?”
Rosco eyed the lunch bucket suspiciously. “Where’d you git that?”
“The lunch fairy brought it to me.” Cooter grinned broadly and walked up to the booking desk, setting the lunch bucket down with a thunk. “I’m afraid it came to me sans lunch, though. Nothin’ in there but an apple.”
“Lemme see that.” Rosco grabbed the lunch bucket, turned it towards him, and opened it. Cooter stepped away from the booking desk and headed for the doors. The mechanic paused at them to watch.
Rosco grabbed the thermos and hefted it. It felt heavy. Was the moonshine still in it? He put it near his ear and shook it. Something was in there. He sat the thermos on the desk, upright, and twisted open the cap.
Paper snakes shot up from the thermos in all colors and directions. Startled, Rosco yelped and scooted back fast in his chair. “JIT!”
Cooter doubled over in laughter, slapping his leg. “HAHAHAHA!!”
“That ain’t funny!” Rosco huffed. “That’s my second coronary today!”
“Third time’s the charm,” Cooter smiled devilishly. He exited through the doors with a bow, still chuckling to himself.
Boss came out of his county commissioner’s office to see what the noise was. He found the mess of paper snakes and colored streamers strewn over the booking desk and scattered on the floor. He narrowed one beady eye at Rosco. “You always celebrate when you wreck a patrol car?”
“No Boss! It was Cooter! He …”
“I don’t wanna hear it ! Quit your loafing around here and go do somethin’ useful with yourself !”
“Like what?”
“Like what!! Like collecting parking tickets and speeding tickets and arresting Dukes, that’s what!”
“Oh, well ya see, I’d like too, but my patrol car’s all smashed up and Enos needs his, so….”
“So get another patrol car, numbskull !”
“You mean it?!”
“I sure do.” Boss gave a fake smile so hard that his eyes crinkled shut. “You just go get yourself a brand-new patrol car.”
“Khee khee! I’ll do that!” Rosco grabbed the police magazine from the desk and stood up. He made a beeline for the doors.
“You do that,” Boss said as Rosco ran off. “It’s comin’ outta your pay anyhow.”
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
The office of the Hazzard County Speedway was a dismal trailer near the pit area of the race track. It was open a handful of hours daily to serve as a modicum of organization in the anything-goes circuit.
Bo parked the General close to it and climbed out. He waited for Luke to go up the weather-worn steps to the trailer. His older cousin tended to be taken more seriously, and Bo had agreed to let Luke do the talking.
The Duke cousins entered the trailer and were immediately glowered at by the overweight track manager with thin, greasy hair. “What you boys want?”
“There was an incident in the feature race last night,” Luke began. “It was on lap 49, going into the turn –“
“An incident.” The manager mimicked the word. “You don’t say. Twenty cars crowding a third-mile dirt oval at 80 miles an hour, and there was an incident?”
Luke’s eyes hardened. “Yes sir, there was. A car deliberately hit –“
“I heard all about it.” The track manager reached over and pulled a dirt-crusted file from a nearby stack. “Dan Dalton reported that his power steering failed with the line broke and the fluid drained out. He had a mechanical failure with his car and it caused him to accidentally make contact with another car, namely yours. Happens all the time.”
“All the time?!” Bo interjected.
“Racing is a tough sport. Cars break. If you’re suggesting anything else, you’d better have some solid proof.” The manager picked up a smoldering cigarette from a full ashtray and took a long breath from it. He blew the smoke at the Dukes. “Trouble-makers don’t race here. If you got a beef with any of the drivers….keep it off the track, or race somewhere else.”
Bo’s temper was back in full heat. Luke put a restraining hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “We ain’t got nothin’ against nobody,” he told the manager. “Thanks for clearing it up.” Luke steered Bo towards the door.
The manager waited until the orange Charger rumbled away from the office. He picked up the phone and made a call. “Dalton, you were right. Those Dukes came around to whine. I gave them your report on it.”
