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Chapter 81: Taking Sides

"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy." ~ Matthew 5:7


Thursday, July 23, 1986


Enos lay looking up at the sky from the trunk of his car, trying to decide what to do. There was a great rushing as the wind shook the limbs of the oak trees above him, waving their leaves in a frenzy of green and brown. The air was dry and dusty, choked with pollen. It had journeyed, like a vagabond, not down from the temperate mountains of Southern Tennessee, but up through the winding deltas and muddy grasslands of Mississippi and Alabama, carrying with it a stagnant smell of overbaked summer. He longed for rain, but this was not the breeze of a coming storm.

Deciding that he wasn't going to get anywhere sitting around, Enos got into the car and drove backwards down the logging trail, cracking the back window on the same limb that broke his windshield earlier. Rosco was going to have a fit when he saw his car, but there were more pressing matters at the moment. The tires shimmied as he fought to control the unwieldy vehicle over the rough terrain. At the end of the trail, he swung the car out onto Sand Creek, facing south.

At the end of the road, the state trooper moved the barriers for him to get through, and he turned left onto Highway 20. A mile down, he pulled off to the side and walked over to Rosco who looked twitchy and nervous.

"Enos! What in the blue blazes are you doing out here?" Rosco asked, looking relieved despite his words. "I don't guess you know anything about what's going on, do you? They ain't seen fit to tell me more than 'do this' and 'do that' since they got here!"

The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he passed Rosco to where Hazzard #1 sat cross-ways in the road. "Darcy's dead, Sheriff."

"That's a good one," he laughed. "Did he hang himself or did God smite him like he did the brat in that Bad Seed film? Kew! Kew!"

"Neither," he said, plopping himself down on the ground by the car, and leaning back against the rear tire. "Someone filled him full of buckshot. Hope you don't mind, I'm gonna sit down."

Rosco eyed his deputy, cautiously, thinking he sounded awfully serious. "Wait...You ain't kiddin'? Someone really killed Darcy?"

"Why in the world would I kid about that?"

"You didn't do it, did you?" he demanded, searching the man's face for traces of guilt. "I mean, I'd be the first to say he deserved it but-"

"Wilburn said he was killed sometime before midnight last night. I was asleep with whatever poison Doc Applby gave me."

As long as it wasn't Enos who did it, Rosco found he didn't much care who did. "Well, good riddance, then!" he said. "I reckon that's why there was such a rigamarole here earlier." He frowned, a pensive look on his face. "You're sure it's Darcy?" They'd been through this all before, and he wasn't about to get fooled again.

Enos looked up at him, shading his eyes against the sun. "I saw his body, sheriff. It's him." He pictured Darcy with his guts spilling out and wondered if he had been as shocked as Rosco was to find out he was dead. He almost laughed, but caught himself in time and coughed instead. Gosh, he was terrible, what had gotten into him?

Rosco stalked past the car and glared in the direction of the airfield. "Them GBI numbskulls should've contacted me first," he grumbled. "After all, I am sheriff around here."

"Agent Stewart said they didn't know themselves until hours after it was called in." While the agent had escorted him from the crime scene, Enos had picked his brain about the phone call. "I guess whoever did it called from the Hazzard racetrack."

"The racetrack? There ain't nobody out there except on weeken-" he paused. "Oh! Ain't that clever? There wouldn't be anybody there to see him use that payphone."

Enos nodded. "It gets more clever than that," he continued. "Whoever it was called Altanta's non-emergency services number to report they'd found a dead body out at the Hazzard County Airfield. By the time Atlanta's dispatch figured out that the airfield was under the state's jurisdiction and called the State Patrol, another two hours had gone by. The GSP were the ones who called the GBI to assist them. Say, Sheriff...I wasn't awake yesterday evening when you came by the farm. You mind filling me in on what happened after we left Kittredge Mine?"

Rosco took his hat off, set it on the trunk of his car, and combed his sweaty hair back with his fingers. "Uh well, after you left with Jesse Duke, I went on up to Ridgerunner Road and talked to Amy, just like you asked me to. Then I skedaddled back to the farm, and Jesse invited me for supper. You know, Daisy makes better ham and beans than Momma does, but if she found out I ate someone else's she'd-"

"Sheriff, please."

"Anyways, we ate supper and talked for a spell, then we decided we'd go out in shifts and watch Darcy's place come morning. That's it."

"What time did you get out there?"

"Where, the farm?" He shrugged. "I'd say it was about four or so, maybe later."

Enos dismissed Rosco from a list of possible suspects. Under the right conditions, Rosco might have the stomach for murder, but he'd never be so flippant about it. "And everyone was home all night?" he asked. "Uncle Jesse, Bo, Luke...Daisy?"

