by: Kristy Duke
Pulling my old tow truck to a halt, I abruptly step out into my shadowy garage to slam the door shut behind me to cause the banging noise to echo off of the walls. The walls that had surrounded me for years as I worked endlessly on broken vehicles as well as the routine updates upon cars and helping with questions customers had brought in about their vehicles. Dread and resentment once again begins to build within me at the thought of having to hand all that over to the fat and greedy commissioner as I force myself to look at the damaged car that hangs from the back of the tow truck. My thoughts quickly run together from the threat of losing my garage to the harsh fall the car had taken and onto questions of the driver. Without finding no evidence of a body or blood indicates no one in the car which only means someone had either jumped out in time in fear of their life or had been purposely jumped over the cliff.
Which wouldn’t be the first time it would happen in Hazzard or probably the last.
A slow hint of fear allows itself to show at the thought of a criminal hiding somewhere in Hazzard as my imagination allows itself to run wild with thoughts of what all a criminal could be doing in Hazzard. It could be a solo criminal acting on his own or a duo or a large group hiding from the law, from bank robbers to vicious killers. A thick flow of chills rushes over my body at the thought of killers hiding out in Hazzard and I silently begin to wonder what all is in tow for Hazzard.
Once again, I attempt to remind myself of what the young and optimistic paramedic had said about the driver possibly having car troubles and had jumped out of the car in time to save himself. It could be possible, but where is he now if that is true?
Sighing heavily, I circle around the newer car taking in all the damages the car had suffered along with all that lies within the car while silently reminding myself not to touch. Evidence. Stepping back, I slowly glance at my pocket watch once again before glancing at my schedule to find that I had missed three appointments with customers in town, people that are trusting and understanding. Once again, my thoughts fall back onto Luke’s call earlier this morning over the CB and how I had snapped easily at him. Guilt once again rises within me as I slowly begin to wonder where they are at or if they had given up waiting for me and had left for the farm already. Taking a deep breath to cool off my emotions, I reluctantly walk towards the cab of my truck before yanking the door open and reaching across the seat. I grab the black CB handle while pressing the side buttons before saying, “Lost sheep,” static responds, “you out there? This is Crazy Cooter callin’.”
Static once again responds for a short moment before I recognize the elder Duke boy’s voice, “We’re here Coot,” he pauses, “we haven’t made it to town yet. My idiotic cousin here decided to take a practice jump over ol’ Yellow Creek to force The General to a dead halt.” In the back ground, I hear the younger cousin’s voice defending himself from his cousin’s comment. “I tol’ him not to push it with how The General’s been acting the last few days, but he insisted that all The General needed was a practice run for when ol’ Rosco decided to give us a chase next. Said he was out of practice.” Once again Bo’s voice is recognizable in the background, no doubt defending himself. “Anyway Cooter, we haven’t made it into town. Once we get The General in working condition, thanks to ol’ Bo himself, we’ll be in. Which shouldn’t be much longer.”
Static comes over the CB as I feel a hint of a smile reach my face as my problems of this morning evaporates momentarily with images of Bo jumping The General, convinced it would somewhat help the problems their beloved car had been having the last couple of days. Silently, I imagine the conversation they must be having with one another, each one arguing and defending their point of view, too proud and stubborn to admit to any wrong doing. Their arguing is mostly in play and will come to an end sooner or later with them both smiling and agreeing with one another. Usually. “That’s a -“
”Excuse me,” a low voice interrupts and I slowly glance back to find a tall muscular man standing a couple of feet behind me, his thick arms crossed tight against his thick chest. His dark eyes stares boldly at me to send chills racing up and down my back. “You the mechanic?”
“Luke, I’ve got a customer. I’ll talk to you later,” I say back into the CB before throwing the handle back into my truck and turn to give the man my full attention. “Yes sir, I am.”
A hint of panic reaches his stone cold face as he begins to nervously fidget in place, his stare goes over my shoulder momentarily before looking back at the car attached to my tow. Looking back at me, he finally says, “That there is my car.”
Silence fills my stuffy garage as I stare at him momentarily as an unknown fear slowly and silently creeps through before gradually growing bigger. “We was wonderin’ who it belonged to,” I finally say, “it looked like it took a pretty serious fall. You or anyone hurt?”
Dropping his hands to his sides, he slowly shakes his head at me before he walks over to the car and silently peeks into the windows. “No. It was only I in the car and I saw it coming in time to jump out of the car. Don’t know what happened other than the brakes got stuck and I couldn’t move the steering wheel. Knew once I saw the cliff I didn’t have a choice other than to jump,” he glances back at me, “I was lucky to jump out in time. I didn’t know what to do,” he shrugs as he takes a walk around his car before winding back at me, “so I just started walking. I saw your garage and thought instantly that you may be able to help me with my car. Glad to see you are ahead of me.”
I nod silently as I slowly begin to question the story he has told me and how legit he is. “I found it while I was out and figured someone would show up for it sooner or later,” I pause for a moment as I glance across the street at the police station and back at him, “though I can’t do much for you at the moment. I got orders from the sheriff not to touch anything until he approves and is sure it’s not anything criminal with it. He got suspicious when we couldn’t find a body or blood. Which is a good thing.”
“Yeah,” he nods before he nervously glances through my open garage before looking back at me, “Well look, I understand where you all are coming at,” he shrugs, “but couldn’t you just tell him that I am here for my car so you can start working on it,” he pauses as he glances down at his expensive gold watch, “I’m sorta late for a meeting I’ve got in Atlanta and had been passing through Hazzard to get there. I mean, I could lose my job if I am late for this meeting.”
I look at him sympathetically despite my questioning of his story. “Sorry sir,” I shake my head at him, “I have to follow the orders otherwise I’d get in trouble for disobeying them. He should be on his way,” he seems to shudder before looking anxiously out through my open door. “Something wrong? You keep looking as if are nervous or something?”
He looks at me startled for a moment. “No. . .just worried I guess,” he shrugs as he once again moves to the car to glance in at it, “this job means a lot to me and if I were to lose it, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Know the feeling,” I nod in understanding as I readjust my greasy hat upon my head, “meanwhile, you want a drink or something while we wait? I got soda and water.”
“Um. A water would be great,” he nods at me and I force a smile at him as my fear and unease towards the man grows rapidly through me. I slowly walk toward the front right corner of my garage where a half size box fridge sits next to my old and scratched metal desk. Opening it, I glance through the lighted box to grab out two bottles of water and as I stand up, am dreadfully startled to find two more muscular men standing next to the customer I was talking to. They both are a few inches shorter than him, but just as muscular and just as mean looking to send razor sharp chills through me as my fear accelerates within me. “I’d like you to meet my friends here,” the long haired man smiles at him while motioning to an older guy a couple inches shorter than him with dark graying hair with a thick beard and mustache that seems to hide an ugly scar. Slowly he motions to a younger guy next to the older distinguished looking man who stands shorter than them both with a bald tan head.
All three stare back at me with dark hateful eyes as silence once again flows through my garage and I slowly glance out toward the sheriff’s station. “C’mon Rosco,” my thoughts yell fearfully within me, “now’s the perfect time!” “How can I help you?” I force myself to say and the older man sends an evil looking smile at me, “I told your friend that I couldn’t work on his car until the sheriff approved it first.”
The older one nods silently for a moment before eyeing the open door and back at the bald headed man. “Close the door, Sergio,” his voice is thick and full of authority.
“You won’t do no such thing!” I yell at him taking a couple of steps closer to him before I see the gun pointed at me from the older man’s muscular hand, “This is my garage and I am open. I am not going to be threatened in my own garage!”
“We’re doing more than threatening here,” he laughs as he nods and the shorter man walks over to the door and as I go to stop him, he throws the safety off of the gun to make a loud echoing noise. “You better stop right there if you don’t a bullet in your head.” Fear races thickly within me as I eye the gunman to notice the dark haired man to have a bigger gun aimed at me. “We have some business with you and we’ll take care of it one way or another. We’ve killed before and we won’t think twice about killing a hick mechanic as yourself. What’s the choice going to be?”
