by: Chet

*Author Note: Four years ago this December (Dec. 2004) a character named Chet Hugh Duke was created, he came to Hazzard and he has lived and grown here ever since. The only problem was that is exactly what he did, he just came to Hazzard, he never had a right and proper beginning. His story was never told, like how he became half blind, or maybe where his Yankee accent came from and how about how he got that car, the General Lee’s Ghost. So I guess what I’m saying is here’s something thats long over due.*

A Cup of Coffee

The wind blew hard as the cloudy sky over head loomed shadows over the town of Hazzard. Leaves twisted and turned in the breeze as they were quickly swept away, the trees stretched and bent to aid the strong winds. Autumns dry rainbow of leaves scattered and scraped across the pavement, up onto the side walks and somewhere beyond the eye could see.

People mingled on the side walks, talking and chattering with there neighbors, some sat on a bench reading the daily news. In this case the Hazzard Gazette held all the local news like it had for years and years. But on this day, it wouldn’t be the news paper that held the headline of all, it would be that very main street in front of the Café’.

A rusty looking navy blue late 80’s Buick Skylark pulled up to the curb in front of the Café’, its engine giving a faint knock of exhaustion. The driver pressed the car into park and shut the mile strangled engine off, for a moment the male figure just sat in the car searching around for something in the back seat. Finally finding what he was looking for he placed a plain baseball cap on his head and opened the drivers door, the door squeaked in protest and pieces of rusted metal showered onto the ground.

Weather beaten, dirt coated pair of steal toed boots touched down firmly on the ground and the lean, tall and scarecrow like driver stood up and turned his back towards the street to gaze over the Skylarks roof. The driver stepped aside and slammed the door to the car hard, in reply the windows rattled in protest from the poor treatment. The worn boots lead up to a pair of faded black jeans, a clean blue long sleeved cowboyish shirt and finally the young face of a 16 your old boy. His chin showed the beginnings of fine black facial hair and concealed under the baseball cap his scalp lay covered in short black hair.

Although the face reflected a clear complexion of youth it also showed a hardened look, the brown eyes dark as they gazed around. Slowly the driver stepped around the front end of the old Buick and his long lengthy steps made way towards the Cafe’s entrance. He paused quickly to turn around and take in the garage across the street, right where he had left it eight years ago, and exactly how he had left it.

The mechanic, his child hood friend bent over the front end of a familiar white Plymouth, Cooter’s old greasy hat placed crookedly on the top of his head. A sideways smile crossed the young mans face as he turned back towards the Café and made his way inside, it was early morning and the Café seemed nearly empty at this hour. Bold, his back strait and his attitude calm as he glanced around the inside of the café’, it was exactly as he had left it, except for the old root beer float sign that was now missing from the wall.

Missing… he thought to himself with some despair, how often did things come up missing in this town an go never found. His dark brown eyes landed on the stools at the breakfast and snack counter, with calm and cool grace he took a seat on one of the stools. A menu set on the counter before him, so he picked it up an unfolded it to read what was new about the menu even though he already knew what he wanted.

“Can I help you young man?” A well aged female waitress with greying hair from behind the counter asked with a big smile.

With a bold grin on his face he looked up from the menu an replied with in a deep clear and mature voice that rang from somewhere much deeper then his lips. A northern or what locals would call a Yankee accent spat from his vocal cords an yet a stylish slang of words mixed into his manly voice.

“Yes, can I have a cup of coffee please, regular, two creams, two sugars and two ice cubs.”

The waitress proceeded to write down his order then paused as he finished his sentence, his northern accent stuck out like a soar thumb. She wrinkled her brow curiously for a moment, pressing the wire brimmed glasses up onto her nose and leaned against the counter to get a closer look at him.

“Sounds like you use that line a lot, have you ever been here before young’un?” She asked an continued to write down his order looking as casual as possible.

As mature and bold as the young man attacked he could not hide his premature age from her years of wisdom, but there was something that made her some what wary about this young man. She couldn’t exactly put her finger on what made her cautious of him, maybe it was his bold and careless and smooth attitude. Looking as casual as possible she jotted down his order on a piece of her tablet paper.