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Dalton was happy to get the phone call. The Dukes were upset. Good. Now, he could bait them.
He arranged a time to meet with Wade at the Boar’s Nest, right around happy hour. It didn’t take a NASCAR mechanic to figure out that the Dukes would probably drift in to stew over a beer. Especially if he made a point of parking his Monte Carlo out in front of the place.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
The bustle of the Boar’s Nest kept Daisy so busy, she didn’t notice her cousins walk in until they were standing in front of her. “Oh! Hey fellas, if you want a beer you’ll have to wait your turn!”
“We will,” Luke said quietly. “I just gotta tell you something first. Don’t look at ‘em right now, but over in the corner there’s two guys sittin’ there at a table, one’s big n’ ugly with a mustache and the other guy’s a weasel. Know who I’m talking about?”
“Those boys? They haven’t made any trouble, they’ve been here maybe an hour.”
Luke was no fool, and he took the unexpected presence of the veteran racers as a possible threat. “Keep an eye on ‘em. That hairy one is the same guy who slammed into Bo during the race. Ain’t no coincidence that they’re hangin’ around here now”
Daisy kept a poker face, though her eyes registered the message. She spoke to Luke loudly to keep the cover. “I said you’ll have to wait your turn! Go sit down.” With a smile, she hurried off to take care of other customers.
It was all Bo could do to hold himself in check, with the two jerks within spitting distance. Luke muttered a warning. “They’re not worth losin’ your probation. Take it easy.”
“I am takin’ it easy.” Bo followed Luke as he threaded his way through the crowd to try and find a seat. To their surprise, the two racers waved them over.
“The Duke boys!” Dalton called out. “Come on over here and let me buy you a drink.” He shoved out an empty chair with a boot. Wade kicked out another one.
Untrusting but knowing better than to look afraid or suspicious, the Dukes accepted the offer and joined the two racers at the table. “Mighty nice of you,” Bo said with an empty smile.
“It’s the least I could do,” Dalton admitted freely. “Thought I’d make a peace offering.”
“Peace is good,” Luke said. “The track ain’t no place for a grudge.”
“That’s right,” Wade agreed. “There’s no faster way for a man to get himself killed.”
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a moment. Dalton broke it with a laugh. “I for one intend to live a long, hedonistic, and happy life.” He flagged down Daisy to bring more beers. Daisy returned with them immediately, and Dalton hefted his glass in a toast. “To racing.”
There was nothing objectionable in that, and the Dukes raised their glasses. “To racing.”
After a deep swallow of beer, Wade took a turn at conversation. “You boys are green, but you’ll make fine racers in four or five years….”
Bo’s eyes narrowed, and Dalton chuckled silently. Wade continued as if there’d been no reaction. “But what you really need, is asphalt track experience. Like that half-mile over in Tri-County. They got a Saturday Night 150 with a big purse. Win that one, and you’ll get yourself a name going. Then you get sponsors.”
Bo got interested. “Yeah?”
“Sure enough,” Dalton nodded. “That’s where we’re racing this weekend. I’m done clanging bumpers for peanuts. We’re going where the money is.”
The balloon picture was already in Bo’s head. A bigger racetrack. Faster speeds. Bigger crowds. Bigger winnings. A short cut to the NASCAR circuit….
Luke stuck a pin in it. “We’d like to give ya’ll a run for your money over there, but I think Bo and me will be sticking to the dirt track for awhile.”
“Nothing wrong with the dirt track,” Wade shrugged. “Plenty of drivers race there who can’t make it anywhere else. You’ll win just enough money to keep yourself in car parts, but you’ll never get ahead.”
The thermostat on Bo’s temper was inching skyward. “We’ll just see about that.” He finished off his beer faster than he should have, and held in the belch with effort.
Dalton’s mustache curled up in a slick smile. “You two might be better off staying in Hazzard County where the track times are slower. You’re less likely to get hurt, too.”