"Yeah, as far as I know. Well, I mean, they were all there until I left, and it was after midnight when I got home." Rosco furrowed his brow. "Are you -" He glanced around him, then took a seat on the ground beside Enos, and continued in a low voice. "Are you thinkin' one of them..." He nodded towards the airfield then drew his thumb across his throat in a violent gesture.

"Actually, I thought it might have been you, at first."

"Me!?" he sputtered. "You didn't tell the GBI that, did you?"

"I wouldn't do that sheriff, besides I know it wasn't you. You're too surprised." He shifted against the car, and plucked at the dried grass, tearing a blade lengthwise into strips. Eliminating all the Dukes and Rosco considerably shortened his list of suspects, although he couldn't dismiss the idea of someone who just didn't like the guy. If the GBI asked Rosco where he'd gone after he'd left the mine, though... He had no idea how to ask Rosco to be vague without it sounding like he was asking him to lie.

"Sheriff," he began, slowly, looking down at his fidgeting hands, "when you went up on the Ridge...I don't know that it's such a good idea to tell them who you went to see. They don't know about Darcy threatening anyone but Daisy. It'd be hard for you to explain why you were there and all, and then there'd be more questions and you know how the state treats moonshiners, and if they get up there in the hills and people don't want to talk to them, they'd probably get the wrong ideas and..."

He realized he was rambling. Why did he feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff?

"You think Amy did it," Rosco said, flabbergasted. Enos' eyes shot up to meet his, and the sheriff read the truth of it in them. "Lord above, Enos! What a damn mess."

He didn't know how to answer that.

"If she did do it, it's my fault," Rosco muttered, shaking his head. He leaned back against the car and shut his eyes. Seconds that felt like hours passed before he turned to Enos again. "I was just going to tell her what you said about watching out for Darcy, and then head back down to town. 'Cept she invited me in, and insisted I have a cinnamon roll and some coffee, and..."

"And...?" His mouth felt as dry as the dirt road.

"And, I might of told her what Darcy did to you, and about the missing girls," he confessed, shamefaced. "And that I was worried you were gonna go out and do something stupid, on account of Darcy telling you that he was gonna kill her and Daisy."

"Possum on a gumbush," breathed Enos. "Why the heck would you tell her that?"

"Now listen, I didn't know you two had a history together," he said, testily. "You might of told me that somewhere along the way."

Enos rolled his eyes. "We don't," he said. "Weren't you at my trial? She explained all that there."

"I wasn't there when she was testifying." Rosco stood up, and brushed himself off. "Don't worry, Enos. If them city cops think they can waltz in here and take over my county, they can find their own witnesses. Besides, everyone in Hazzard knows I don't have anything to do with that moonshining riffraff up north. Mangy ol' scoundrels!" he exclaimed, with pride in his voice. "And, uh, if I happened to be driving along yesterday up on the ridge and saw a pretty girl out by her mailbox, I may have stopped and told her to watch out for someone matching Darcy's description, but I didn't ask her what her name was, and that's the God's honest truth." He reached his hand out and helped Enos to his feet. "I wouldn't know her again from Adam. I don't know why you're so agitated about it, dipstick."

"Thank you, Sheriff," he said, giving Rosco's hand a squeeze before letting it go. "I owe you one."

"The records room still needs organizing," Rosco reminded him. "Yesterday, I tripped over the horrendous mess you made."

"I'll get to it first thing Monday."


While the coroner's team was finishing up with the body in the hangar, Agent Wilburn directed his team to search Darcy's office for evidence since Mr. Kincaid wasn't in a position to object. He didn't have high hopes of finding anything that might point to his killer, but stranger things had happened before, and they still had the two missing women who were last seen by the victim.

He expected the shooter had covered their tracks well. After all, who would think of calling in a murder to a non-emergency line in a different county where most calls involved stray dogs and stolen cars? By the time the State Patrol had gotten in touch with the GBI, the window of opportunity had shrunk considerably.

It didn't matter, anyway. People here weren't keen on helping outsiders and even less enthusiastic when the outsiders where law enforcement. He was fairly sure Deputy Strate knew more than he let on, but the guy was playing it close to his chest - not that he blamed him. Wilburn wasn't overly worried about who put an end to Darcy Kincaid, and he suspected Enos, Rosco, and the Duke family were going to complicate things if he started snooping. A job was a job, but he wished the State would bow out of this one and hand it over to the county.

"Agent Wilburn?"

He turned to see one of the junior agents waiting behind him. "What's up?"

