Seven Years Earlier

It wasn't the wisest choice she'd ever made in her life, but it was a choice, and if there was one thing that eighteen-year-old Henrietta Mae Locke knew about choices, it was that there was no going back from them.

She had hitchhiked out of Hazzard at first, right into Capitol City. From there, she'd taken a Greyhound bus to New York. Why exactly, she was beginning to wonder, but she'd done it and she was here.

New York had seemed like a fantasy place to her when she was little. In fact, rumors swept about like tumbleweed that her mother had absconded to New York after having walked out on them seven-odd years ago.

Reality was such an ugly thing. But Henri-Mae, or Henna as she insisted she be called, was getting used to ugly things. VERY ugly things. So tonight, she was working in this little hell-hole of a diner, hoping to make enough in tips to keep her roach-motel of a roof over her head, and maybe steal some leftovers from the kitchen.

It had started out good, but she hadn't been careful enough. The money her father had saved for her, for college, had been a good start but not a realistic finish. Foolishly, she had stayed at the best hotels and eaten the best food and went shopping on fifth avenue, as if this whole thing were a vacation and not a retreat from her broken heart. Money went fast, especially in New York, where everything was expensive.

She called her father. Now and again, to let him know she was alive. Now she couldn't afford the long distance and pride wouldn't let her make collect calls.

She considered going home. There was that pride again. She couldn't go home and face the mockery, couldn't face the "I told you so" looks from the townspeople who had never thought that Cyrus Locke's little girl was good enough for Jesse Duke's golden-boy nephew. She was a troublemaking biker-wannabe and he was a jock who was going to get a full ride on a football scholarship. She was going to spend time in prison and he was going to be surrounded by cheerleaders. Maybe even ones who performed for a team in Dallas.

No, she didn't want to go home. Home held nothing for her but reminders of that pain. Reminders of what she'd lost, with Bo, with her family…

But she was not going to resort to something cheap, like prostitution. She wasn't going to change who she was just so she could live. Sure, she drank…it made sleep easier, and it made her forget for a while about the things that hurt. It made everything go numb for a while, and when she walked around town, she felt like she was partly floating. It was like coming up from a deep, comfortable sleep. But drinking was part of her history. Her mother drank, and look where it had gotten her? Out of Hazzard. That was where to be.

Still…the growling of the stomach was a strong call. She heard it uncomfortably loud as she came over to her next table. She paused, embarrassed, worried for a moment that the man would think it was flatulence or something. He did look up at her, curiously. She smiled at him, cheeks tinting pink.

"Sorry," she said.

"No problem," he replied, flipping the pages of the newspaper he was reading. "You hungry?"

"Actually, that's my line," she said with a throwaway toss of a lock of hair on her forehead. She pulled out her order pad. "What can I get you?"

"Um…some company. Preferably a pretty girl with an appetite. I hate skinny women."

She blinked, and looked at him. It was amazing, how people changed appearance within seconds. He became real to her at that moment. And possibly a little frightening.

He was lean, but muscular. He had that kind of wiry frame that made Bo Duke look like a milk-fed sow. He was hard and compact, and there were lines of veins under the skin of his arms. He was older, with a wide widow's peak and dark hair that curled nicely around his head without the annoying frizz some hair had to endure. But there was something else…he had glasses on, with dark frames over his eyebrows but clear under the rims, and they gave him the appearance of intelligence and thoughtfulness. And his eyes…at first, when she looked, they were dark and indiscernible in color. Hazel, she thought. But no, they were actually blue, and green, shifting with the light.

Eyes were the windows to the soul, after all.

"I'm sorry," she said, maintaining her polite voice. Maybe he'd give her a very healthy tip and she'd be able to eat for a few days. She warmed up her tone a bit, hopefully. "I'm still on shift and they'd fire me if I sat down with a customer to eat."

He cocked an eyebrow. He had a very arch appearance, nothing grubby or slow about him. "And that's a problem? Somehow I get the feeling you get fired a lot."

She looked at him, surprised. True, this was the third diner she'd worked at. She had a bad temper, especially when the slimy short order cooks tried to get fresh, or the manager bossed her around too harshly. Mouthy waitresses were also likely to get punched, and that was nearly an instant termination clause. It seemed these places were a dime a dozen.