“I reckon.” Luke’s tone was soft, but his eyes were blue ice. He pushed away his half-finished beer. “Thank ya’ll for the hospitality. We’d best be on our way. Good luck at the 150.”
“Good luck in the dirt,” Dalton responded. Wade snickered.
Luke practically had to pull Bo away from the table by the scruff of his neck. He ushered his younger cousin outside and prepared himself for the protests.
Bo had some ready. “Why can’t we race at the Tri-County 150? If those two school bus drivers can qualify, so can we! The General’s faster! I’m a better driver by a dang sight!”
“It’s on the other side of the county line,” Luke explained. “We can’t go there without breaking our probation.”
“We could if we got permission from Boss.”
“If we got permission from Boss, it’d only give him and Rosco another way to try settin’ us up. After what happened this morning, I’m not ready to chance it.”
Bo turned away from his cousin and braced a hand on the General’s roof. “Luke, I’ve listened to you for most my born life. This time I ain’t sure I should.”
“Think a minute, Bo! Those two drivers are trying to get us into some kind of trouble! You think they really want competition? You got hit broadside because you were about to pass them! What do you think will happen on a faster track?”
Bo couldn’t argue the logic, so he didn’t. “They’re gonna think we’re chicken!”
“I don’t care what those two think. We’re lucky enough to be racing at all, and if the General gets totaled at Tri-County, it’s over! Not countin’ what could happen to you!”
“I’ll worry about what happens to me.”
“That’d be a change. Listen, we got a few dents to hammer out of the General and he’s ready for the Friday Night 50. The entry fee and a tank of gas is all we need, and without those hustlers on the track, you’ll win it and we’ll be three hundred dollars to the good. What’s wrong with that, Bo?”
“Nothin’.” Bo dropped the argument and climbed into the General.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
“Think the young pup fell for it?” Wade asked.
“I’m sure of it.” Dalton finished his beer, and then finished the half-glass Luke left behind. “That kid’s gonna be all eat-up with the idea of racing in Tri-County and proving himself to us.”
“His cousin would never let him go over there. That one’s too sharp.”
“He’s not sharp enough. He thinks he knows what we’re up to. He’s all worried about Saturday and about keeping an eye on his baby cousin.”
Wade nodded. “He’ll never see it coming.”
“And Bo Duke will slip right out from under his nose.” Dalton stood up from the table. “When I see that kid again, and tell him there’s a Wednesday night race in Tri-County…wild horses won’t keep him from that track.”
“The Sheriff might.” Wade stood up. “Especially once you tip him off.”
“I plan on it.” Dalton walked towards the door, Wade following. “That Duke will cross the county line, and that’s the last time we’ll have to worry about him.”
“Good. The dirt track will always belong to us, and I like collecting my prize money.”
Dalton gave his conspirator a shrewd glance. “Just remember it’s my turn to win this week.”
“I’ll remember.” The two men left the Boar’s Nest, unhurried and arrogant.
Daisy watched them leave. She was frustrated that she couldn’t hear their conversation, thanks to the active crowd tonight. All she could do is hope they would return and be careless with a future conversation.
****** ****** ****** ***** *****
A couple days later, the Hazzard County Sheriff was indulging himself in a new morning ritual. He arrived to work early, getting to the courthouse before dawn. His paperwork was done by the time the sun came up. Then, he walked out to the curb, sat in his new patrol car, and admired it for awhile. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he drove the car slowly around town, watching its reflection in the storefront windows.
He washed the car during his lunch break, whether it needed it or not. The white Plymouth Fury glistened like a pearl. He was drying it off with a fluffy towel when Dalton’s Monte Carlo pulled up behind it. Rosco took no notice, occupied as he was by a speck on the mirror.
Dalton walked up behind Rosco and announced himself. “Good afternoon, Sheriff.”
Rosco jumped, taken by surprise. “Jit! Mister, don’t you know not to sneak up on a police officer?”
“My apologies. Sheriff, I have an anonymous tip for you.”
“Ooo!” Rosco dug into his shirt pocket for his ticket book and a pen. “What’s the name of the horse?”