The young man leaned one elbow on the counter and adjusted his cap, pausing a moment with his hat removed to run his hand over his short black hair. As cool an calm as he put on to be he felt a little nervous in his surroundings.

“Yeah but its been years. I used to come in here with my parents, brother, and cousins when I was a kid. I always ordered a root beer float.”

Her smile widened as she looked at his facial features, something about him seemed familiar, but it was a faint familiarity that she could not place for the life of her. The shadowed glint in the young mans eyes kept her professionalism as a waitress in check as she brought him a cup and poured him some steaming hot coffee.

“Oh? That must have been awhile back, we haven’t made those in years.” She said placing two creamers on the counter, two packs of sugar and another glass with two square ice cubes in it. “I used to serve a little black haired boy and his non-fraternal twin brother root beer floats every Saturday morning bright an early while there dad went over to the garage or store.”

Casually the young man sitting at the counter poured the creamers into his coffee as he listened to the aged women tell her little tale. He couldn’t help but let a side ways smile break out on his face as she mentioned the little boy having a twin brother as he poured the sugar into his coffee and stirred it with a spoon. His brown eyes wandered up to hers and the smile would hold know secret, she could tell by the _expression on his face that it all sounded familiar to him.

Quickly he took another gaze over the innards of café’ making sure that he was the only customer there for the time being. He was about to give up his cover, which could prove dangerous if the wrong person were to hear that he had returned so soon after his release. His brown eyes gazed low at the counter as he took a brief sip of his hot coffee.

“Of course that was many years ago, an those were Bo Dukes two sons.” She paused looking thoughtful her eyes slowly becoming more and more distant. “Bo’s boy is all grown up now, he’s in high school and drives around here as his father did.”

Her solemn expressing words caught the black haired strangers attention, but he held his casual grace to the best of his ability. He swallowed another mouth full of the perfectly brewed coffee and set the heavy ceramic cup back down on his napkin on the counter.

“You say Bo’s boy is all grown up now hunh? Bo had two sons and yet you mention just the one being all grown up.”

She sighed for a moment an bent over behind the register counter to take a folded up yellowing sheet of paper from an old box of receipts. Reluctantly she unfolded the aging paper an placed it on the counter in front of the stranger. The paper was a cut out of the front cover of the Hazzard Gazzette an it was dated back to eight years ago on that very day, but it was the headline that caused the young man to take a deep breath. The cover picture was of one of Bo Dukes twin sons, the head line read; “8 Year Old Boy Kidnaped, feared dead.”

“So I take it they never found his other son after he was kidnaped?” He said, his eyes on the paper but his right hand went to the front pocket of his blue long sleeved shirt. “This paper is dated October 8th 1991, three days after he was taken.”

“Yes, how did you know that it was three days after he was taken? Below the picture it says that it was written one day after he was taken.” She said looking at him with deep interest now.

He slowly and gently took a well folded an travel wary piece of paper from the front pocket of his shirt and opened it. Treating the paper as though it were fragile he placed it down on the counter beside the other, the papers matched perfectly.

“Ya know, I never did care for the whipped topping on those root beer floats, it’s a shame ya’ll don’t serve them anymore.” He said with a side ways grin that he had carried throughout his life as he took a long drink of his coffee finishing off the last of it.

The old waitress’s eyes widened as she looked down at the matching paper on the counter before her, she looked up at him, her face paling in pure shock. Slowly she took the cap from his head an looked him over, not believing who the boy was sitting on the stool before her.

“Chet Duke….my goodness boy how you have grown. The last time I saw you, you couldn’t look over this here counter. My dear, how the years have passed, an treated you well I can see.”

Chet Duke wrinkled his brow in disapproval. “I wouldn’t say the past eight years have treated me kindly, but I’m alive anyhow.”

She nodded, her eyes scanning over him again completely, his short black hair, his thin and youthful looking face. Even as an eight year old boy he’d never held any resemblance to his father Bo Duke, rather he had dark and intimidating features.

“Your very lucky to be alive boy, your father looked and looked for you for years. Lord what this is going to do to him when he finds out you’ve been found.” She said offering him a refill of his coffee, he dismissed it with a deep thoughtful _expression.

