Chapter 3: Return to Hazzard
Enos filled the rest of the week with catching up on everything that he normally would have put off until later, and the stack of paperwork that he found mind-numbingly tedious melted down to nothing. When he wasn’t working, his thoughts invariably ran through scenarios of what had happened, was happening, in Georgia, and his dreams at night were haunted by nightmares of finding Daisy dead and dumped in Hazzard pond.
As much as he tried to tell himself that she could take care of herself – that it wasn’t his sworn duty or otherwise to protect her anymore and that no doubt her cousins weren’t letting her out of their sight, he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that hung over him. Time and time again he’d picked up the phone, her Uncle Jesse’s number running through his head, only to hang up again without calling. Thus passed the next week as well, in fear, doubt, and dread over what could come to pass and anger at himself for even worrying about her in the first place.
Monday, January 23rd, started out like any other at the Los Angeles Police Department. Enos was finishing up his report on an eyewitness they’d had to a hit and run the previous month when Police Chief Roland Dempsey opened the door. Chief Dempsey was a hold over at the department from the first two years Enos had spent there, back when he was just a green-horn tripping over his own feet.
“Sir!” said Enos, standing up.
“Sit down please, detective.”
Enos returned to his chair, noticing that the other man avoided looking him in the eye. “Is there something wrong, sir?”
The Chief sighed and opened the folder that he’d carried in with him. “It says here, Strate, that you haven’t taken a vacation in over three years, and you only took one day off last year…”
“Yes, sir, I had an appointment with the dentist.” He pulled the right side of his mouth open with his finger. “I ha a philphing phal out…”
“I’m not concerned with your teeth, Strate.” The man closed the door to Enos’s office. “You have two months of vacation time saved up, and I want you to take it…immediately.”
“Um…what?” Enos stared back at him, confused. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but I can’t just pick up an’ take a vacation. ‘Specially not for two months.”
“You can and you will. I’m placing you on paid leave.”
“What’s going on, sir? I know I’ve been a little distracted lately, but I don’t think it’s been affectin’ my job performance.” Chief Dempsey finally met his eyes, and in them Enos saw nothing but concern mixed with fatigue and a genuine sadness. His heart quickened with a sickening premonition. “What’s happened, Chief?” he asked, his voice seeming far away to his own ears.
“There’s been another disappearance in rural Georgia, son. I think you might know her.” Gently he placed a photograph before him on the desk.
Enos didn’t need to look at it to know who it would be, but he forced his gaze to the table anyway – to the face that had filled his dreams for so long. He jumped up from the desk, for once not tripping over anything, and made it out the door and into the lavatory, which was thankfully not far from his office, just in time to throw up.
The Chief’s voice echoed in the hallway, telling the others to give him some space and go back to work. Enos, shaken, sat down with his back against the wall, his head cradled in his hands. For the first time in as long as he could remember, his tears fell – not only for what had happened, but for all the pain and hurt and confusion that he’d run from for so long, and in that moment he found that the past didn’t matter. Nothing had ever mattered but her, and regardless what she did or had done to him, he was forever hers. He’d given his heart away when they were just kids and he’d never taken it back…even when she hadn’t wanted it after all.
“Daisy,” he sobbed, “oh dear Lord, please…not my Daisy…”
Meanwhile, in Hazzard…
“Listen, Jesse,” said Rosco, “I’m doin’ the best I can.”
“Well, your best ain’t gonna cut it, Rosco. Ever’body knows you couldn’t find your ass with both hands tied behind your back!”
“Now, Jesse, that’s not fair. Ain’t never been anything like this happened here before. Maybe you Dukes just have her hid out somewheres so that you’ll get your names in the papers.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, Rosco knew he’d overstepped himself. It was one thing to go on about the Dukes when it was a small time crook or hustler he was after, quite another thing when Daisy’s life was actually in serious danger.
“Why you ol’…” The older man lunged at him, only to be restrained by Bo and Luke. “How dare you blame this on my boys. You jest don’t want t’ admit yer too stupid t’ find ‘er!”
“Rosco!” shouted Bo. “Of all the low down, hurtful things to say…”
Rosco fell silent a moment and stepped back, uncharacteristic sadness on his face. “I’m sorry, y’all. That was wrong of me,” he said quietly. “You’re right, I don’t know what do. I’m just as scared for Daisy as anyone is…you…you’ve gotta believe that, Jesse.” Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. “I called Atlanta earlier today and they’re sendin’ up a detective.”
Jesse sighed heavily and answered in a calmer voice. “I know you’re worried, Rosco. An I thank ya’ fer calling Atlanta, but truth is whoever they send down’s just gonna be some city-slicker who don’t know a thing about the people ’round here. If he’s holed up in them mountains somewhere’s, ain’t nobody from Atlanta gonna find ‘er.”