“Not that kind of tip. I’m talking about somebody whose gonna break their probation.” Dalton glanced around and then leaned in closer to the Sheriff. “I have it on good authority that Bo Duke plans to leave the county on Wednesday night.”
“Leave the county? But that’d break his probation!”
Dalton closed his eyes for a moment to hold his patience. “That’s why I’m telling you about it, so you can catch him when he does.”
“Oh! Khee khee khee! Where’s he tryin’ to go?”
“The Tri-County Raceway. There’s a race at 7:00 p.m. He’ll be on Highway 18 sometime after 6:00 p.m. to get to it. All you have to do is bag him once he crosses the county line.”
“That’s good news, good news! Thank you for your tip, Mr….”
“It’s anonymous.”
“Mr. Anonymous! Thank you again.” Rosco shook Dalton’s hand. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta finish getting my new patrol car ready for its first big arrest! Khee!”
“Happy hunting, Sheriff.”
****** ****** ****** ***** *****
With his plan in place, Dalton bided his time. It was Tuesday before he made an extra effort to find Bo Duke and catch him alone. This proved harder than expected, as the blonde Duke appeared to be under his cousin’s wing most of the time. Dalton followed the Dukes around as much as he dared, but try as he might, the Dukes acted like a pair of Siamese twins. Time was growing short, and by Wednesday Dalton feared his plan would come to nothing.
The opportunity finally came, in thanks to Bo’s surly mood that lengthened with the week. After enduring Luke’s protective shadow for days on end, the younger Duke struck off on his own in the General Lee. He wasn’t truly angry at Luke, but his cousin’s continual reminder that we’re on probation was a broken record that he was sick of hearing.
A drive, some fresh air, and a little time alone often eased family tensions, and Bo sought this Wednesday morning after the chores were done. The General’s motor hummed, and he hummed along with it, starting to feel his carefree self again.
Right up until that old Monte Carlo pulled out from hiding and started to follow him. Bo recognized the car – the front end of it still bore the crunched nose from the track collision. He watched for any sign of foul intent, but none came.
Dalton stuck a hand out the driver’s window and waved, knowing Bo would see it in the mirrors. The Monte Carlo then pulled over to the side of the road.
Curious, Bo turned the General around in a U-turn, and drove up to the Monte Carlo. There was no traffic to speak of on this remote country road, and so he idled the General Lee in place, his own dented driver’s door facing the opposite direction of Dalton’s.
“Hey, boy!” Dalton called out. “You really wanna see what you can do on the paved track?”
“Someday,” Bo answered cautiously. His cousin’s warnings were still nagging at him.
“Someday is tonight. There’s a Wednesday Night Race at the Tri-County Speedway. Fifty lap feature race, just like you’re used to. Winner takes home $500.00.”
“Why are you tellin’ me this? Ain’t you gonna enter?”
“You’re damn right I’m gonna enter, and I’m going to win. I just wanted to see if you had more guts than your chicken cousin. Didn’t think you would.”
Bo clenched his jaw, and Dalton gave a mocking laugh. “You know why I hit you in that last race? Because you don’t belong on the track. You don’t have the guts for what it takes. Guys like me will be pushing you into the wall until you quit or get killed, so you might as well quit !”
“I’ll be there,” Bo growled. “And this time, we’ll see who gets pushed.”
“Racing starts at 7:00 p.m. You gotta register by 6:30. Highway 18 out of Hazzard is the fastest way to get there. Not that you’re used to the fastest way…”
“I’ll be there,” Bo repeated. “I got nothin’ to say to you off a racetrack.” With his blood fired up, Bo put the General in gear, spinning the tires in place with his fast acceleration. The orange Charger tore down the road, roaring away.
Dalton smiled to himself. He was going to enjoy getting rid of that kid.