“He can’t know… I don’t want him to know I’m here until I’m good and ready for him to know.” Chet’s voice drew deep and snapped in irritation. “Oh I’ll bet it just broke his heart when I was kidnaped.” He replied with a spit of sarcasm.

“Heaven sakes Chet! He looked for you for years, you hear me boy, years.”

The old waitress placed the steaming hot pot of coffee back on its warm burner and turned back to him with a stern look. It took all her might and wisdom to remind herself that this was no little boy that had just returned home from being lost, this was a full grown man, a man that had just proved to her that he wasn’t about to give an inch.

“To each there own Chet, I will not tell anyone that you are here, but for god sakes don’t blame your pa… he did all he could.”

A burn of anger spread through Chet’s body, starting in his chest and tingling its way through his veins. He doubted that his father had spent more then a couple of days lazily looking for him after he was kidnaped, if he had spent longer then that and tried harder he should have found him. Chet gritted his teeth to himself, the last eight years of his life since the day he was taken had been shear torture and terror.

With a snort of sarcasm he stood from sitting on the stool and took a couple of dollars from his pocket an placed them on the counter, his other hand placing his hat back on his head. He turned his back to the insistent old waitress and exited the café’, he was thankful for her promise not to tell anyone that he was here. After all he had not come back here to gallivant with his “long lost family”, he came here to work an thats just what he intended to do.

The bell over the top of the café’ door rang as he stepped out onto the side walk, his hand drifted to his pocket and with drew his pack of Marlboro cigarettes. Chet paused an looked back at the garage, his eyes steadily watching Cooter tinkering under the hood of the white police cruiser.

For long minutes Chet just stood there, gazing over the town, thoughts tumbling around in his head like clothes in a drier. Memories of when he had played in that very town square and side walk when he was a child, with his friends an brother. Chet shook his head in furry an exhaled a breath of smoke as he started to walk down the side walk towards the garage, he needed a favor from Cooter.

On his way to the garage Chet decided that he wouldn’t tell Cooter who he was unless he absolutely had to, like in the case that he had to show his drivers license for some odd reason or another. He walked up to the open bay of the garage and leaned his back against the door way just watching the mechanic for a few long moments while he enjoyed the remaining drags on his cigarette.

His eyes wandered around the garage as if it were him really walking around an looking around, everything was still in the exact place that it had been when he was a little boy. The tools that hung on the wall, the office, the upstairs area and the old oil barrels.

Cooter paused his work under the police cruiser and looked out from under the vehicle for a moment, suddenly realizing that someone was watching him. He wheeled himself out from under the car and looked at the young man standing in the door way. The mechanic was about to say something, when he noticed that the boy was looking around the garage, no he was analyzing every inch of it.

“Do you see anything you like?” Cooter paused and sat up from the stool with wheels on it as he whipped his greasy hands on a rag. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

Chet shook his head still gazing around the inside of the garage, his memories flooding his mind like a river that had just broke down a dam that had been with holding its rage for years. He took a slow drag from his cigarette not looking at the mechanic as he replied breathing out smoke.

“I like all garages, it’s a sanctuary for unwanted boys and unappreciated cars.” Chet shook his head and made brief eye contact with Cooter. “I’m looking for a ride out to the warehouse by the train station to pick up my car, I’m also looking for a buyer for that wreck out there. It ain’t much but its never failed me.”

He turned slightly and pointed at the Buick Skylark still parked next to the curb, the old car looking exactly how Chet had acknowledged it. An old wreck just sitting there, but still a strong and sure footed car to get ya from point A to point B.

Cooter stood, still whipping his hands as he looked out across the square at the old beat up Buick sitting by the curb. He shook his head, he couldn’t purchase any cars at the moment, he just couldn’t afford it.

“Sorry, I’m not a buyer, but I’d be happy to store it for as long as you’d like. I’ve got plenty of room out behind the garage for it. Did you just need a ride to the train depot to get your car or would you require a tow truck?” Cooter approached the boy in a friendly manner and stood beside him in his greasy clothing.

