Chapter 9 – Too Old for Silly Children's Games

It's unforgivable. Not the part where he hurt Luke, exactly. More like the part where he never figured it was possible.

All his life, Luke's been bigger than him, even after Bo gained those inches that let him see the top of his cousin's head. Stronger, or maybe just better able to use his body to his advantage than Bo has ever been. Since he was a little kid, Luke's been tough, powerful, beyond pain. The kind of person that nothing can hurt.

Except none of that has ever, really, been true. Luke feels pain; Bo can remember a few fights that he limped away from, black, blue and bloodied. It's just that Luke bears what hurts him with the same exact kind of stoicism as he tolerates fun. Smiles are rare, tears are nearly nonexistent, but just because Luke doesn't show his emotions, pretends they are nothing more than flesh wounds that will heal best if left alone, doesn't mean they don't gape there, just below that well-constructed façade.

And if anyone should have known better about that, it's Bo.

"I shouldn't have left," he admits.

"You're dang right you shouldn't have." And Luke's not going to make it – any of whatever's going to happen – easy. "Uncle Jesse ain't getting no younger, you know. He ain't got no reason to be out in them fields picking up your slack."

And that's not fair, he—"I done sent you plenty of money to hire hands, Luke. It ain't my fault if you didn't like none of them." He's got no guilt as concerns the way he treated their uncle. "Besides, he done give me his blessing to go out on the carnival circuit." He feels his face getting warm as anger starts to come back to him like an old and welcome friend.

Luke's over there shaking his head at the foolishness of cousins who think they know what they're talking about. "What else was he supposed to do, Bo? He ain't never gonna tell you that you got to stay." His voice isn't exactly raised, but it's contentious, the kind of thing that always makes Bo yell back at him, exactly like it's about to right now.

"Our Uncle Jesse ain't no kid, Luke, you done said it yourself. If he's got something to say to me, he can dang well say it. He ain't no liar, neither," which doesn't even need to be said, but Bo's on a roll. "Besides, this ain't about him." And that's the truth.

"No, it ain't," Luke agrees. "It's about how you ain't got the brains of a turnip! Following a girl off with some half-baked carnival. You ever bother to figure out that them things ain't halfway safe, Bo? Setting up then tearing down, and moving on to set up someplace else the next week. Ain't no time for safety precautions in that schedule, or ain't you ever noticed?" It's a brilliant display of the way Luke's intelligence works, playing out in full technicolor glory for his brain all the worst case scenarios.

"This ain't about Diane, nor the carnival, neither," Bo insists. Because it's also a brilliant display of Luke confusing the issue.

"You're dang right it's not. It's about you. Never thinking of no one but yourself. What if something had happened to you?" Luke's face is red now; he's not coming out of his corner, still not willing to fight, but he's blustering up a storm over there. "Let's just say you broke your fool neck. You think that carnival had insurance, Bo? Diane was operating on whatever money she could carry in her jeans pocket. She ain't had no insurance and neither do you. How was your medical bills getting paid?" More headshaking over there, more faces that express incredulity at the stupidity of one Bo Duke. "Was it worth Uncle Jesse having to lose the farm for you to go running off with some girl?"

"It ain't about Diane," he reiterates for the man who keeps wanting to go back to hating her. "And it ain't even about me. I wasn't going to get hurt, and you know it." Or he doesn't -- doom-and-gloom over there's always figuring a tree's going to jump right out in front of them and get them killed -- but he should. Because when it comes to jumping cars, Bo Duke never misses. It's just driving straight down the road that can get him into trouble. "It's about you! I let a girl get between us, went off with her and left you behind. I ain't never done that before, and I shouldn't have done it this time, neither."

Well. Just listen to that all that silence coming from over there in Luke's corner.


"Boys?" The cavalry has arrived. It doesn't so much gallop into the County Building as waddle, replacing a rebel yell with a tentative, "Boys?"