****** ****** ***** ***** ******
Dinner at the Duke farm wasn’t as tense as it had been, lately. Luke questioned his cousin’s sudden effort at cheerfulness after days of sulking. “You got a winnin’ lottery ticket I don’t know about?” Luke joked lightly.
“No, I just didn’t see a point in bein’ mad over things I couldn’t change.” Bo flashed his good-boy smile, which appeased his Uncle Jessie and cousin Daisy.
It set off alarm bells with Luke, however. “Since when?”
“Since it’s the middle of the week and I got a race to look forward to.” Bo looked down at his plate. He hadn’t lied, really. He was looking forward to a race, and it was the middle of the week. It just wasn’t the same race everybody else would assume he was talking about.
“Hmm.” Luke knew Bo was hiding something, but interrogating him at the dinner table would get him nowhere. It could also needlessly worry the rest of the family, and it was nice to have a peaceful meal. When Uncle Jesse changed the topic, Luke pretended to lose all interest in Bo’s behavior. He’d talk to him after dinner.
When Bo finished eating first, and volunteered to get started on the evening chores, Luke still didn’t feel too worried. Maybe Bo really was in a good mood. He listened for a moment and heard Bo clanging around with the chicken feed pail. So far so good….
But a minute later when the General fired up, unscheduled, Luke was immediately concerned. He got up from the table and ran out the door.
Expecting this, Bo waited in the car. “We’re out of chicken feed! I’m just gonna run to Rhuebottom’s before they close.”
Before Luke could question when the last time the feed was bought, and how much of it, and if Bo had checked the barn for more, the General was pulling out of the driveway. Not too quick, but not slow.
Luke stood there, one knee slightly bent, his hands on his hips. Bo had went for a drive alone earlier today. It was possible he just wanted to be by himself for awhile again. Doubt chewed a hole though that thought, but there was no harm in giving Bo an hour off by himself, before worrying.
Uncle Jesse looked up from the table as Luke walked back in. “Where’s Bo goin’?”
“He said we ran out of chicken feed, and he’s going to Rhuebottom’s before they close.”
“We’re not out of chicken feed….” Uncle Jesse said slowly. “I just picked up a few bags with the truck yesterday.”
“Did Bo know that?”
“Well, I would have thought so….”
“Call him on the CB,” Daisy suggested.
“Good idea.” Luke went to the transmitter and turned it on, and dialed the family frequency. “Bo? Got your ears on?”
No answer. Luke tried another CB channel. “Bo, this is Luke, come back.”
Silence.
“Something’s wrong.” Luke hung up the CB, no longer doubting his own sense of foreboding. “Daisy, I need to borrow your car. I don’t know what Bo’s up to but I’ve got a feelin’ it’s nothing good.”
Daisy tossed the keys to Luke. He caught them and ran out the door.
“Call us when you know what in blazes is going on!” Uncle Jesse hollered after him.
***** ***** ***** ****** *****
Bo knew that Luke would figure things out and try to find him eventually. He hoped it would be later than sooner. Earlier, Bo had snuck his helmet out to the General Lee, and he figured as long as Luke didn’t notice that, he might not connect the dots.
He debated leaving the CB on or off. Either way, Luke would get suspicious, and Bo would feel guilty, so he turned the radio off. The uncertainty of the situation would stall Luke a little longer.
There was no taking chances, though. Bo hit the gas pedal hard and headed for Highway 18. He was getting a later start than he should have, and there was a lot of road to the county line. He’d have to do some early racing just to get there. With luck, he’d make it, and his family would be none the wiser.
There would be hell to pay when he got home. It would be easier to face with $500 in his hand. Then he’d explain everything.
***** ****** ****** ***** *****
Daisy’s yellow Plymouth Roadrunner was no slouch under the hood. Luke knew he could catch Bo, if he had any idea what road to look for him on. He sent out a call to Cooter and to a few other friends to keep an eye out for the General Lee.
Bo favored back roads and wild shortcuts, but he’d obviously had a purpose tonight. Therefore, Luke decided to stick to the main highways. And on a nagging instinct that he hoped was incorrect, he headed for the county line.
