"Hush, baby brother, don't you cry, Bucky Boy may find you bye and bye," came from a very off-key drunken voice as JD slowly and painfully returned to consciousness, turning his head slight to spot a large, shaggy brown-haired man holding a whiskey bottle. "Hey, kid," came from a very slurred voice.
The words were so similar to ones Buck addressed JD with that he faltered out, "Buck?" despite having something loosely wrapped around his mouth.
The man choked and sputtered, swerving as he looked down at the boy in amusement. "I look like Bucky Boy to you?"
JD blinked, trying to think. Not a dream. JD realized he was in a pickup, hands and feet tied and his head partially lying on the big man's lap. A dirty handkerchief, seeming to be a gag, hung loosely around his mouth, though it had not kept him from speaking. JD felt like gagging as he could imagine what was on the dirty rag. But there wasn't the worst . . . he frowned as disturbing images hovered around the edge of consciousness like bees buzzing around flowers.
"Hey, kid - JayDeee," Big Man strung out the name. "Whattsa JD stand for - Juvenile Delinquent?" He laughed loudly at his own humor. "Naw, that'd be ole' Bucky Boy, in and outta trouble, so why is he so holier-than-thou with me? Ole' Buck never met a gal he didn't like - get it kid, girl he didn't like, Will Rogers or was it Mr. Rogers, ha ha!" He stopped laughing as he pulled over abruptly and turned off the engine; JD's body jerking as he had nothing to brace against.
"Hey, kid, you ain't like ole' Bucky Boy - trying to make it with every gal you meet are you?" The suspicion in the man's glance ordinarily would have made JD laugh at someone accusing HIM of being a womanizer, but he still wasn't certain what was happening - just that he was in trouble again (Kid could find trouble in a rubber room, he could almost hear Buck mutter).
"Naw, you're just a pup," the whiskered man went on, "a kinda innocent-lookin' one, how'd you end up with Bucky Boy for a brother?" The man cocked his head as if he expected JD to answer, then grinned, "Oh, hey, you can't talk with my ole' hanky in your mouth? Couldn't have you come to and holler with the cops around." He reached out and removed the gag as JD sputtered and coughed.
"Mister," he said faintly. "What is going on? Why are I tied up?"
"So you can't run away," the man drawled, laughing again at his drunken humor. "Good thing you're small, easier to tote around than the rest of them brothers of yours - not that they could follow you NOW."
JD's memory was starting to return and sudden flashes like lightning had him struggling with his bonds. "Buck, Inez! You were going to shoot them! Vin, Chris! You shot Chris! CHRIS!" he wailed, remembering the shock of watching Chris fall and seeing the blood on his jeans.
"Course I did, have to slow 'em down, Kid. Had to get outta there before the PO-lice came. You made a right good shield, there, boy, if they had spotted me couldn't shoot while I had you. I guess they were too busy with big brother bleeding, middle brother tied up, younger brother knocked out - stupid punk, thinking he could charge me and oh, of course, the fire that I set! I showed 'em, son, showed how not to underestimate ole' Mort!" He took another swig.
"No!" JD exclaimed in horror. Were his brothers all right? What was the man saying? He set a fire? Did they . . . he couldn't even let the thought cross his mind. Chris shot. Vin hurt, Buck tied up . . . he began to struggle in earnest and jarred the man's bottle, spilling whiskey and the man cursed and swatted him in the head.
"Keep still, you little brat! Keep still!"
JD, tears in his eyes, tried to stop struggling, but the fear of what had happened to his family caused his body to quiver with scared defiance. "You won't get away with it! My brothers will find me if it's the last thing they do! You can't hurt a Larabee and get away with it!"
"Well, how 'bout a Wilmington, Clint Eastwood wannabe, and you?" He laughed, infuriating the boy.
JD shut his eyes for a moment, trying not to think what had happened to his family after he passed out. Then he opened his hazel eyes, determined to get away from the man and check on his family . . . Buck, Chris, Vin . . . .
The man stared at him, bleary-eyed as if deciding what to do. "You're easier to handle when quiet, boy. Now, what do I . . . oh, yeah!" and he fumbled around in his shirt pocket. "Could give you some knock-out drops, boy, get it, knock-out drops but got them little pills Maria takes to sleep, one or two should put you right out, boy."
"Mister," JD began. He looked around wildly, noting the trees and mountains and a cabin? Where was he? He didn't want to take any pills, he wanted to get away as soon as he could and check on his brothers . . .
"Shush, boy! Two outta do it. Gotta have a drink with it, where's the water, oh, I know, here's a drink, boy - hey, you're too young to drink, right? Can't be 18 or is it 21? You look about sixteen to me, just a puppy. Whatever, here, boy here's a good stiff one to wash 'em down, Bucky Boy ever let you have a taste of his finest whiskey? Maybe he'll be mad at ole' Mort getting you drunk, hey Kid?" and Mort jerked JD's head up, stuffed the two pills in his mouth and forced the whiskey in his mouth and held JD's nose until he had to swallow. JD was sputtering but the pills went down despite his efforts; he was helpless with his hands and feet tied. He tried to fight the drowsiness, but felt himself slowly floating away.
"That's more like it," the man, whose name JD knew remembered was Mort, said as if a far distance away. JD heard a grunt as he was hoisted out of the truck and carried a short distance and the last thing he remembered was the opening and shutting of a door and Mort saying, with satisfaction, "We're home, boy, and no one can find us - 'specially not Bucky Boy."