"Down here, Uncle Jesse," he calls, because Bo is uncharacteristically silent and their uncle is oddly illogical in his search methods. They haven't been locked into an upstairs cell in years, not since Rosco declared him and Bo to be the kind of disruptive presence he doesn't want in his squad room. He can hardly blame the sheriff for that decision; the two of them always managed to have a good time up there, getting themselves involved in every bit of business the county tried to transact. Distracting Enos was easy, all they had to do was speak of Daisy's plans to go for a swim in Hazzard Pond (someday, they never specified when), and the deputy would get red and twitchy. Rosco always put up more of a struggle, but if they hassled him enough about how many cruisers he'd left in the pond last week, eventually he'd get to sputtering in a most entertaining way. And heavens forbid a young lady had any business to conduct in the courthouse on a day when the Duke boys were locked up. She'd be glued to the bars opposite Bo while Rosco and Boss tried their dangedest to get her to state her purpose and leave. Apparently it had been too much fun for the entire county when the Duke boys got incarcerated upstairs.

Today looks to be anything but fun, what with how Jesse assesses them when he comes down the stairs. "You boys all right?" he asks, eyeballing the way they're in separate corners.

"Fine," Luke answers, gets a nod in response, but Jesse's focused on Bo. Probably looking for bruises on his pale skin, evidence that the two of them have finally taken to beating on each other.

Or maybe he's looking for more subtle signs, about how Bo's heart's all broken to bits over his lost girl. He reckons Bo could well take this opportunity to explain how Luke's lost his cool twice in as many days, screamed at him, at Rosco, kicked out the window of the General Lee.

"We're fine," Bo agrees, and that shouldn't be surprise it wants to be. Of course Bo's not going to go telling their uncle anything of consequence about Luke's behavior; he never has, even when he was young enough that it would have been excusable.

All the same, the old man doesn't believe it for a minute. He digs the chair out from behind the desk that no officer has bothered to use since the days when Rosco had himself a posse of deputies. Drags it around to where he can sit and watch how both of his boys stay rooted to their respective corners. If he wants them to come closer to the bars, he might need to offer them peanuts, like he did for the elephants in the days when the circus train came to town.

"You boys want to know what you're in here for?" It's tentative, careful, like he's not sure what will make the elephants go bullheaded and start charging at each other, or maybe the bars.

"Bank robbery," Bo says with a shrug, like it really means that little to him. As if it's all just about yawn-worthy, to have the threat of prison looming over them again.

Jesse's not impressed with Bo's answer. "Armed robbery," he corrects. "Boss claims he was assaulted, too. They was just closing down for lunch. Edna Mae was already gone, and Boss was the only one there. Claims you two came in wearing ski masks and carrying a pistol apiece, and ordered him to open the vault. When he didn't move fast enough, he says Bo hit him over the head with his gun."

The muscles in Luke's jaw twinge, he must be grinding his teeth together again.

"What?" Bo says, just this side of laughing. Accused of assault with a deadly weapon, and the idiot thinks it's funny.

Jesse shrugs. "That's what he says."

"And conveniently, there ain't no witnesses," Luke spits out. "Not on the inside, anyways. Cooter can attest to where we was at the time of the crime."

"Sure he can!" Bo agrees, like the problem's solved, but Luke knows what's coming next before it even comes out of Jesse's mouth.

"Sure he can," Jesse agrees in that high-pitched tone that mocks the very notion. "But he ain't gonna get the chance. J.D. done told him to tell it to the judge." Which means Cooter's input as a witness is going to be ignored until they get around to summoning Judge Druten out of Chickasaw or Hatchapee or could be Sweetwater; whichever county he's serving in right now. It'll be a good two days before he responds to a request to hear a case in Hazzard, and that's a hopeful estimate.

"So he wants us in here for a couple of days," Luke assesses. "He made it armed robbery so he could set the bail too high for us to get out. Or to make you take out a loan against the mortgage."