***** ***** ***** ****** *****
Rosco waited along Highway 18 in his brand-new patrol car, just inside the county line. He’d babied the car since getting it, and tonight he’d find out what it could do. Excitement filled him and he was eager for the chase. He really hoped Bo would make a run for it.
Another car was waiting along Highway 18 as well. Dalton would make sure that Bo Duke wasn’t returning to Hazzard County racing….whatever it took.
By the time Bo hit Highway 18, he’d gained several minutes to the good. The fast run with the General had his adrenaline going and his spirits up. He was a good racer and tonight he’d prove it to anyone paying attention. He’d taken pride in the moonshine runs, but those lacked the spectators and the trophies. He realized belatedly that being put on probation might be blessing in disguise. It might be a chance to get his life in order and build a new future.
The General rocketed down the flat lanes of Highway 18 as the sun hovered low over the horizon. The power from the engine matched the surge of energy Bo felt in his own heart. He was young. He had his whole life in front of him. He was going to go for the brass ring and make a name for himself.
The sudden howl of a very loud siren, accompanied by a bright flash of red and blue, burst into the mirrors behind the speeding Charger. The surprise on Bo’s part was so complete, the General seemed to spook and jump sideways as the Plymouth Fury pounced. Bo corrected the wheel out of the abrupt swerve and held on, keeping the General moving fast. The county line was just ahead….
…and Bo saw the hidden Monte Carlo out of the corner of his eye, at the last minute. Instantly, he knew that no race was ever intended by his rival. This was a set up, plain and simple, and he’d fallen for it.
The Plymouth Fury was close enough to the General’s rear bumper to tear it off. With seconds to decide what to do, Bo knew that braking was out of the question, or the new police cruiser would wind up in his backseat.
Crossing the county line meant big trouble. With a quarter-mile to go, Bo hatched a desperate idea. He’d have to turn the General just enough to move the tail aside, giving Rosco a path to shoot through while Bo hit the brakes. It was similar to the police strategy of knocking a car into a spin, but Bo couldn’t recall anyone going into one voluntarily.
Bo gave a quick punch of the gas, dipped the steering wheel to the right, and then hit the brakes. Tires screamed, the General skidded and rocked, and simultaneously Bo felt the rush of wind as the Fury blasted by him. But he didn’t have control of his own car.
The General skittered wildly as Bo fought the wheel. Finally he dipped it down hard to the right again and held the brakes down. The General spun a wide, looping donut, tight to the inside, curling to a smoking stop.
Rosco was amazed to watch the General’s tail sweep away from him, like a bullfighter’s cape. He was clear over the county line before he knew it. The Fury’s brakes were put to the test as Rosco stood on them and held the wheel straight, dragging the back tires down Highway 18 in a screeching streak of molten rubber. The back wheels locked up and hopped.
Rosco shoved the gearshift into reverse, hit the gas, and yanked the wheel to execute a flying Y-turn. With the Fury’s hood pointed toward Hazzard County and the motionless General Lee, Rosco was swooping in for the kill. At this moment there was no one on earth who loved their job more.
Dalton sent the Monte Carlo into the road as the General spun to stop. He sloppily parked his own car close by, and got out of it to harass the blonde Duke. The county line hadn’t been crossed, but the Duke boy could still be suckered into something illegal.
“You lost your nerve!” Dalton taunted as Bo leaned back in the driver’s seat and tried to get his heart out of his throat. “What’s the matter boy, you turn yellow at the last minute?”
“I turned smart at the last minute,” Bo heaved out. He was on to the scheme and wasn’t going to make a move. Not with Rosco’s patrol car squealing up alongside.
Dalton was desperate enough to get reckless. He reached into the orange Charger and clutched the front of Bo’s shirt. “If you’ve turned smart, you’ll stay the hell away from the Hazzard County Speedway. The next time I see you on that track, you won’t be driving off of it.”