A loud rumbling noise roars as the short man shoves the garage door down to force thick darkness to fill the room and my fear to intensify within me. Attempting to hide my fear, I ask, “What you want? I have done nothing with you or to you.”
“Yeah, but,” the older man shrugs as he steps threatening closer to me, “sadly my men here messed up, which is why they say you best do things yourself if you want them to be done rightly.” With that he eyes the long haired man for a long piercing moment before he looks back at me, “And since they messed up, you’ve got something what I want. . .no, something I need.”
I shake my head in great fear as I slowly realize that I have worried about losing the garage today for nothing for today is the day I will most likely lose my life. Icy cold chills rapidly spread across my hot body at that thought and I irrationally begin to think of all the things in my life I had left undone. Things I had always put off and listed as unimportant. Now they seem dreadfully important and now unattainable. “Then have it,” I slowly muster enough courage to say, my voice quivering to show my emotion. “Whatever, take it. I don’t hold nothing against you.”
The older one, the one in charge shakes his head sadly at me as he continues to walk towards me and I step back to find myself cornered. “It’s not that easy, we don’t leave unnecessary witness,” he shrugs at me before motioning his two guards to join him and they happily oblige. “It’s time to have some fun boys.” He looks back at me, “It’s up to you whether we do this as pain-free and fast as possible or take it nice and easy with a lot pain. I personally wish to take it as slow and long and painful as possible. I enjoy to see my victims suffer as much as possible, I just feel bad for you since you were only in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He laughs evilly and I quickly grab a metal pan full of thick oil and forcefully throw it at them. They all grunt out in pain and surprise as they all fall back a couple of steps covered thickly with oil. “OK grease monkey, it’s your choice to do it the slow and painful way,” he laughs as they recover their ground and I find myself entrapped once again.
“You won’t get away with this,” I grunt as I begin to pick things off of the shelf behind to begin throwing them harshly upon the three men that surround me as time seems to stand still with their eyes of hatred and violence located on me. Struggling through the harsh pain that consumes me, questions rush rapidly through me from how I had gotten in this predicament and for a way to escape and survive their attack. “The sheriff,” I grunt as I throw a wrench that lands harshly upon the leaders forearm and he yells out in pain while throwing out a few cuss words as his anger grows in his dark eyes, “is on his way, right now.”
“We’ll be long done and out of here by then,” the dark gray haired man smiles evilly at me as he shoves his gun into his belt line of his pants as he boldly walks to me and harshly blocks my attack that I dart at him with a screw driver. I yell out in pain as he yanks my arm back behind me to force me to drop the screw driver before he sharply pulls his knee up into my nose and as he drops his leg, large drops of blood drips from my nose and onto the concrete. Out of my corner of my eye I spot the smaller tan man sharply coming at me with a bright glitter of a sharp hand knife held tightly in his hand to force a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions to rush through me. Pain rushes through me as I am roughly thrown across the room and into the tight corner for the long haired customer comes racing at me to send a couple of harsh punches across my face before I am able to defend myself. “Kinda wish you went the easy way, now I bet.” I vaguely hear the leader’s taunting voice as I receive a couple of rough blows to my stomach and I feel myself to begin coughing roughly as pain explodes within me.
“Never,”I force a sly grin as I begin to struggle with the muscular man’s grip before sending a weak punch at my fake customer who holds me tightly against the back wall of the garage. He laughs evilly at my attempt to punch him before he backhands me and my head harshly hits to wall to send the room spinning around me and the intense pain worsens dramatically to force myself to wonder when all this will be over with. “I already said, take what you want. I mean y’all no -“
”Shut up hick!” the shorter man comes upon the right of me and he elbows me in the face to force my original attacker to back up a bit to get out of the way. Blackness surrounds me momentarily before the dark room spins around me while I feel the icy cold metal blade of the knife sharply press against my neck while the leader comes to stand closely to my left side with his wicked hand gun. Abruptly my fear subsides momentarily as my thoughts surprisingly leaves my situation and begins to wonder onto the future that stands before Hazzard with them in town, of who else they will harm or worse to get what they want. “Boss here says we leave no witnesses and that means we leave no witnesses. So I’d be saving my breath if I were you. . .since you won’t have much more to breathe.” The knifed man says to bring me back to the present and to the three men that surrounds me. Thinking of death and losing my life to such violent men, I once again begin to struggle against their hold and punches despite the odds stacked against me only to receive another round of harsh blows.
I distantly hear myself yell out in pain as I feel the cold blade cutting through the skin of my arm while someone grabs me by my hair to smash my head into something hard and sharp. “You don’t learn, huh hick?” A whispering voice comes back at me through a distant while blackness conquers my fight as I seem to be falling and spinning at the same time, meanwhile my throbbing pain continues to grow within me as they continue to beat me. Feeling myself losing conscience, my fear grows rapidly through me once more at the thought of death, of losing my life to the likes of these hateful and violent men and without saying good-bye to anyone. My fear rushes towards the thought of all that lies ahead of Hazzard. Cold chills rushes over my body as my life seems to rapidly replays in my mind while I feel them beating me before I slowly fall into prayer for the pain and throbbing to come to an end and for the safety to the Dukes and the rest of Hazzard. Finishing my prayer, I reluctantly give up and the darkness grows intensely darker and harsher before everything comes to an abrupt halt.
***GARRETT DUKE***
WELCOME TO HAZZARD! The dark green sign looms brightly upon the right side of the dirt road to send a worm of dread and regret that has been slowly growing since leaving my dad’s house. Once again, the argument I had with my dad replays in my head, of which we had in his office, to force my anger towards him to turn into hatred at how well he had played me. How he had forced me into moving to Hazzard to fulfill several of his purposes and problems he had been facing. By blackmailing me to move to Hazzard, he has not only provided Kristy and her kids with a hint of protection, but had also gotten rid of me without having me arrested. Looking around at the vast open farm land, the rolling hills in the distance, and the dirt road that lies ahead and behind me, I wonder if I had made the right choice by giving into what he had wanted. Chills sharply run down my spine as my thoughts fall upon the alternative choice I had been given, jail or prison time. Thoughts roughly fall back to six years ago of sitting in the small cell in Knoxville while I had awaited for my trial and the hell I had gone through just to survive the five months I was held with five other grown men. Grown men who was wanted for murder and other such heinous crimes and wouldn’t think twice of doing the same to me who had been brought in for lesser crimes than some of them. Being the new guy and younger than most of them, I had been constantly picked on and had to fight for everything while anything that went wrong within the cell had ended up as my fault no matter how much I had protested. The guards didn’t care who was to blame, just as long as they were able to punish someone. That someone would end up being me. Looking around once again, my doubt quickly evaporates into certainty of doing the right thing. Nothing could be worse than jail, no matter how I had been played and tricked into moving here.
Silence roughly surrounds me as it has for the past few hours as I continue to look around and keep looking back at the trailer behind my old model sports car to check on my motorcycle. Listening into the silence and at the argument I had with my dad, my thoughts fade away from jail and my new so called life and the past my dad had just revealed to me. A twin brother? My dad had allowed a little of his past to come out into the open for me, such as his moonshine runs and his chase he gave the local law in Hazzard. Never had he mentioned drugs and an accidental pregnancy that left them in despair and with a couple of drug babies that had been intended to be given up for adoption only for mom to change her mind at the last minute. Nor did they mention having to abandon a baby upon a brother’s front porch due to the guilt they had felt and not able to comfort the baby’s pain and discomfort. Their past being hidden behind guilt and perhaps out of protection towards me. All explaining why Hazzard is held so dear to him and yet seeming forbidden to return to.