"Don't do it, Uncle Jesse," Bo interrupts. "We's just fine in here." And Luke nods to second the motion.

"The assault, though, what's his angle on that one?" Luke muses, ticking off ideas in his head, but none of them are any good. The man doesn't need anything heavier than armed robbery to keep them out of the way while he carries out whatever his larger scheme might be.

Jesse shakes his head. "I don't know, but he was just out there showing off a pretty good-sized bump on his noggin." Points at the top of his own head, in case they can't figure out for themselves what a noggin is.

"Probably got it from Lulu," Bo says with a laugh. Not much sound to it, just a quiet little chuckle. Nothing that should make any kind of a difference in anything at all, and yet somehow it's made this chilled space a little bit warmer.

"Rolled out of bed," Luke suggests, and gets rewarded by a slightly more robust laugh.

"She pushed him," Bo ups the ante, then giggles at his own idea.

"Left a dent in the floor where he landed," Luke snorts. It's really not all that funny, hardly worth saying at all, but Bo's appreciation for it rings out through the basement.

"Broke the—"

Jesse's throat clears, and a hundred childhood moments come rushing forward from where they've been stored away in places where he figured he'd never see them again. Times at the dinner table when he and Bo double-teamed Daisy, trying to get her to laugh at the right second so milk would come out of her nose, rambunctious moments in church, and displays of blatant disrespect for elders. Jesse's throat would clear, they'd compose themselves nicely for him, cast their eyes down in some attempt at conveying remorse, then smirk at each other the minute the old man's back got turned.

They skip all of that now; they're too old for silly children's games.

"What are your plans?" Jesse asks, because it's safe in this space where there are just the three of them. If any of the Hazzard law had returned to the building, they'd know it. Don't a one of them walk on anything close to kitten paws.

Luke shrugs. "I'll let you know when we make one." He could ask Jesse to stroll over there and hand them the keys right now. It might, if he worked at it hard enough, made a really convincing case for why their uncle ought to do it, even work. But there's no point, not when he doesn't know where Bo stands on the subject breaking out.

"All right," the old man answers. Doesn't look confused or put out. Could be he expects that answer; he always claims he knows everything before it even gets said. "You know where to find me if you need me." Their uncle gets up and puts the chair back where he found it. Of course he does; Dukes are nothing if not courteous, tidy folk. It's one of the least interesting reputations they've got. "You boys… be careful."

"We will," is Bo's response, probably automatic. Luke just about came out with the same words.

"And look out for each other." Stern blue eyes meet his, then scoot over to his other nephew. Yeah, well. He doesn't exactly have a choice in the matter. Bo's back in Hazzard now, under the thumb of J.D. Hogg. Whatever comes, they're in it together.


Haven't neither of them moved since Jesse walked out of here. Really, their window of opportunity has got to be closing; they can't expect the law to stay away all afternoon. Boss and Rosco must be making a pretty good show of being victims up there, probably leading tours of The Vault Where It All Happened. And convincing those townsfolk who saw the Dukes take off after the real bad guys that it was all part of a clever plan orchestrated by one Luke Duke.

Who is currently engaged in a deep study of his thumbnails. Sitting in the corner with his knees up like the little boy Bo hardly remembers him ever being. Hands curled into loose fists, and no part of him is moving. He'll never ask for Bo's help now, not after he's been rejected.

Luke never has been any good at vulnerability. He'll get quiet and menace or go loud and holler, maybe even hit someone. Admitting something has hurt him, well he'd probably rather let Bo pull his arm right off his shoulder than have him start picking at that teflon veneer he likes to hide behind.

So Bo huffs, takes a couple of tries before he manages his goal, which is to blow the hair up off his forehead and out of his eyes. Temporary solution, just like everything else in his life; his bangs fall back into their own natural pattern. "You ready to get out of here?" he asks.

Luke's eyes don't move from where they're focused, but his left hand reaches toward Bo when he hears the jingle of a belt buckle being unhooked.