“Well now, Uncle Jesse,” said Bo, “you never know. I mean, they do train them people to do their job.”
“Rosco, would you call us the minute the detective gets here? We’d like to get started on any kind of investigation right away.”
“I will, Luke, I’ll let you know the minute his flat foot hits the pavement.”
“Much obliged, Rosco. We’re gonna get back to the farm, but you call us the second you know anything.”
Together Uncle Jesse, Bo, and Luke left the sheriff’s office. Rosco watched them through the window, feeling ten years older and about as helpful as a fish out of water.
Enos walked back to his office, ignoring the stares and quiet whispers that followed him, and closed the door. He sat down at his desk and looked at the picture the Chief had left there. His fingers followed the curve of her face, tracing her hair. He closed his eyes, remembering how it really felt.
Deep in thought, he picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“United States House of Representatives, main switchboard,” said the operator. “How may I direct your call?”
“Georgia, 4th District, please.”
“One moment.”
There was a click as he was put on hold and easy listening music played softly in the background.
“Representative Davenport’s office, how can I help you?”
“Hello ma’am. Is Cooter…I mean is Ben Davenport there?”
The woman laughed. “Well, he’s actually just about to step out, but he told me if I ever get any calls from anyone asking for “Cooter” to make sure I let him know. Can you hold for a minute?”
“Sure, thank you, ma’am.”
The music came back on as she put him on hold. “…Hello?” Cooter’s voice came through the phone.
“Cooter? Hey this is Enos.”
“…Well I’ll be dipped in…” his voice sounded surprised, but tired, not the jovial tones Enos remembered from the good old days. “Enos Strate…been a long time, buddy. I suppose you heard.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“You caught me just in time, I’m about to catch a flight into Capitol City in a few hours, and then hitch a ride back to Hazzard.”
“Cooter…have you got a minute first? Somethin’ I need t’ ask you.”
“Sure Buddy Roe, what is it?”
Enos sighed. He’d never been comfortable asking others for help, preferring to take care of things on his own. “Well… Gosh dang, Cooter, you know I ain’t never asked you for no favors, but I sure could use one right now…”
Back in Hazzard at the Duke Farm, Uncle Jesse, Bo, and Luke were sitting around the table, discussing what they thought they should do. Like Enos, they realized that all the kidnappings and murders had taken place in the area surrounding the mountains of western Hazzard county.
“Uncle Jesse, you know me an’ Bo know those roads like th’ back of our hand…”
“Yeah, let me an Luke go up there an’ do some askin’ around. It sure couldn’t hurt nothin’.”
Jesse waived them aside. “Now boys, you know I’d be the first to agree with you if I thought that would do any good. Fact of the matter is though, you don’t know all them roads up there, not only that but them ol’ ridge runners know you’s always draggin’ Rosco or Cletus behind you. They ain’t gonna stick around t’ answer no questions. Sides that, they shoot first an’ find out who y’are later. No, we’re gonna stay home an’ wait until that detective gets to town. An’ you boys are gonna help him with whatever he needs without bickerin’ and squabblin’.”
“Yes sir.”
“Yes sir, Uncle Jesse.”
Enos hung up the phone and carefully folded the picture, putting it in his pocket before strapping on his holster and gun. He opened the drawer of the desk and took out his identification and badge and slipped it into his pocket. As he was reaching for his jacket, there was a knock on the door. He opened it to find Connie, the receptionist, there.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but the Chief asked me to deliver this to you before you left.” She handed him a nondescript white envelope.
“Thank you, Connie.” He opened it, then turned back inside the door to his office. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, hoping against hope that today was only a bad dream and that he’d wake up in his own room, but the airline ticket to Atlanta, non-stop from LAX in two hours, was still clutched in his hand when he opened his eyes.
It was nearly 8:30 am. He would never make it home to change and pack before he needed to be at the airport. In fact, as busy as LAX was, he needed to leave strait there and soon since he figured on stopping by the bank as well since he had no idea when he’d be back. He did some quick calculations – the flight to Atlanta was four hours, four and a half if you counted boarding times and waiting in line to take off. Georgia was three hours ahead of Los Angeles, so he’d be getting there about 6:00pm Eastern and it was still another two hours drive to Hazzard. He doubted he could catch a plane into Capitol City, most of those flights were commuter planes and only ran a few times a day.
He wasn’t wearing a uniform so he grabbed his LAPD jacket instead of his own. People tended to cut you a little slack when they knew you were a cop, and in this city, Enos needed all the slack he could get.
“Lord,” he whispered, raising his eyes towards the ceiling, “please don’t let me look like a bumblin’ idiot goin’ back there. An’ help me find Daisy. Thank ya’, Lord.”