Thinking of my parents’ lost past, I slowly and reluctantly watch the scenery pass by me while forcing myself to surrender to the thought of having to see this every day. “Better than jail,” I say aloud to interrupt the silence and reminding myself at the same time. I slowly come to a halt behind my sister’s big four by four Silverado that is stopped at a stop sign and to my surprise, we turn onto a cement road. “Well, “ I sarcastically begin to think, “at least it has one cement road.” With that, I follow my sister into a town where we reach a town square and is forced to turn either right or left. Kristy seems to be stuck at the stop sign as she remains stopped for a moment to allow me to look up and down the street. Several people walk under the summer sun upon the sidewalks that line in front of the stores on each side of the street only to be interrupted by a few alleys and side streets. A large church stands proudly across the street to the left while off towards the right looks to be a court house across the street while smaller businesses line the side of the street where we sit.
After making her decision, Kristy turns left and I quickly follow her through the stop sign and a car frantically honks at me for not stopping and making him come to a halt. Ignoring the halt, I follow Kristy to a small old wooden garage to park in front of the gas pumps to make me look at my gasometer to find it almost on empty. “Good thinkin’, Kris,” I say as I step out of my car to walk towards the pump while my attention goes up to the garage with a hint of worry at the sight of the garage door being closed, “but it looks closed to me.”
Placing the pump into her truck’s gas tank, she shrugs while glancing over her shoulder at where I point to. “Well,” she slowly begins before looking into her truck at the kids, “we can go check later, if not we’ll just leave the money under the door and hope it’s ok. The truck is pretty much on E already and we’ll need gas if we are to go looking for the farm. I really don’t remember where it is in Hazzard. Dad told me, but you know how my memory is with directions.”
“Great. We’ll end up in the bad part of town,” I roll my eyes to receive a hard glare from her, “OK fine. Your point taken. How’s the kids? The trip go ok?”
“Fine,” she shrugs, “they have slept most of the way and are still sleeping.” She pauses as her attention falls upon the street and all that surrounds the shack garage building. Looking back at me, she says, “Look Garrett, I know you didn’t want to come and I know dad tricked you into coming along,” she starts to say before the pump clicks in her hand and she slowly returns the pump and closes her gas tank, “but I am really glad and appreciate that you came along. The kids are excited that you came as well.”
“I’m not overly thrilled,” I comment as my own gas pump clicks and I return the pump and close my gas tank, “but it has to be better than the alternative.” I pause to walk up to the truck, “I’ll pay for our gas.”
She nods blankly at me before she moves to the drivers door and as I reach the walk in door, I glance back to watch her talking to one of the kids in the back. Taking a deep breath to fight back my emotions toward moving to a small town, I slowly open the door to walk into the dark and shadowy garage. “Hello,” I call out as my eyes adjust to the darkness, light filters in through the windows from the sun to light up most of the room to display dark shadows. Silence is returned as I look at the old tow truck with a newer car still hooked up to the back before I slowly begin to walk around. “I’m here to pay for our gas.”
Silence once again responds to my call as I slowly walk towards the parked truck while counting my money I had within my black leather wallet, thinking of just leaving the money as Kristy had suggested. Walking in between the closed garage door and the tow truck to where the desk rests against the right front corner, I am abruptly pulled to a halt at seeing a dark figure laying upon the cement ground toward the back right corner. Dread and fear quickly floods through me as I throw the money on the desk to slowly walk between the truck and the shelves that are stacked against the wooden wall. Abruptly my heart comes to a forced halt as I reach the dark shadow lying on the ground to find it to be a harshly beaten man covered thickly in blood, his eyes are closed while his body is deadly still. “No,” I shake my head in disbelief as I stare at the dead man for a long moment, struck by shock and fear at the sight of the beaten man. I instantly begin to feel nauseated and light headed before I quickly turn away to run back out into the humid hot summer day with the sight of the dead man vividly in mind. “Kristy!”
“What is it, Garrett?” she looks back at me from playing with Shay in the back, irritation in her green-blue eyes.
“Inside,” I grasp fighting to catch my breath while point back at the garage, “inside, the mechanic,” I pause again and she looks more agitated and impatient at me, “the mechanic is dead.”
“What?” she grasps in disbelief.
“Is dead. Beaten to death,” I pause as I force myself to look back, “covered in blood and not moving.”
“OK, Ok, we have to do something,” she instantly runs in while motioning me to follow her. I glance questionably back at her truck with worry for her kids before following her back into the dark garage. Reluctantly I lead her to where the mechanic lies covered in a pool of his own blood. Through the dark shadows that crosses over his beaten body, dark bruises and cuts are recognized under the thick blood while his grease and blood stained hat lies a few feet away under the truck. “Let me see if there is a pulse,” she says to no one in particular. I watch as she walks over his outstretched arm and bends down to touch his bloody neck, looking back at me, she says, “He has a very faint and small pulse, but he’s not breathing. The police station is across the street, “ she blindly points back behind her, “you need to run and get the sheriff. Quickly!”
“But the kids?” I question.
“They’ll be fine. It’s Hazzard, not Knoxville,” she snaps, “get the sheriff.”
“But who did this to him is still out there,” I throw back at her only for her to stare angrily at me and once again points behind for me to go and get the sheriff. “OK. I’m on my way.”
Thoughts rapidly run across my mind as I quickly run out of the garage and out into the open summer day to have people begin to stare at me as I run across the street and up the cement stairs that lead up to the tall and proud brick court house. The sight of the beaten mechanic forces me to quicken my stride as I swing open the glass door to be greeted by cool air condition and an empty brightly lit hall way. After a moment of walking through the hall and looking at the doors to see where they lead to, a voice says, “Can I help you?”
Looking back I find a thin, smaller police officer dressed neatly in dark blue pants, light blue shirt, and a dark hat, his blue eyes shine with eagerness to help while he smiles enthusiastically. Taking a deep breath, I slowly say, “I’m here to see the sheriff.”
“Well he’s in a meeting right now. I’m Deputy Enos Strait,” the deputy responds, “I can lead you to the sheriff’s station and offer you something to drink while he’s busy. It shouldn’t take too long. They already been in there for a while now.”
“No! I need to talk to him, now!” I yell to force my voice to echo down the hall and he looks at me with surprise and worry, “Look, I’m sorry to yell at you. But it’s an emergency,” he gives me a questioning look of impatience, “the mechanic across the street,” I point towards the door while fighting to breathe, “is hurt. I went in to pay for my sister and I’s gas to find him lying on the floor covered in a thick pool of his blood.”
“Cooter!” he yells in shock and fear as recognition enters his eyes.
“He looks dead to me, but my sister said she found a faint pulse,” I hurriedly say as he begins to walk a few feet to a closed door and I quickly follow him. Walking behind him, I find myself in what looks to be the sheriff’s station with a couple of cells to the left of me and a closed door to the right while a couple more closed doors lies ahead along with a flight of wooden stairs.
“Sheriff!” the deputy bangs on the door directly in front of us and by the stairs, “Rosco!”
“What is it, you lug nut?!” the door flies open and an older and taller man steps out dressed in the same sort of uniform with a bigger hat. He eyes his deputy with angered blue eyes before he eyes me questionably. “Who’s this?” he points at me.
“It don’t matter who the hell I am!” I blurt out and they both eye me in surprise while a small fat man dressed in a white three piece suite and a white Stetson walks out behind the sheriff, “We’re in here wasting time while your mechanic, across the street, lies beaten and left for dead! Someone needs to call the ambulance and get help!”
The sheriff continues to eye me questionably while the deputy walks up a step onto a raised floor where the cells are on both sides of an old desk to grab a CB handle. Silence fills the room as the deputy’s squeaky voice demands an ambulance to come the Hazzard Garage to help the beaten mechanic while I suspiciously watch the tall and broad shouldered sheriff make his way to me. “What you say happened?” He eyes me for a long time with piercing eyes as my thoughts go back to yesterday and the threat of going to jail for breaking and entering.
“My sister and I stopped for gas,” I slowly state, “I went in to pay and found the mechanic lying in his pool of blood. Obviously beaten by someone if not anything more. I didn’t get that good of look, I went and got help.”
He nods as the deputy joins us. “Lead the way,” the sheriff motions with his right hand for me to lead them outside. As I lead them into their hall way, he says, “what’s your name?”
