A/N: Although little new information about the search for Kate, and Enos's memory, has been added, Chapter 52 has been enhanced with additional content and dialogue.

Chapter Fifty Three:

Tuesday, November 3-4, 1997 – Los Angeles, CA

Enos headed back into the cabin to find Thompson, no longer smiling, still holding his gun trained at Warren Underwood's chest.

"Relax," he told him, "Mr. Underwood's not goin' anywhere, are ya' Squiggy?"

"Course not." Squiggy said, looking back at Thompson. "I came here to warn you. Again." Cautiously turning his attention to Enos, he said, "You wanna get the suit outta my face and tell him I'm one of the good guys?"

Enos motioned for Thompson to lower his weapon. Squiggy was squirrely enough without having a gun pointed at him. Thompson lowered his weapon, but, instead of holstering it, he pulled up a chair and kept his weapon at a ready position.

"You're not gonna take me in, are you? Cause I can't go in...just can't...they'll know it was me. Took a chance comin' here as it is."

"There's a BOLO out on you," Thompson said, "Whoever they are probably already knows. So who are they and why were you at Strate's apartment Friday night?"

He ignored Thompson and concentrated on Enos. "Still owe you and Turk one. Figure I could pay my debt. Never found a way to do it before. But I didn't know for sure about anything, I swear."

"Never mind me, what about Kate?"

"Well, you know what I used to do, you know, when you and Turk got me outta that predicament? Thought maybe I could work for you again." He looked over at Thompson again. "Can we do this alone?"

"Thompson stays. You talk," Enos said without skipping a beat.

"He your partner?" Squiggy's left eye twitched and he blinked both eyes rapidly.

"Are you strung out?" Thompson asked.

"Hell no. I don't do that shit. Enos, tell him I don't..."

"Squiggy!" Enos grabbed the upper bridge of his nose, above the splint, to pinch off as much of the advancing pain and nausea as he could. A malice crept into his voice that unnerved even Thompson.

"I'm usually a real patient man. But I got a headache the size of a Georgia watermelon and I'm worn slap out...so my patience is wearin' real, real thin. Unless you wanna find your sorry carcass out on the street where they can git at ya,' you better start spillin' the beans about what you said to me on Friday night and everything you know about what happened to Kate Broussard."

Turned out Squiggy, who had been in his very early twenties when Turk and Enos met him, had made a lifetime career of being a gopher for the lower levels of humanity; in L.A., in San Francisco, San Diego and finally, back in L.A. for the past several months. Since he had been out of the area for so long, no one knew of his former 'association' with police officers from the LAPD. There was a new crop of low-lives out there. Within the span of a few months, he had already tapped that well dry.

Kate never had a chance. In all his forty five years, Enos had only thought himself capable of deliberately ending someone's life once before and it had sent him back to Hazzard for six years.

The worm sat on the information for a week before Kate was abducted. Squiggy had all kinds of excuses, none of which Enos would ever forgive him for. The only thing that had kept him from grabbing the little bastard by the neck was Thompson pulling Squiggy out of the way and throwing him into the back of the car. They drove back to the city in complete silence. When they arrived at central booking, Thompson spirited him off to interrogation - Squiggy protesting all the way that Enos had lied to him and Thompson reminding him that Strate had never said he wouldn't take him in.

"Strate just said if you didn't want to find yourself back on the street. Let's just say, for now, you're in protective custody. And you better hope the street's the only thing you need to be protected from, Buddy-roe."

Enos wasn't around to hear any of the exchange between Thompson and Mr. Warren Underwood; didn't trust himself enough to be in the same room with him. He was preparing a warrant for Kate's former pimp, one Victor Baptiste Mollaret.

Getting what details Squiggy actually knew out of him took until well after midnight. They were now at eighteen hours without sleep, and counting. That would not have been a problem, or a first, for either of them had it not been for the fact that he believed Strate was about to fold under the pain, the latent effects of the concussion, and the emotional pressure.

When Thompson came out of the interview room at 12:50 a.m., Enos was at his desk; having deposited a bottle of acetaminophen in his jacket, he was just finishing off a bottle of water. Thompson made four more marks in his notebook, along with the time – but that was an educated guess. Didn't matter how many Strate had just taken, he'd already exceeded the recommended dosage in a twenty four hour period about four hours ago.

Since she was on her way in, Thompson figured De Pina would likely be aware of the situation soon enough anyway. He decided on a course of action that, while it might put him in the man's crosshairs, might also keep Strate in the game and afford him some much needed sleep – until it was time to go after Mollaret.

Rosco had reported that Daisy was home, safe and sound. Now, Soonie was gone too, and the loneliness Enos felt, just knowing she wasn't in the city, was tenfold what he had ever known in the nearly eleven years before. The worst of it was, he hadn't been able to see her before she left for San Francisco. Her uncle's security firm would have whisked her away the previous afternoon, long before he and Thompson were able to get back into the city.

Inez walked up behind him while he was studying the traffic sloth its way along North Los Angeles Street.

"Captain sent the warrant to the judge, E. We won't hear from him for a few hours. You should get some sleep?"

"I don't think I could sleep even if I tried."

Enos turned, the dizziness threatening his balance, and looked down at her. She looked so tiny sometimes he forgot how formidable she could be. What Thompson had said to him Sunday night about being blind...He could see it in her eyes. Maybe it's what Aaron had seen.

"That wasn't a request," she said. Gripping his arm and squeezing it gently, she whispered, "You're already skating on thin ice because you ducked the follow up exam yesterday. So if you don't get your ass over to Doctor Perez in the next half hour, Mallory's going to take your gun and your badge."

It didn't matter what she said, her eyes were begging him, as he had begged Daisy. For the first time, he could see it and wondered, after all these years, how he hadn't seen it before.

Tired to the point of exhaustion and washed out by the throbbing in his head, he was not prepared for that kind of revelation. Exhaustion, like loss, sometimes provides clarity. Once your inner defenses are sloughed off, not much is left but the cold hard clarity of truth. He bent his head, closed his eyes and swallowed back the fluid running into his throat. When he opened them again, she was still staring up at him.

"I'm so sorry, Inez. I didn't know."

"Never meant you to," she said, fighting the tears she knew would only make him feel worse. "Go home, E. Go home to Soonie."