Chet dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with the toe of his boot exhaling the last of the smoke as he shook his head.

“I should only need a ride, I just put the car on the train last week an it ran fine but who knows what the ride on the train coulda’ done to it. Probably need a ride around midnight tonight, I don’t want anyone seeing me drive this car into town, don’t need the attention it might attract.” Chet looked Cooter square in the eyes, his brown eyes going cold and daring the old mechanic to question him any further about the car.

His hand dove into his back jeans pocket and with drew a small roll of bills, he unfolded the money and took out a $50 and a $20 dollar bill. He looked back up at Cooter after pocketing the rest of the folded cash, his _expression as serious as ever.

“Fifty dollars for the ride to the station, weather you end up towing my car or not…. and twenty dollars for keeping quiet and pretending you never saw the car that I’m bringing back. Do we have a deal?” Chet placed the two bills in Cooter’s hand and offered a hand shake.

Cooter looked down at the money in awe for a moment, the boy trusted him, he’d given him the money before even taking him to the station. The dumb founded mechanic nodded his head and firmly shook Chet’s hand.

“Where would you like me to pick you up at 11:30pm?”

“Here… at the garage. I’ll leave the Skylark here for the evening then be back in the morning to get it. Would you be interested in working on the timing of the car I’m picking up at the station?”

“What kind of car is it? I don’t have the technology to fix any new heaps.” Cooter said with a greasy smile.

Chet glanced around an waved Cooter inside the garage out of the view of the public.

“It’s a very special 1970 Dodge Charger.” A coy side ways grin crossed the boys face.

Cooters brow raised wrinkling as his eyes got wide, his mind tumbled around for a moment as he looked into the young mans eyes. There was something dark and lowly about him, but his features reflected a familiarity that he could not deny. His old soft eyes looked the boy over, taking in his thin and lean form narrowing his eyes in wonder.

“Who are you…..?” Cooter asked in a mysterious whisper. “I know I know you from somewhere.”

With a sigh of surrender Chet gently grabbed Cooter by the shoulder of his greasy overalls and pulled him over to the back wall of the garage where a black and white photo hung on the wall. Chet placed Cooter directly in front of the picture and directed his attention to it making sure he was paying full attention.

The picture showed Bo Duke, Luke Duke, Cooter and two little boys siting on the hood of Hazzard’s most famous land mark. The great General Lee. One little boy sat on the roof of the car between the three men and the other black haired boy lay reclined on the hood with his back against the windshield.

Chet stepped forward and whipped the palm of his hand over the glass of the frame surrounding the picture. He then pointed to the boy reclined on the hood of the General Lee and turned around to face Cooter, his face expressionless.

“I know who you are too….. Cooter Davenport.”

Cooters eyes darted back and forth from the picture to the boy standing in front of him, he just couldn’t believe his eyes. It seemed so incredibly impossible, an yet the proof was right there in flesh and blood, right before his very eyes.

Chet turned around an stared back at the photograph on the wall, he could remembering climbing up onto the hood of the General Lee the day that the picture was taken. He could remember the happiness he felt in his heart to be part of something so special as the Duke family team.

Then he couldn’t help coming back to reality, here he was looking at a photograph taken in such a happy time. But the past eight years of his life had not been the average happy childhood, he had no photographs of going on picnics and of birthday parties. No, all of that had been taken away, the only happy child hood memories he had, were ones like that day at the race track with his family and the brilliant General Lee…. all those years ago.

His brow furrowed an his eyes gazed deeply at the picture, his deep and sorrow feelings turning into anger and hatred for the life he’d been dealt. He looked truly mad, his expression the feelings of a hardened, mean, head strong and short tempered criminal.

Chet suddenly turned and strut away from Cooter’s side, his back strait and bold, the angry heat just radiating from him like it would off hot pavement.

“I’ll see you here at 11:30 pm, make sure you’re on time. An remember you never saw me… at all.”

Cooter watched the Duke boy walk away, the coldness in his voice making the mechanic shiver. Thousands of questions over flowed his mind like a over filled swimming pool, he needed to sit down and get himself together.

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