Enos fidgeted nervously in his seat as the plane finally made it’s way down the runway and into the air. He hated flying, not just because he didn’t exactly understand how a huge tin can with wings could stay up in the air, but because of the principal of it. It was too fast, too convenient.
The concept that a mere four hours of sitting in a seat that felt like a cardboard box with scratchy carpet over it beside a little square window could take him to the other side of the United States, to a world where people still looked at him like he was an alien from another planet, was a bit much for his tastes. He supposed that after all was said and done he was still just a country boy from the stix, no matter how far away he lived.
Another thing about flying was that it gave you far too much time to be alone with your thoughts. There was only one person who his mind was focused on, and he couldn’t avoid her anymore. There were no reports to write, no crooks to track down, no endless stream of paperwork. There was only himself and his memories…and plenty of time.
He counted down the time on an ever running clock in his head with three dates etched into its face. February 2, 1985, the day he and Daisy had almost gotten married – though he’d had a sneaking suspicion that there was more pity in the gesture than love on her part, and he supposed hind-sight was definitely 20/20 where that was concerned. He’d given her a chance out of it, by blaming the hives, and she’d taken the out willingly enough, though she’d promised him it was only postponed.
The next day of importance in the time-line of his past was four months later on June 7, 1985, the day he’d left Hazzard for the last time – a consequence of the next day, Saturday, June 8, 1985 – the day Daisy married a man named L.D. Whitehall, a roadie for a band passing through Hazzard. She’d known him all of six days, and Enos hadn’t even learned about their impending marriage first hand.
On Thursday people began to give him sorrowful looks wherever he went and whisper behind his back. He’d finally asked Maybelle, who ran the circuit board (and knew all the gossip in town), what was going on. He would never forget the look she gave him when she realized he was the only one in Hazzard who didn’t know his, at least from his perspective, fiancée was getting married…to someone else. She didn’t tell him herself, she made him wait outside while she called Luke to come into town and talk to him.
He’d never talked to Daisy about it. She’d been avoiding him like the plague all that week and by Friday night, he was gone.
Lord knew it had never taken much for Daisy to snooker him, and half the time he’d let himself be duped just to see her smile, but this wasn’t a simple misunderstanding or a harmless prank. She’d taken his life from him as sure as if she’d shot him dead. The last thing he could bring himself to do was to go to Daisy’s wedding.
He knew eventually she’d track him down and apologize and bat her eyes at him and he’d go on being miserable in Hazzard, having to see her everyday with another man’s ring on her finger that bound his dreams in an iron box with no key to ever unlock them again. So he’d run away, away from Daisy and Hazzard, back to Los Angeles.
Her marriage had barely lasted six months when L.D. left her. He’d drifted back into the life of a traveling roadie without even telling her good-bye. Cooter, ever one to help out a friend, had sent Enos a short letter, to the point, letting him know. He wasn’t sure what Cooter thought he ought to do about it. What was done was done, and he wasn’t about to go back and be played for a fool again.
She’d never bothered to write him, and he’d spent the next three years, seven months, and seventeen days trying to forget her.
This was different, though. No matter what had happened, he knew he could never live with himself if he didn’t go back to Hazzard now. Lord willing, he would find her, and then he would go back to LA – nothing more, nothing less.
As soon as he walked off the plane at Atlanta airport, Enos knew he was home. There was a different feeling here than at LAX, more relaxed and laid back. He went to the car rental lot behind the terminals. He’d need a car while he was here, the problem would be finding the right one. He needed to talk to the ridge-runners up in the hills and for that he needed a car that looked like a runner. Almost not believing his good luck, he spotted an old rusty 1972 AMC Javelin up against the fence, obviously not the choice of most commuters.
“How ’bout that one?” He asked the attendant, pointing to the car.
The man looked at him like he’d gone insane. “Um…that’s not one of the rental vehicles. Just one o’ the boys here has it up for sale.”
“Oh. How’s it run?”
“Okay I guess, he drove it in here a couple weeks ago. He was fixin’ it up, but got tired of it.”
“What’s it got in it?” Anything less than a 350 and it would never pass for a runner car.
“401, I’m pretty sure.”
“How much does he want for it?”
“$400.”
“You got the keys?”
“You bet, hold on a minute.”
The man fished the keys out of a drawer and handed them to Enos who went to inspect the car. He opened the door, which creaked on rusty hinges, sat down in the seat, and put the key into the ignition. He was sure he’d hear a volley of unhealthy noises from under the hood, but was pleasantly surprised when the engine turned over immediately and roared to life. He turned it off and went back to the attendant.
“You think he’d mind if I paid you for it?”
“Hell no! I’m just happy t’ get it outta here.”
Half an hour later, Enos left for Hazzard, racing through the dusty, rural back-roads in the black Georgia night.
A/N: FYI, the district Ben Jones (Cooter) represented was Georgia 4th district.