“Garrett,” I slowly respond before leading them back out into the summer heat, “Garrett Duke.”
“A Duke?” the small fat man finally speaks up as he lights a cigar, suspicious and nervousness enters his words as he eyes me with dark brown eyes, “How many of there are you?”
I shrug nervously as we walk across the empty street and up onto the driveway of the garage and as I walk past Kristy’s truck, I glance in at her kids momentarily before walking to the garage. “I wouldn’t know,” I respond as I walk in and follow the garage door to right wall to find Kristy performing CPR on the mechanic, “I’ve got help, Kristy.”
For a long moment she doesn’t say anything as she breathes into his bloody mouth and as she starts her compressions she says, “I lost him. He has no heart beat, he’s not breathing. Nothing.”
“At least you tried,” I attempt knowing she won’t give up. Her nursing instincts are too strong and she cares too much for people and animals.
“That’s not enough,” she grunts continuing to count the compressions, “I won’t stop until help arrives.”
***SHERIFF ROSCO COLTRANE***
Flames of anger flare from his dark brown eyes as he fidgets within his large leather swivel chair, chewing anxiously upon the butt of his fat cigar while silence slowly begins to filter within his smokey room. Uneasy thoughts begin to ramble within me of all he had just said towards me out of anger while he had taken out his frustration out on me. Frustration at the lack of speeding and citation tickets and the decrease of money he has been making month to month. Blaming if it’s my fault. “Look Boss,” I brake the silence, feeling uncomfortable with his anger, “it’s not my fault nor my deputy’s. I mean, we are suppose to promote and look kindly upon our citizens following the laws and safe driving procedures. We just can’t go out handing out tickets when they aren’t doin’ anything wrong. Instead we should be rewarding them.”
“Rewarding them?!” his voice booms loudly against the thin walls and I slowly take a step back, “My money box is at a all time low and you want me to go and start rewarding people?!” he shakes his head in vivid disagreement as he harshly smashes the butt of his cigar into his metal ash tray. “I don’t care how well the citizens of Hazzard are respecting the laws and rules of this town. . .there has to be someone out there speeding. Late for a date, work, or a meeting. Someone speeding somewhere, someone parking illegally. Someone littering our clean streets! There has to be someone doing something wrong!” he yells once more hitting his desk before holding onto his hurt hand. “When was the last time you caught the Dukes and gave them a ticket?”
Looking around the small room, I am slowly reminded of how it once was years ago when I had been a respected sheriff and was well known for my accurate and good work I had done with Hazzard. Had put hard and evil criminals tightly behind bars, had only given tickets and citations to those who rightfully deserved them, and had investigated every little thing in every case that was presented to me and refused to do anything until I was sure that the person was in the wrong and dealt with them the right way. Shaking my head, I once again force myself to realize all that was long in the past. The past that has little chance of resurfacing now that I am now looked upon as the good lawman that has long ago fallen crooked and dishonest. All due to the loss of my pension, of money and greed. I had deserved every cent of the pension that should have been given to me, no questions asked, but as falling into the crooked and greedy hands of the commissioner, I had lost my dignity as well as my pension. All to my own greed for money. If only I had. . .
“You gone deaf, Rosco? Answer the damn question!” Hogg interrupts my thoughts and I slowly look at him while struggling with my own anger, my own emotions. I not only had lost my dignity by trusting and falling loyally to Hogg, but I had also lost all the respect I once had from everyone; all for money. Looking dumbly at the fat man that sits angrily in his chair, I silently begin to question and search for a way out of the deep and dark hole I had slowly dug myself into all those years ago. I had been dumb and blind all those years ago not to see all that was coming to me by agreeing to Hogg and becoming his partner.
“I don’t remember Boss,” I finally answer as he begins to open his mouth to yell at me once more, “I don’t remember and I really don’t care.” He looks at me with anger and disbelief. “Look, I love chasing them Duke boys and giving them hot pursuit…it’s all fun and games. But I am tired of going around and searching for something to arrest and ticket them for when we all know they haven’t done anything wrong and won’t. They are law biding citizens that are highly respected in this town. . .something that we both aren’t due to cheating them out of money by greed and dishonesty. I once was an honest lawman and was highly respected by the citizens of this county as well as those surrounding it, all that changed due to losing my pension and becoming partners with you.”
More anger flares in Hogg’s eyes as he begins breathing heavily with the hatred that is bottled within his fat body and he begins to fidget nervously in his chair while opening his mouth before closing it once more. A hint of surprise and shock is mixed within the anger in his eyes at me standing up to him and telling him how I feel instead of sitting back and taking his verbal abuse he is keen to lend out when angry. “You are even more stupid than what I had originally gave you credit for! How dare you stand there in front of me and talk to me like that!” he abruptly jumps to his feet while pounding his fist once more on his desk and I jump back in surprise, “For all that I have done for you, this is how you pay me back? Huh? By standing there and accusing me for losing the respect you once had, for you turning dishonest! I didn’t make you do nothing, Rosco. You and that pea sized brain of your’s was the one to make that decision, I had only gave you the chance to become my partner. You know who and how I am long before I offered you partnership. . .all of which I would never have considered doing if it weren’t for your fat sister! Who happened to feel sorry for you and your loss of the pension and wanted me to help you out, to give you support. I gave you a way and at the time you were smart enough to take it!”
I glare at him as my anger rises towards him as I slowly come to realize that this anger towards him has been slowly building within me within the past couple of years when I had slowly became aware of what I had become. “I realize, Boss, that I made that choice,” I slowly respond while fighting for a way to defend myself now that I had told him how I felt, “I am angry at myself for falling into your trap and for allowing you to treat me the way you do! I treat Flash a whole lot better than you treat me and she’s a dog!”
“An ugly and stupid one at that,” he mutters as he pulls another cigar out of his chest pocket, “Well Rosco, if that is how you feel, perhaps it’s time for you to quit your job as sheriff and I’ll find me a new sheriff for Hazzard.”
I glare angrily at him. “I am not quitting the job that has been my life for the past twenty-five years.” I respond firmly.
“Then perhaps I’ll have to fire you then,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “can’t say I gave you the choice of what you wanted.”
“Fire me?!” I yell enraged at him as I take a few threatening steps towards him, “I have highly respected you for the last fifteen years that I had partnership with you, I’ve been loyal and have done most of everything you asked me to. I’ve even dealt with you cheating me out of money, because I respect you, I like your friendship,” I calm my voice down as I reach his desk, “but I am done being yelled at and treated like dirt from you! I deserve some respect from someone. . .from at least the person that has brought me to the level I currently am at right now!”
A small smile flashes across his face before he shakes his head in disbelief. “All this over a little respect? Rosco,” he pauses as a hint of his anger still flares in his eyes, anger that he forcefully compresses, “I’ll give you the respect when you earn it! I don’t hand out respect to just anyone. . .none like you. Another thing, I don’t take kindly to the way you are talking to me. . .you are not respecting me and for that I should fi-“
”Sheriff!” a panicky voice abruptly interrupts Hogg’s spiel as a dark shadow covers the window that lies in the middle of Hogg’s wooden door. Glaring roughly at Hogg, I slowly walk over and opening it I find my deputy standing in the door way with a tall, muscular man with unkept dark blond hair and an hideous scar running down the side of the neck, standing a foot behind him. “Rosco!”
“What is it, you lug nut?!” I yell out impatiently before my mind falls back onto demanding respect from Hogg. “Who’s this?” I ask as I point over his shoulder at the young man who gives me an icy stare to send chills down my back.
“It don’t matter who the hell I am!” the man yells and his voice rises to a sense of panic and fear, “We’re in here wasting time while your mechanic, across the street, lies beaten and left for dead! Someone needs to call the ambulance and get help!”