"Sir, I think you need to come see what we found in Mr. Kincaid's files," she said, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.

Wilburn followed her from the hangar and into the office, hoping that it was hard evidence and not a half eaten sandwich that some plucky 22 year old wanted to make tooth impressions from. The air of the office was stuffy, but a welcome change from the stench of the hot blood from the crime scene. Agent Stewart stood at the far end of the room, behind a metal desk, an array of folders in ordered stacks in front of him. The face of his younger partner was full of guarded hope, which intrigued him. Tim Stewart wasn't a man given to flights of imagination, which would have balanced out his own character before he'd grown older and more cynical. If he was excited, it had to be good.

Wilburn made his way around the chairs and crates to the table and addressed him directly. "Find something?"

Stewart grinned, which made him even more curious. "Guess who Darcy Kincaid's number one paying customer was before he faked his death and skipped town?" He turned the folder in front of him around so that Wilburn could read the document.

The purchaser for the plane's cargo manifest was an Akgro Service Corporation, 6390 Grafton Ferry Road, Portage Des Sioux, Missouri, for One hundred and twenty pounds Grade A Prime Rib, one hundred fifteen pounds Potatoes. Shipping, handling, taxes = $350, pay to the order of D.E. Kincaid. What caught his eye was the signature of the shipper, one Elias Malik. The itemized list was bullshit, but if this was what he suspected, it held a deeper meaning.

Wilburn glanced back up at Stewart. "Tell me this is the same Elias Malik we just arrested for the underage prostitution ring in Kirkwood," he said. "The guy with ties to Niki Lazzaro." Niki "The Lizard" Lazzaro was the untouchable nexus of one of Atlanta's most prolific human trafficking organizations. He protected himself from prosecution by an army of loosely connected associates and, so far, each one had led to a dead end. Sometimes literally.

Stewart grabbed another folder and tapped the signature, also of Elias Malik, but with the address of the massage parlor in Kirkwood which had been the front for his segment of the operation. "Same guy," he confirmed. "We called up information on the Portage Des Sioux address. It's the Smartt Field Regional Airport in St. Charles County, Missouri. Only thirty minutes from St. Louis."

"So our friend Darcy was trafficking 'meat and potatoes' from Atlanta to St. Louis." He rubbed at his face, catching Stewart's excitement now that he understood. "Have we called it in? The Director's going to want to know we found a lead."

"I called, but he wants to talk to you, first chance you get."

Wilburn nodded. "Secure everything here," he ordered. "I'll go make the call."


After he left Rosco, Enos drove aimlessly through Hazzard's back roads, down one lane paths that had no names or were simply known by landmarks or the families who lived there. Crooked Tree lane - Sticky Swamp trail - Old Mr. Jamison's road. He drove with no particular direction in mind, but wasn't surprised when he found himself pulling up to the old L&N railroad bridge. As he walked beneath the massive trestles and across the old planks, he imagined the ghosts of the trains that ran here so long ago. He pictured Jack, fresh off a long ride, hungry and far from home, and his father's Hudson Hornet pulling up beside him. Leaning over the railing, he looked down at the river.

His bones knew the old, familiar thrum of the water rushing against the pilings, the feel of the dry rotted wood beneath his hands. Some things, he realized, were as immutable as granite. Here in the hills, where old age was elusive and life was unpredictable, there was a code as steadfast as the mountains themselves. It lived, and breathed, and never died. For the first time, he felt that he understood it - that he belonged to this land which had claimed so many that he had loved. There was something in his blood that longed to protect those within it.

He had always thought of life in terms of black and white; had believed that there were only two choices - the dark, anarchy of the hills or the straight and narrow of the law. Perhaps Daisy and the Dukes had the right of it all along, fighting against the system when they saw it as unjust. Wasn't it justice that Darcy was dead? Would it be right to arrest someone who had saved countless lives by taking out a murderer?

He honestly wasn't sure if Amy had killed him. While she had opportunity, motive, and knew the danger she would be in if he lived; the idea of sweet, graceful Amy ambushing someone and blowing them away, let alone having the grit to reload and do it again, was more than a little crazy.

Enos found he had no idea what he should do, no answers to satisfy his conscience. Driving up to the Ridge and talking to Amy would put his own mind at ease, but with all the State Patrol and GBI agents in town, he might be followed. The last thing he wanted to do was establish a connection between them that would call attention to her.

But...!

He thought past the long years, to a time when he'd been a regular guest at the McCullum home, of their cozy living room with the huge Vermont wood stove and the double barrel shotgun that hung above their door.

He wrestled with the decision until the sun dipped below the tallest trees, then left and headed to the farm.