One corner of his mouth lifted into a kind of smile, nothing overt but definitely there. "You don't seem like the kind of girl who takes any shit," he added.

She tapped her pen against the pad. "No," she said. "I don't."

He looked to the seat across him. "Come join me," he said. "You're hungry. You should eat, keep up your strength."

She contemplated it. Something in her head told her not to do it, to just smile, keep working, be friendly but don't get involved. Sitting down at that table would mean a change, and she was barely getting her feet under her as it was.

If I do it, she told herself, it means I won't be going home again.

Flipping her pad, she said, "If I sit down, who will get you your food?"

"Sit down and find out."

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The Duke cousins were out practicing their fancy tricks for an upcoming race. It seemed how they spent most of their time, but close to a race and they got serious, even behind the smiles and the laughter.

"Sounds pretty good today," Luke said.

"Well, it should, after I worked on it for an hour yesterday," Bo shot back.

"Boy, what you know about cars would fill a moonshine jug if you were lucky," Luke teased.

"Hey, which one of us put in the new tranny?" Bo said, referring to the transmission. Normally, the loss of a transmission would be devastating to a person, requiring large mechanical bills and a ton of stress. To the residents of Hazzard that lived and breathed their cars, it was a natural form of upkeep. Transmissions went reguarly when you jumped creeks where bridges should be.

There was a roar of an engine behind them, and Bo looked up into the rearview in time to see a sleek black motorcycle appear on the road. Before he could pin it down, identify the driver under the helmet that covered his face, the bike had skipped to one side and gone over onto the dirt shoulder.

"Hey," Bo said, concern in his voice. That dirt shoulder didn't last long – it became a shallow bank that turned into a steep bank. Luke noticed it to, and had taken a breath to say something, when lickety-split, the bike picked up speed and rode itself like a rollercoaster car right into the bank, using it as a lopsided jumping ramp. The wheels of the bike skimmed a few inches over the General's hood before landing just in front of it where the road curved, sliding a good ten feet forward and coming to a stop, blocking the road.

The boys were no strangers to road blocks and reacted instantly. Wondering what kind of insane person would challenge them with such a stunt, and then proceed to stop them like a member of the law, Bo screeched the General to a halt. He and Luke were on the window stills, ready to ask what in hell the driver thought he was doing, when the driver obliged by pulling off the dark shaded helmet and to let down a tail of deep honey-amber hair.

She was laughing. "Did I scare you, boys?" Deputy Henrietta Mae Locke asked, one hand on her hip. She was dressed head to toe in the sleek black patten leather motorcycle outfit they had last seen on that "Fed," Gabrielle Stone. Bo could have smacked himself for not remembering the present Stone had made of the bike to Henri-Mae to make up for the "trouble" they caused her.

Luke breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, at least we get treated to a pretty face," he said.

She narrowed one eye at him, her smile never fading. She looked happy. Her cheeks were flush with the excitement of the jump, but her breath was even. "Cute," she said, "but it won't get you out of a ticket."

"Ticket!" both cousins shouted at once. "What are you talking about!" Luke said, while Bo, at the same time exclaimed, "Henri-Mae, that isn't fair!"

Her lips twisted, holding the smile as the ticket pad came out. She unzipped the top of the fitted jacket to reveal she was in fact wearing her blue deputy shirt underneath it. "Sorry boys, you were speeding, and it's Hogg's orders."

"But that's entrapment!" Luke insisted, while Bo just stared at her, looking for some hint of malice, something he could bring up and point out that she had called a truce with him, that they were no longer at each other's throats.

She finished writing the ticket and slipped off the bike, walking over and handing it to Bo. "What can I say?" she said with a shrug. "See you when you come to pay it." With another small, amused grin at Bo, she headed back for her bike.

"I thought we were friends now," Bo finally said, his voice a bit more pathetic than he'd planned.

She got onto the bike. "Don't push your luck, Duke boy," she said, but there was still that benevolent mirth there, and a twinkle in her eye. "I'm still a member of the law…and the law around here doesn't like you." She revved up the bike and took off.

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When Henri-Mae arrived at the office and went downstairs to the holding pen, Lula Marie was there, eyeing the inside of the jail cell. "Man, this place is ancient," she muttered.