Surprise and shock rushes through me as I stare numbly at him as Enos quickly turns away and walks up to my desk to pick up the CB and I distantly hear him begin to call for an ambulance. Fear quickly follows the instant shock that had been given through one short sentence delivered by a complete stranger as my mind falls back on earlier this morning. From listening and watching Hogg yell at Cooter for his high bill he was given for my patrol car to receiving Cooter’s call about the fallen car down Rainbow Cliff and how hard we had worked searching for the driver and getting the car towed out of the cliff. Slowly my thoughts fall on stopping at the garage after finishing searching the site, ready to tell Cooter that no one was found, only to surprisingly find the garage door closed while both the garage door and his walk in door was sealed tightly locked. Highly abnormal for Cooter who would be willing to stay open all night for anyone who asked or needed his service, to the mechanic who is always ready for business and seemingly happy working on garage.
I stare at the tall man blindly as the short sentence rewinds and plays again in my head before questions explode within me of why Cooter’s garage had been locked and closed. I had only shrugged it off at the time thinking perhaps he went for something to eat and didn’t want the car to be disturbed since I had labeled it as possible evidence. Now I am left to wonder, if the stranger is telling the truth, if he was in serious trouble when I went to talk to him and in danger. I was that close to him and didn’t help him. Chills run up and down my body at the thought as guilt begins to build within me at the thought of not helping someone in need when I was just outside the door. I shake my head in disbelief while sorting through the raging emotions that tears within me and all the implications the car and now this is revealing for Hazzard. “What you say happen?” I finally bring myself to ask, refusing to believe what a stranger has to say. How could anyone, no matter how evil they are, harshly and violently beat someone across the street from the Sheriff’s Station in the middle of the day? People are always out during the day no matter what day it is, for chores or leisure.
* * * * *
I quickly follow the Duke across the empty street and up the cracked cement drive way that leads to the old wooden garage before we slowly escape from the bright summer sun to walk into the dark garage. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness as we walk alongside the parked tow truck to the right corner to find a woman bending over a dark object that hides within the shadows from where I stand frozen, too afraid to walk any closer. Too afraid that the new Duke is right about Cooter being beaten almost to death or to death. “I’ve got help, Kristy,” the Duke breaks the silence and the woman glares around her shoulder momentarily before bending over, closer to the shadow.
“I lost him. He has no heart beat, he’s not breathing. Nothing,” the woman responds breathlessly, rough emotions laced between each word to force my heart to an abrupt halt.
The man who had momentarily introduced himself as Garrett sighs heavily as he fidgets in place a few feet in front of me where he stands a foot away from the shadow and from his sister. “At least you tried,” he finally shrugs and I reluctantly take a step forward and the shadow comes into the form of an still, outstretched body to force rough chills once again to rush up and down my body.
“That’s not enough,” his sister grunts angrily as she leans over the body to press into his chest, “I won’t stop until help arrives.”
I silently watch the woman performing CPR on the still body on the ground as I struggle to remain in disbelief of all that has been said so far from Garrett coming in and saying the mechanic was left for dead and onto his sister saying she lost him, no heart beat. “No,” I hear myself say aloud before I numbly take a couple of steps to approach Garrett. Looking down at the outstretched still body, I abruptly become nauseated at seeing Cooter lying face up covered harshly in cuts and bruises and drowned in his own pool of thick blood. The room darkly spins around me as I blindly look for a bullet hole or a stab wound while wondering if he only had gotten beaten to death or worse, though through the dark and the thick blood, all that shows is cuts and bruises. “Cooter,” I whisper as I quickly fall into prayer for the local mechanic. The local mechanic who had helped me only this morning with the fallen car. Taking a long last look at the mechanic and his harsh wounds that may be the death of him, I slowly turn around and begin to lean on the shelf as I walk back into the back corner.
Abruptly a piercing siren cuts through the silence of the summer afternoon as if to answer the prayers I had frantically prayed only seconds ago as I had stood over Cooter’s still body while Hogg walks up to the still body. After a moment of looking at Cooter’s beaten body, he slowly turns around to walk back to where I stand leaning against the back wall and the metal desk. “What kind of sheriff are you,” he hisses at me, resentment from our argument earlier still present in his voice, “to allow a citizen in your county to be killed right across the street from you?!”
“You idiot coward -“
”You better be saving your words and time, Rosco. It looks as if you have a murderer to find,” he glares at me through his hateful eyes before he turns and walks towards the door, “meanwhile I have business of my own to take care of.”
I watch the commissioner slowly waddle through the dark garage before he disappears out through the walk in door while the sirens grow louder and closer to draw my attention back to the fallen man. “You say you found him like this?” I finally says, glaring at the young Duke.
“That’s what I said,” he sneers at me, full of attitude, “went to pay for gas and this is how I found him. I hadn’t touched him, Kristy is only to do CPR.”
I stare suspiciously at him for a long moment while listening to the piercing siren growing closer with each passing second before I once again look back down at Cooter’s still body. Staring down at Cooter, drowned heavily within his thick blackish-red blood, disbelief and anger quickly floods within me. Disbelief that anyone could have the capability to do such an hideous and violent thing to someone like Cooter to send questions running through my numb mind. What could Cooter have done to get beaten and tortured as he had? Fighting back the rough emotions rushing through me, my attention slowly slides away from Cooter’s still body and onto the damaged car that rests only a few feet to the right of him. Recalling this morning’s events upon Rainbow Cliff and an icy chill slowly makes it’s way downward from my neck at the thought of the missing driver. What was in the car that would be worth beating a man to death over, in the middle of the day, and across from the sheriff station?
“That your car?” I slowly glance back up at Garrett from the damaged car to send more chills running down my spine. Chills in realization that I could be standing only a couple of feet away from the man who had jumped the car over the cliff and has violently beaten Cooter. Fear quickly races within me as my thoughts begin to bounce rapidly within me, thoughts from the fact that we have never seen the damaged car or Garrett before today to the effect all this will have on Hazzard and onto how to deal with a murder case. Never before has there been a killing in my county that I had to deal with, though the question is quickly answered. Call the FBI. Dread quickly erupts within me to join the rest of my raging emotions at the thought of calling the FBI and having to welcome them into my county and to abide to their rules.
“I’ve never seen the damn car in my life. My car remains parked by the pumps outside, since you know, we were here to get gas,” Garrett finally responds, attitude and resentment thick in his voice as he glares harshly at me with his cold and hard gray eyes.
‘A killer would have cold and hard eyes to match the cold and hard heart that lies entrapped within the killer. A killer would look upon any law enforcer with resentment and attitude to help cover up their fear and worry of being caught.’ A shudder falls across my numb body at the unnerving thought.
Listening into the growing siren, I ask, “You say, you just came into Hazzard? How long you here for?”
“Yeah we just got to Hazzard,” he harshly responds as his attention falls upon his sister before looking back at me, anger and hatred filling his hardened eyes, “we got to Hazzard and while paying for the gas we took, I decided to beat the mechanic to death. You know,” he shrugs looking evilly at me, “just for the fun of it.”
Anger explodes within me as his last statement echoes within me as time seems to come to an abrupt halt and everything seems to come into view. His sister performing what seems to be a helpless act of CPR on Cooter’s lifeless body, the piercing siren that explodes just outside, the damaged truck on the end of Cooter’s tow truck, and the new Duke standing several inches taller than I with hateful gray eyes. “You low life scum!” I yell as I grab my metal handcuffs out from my belt before I grab onto his right wrist and surprise enters his eyes before I harshly turn him around. I quickly lock a metal cuff tightly around his right wrist and while I quickly grab tightly onto his left wrist, I breathlessly say, “You are under the arrest,” I pause to tightly snap the handcuff onto his other wrist and force him to face me, “for the violent beating of Cooter Davenport and by the looks of it, for the murder of Cooter as well.”
Garrett goes to say something before the rushing of feet and the clinging of tires enters the garage and we both turn around to find four paramedics running with a stretcher, medical supplies lying on top of the sheets. I numbly watch as the sister moves out of the way while saying something to them as they carefully move his bloody still body onto the stretcher and quickly places an air mask over his face. The other paramedics begin to quickly wheel the stretcher towards the door while medical work is continuing to be done on Cooter. Once again, I fall into prayer for the local mechanic, for him to be OK and pull through the beating he had taken.