Rosco got out of his car just in time to hear that much. “Awright, let go of him! Git away from the car there!”
Dalton backed up but tried to keep control of the situation. “Just making sure this punk doesn’t get away from you, Sheriff.”
“It doesn’t look like he’s getting away, does it?” Something in Rosco’s police instinct was riled. “What’s your problem with him, Mr. Anonymous?”
“Mr. Anonymous?” Bo questioned.
“My name isn’t anonymous!” Dalton shouted.
“Oh it’s not? Lemme see yer driver’s license.”
“Sheriff, this isn’t about me. This kid –“
“I know who that “kid” is, but I don’t know who you are. Gimmie yer license.”
Dalton hesitated. “I don’t have it on me.”
“Driving without a license!” Rosco sounded positively gleeful.
“No, I have a license, it’s just not on me!”
“Well, Mr. Anonymous, I’ll have to radio you in and just see about that.”
“My name isn’t anonymous!”
“You can’t prove that without yer driver’s license, can you!” Feeling victorious with this finesse of logic, Rosco barked commands. “Turn around and putcher hands on the car! Yer under arrest!”
Bo watched as Rosco cuffed the veteran racer and led him to the back of the patrol car. He shoved him inside and slammed the door behind him. The Sheriff returned to Bo and pulled out his ticket book. “Speedin’, and makin’ a right-hand turn without a signal!” He scribbled out the ticket with the fines and handed it to Bo.
“Rosco, nobody uses a turn signal when they go into a skid!”
“Fine, then I’m also citing you for an illegal U-turn!” Rosco wrote another ticket and threw it in the car.
Bo picked up the pieces of paper. Deep inside, he felt a sense of elation that he was just getting moving violations and nothing worse. “I jaywalked yesterday,” he offered.
“Oh, shame shame! That’s another ticket!” Rosco wrote it and threw it in the car. “Now I gotta quit messin’ around with you and go take care of a prisoner!” A smile sprang out on Rosco’s face. “New prisoner in a brand new patrol car. Khee!”
Bo waited, afraid to move and jinx himself, until Rosco’s patrol car was down the road and out of sight. Only then did he start the General back up and turn on the CB. “Lost Sheep to –“
“Bo! Where are you?!” Luke’s voice replied immediately.
“I’m on Highway 18, just inside the county line. Listen, I….”
Relief was plain in Luke’s voice. “Save it for when we get home.”
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
The 50-lap feature race at the Hazzard County Speedway was another neck-and-neck brawl between three of the fastest cars. Though one in particular, an orange Dodge Charger, held the inside lane as if glued to it.
Bo let himself be passed slightly on the turns but then made it up in the straightaway. He held the lead by a hair, but he held it steadily while his opponents wore out their cars trying to take it from the outside. The checkered flag dropped, and the Friday Night 50 had a new winner.
The trophy was small, and the check wasn’t huge, but the race had been fast and the win was clean. After his victory lap, Bo brought the General into the pit area. He parked the car to find his family waiting for him, clapping and smiling. “Guess what!” Luke said as soon as Bo had his helmet off. “Dalton had an outstanding warrant in Chickasaw County! Rosco made a good arrest!”
“Yeehaa! Racin’ at this track can only get better.” Bo laughed and hugged Daisy as she bubbled up to congratulate him. He then looked at his Uncle Jesse for a long moment, still feeling bad for his dishonesty in off of a couple nights ago. His uncle had forgiven him, but the guilt lingered.
Uncle Jesse sensed his youngest nephew’s thoughts, and reassured him with a pat to the shoulder. “Your biggest victory was in not breaking your probation after somebody tempted you mighty hard to do it.” He waited for Bo to nod, then added, “But the trophy ain’t nothing to sneeze at! That was a great race!”
“Thank you, Uncle Jesse.” Bo reached into his pocket and pulled out the prize check. He handed it over. “I want you to have this.”
“You can give me the next one,” Uncle Jesse answered. “I know you’ll be winnin’ a lot more.”
The end