Bo is behind him, close and hot. Breathing, there's so little space between them that Luke can hear every time Bo sucks in a hopeful gulp of air, then feel the disappointed release when the belts miss the keys.

"Come on, Luke," he encourages.

If there has ever been a project that doesn't take two, it's lobbing the far end of a pair of interlinked belts at a set of keys on the wall.

"A little further," is Bo's helpful suggestion the next time the keys stay hanging on the wall despite Luke's better efforts.

He glares over his shoulder at Bo – a wiser man would back off, but old cheerful back there just smiles at him. "It's this damn flimsy belt you got here that's the problem." Anyone could see that, what with how Bo's belt is cheaply made, probably something he bought in some chain department store on the side of an interstate. "Too thin."

"You're just jealous because I got a smaller waist than you do," gets giggled back at him. Only Bo. Luke decides not to elbow him away right at this particular moment, instead he keeps the grip on the one end of the belt with his right hand, and tosses the other with his left. They really need to talk to Rosco about moving the key hooks to the other side of the basement so he can do this right-handed in the future. "So close," Bo comments, sucking on his teeth. There's an uninvited hand in the middle of Luke's back, heat and pressure. Like it can somehow provide support, when he's not even sure he wants to be touched at all. "One more time." As if he's going to give up now. Another toss. "You got 'em, Luke!" He's got nothing of the sort, he's gotten a buckle hung up on the hook.

"Bo!" he snaps, his frustration seething over into just that syllable. Not that the man notices or takes it for what it is. He just fits himself in closer, reaching his left arm out to parallel Luke's – longer reach, and their hands are practically holding onto the same three inch span of leather.

"Let me," gets breathed into Luke's ear. He'd like to, he'd step right out of the way and let Bo take it over from him if he could, but he's boxed into the corner by his cousin. He's got no choice but to let go of the belt and stand there, tolerating the close quarters while Bo fights the same stupid battle Luke was only a second ago. "Huh-ha!" practically bursting his eardrum, announces that Bo thinks he's making progress. And maybe he is – the keys have just jingled over there.

The unfortunate part of the sound is that it's gotten Bo all excited. Now he's jerking on the belt in ways that are likely to free it from the hook, but leave the keys still hanging there. "Not like that," Luke counsels, putting his own left hand back approximately where it was before Bo got a little too grabby. "Like this."

Between them, and it cannot be attributed to anything like skill so it must be luck, they manage to tug and pull until the keys are just about to fall off the hook.

"Now what?" Bo asks, because even he can see that impulsivity isn't the best approach to this task, might admit that finesse is the better way to go. If the keys drop straight to the floor, they'll be out of reach. They need to get flipped off the hook, and with any luck they'll skid toward the cell and not away.

"Up and toward us, like a whip," Luke says. "One, two, three."

The keys clatter to the floor, not as close as Luke would have liked to see them fall.

"Let me free, Bo." There's hesitation behind him, like his cousin's not sure moving is the best idea. "You need me out of the way so's you can get your arm out there. Ain't no way I can reach them keys." Now that he's got a good reason, Bo backs off and lets Luke get out of his way. All the same, Luke's not particularly confident it'll matter. Bo's arm may not be long enough either.

From the first few tries it looks like their efforts have been in vain. There are a good three more inches between Bo's middle finger and the ring. "Bo," he interrupts, "the belts." They may not be rigid, but maybe he can find a way to use them to drag that ring closer.

"No," Bo says, adjusting the way he's squatting there. Turns his head to the side, mashing cheek against metal, and just about slides his shoulder through the bars. Long about the time Luke's going to stop him for fear he'll dislocate some important body part, there's a clink followed by a giggle. Bo's got them. Jingle-jangle across the floor until he can pick them up. A toss into the air and then he catches them in that same hand before handing them over to Luke.

He just sighs at the show off. "Let's go, Bo."