“Sheriff!” a woman’s voice penetrates the silence and I turn around to be face to face with the sister. Her strawberry blond hair lies wavily down below her shoulder bones while the sides of her hair is tied tightly back in a barrette of some sort, her thin bangs hang curled just above her soft green eyes. She stands confidently in front of me wearing nice fitting dark blue jeans and a tight yellow tank top while her tan arms are folded tightly against her chest. Anger and surprise radiate within her light green eyes with a hint of moister in the inner corner as if in tears. “What are you doing with my brother?!”
“He’s under arrest for the beating of Cooter Davenport. . .and perhaps murder,” I sternly answer her before I turn to Garrett and recite his rights without interruption to my surprise.
“Under arrest?” she yells in surprise as she eyes Garrett and then me, “Are you really that stupid to think he did that to that man?! Huh? We just got here. . .we stopped to get gas, he went in to pay and he found him like that. Trust me, he wasn’t in there long enough to do that to that man!”
“Not according to Garrett here,” I shake my head at her, “he just confessed to doing it himself.”
“I did no such thing!” Garrett snarls, “I wouldn’t confess to something I didn’t do! I didn’t do this!”
“That’s not what you said. Enough talk, let’s go find you your new home,” I forcefully say as I turn him around to the door, “we can argue about this later.”
“Sheriff!” the woman yells behind me and I slowly turn around to face her, “If you are so convinced he did this, then please let us know why he would do this to someone he doesn’t even know?”
I look at her and then at Garrett. “Perhaps you were dating him and he didn’t like how he was treating you. The over protective brother,” I pause, “or perhaps he didn’t like the price Cooter gave him. They got into an argument. One thing led to another.”
“I haven’t been to Hazzard in over twenty-five years so therefore, I have never met this so called Cooter in my life, not alone to be dating him,” she rolls her pretty eyes while nervously licking her bottom lip, “and he wouldn’t go beat a man he didn’t know over a lousy price for gas! He wasn’t in there long enough for even a small argument…five minutes tops he spent in there before he came back out.”
I glare angrily at her. “Look woman. I am sorry you are upset about your brother here,” I yank his arm back towards the door, “perhaps he can give me his own reason why he did what he did. All I know is that he confessed to doing this to Cooter and I plan on having him pay the highest price there is for doing such a thing in my county!”
***BO DUKE***
An thick and awkward silence continues to grow between my cousin and I as I tiredly guide The General sharply right to turn from the dusty dirt road and onto the paved road. Our argument continues to replay itself within my head as if it were a broken stereo that keeps repeating itself as the anger and disbelief in his bright blue eyes seems to clearly look back at me. Watching the farmland slowly fade away into the small town of Hazzard, I struggle to hold back my wounded pride and my hurtful feelings that had been building up since we had gotten the car started. “We have to stop by Rhuebottom’s for groceries,” Luke says briskly to break the silence, “before going to Cooter’s for the parts.” His voice lingers heavily for a moment as we pass Cooter’s dark garage and on towards the town square where the grocery store lies. “Jesse wants us home with the groceries and supplies he sent for us in time to be able to cook a decent supper tonight instead of left overs as we’ve been having lately.”
I silently nod before I gently shove the car into park directly in front of the small and warn down grocery store as a fiery pain once again explodes in my lungs. I wince inwardly as I watch Luke pull himself out through the window before I silently glance at my pocket watch my Uncle Jesse had given me for graduation several years ago. “Damn,” I whisper as I silently calculate how much time until I will take my next asthma medication only finding it to be a few hours away. ‘It wouldn’t help anyhow,’ I silently think as I am reminded of the reoccurring pain in my lungs in the past couple of weeks and how nothing seems to help.
“You comin’?” Luke snaps as he looks in the window, impatience covers his face. I slowly nod before I pull myself out of the car, ignoring the pain that increases with each inhaling breath I take. “Let’s get this over with. Perhaps there will be time left to go over to Cooter’s,” the anger in his voice seems to decrease with a hint of protectiveness.
I slowly nod as I follow him into the store. “Well hi boys,” Mr. Rhuebottom waves from the front desk, a smile covers his old leathery face, “how y’all doing? How’s Daisy and Uncle Jesse?”
“We’re all fine,” Luke nods at him as he grabs an old and cracked cart, “I guess we’ll see you in a few after picking up all that we were sent to get.”
“OK boys. You know where to find me if you need help,” he nods at us and I begin to follow Luke to the far left isle as a piercing siren breaks through the silence.
“Someone’s not having a good day,” Luke mumbles under his breath as he begins reading the list that Jesse made him while picking up a few items along the way. “Hopefully,” he says as it grows even closer and louder, “everyone will be ok. Perhaps just checking on someone.”
“Hopefully,” I doubtfully respond while dreadfully listening to the sirens while ignoring the pain and the wheezing sound that escapes with each breath. My thoughts fall onto the piercing siren and all that it could mean and back onto Cooter with high hopes of finding the part for The General when we stop by there. Looking at Luke and all that he is grabbing, I impatiently ask, “Are we about done yet? The General -“
”Look Bo,” he begins to say, his voice thick with impatience as he looks back at me before he comes to a halt in the middle of the isle. Impatience quickly clears from his eyes to be filled with concern. “You OK Bo? You don’t look or sound too -“
”I’ll be fine,” I forcefully say only for the pain to grow worse and I fight the temptation to reach for my inhaler, too proud to show my pain to my cousin, the cousin I had grown up adoring. And still do. “I just want to see,” I stop to fight for air, “if Cooter has the part yet.”
He looks at me skeptically for a long moment before shrugging in defeat before he glances at his own gold pocket watch. “Look maybe it would be,” he stops as the ambulance wails loudly past us and we both stare silently out the store window in wonder who the ambulance is going to. Looking back at me he says, “maybe it would be easier and quicker if you run down to Cooter’s while I finish up here. I’ll meet you down there when I’m done here.”
“Thanks Luke,” I force him a smile as I slowly begin to walk back towards the entrance.
“Leave The General here,” Luke calls out behind me and I nod at him before walking out into the hot late afternoon.
With the sun in my eyes and the piercing siren wailing somewhere close, I begin to walk down the street towards Cooter’s. As I am well past Rhuebottom’s and out of sight from Luke, I slowly grab my red cased inhaler from my pocket and I slowly inhale a couple breathes of medicine before taking deep breathes before taking a couple more inhalations. Finishing five cycles of that, I slowly pocket the inhaler, the fiery pain has gradually decreased to a dim pain with each breath I take. A dim pain to foreshadow an attack that lurks just around the corner in the near future. Dread fills me as I silently recall the attack I had last night and the pain that steadily grew within me after the attack only to die down throughout the night.
I sigh heavily in knowledge that there is no escaping the oncoming attack other than to face up to it and wait for it to blow over with the help of medicine. Medicine that I hadn’t been so reliant upon the past few years as I have been the past couple of months only to remind me of the past that I thought I had left behind. Glancing back at the grocery store that now lies a block behind me, I reluctantly begin to urge myself to turn back around and tell Luke we should go home instead of Cooter’s. If there is an attack, especially like last night, it would be better to be at home than at Cooter’s or anywhere else. “Forget it,” I stubbornly say aloud and continue to walk towards Cooter’s, replacing my thoughts of my asthma onto thoughts of new car parts that should be in soon.
Reaching a block from Cooter’s old and small garage, my heart comes to an abrupt halt as the old ambulance comes into sight parked in front of Cooter’s garage door that lies closed. A truck and an older muscle car lies parked in front of each pump, the muscle car towing a motorcycle and a few boxes upon a trailer. I stare hypnotically at the ambulance and the lights that flash, reflecting off of the sun bathed cement. “Cooter!” I yell and a couple of people walking past stare at me before eyeing the garage. Struggling through my emotions, I quickly begin to run down the cement and across the street before reaching the drive way only a few moments later. “Cooter!” I yell again as I run into the dark garage to find a couple of paramedics pushing a stretcher in between the closed garage door and his tow truck, behind him, Rosco stands with a tall muscular man with unkept hair. An attractive woman stands behind them. They all watch the paramedics pushing the stretcher out with emotions etched across their faces, standing silently still.
