A/N: Just a warning, the chapter contains adult themes and some strong language, which I have tried to contain to this chapter. However, the language is far from the unvarnished truth that is the reality of the subject matter. Truth is stranger, harsher, and more tragic, than fiction. I can only think that the readers who have stuck with the story so far are under no illusions.

Chapter Fifty Four:

Tuesday, November 4, 1997 – Los Angeles, CA

Victor Mollaret sat alone in the dirty office biting off the last bit of nail on his right index finger. The smell of chemicals that lingered from years of treating lumber in the facility. The warehouse was quiet and it made him nervous. The lucrative sex shop activity wasn't the elite escort service he had run before, but it was nonetheless lucrative, and that would not begin anew until late afternoon – if it began at all. The giant fans were silent. He wondered 'where the hell was the rest of his crew?'

He had already lost one of his cash cows to that sicko, Crum. The fresh meat he'd bought six months ago called Crum 'two by four.' That problem was over and done with. Poetic being offed by your own signature weapon. Ha!

They wouldn't sell him anymore young girls. Heat was too high. They had their own losses to supplement. He had lost one because of Crum, they had lost five because of the raid. And it made them more nervous than he was.

Mollaret had wanted to take his time with Kate. Thanks to Two by Four, he'd had to accelerate his plans for Kate and Strate. In spite of his life being worth about two cents at the moment, he laughed again at his pairing of their names. He was clever.

He'd been able to control Kate when she first came to L.A. back in '84. For years he had been able to dangle the threat of her sister over her head. She was so gullible, so stupid. He hadn't even known where the damn kid was – still didn't. But just the threat of hurting the girl had been enough to keep Kate in line for the four years before she turned on him. Before she met that Georgia hillbilly. He had underestimated the son of a bitch back then.

But Strate would never find the bitch, not in a million years. She was gone and that ignoramus, Crum? He was stuffed in the trunk of a car in a shipping container headed for Taiwan. He smirked at the thought.

Enos didn't put up much of a fight when Doctor Perez, who had come in at 2:00 a.m. to check out one of the department's detectives at the request of Captain Mallory, had carefully and in graphic detail explained to him what would happen if he continued down the road he was headed.

"Detective. Under normal circumstances, your prognosis would be good for normal recovery. But you are facing long-range issues, not to mention serious brain damage, if you keep up this pace. I know I'm not your primary, but I know what he would say."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm going to re-schedule your appointment with your primary for later this afternoon and you had better show up."

"Yes, sir."

"You understand that if you don't comply, Captain Mallory won't get a chance to pull your badge because I'll pull it."

"Yes, sir. Can I go now?"

"Only if you're going home. You still aren't released to drive. And leave your service weapon and your badge with Detective De Pina for now. You'll get them, and your license back when you're medically cleared."

"Yes, sir. Can I go home now?"

Now Enos sat in the passenger seat of the Crown Vic looking up at the fourth floor window of Soonie's apartment. He and Thompson hadn't exchanged more than ten words on the drive from Parker Center. Even if he hadn't been on the last drop of adrenaline, he wouldn't have blamed Thompson for what he did.

But Thompson must have felt guilty about it anyway. Enos was about to open the door of the car to get out when Thompson said, "You didn't give me much choice."

"Yeah, I know. You did the right thing. Not tellin' me Soonie was still in L.A., though? That's somethin' you and me are gonna talk about sooner rather than later."

"Yep...got it."

While Enos, duffel bag filled with fresh clothes courtesy of Mrs. Huang in hand, was keying in the security code, Thompson dialed Kay's mobile number.

Tuesday, November 4, 1997 – Hazzard Elementary - Hazzard, GA

Daisy sat on the bench outside the elementary school library and waited for Annie Poe. They hadn't known each other very well. Since Annie came to Hazzard at eighteen or nineteen, Daisy had been mostly gone from Hazzard.

She did think Annie was a pretty little thing, but quiet and shy. Kept to herself mostly. Daisy couldn't remember if she'd ever heard of her being in the company of any of Hazzard's various bachelors. A teacher's assistant and librarian, she wasn't exactly Bo's usual type, but he seemed to have taken a real fancy to her. Although he would deny it. Annie also volunteered at the Hazzard walk-in clinic twice a week and just happened to be have been there when Bo, the reckless idiot he could be sometimes, came in with a sprained ankle.

Daisy opened the note that Angie had handed her on the plane again and waited.

Tuesday, November 4, 1997 – Los Angeles, CA

Through his drug induced stupor, the smoke was only barely noticeable at first. Some idiot burning trash in the neighborhood. Punks did it all the time. Mollaret got up out of his chair, artificially energized for a fight he could win – he'd put a scare into the little bastards.

But the smell was acrid when he stumbled to the door. It was hot. The crack he'd scored wasn't even that good. How long had he been out?

Opening the door was the last thing Pierre Delacroix, aka Victor Baptiste Mollaret, did on this earth.