"What brings you down here Lula?" Henri-Mae asked, tossing down her helmet on her desk, slinging her jacket over the back of the chair. "Usually people have the doors closed after them in there, and they don't go in willingly."

"Hogg asked me to come by a few days ago," Lula Marie replied, scribbling some notes down on a pad she kept in her pocket.

"What for?" Henri-Mae smirked. "He looking for the cheapest coat of paint?"

"Actually," Lula Marie said, stepping out, "I think I may have talked Hogg into some higher end security."

"Whatever for?" the other asked, surprised. "The most dangerous criminals we ever get in there are the Duke boys."

Lula Marie returned her earlier smirk. "Yeah, I know how much fun that is for you. But seriously, there's been talk of a new Federal Penitentiary opening up downstate, and there's been a lot of talk about transporting prisoners by ground through Hazzard. Boss is more than willing to take the fee for holding a dangerous felon for a night, but until he gets this place updated it won't happen."

"Well, we can't let Chikasaw County have all the glory," Henri-Mae mumbled, and then paused. "Talk from where?"

"If you'd get on the internet like the rest of the world," Lula Marie said, "you'd know. I keep trying to get Boss to let a cable company in here, just so we'd have access to some decent news, but he's got something against it."

"Doesn't want people to know that the world outside of Hazzard isn't nearly as corrupt," Henri-Mae said. "Besides, Boss likes everybody minding their own business. 'Cept him, of course."

"Of course," Lula Marie echoed. "Well, the way I see it," and she began rattling off a series of numbers and phrases that Henri-Mae could barely follow, let alone understand. "That should about do it. Boss is going to shit a brick when he hears how much it will cost."

"Do what I did when he bought the last one of my daddy's homemade bearskin rugs," Henri-Mae suggested. "Tell him what it is in euros. It won't sound nearly so bad."

"You sold Boss one of your father's bearskin rugs?"

"How do you think I was able to afford my shiny leather motorcycle outfit?" Henri-Mae replied.

Lula was shocked. "I didn't know there were any of those rugs left, except for the one you kept. Your father had a real hand at that, I'm surprised he never just went into business."

"I'm glad he didn't, I had to eat bear meat for four months solid every time he'd trap one. Hated letting anything go to waste. Anyway, I found one in the cellar when I was cleaning the place out," she said, then stood up and stretched, pointedly changing the subject. "I can't wait for someone like Danny Farrell to try messing with me again. He won't know what hit him."

"Ah, I always miss the excitement," Lula Marie said, just as a round man in a white suit appeared in the doorway.

"Well well, the prodigal has returned," Boss said, looking at Henri-Mae. He chomped on the end of his cigar. "Did you enjoy your time off, deputy?"

"Pretty much," Henri-Mae said. Boss was still a little sore at her for making him let her take two week with pay, but he'd get over it eventually.

"Well, too bad, 'cuz it's over." He turned to Lula Marie. "What's the damage, Ms. Pricket?"

"I'll haggle the price down for you," Lula Marie replied, "but there's still the matter of my finder's fee—"

"Whatever it takes, Ms. Pricket," Boss said quickly, "and do it soon. I've already spoke to the Federal Office in Atlanta and they have a prisoner set to come through middle of next week. We need this office up to specs as soon as possible."

"That quick is going to be expensive," Lula Marie stated.

"I don't care," Boss said.

"You don't?" Henri-Mae echoed. "You must be making a killing off this one, Boss."

Lula Marie rolled her eyes. "Bad joke," she muttered.

Boss looked rather smug. "It seems that my cooperative attitude with the Penitentiary system is going to earn me a few friends in high places. But they're starting us off with a nasty piece of work named Peter McCabe. We gotta be ready if we wanna keep the money rolling in."

Boss shoved his cigar back into his mouth and waddled back up the stairs. Lula Marie watched him go, shaking her head. When he was out of earshot, she said, "Can you believe that man? We're talking about the worst of the worst, and all he can see are dollar signs." She paused, Henri-Mae's expression catching her eye. "What's wrong, Henri?" she asked.

The deputy had blanched, her eyes distant. "Did he say Peter McCabe?" she asked, her voice very low and quiet.

"Think so," Lula Marie said. "Henri-Mae, you need to sit down?"

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Henri-Mae said, but she perched on the edge of her desk, right there, not moving.