“Get out of the way!” a paramedic snaps at me and I take a step back to watch them walk past me. Horror explodes within me as I look down at the stretcher to find Cooter lying silently still, covered with thick blackish-red blood, and barely recognizable through the blood and cuts that he is covered with.
I feel myself begin to shake uncontrollably with intense fear and shock as the fiery pain once again explodes in my lungs, triggered by my emotions. “Cooter,” I hear myself whisper as I quickly walk back out into the sun to follow the paramedics, “That’s Cooter.”
“Get out of the damn way you stupid fool!” the same paramedic yells at me as he steps away from the stretcher to purposely run into me to knock me back a couple of feet, “We are here to help him to the hospital to hopefully receive the medical help he desperately needs and you are only slowing us down by not getting out of the way. I told you once before -“ he stops to look over my shoulder and I glance back to find Luke standing defensively behind me, his face aghast with his own fear. Looking back at me, he continues, “to get out of the way!”
“Don’t talk to my cousin that way!” Luke yells at the small broad shouldered paramedic before I feel a comforting hand land upon my shoulder and he helps me to take a step back. More worry spreads across his face as he looks at me. “Damn Bo,” he shakes his head, his voice quivering before the closing of the ambulance doors attracts both our attention. Once again the piercing siren cuts through the hot humid air as the ambulance turns right on it’s way to Tri-County Hospital. “Bo,” he says a moment later and tightens his grip on my shoulder slightly to grab my attention. I slowly look up at him as a lone tear breaks away to trail down my right cheek, a tear of pain and fear.
“He’s. . .dead,” I slowly speak up and once again I can feel myself shake, “he’s dead. . .Luke.”
***LUKE DUKE***
Anger, disbelief, and fear rapidly explodes within my tired and numb body as I silently watch the piercing ambulance race rapidly down Main Street before abruptly turn right and out of sight. “Cooter?” I hear myself ask aloud as I stare down the empty road, listening to the piercing siren carrying Cooter farther and farther away from his garage. “He’s dead . . .Luke,” Bo’s wheezy and slow words slowly begin to repeat themself hauntingly within me as if to answer my question to force icy sharp chills to climb my back and across my body. Struggling to ignore the harsh emotions that continues to rapidly grow within me, thoughts and questions slowly begin to form; thoughts from Cooter’s edgy response to my call on the way here to Bo’s asthma acting up and the ambulance we had watched drive by Rhuebottom’s. The ambulance on it’s way to pick up a lifeless Cooter. How could anyone hurt Cooter? And why? Cooter would never mean any harm to anyone and was always willing to lend a helping hand at any cost, often times putting other’s needs ahead of his own. Yet. . .
“Blood,”Bo wheezily interrupts my thoughts and I slowly glance away from the road leading out of town to glance over at my cousin. Worry once again grows rapidly within me at the sight of his ghostly pale skin and at his thin chest heaving in and out in his painful struggle for air as his attack continues to grow. Pain, fear, and shock swarm within his baby blue eyes as he stares blankly at me for a long moment before his attention turns towards Cooter’s closed garage. “Blood,” he repeats, his lanky body visibly shakes in fear and shock of what he had just seen while a thin stream of tears slowly leaks from the corner of his eyes to trail down his pale cheeks.
“Look Bo,” I begin to say with my right hand remaining upon his shaky left shoulder in my feeble attempt to comfort him, “they had the siren going, which normally means that -“ I am interrupted by a muffled noise from within the garage. I stare at the garage for a long moment before glancing back questionably at Bo who’s attention remains fixated upon the closed doors of the garage, lost in his own world of thoughts and visions of all that he had just witnessed. “Bo,” I slowly speak up again, “I’m going into the garage and see who’s in there. You stay right here, I’ll be right out. OK?”
He responds by taking a step away before beginning to harshly cough to force his tears to quicken in pain before his coughing once again resides into loud and painful wheezing. I watch as he takes out his inhaler before I slowly turn away and walk up the drive way and to the closed walk-in door. Stepping into the dark and shadowy garage, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to see Cooter’s tow truck parked to the right with a newer model car hooked to the back. Rosco stands in between the grill of the truck and the closed garage door with a defensive grip upon the back of a tall muscular man with dark blond hair. An attractive woman with long thick reddish-blond hair stands a foot behind them, anger thick in her eyes as she stares from Rosco and onto me. “Rosco,” I slowly break the silence I had created by interrupting their conversation, “what’s going on? What happened to Cooter?”
“Ask this thug,” he snaps shoving the man forward a step who glares coldly at me with icy gray eyes, “he came to report it while his sister was doing CPR on Cooter. Says they found him here like that.”
“You don’t believe him?” I ask skeptically.
“We just came into Hazzard, we stopped for gas and Garrett went in to pay,” the woman says exasperated as she looks at me for help, “Garrett came out a minute later and told me what he found. I went in to help while I sent him across the street for some more help. What help we get, huh? He ends up getting arrested.”
“Hush already! You can tell it to the judge,” Rosco rolls his blue eyes at her as he shoves the handcuffed man past me, “we’ll get the correct answer one way or another. Let’s go!”
I silently watch them walk out into the hot and humid day for a long moment before I slowly walk around the tow truck and past his old desk to find a large dark black puddle in the back right corner. A wave of nausea rushes through me as I approach the black puddle to find it to be dark black-red blood, a bubbles spread throughout the puddle of blood from the heat within the garage. Instantly, vivid and intense flash backs of war rush over me and I am once again helplessly watching Rick, my best friend being shot and beaten within the deadly ambush I had led my men in on that dreadful day. Chills rush through me as I visualize Rick slowly and painfully bleeding to death on my lap, talking about his family and all that he will miss out now that he is dying while urging me to escape while I can. His brown eyes thick with pain and fear as he had spent his last moments of life in immeasurable amounts of pain and talking of his family and dreams. Dreams he hadn’t achieved and never will due to the bullets and pieces of sharp shrapnel that pierced him through the deadly combat.
Voices from outside slowly penetrate through my feared flashback to gradually send me back into the shadowy garage and fresh chills climb rapidly across my cold body. Cold despite the harsh heat that radiates within the garage and outside from the hot summer sun. “He’s dead. . .Luke,” Bo’s wheezy voice once again begins to taunt me to send my thoughts from war, to Cooter, and onto Bo who has never seen anyone beaten or shot or killed violently to see the blood, pain, and death. All of which he had just witness by seeing Cooter being strolled away upon the stretcher. More worry for my cousin begins to grow as I am reminded of how he had acted a few months ago when Jesse had fallen and had gotten hurt. How he had closed himself up within himself until Jesse was released from the hospital and everything returned to normal, and was reassured that everyone was ok. Jesse had only hit his head really hard to throw him un-conscience for a couple of days with a concussion and in need of a few stitches. But Cooter. . .
Taking a deep breath in attempt to control my emotions and thoughts, I slowly bend down and grab Cooter’s favorite hat from under his truck to find it covered in blood. “Blood. . .blood,” Bo says within me, his words quivering in attempt to breathe and fear as he had repeated the single word almost as if he were hypnotized by what he had just seen. Saying a silent prayer, I take a last look at Cooter’s lost blood before slowly turning and walking back to the walk – in door where I had entered a few minutes ago. Stepping back out into the hot humid afternoon, it once again takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light to find Rosco standing a few feet from Bo with the prisoner, the prisoner’s sister stuck in front of him, yelling about his innocence. After a short moment, she eyes me to let her guard down and Rosco quickly takes advantage to walk past her and she quietly begins to follow them. “How could you -“ Bo starts wheezily as Rosco leads the prisoner in front of him only to be interrupted by the muscular prisoner to spit thickly at him. The spit hits Bo directly on the chest before Rosco yells something at the prisoner and drags him quickly away before Bo has a chance to react to it.
“Bo,” I slowly say as I place a comforting hand upon his shoulder and he watches them cross the street momentarily before glancing up at me. “Where’s your inhaler?” I worriedly ask as I take in the pain and fear that remains sketched across his pale face, his thin chest panickly heaves in and out in his fight for air.
“Don’t work,” he forces out to begin to cough chronically for a long moment before his attention goes back onto the garage, a far away look falls across his baby blue eyes as he fights to ignore everything around him. “It hurts,” he finally says still looking at the dark garage as he begins to nervously bite his lower lip.
I abruptly look back at him from following his attention towards the garage to be filled with surprise and intense worry towards his admission of pain. Bo would rather suffer than to admit to being in pain, than to admit that his asthma is acting up. Probably due to all the doctor and hospital visits he had to endure due to the severe attacks he had while growing up, all the needles, breathing treatments, and fear that had been administered in attempt to help ease his suffering and to defuse the attack. Luckily, his asthma had become better and treatable for a few years while I was at war and after war only seeming to be a nuisance every once in awhile and a source of having to take medication every morning and night.
Through the last few months that his asthma has gradually grown worse and worse as time went on forcing on more attacks, he had always denied an attack until it was too late. Saying he was fine even though it was apparent that he wasn’t. Too proud or too scared to admit that it is getting worse or that he needs help. “It hurts,” his admission echoes in my mind to send sadness to ricochet within me along with all the other harsh emotions that lies entrapped within me. “OK,” I reluctantly nod as I help his shaky body towards the passenger door of The General. “OK. . .let’s go to the hospital. Perhaps,” I pause as I watch him weakly climbing into the passenger seat, “perhaps we’ll get you help while waiting on word for Cooter.”
He stares blankly at me for a moment before his attention once again falls upon the garage and I glance back up at the garage once again as my thoughts once again fall back upon how he had reacted to Jesse being hurt. “We’ll get through this, Bo,” I try to reassure him before I quickly walk around the hood to climb into the driver’s window to start the car up. Backing up into Main Street, I silently listen to Bo’s wheezy breathing while I allow my thoughts and emotions to run rapidly through me, my own vision falling upon the puddle of bubbly blood in his garage. Once again, questions erupt within me, questions of who would do this to Cooter and why. Questions of all that the suspects sister had said runs through me, if he didn’t do it, then who? No one would want to hurt Cooter. . .
“OK, we’re here,” I finally break the silence that had built between us since leaving the garage as I lead Bo into the waiting room of the emergency room. A few people sit scattered around in the rows of benched cushioned seats, a couple looking at old torn magazines while a couple more sit in the corner talking quietly amongst themselves, while a middle aged woman cries into the thick shoulder of her husband. Sighing heavily, I quickly walk in between the rows before reaching the receptionist desk to find an older woman sitting behind the desk filling out paper work. “Excuse me miss,” she looks up at me to stare at me with gray eyes, gray eyes that match her dark gray hair that lies in a thick bun, “we’re here for Cooter Davenport.”
“Who?” she asks impatiently.
“The mechanic,” I slowly respond before glancing back at Bo who has now sat in the nearest seat, his eyes half closed as exhaustion settles in.
“He’s in the ER right now,” she replies before going back to her paper work.
“Can’t you at least tell us how he is?” I look back at her as she remains on her paper work, “Look, at least tell us if he was alive when they took him into the ER! Tell us something!”
She sighs with exasperation before looking at me and says, “He had a small pulse and wasn’t breathing on his own…that’s it. Said they lost him again in the ambulance but found a pulse a minute or two before wheeling him into the ER. If y’all are lucky,” she forces a sarcastic smile, “he’ll be in there for a while. The longer the better…it means he’s still a live at least.”
I slowly nod before looking back at Bo who now sits with his head against the wall and his eyes fully closed, his chest continues to heave in and out though now slowly as he seems to slowly be giving up his fight. Looking back at the receptionist, I say, “I also want to get a doctor to look at my cousin here. He has asthma and is having a bad attack.”
“He should know how to handle an attack,” she responds hastily, “use an inhaler. Doesn’t he have one?”
“Yes he has one!” I yell to send everyone looking at me, the receptionist jumps slightly in her chair in surprise before anger settles in, “He already used it. . .twice! And look at him! It didn’t work. . .he can’t breathe!”
“Relax,” she rolls her eyes again as she grabs a clipboard and hands it to me, “fill this out and then we’ll see what we can do.”
I shove the clipboard away while shaking my head no at her. “I don’t think you are listening to me or either that you don’t understand! He don’t have time to sit there and wait for me to fill out your stupid paper work!” I snap at her before glancing back at him to find him still asleep in spite of me yelling only a couple of feet away from him. Looking back at her I say, “He needs help now!”
“All the doctors are busy with other patients in the ER. He will have to wait until -“
”Is there a problem?” a tall lanky doctor with fine cut light brown hair and thin rimmed glasses turn around the corner to stand a foot away from the receptionist, his piercing brown eyes looks down at the receptionist and up at me.
“Hell yeah there’s a problem doctor. Look at my cousin,” I point back at Bo, “he’s having an asthma attack and can’t breathe and your receptionist won’t provide him with any help!”
He looks down at the receptionist who shrugs slowly. “Everyone is in the ER either with that boy, or the mechanic, or that elderly man,” she sighs, “I can’t exactly pull one out for him.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “What about me? Or another doctor on another floor? You could have called one of them up,” he snaps at her, “never mind for now Rebecca, we can talk about this later. For now, I have a patient to take care of.”
She opens her mouth to say something only to shut it again as he turns his back on her. “I’m Doctor Weaver,” the doctor says as he walks around the desk to me and lends out his hand and we shake hands, “what’s his name?”
“Bo. Bo Duke,” I respond as we approach Bo, “his asthma has been acting up a lot lately, had a bad attack last night and started to act up this afternoon. Then he went to Cooter’s to get a part and he found them taking him to the ambulance which set off this attack. . .he used his inhaler twice already and nothing.”
He nods at me before looking up and points at a nurse with a wheelchair. “Maybe it be best to use a wheelchair to help him to a room,” he states as she hands him the handles to the wheel chair.
I nod at him before bending down to tap Bo on the shoulder and he coughs forcefully before his eyes open and a look of confusion and pain enters his baby blue eyes. “Help is here Bo,” I say and motion towards Doctor Weaver and Bo begins to shake his head, “you are going to go with him and cooperate. OK? You need help.”
“No. . .no,” Bo shakes his head in denial as he shrinks back in his chair in attempt to get farther away from us, “I’m,” he starts to begin coughing once again before falling silent, his chest seems to stop for a moment before his breathing starts again, irregular and painful, “I’m fine.”
“He’ll be saying he’s fine on his death bed doctor. I apologize ahead of time, he hates doctors and hospitals and anything associated with any one of them,” I say and he nods in understanding. Turning to Bo I say, “Bo, you go with Doctor Weaver and he will help you feel better. . .and cooperate. While you are in there, I will call Uncle Jesse. I bet by the time you are done, Jesse will be here waiting to see you. OK?”
He looks questionably at me and then at Weaver and the wheelchair before closing his eyes and more tears escape to fall down his pale cheeks. Opening his eyes, he silently nods before he slowly stands up and I help him into the wheelchair. “I wanna. . .go,” he says looking up at me, “home.”
“I know buddy, I know,” I nod in understanding, “but you need help first. You let him help you and I’ll go call Jesse. He’s probably wondering where we are about now.”
Bo weakly nods at me before Doctor Weaver begins to wheel him away and I silently watch them disappear around the corner as my thoughts once again fall upon the past couple of hours. Falling silently into prayer, I slowly walk back through the waiting room with everyone continuing to watch me and walk into another hallway. Following the hall to the phone, I finish my prayer to begin to think of how I should tell Jesse all that had happened while envisioning how he will react and the worry and fear that he will be plagued with.