Next chapter! The prologue and the first chapter were originally two separate chapters, but I combined them into one chapter to avoid confusion. :)

-Flynne

Chapter Four

"Out of the Frying Pan…"

When one AM rolled around, Bo decided he'd better start walking.

"Now, Bo, you be careful," Daisy ordered.

Bo gave her a smile. "Come on, remember who you're talkin' to! When I put my mind to it, there ain't nobody can track me down." Then he paused, and his handsome face grew serious. "Daisy, listen to me. It's one o'clock now. If I'm not back in an hour—"

"Bo, stop it! I don't wanna hear you say—"

"If I'm not back in an hour, I want you to get the General and get on back to Hazzard. I mean it. Luke and I don't want anything to happen to you. Will you do that?"

Daisy was silent for a moment. Then she wrapped her arms around Bo's waist and hugged him tightly. "Just watch your back," she said quietly.

"I will." He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and slipped out the door.

Their motel room was right at the end of the building. All he had to do was slip out the door and around the corner into the bushes. He ducked down behind a shrub and scanned the parking lot. No movement at all. He was a little relieved, because he'd wondered if their room would be watched. With one last look over his shoulder, he silently set off again for the east end of town.

The streets of Washburn were deserted and all the houses were dark. Bo took a different route than he had before in case Red Hat and the Washburn Welcoming Committee were watching the road; he didn't know if they were behind all the trouble or not, but he didn't really want to meet up with them again to find out. He decided he'd move a few blocks south and then cut up a cross street close to the garage. He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping he could remember how to find it in the dark.

His psychic finger-crossing paid off, and he allowed himself a little sigh of relief as he turned the corner and saw the garage. Not very many streetlights were working, and the ones that were lit cast a sickly orange glow onto the dusty pavement. Long black shadows stretched across the roads, edges sharp as cut paper. Somewhere outside the city limits, a coyote started yowling.

Bo retreated about a hundred yards where he could cross the street in an area that the street lights couldn't reach. Then he pressed against the line of darkened buildings and started edging up the street toward the garage. He could feel tiny beads of sweat starting to form up near his hairline. He was getting nervous. Somethin' tells me if I meet up with anybody this time, I won't be goin' back to the motel. Daisy, I sure hope you can get outta town.

He was right next to the garage, and still no sign of life anywhere. A small alley ran next to the yellow brick building and he quickly disappeared into it. He couldn't get in through the big rising front doors, so he had to look for another entrance. His mouth twitched in an almost-smile as he found the side door. Carefully he put his hand on the knob, expecting it to be locked—

The knob turned. It's unlocked. If there's really somethin' to hide in here, this door wouldn't be open…unless I'm supposed to be able to get in here. Well, if it's a trap, I've come too far now to turn back…

Bo slowly pushed the door open. It swung aside silently on well-oiled hinges. When he'd pushed the door open as far as he dared, he took a deep breath and slipped his lean frame through the narrow opening, closing the door behind him.

The garage was dark and he had to wait a moment before his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The orange light from the street lamp outside filtered through the opaque painted windows, letting a hazy dim light through. Immediately, Bo caught the "funny smell" that Luke had mentioned. It nearly covered the odor of old oil and stale exhaust leftover from when the garage had actually been used to repair cars; a stinging, acrid smell. Cleaning supplies? he wondered.

On the floor next to the far wall, he could see a haphazard mass of hardware that might have belonged to a still at one point, but Bo had seen a lot of stills in his day and there were parts there that he didn't recognize and parts that should have been there, but weren't. The whole pile looked as if it had been dismantled and set neatly aside. Looks like it's getting ready to be packed up. He crossed the room and knelt beside the hardware. The smell was stronger there, and combined with the odor of cat litter from a nearby trash bag, it was strong enough to make his eyes water. He cautiously lifted the lid of a cardboard box and a look of confusion rested on his face as he saw box upon box of cold medicine packed neatly inside.

"You lookin' for something, friend?"

The voice behind him seemed so loud in the quiet garage that Bo gasped and whirled around as if the noise had been as loud as a gunshot. The silhouettes of two men loomed behind him and the weak light glimmered dully off the handguns each one carried.

"I don't know who you are, mister," said one of the men, "but you just found a hell of a lot more trouble than you bargained for."

Bo didn't have time to duck before the third man behind him smashed a rifle butt against his skull.

XXXXX

"How long has he been out?"

"Almost twenty minutes. Musta whacked him harder than I thought."

"Stupid kid. Just had to go nosing around where he didn't belong. Guess it runs in the family."

"So why's he still here? Let me take him out to the lake and we'll be done with him."

"No, I don't think so. I've got a better idea."

The voices bounced and echoed inside his pounding head. Still not fully awake, Bo couldn't keep himself from letting out a halfhearted groan. He heard footsteps.

"Lookie here…our friend is waking up." The tip of a boot prodded him roughly in the side. "You in there, bud?"

Bo opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. He seethed inwardly at the mocking laughter that echoed off the bare walls of the garage. His anger gave him the strength to try again. "I—I can hear you just fine," he slurred. Rough hands grabbed his collar and hauled him upright. He collapsed back against the wall, painfully touching the side of his head where he had been struck. His fingertips came away tacky with blood.

Now that he was sitting up, the world came more into focus. He swallowed against his dry throat and said more clearly, "Keepin' me here won't do you no good."

The owner of the first voice chuckled. "You don't exactly have an objective opinion, Duke." The man squatted down in front of him. Bo couldn't make out his features, but he wasn't sure if that was because of the light or because his vision was still fuzzy. "You and your cousin have presented us with quite a problem," the man continued.

"Don't expect me to make it up to you."

In the dimness, the voice was smiling. "Too late. I already got my hopes up." He stood up and turned to address his companions. "What time is it?"

"Little after one-thirty."

"Okay, listen. Get the rest of the boys in here. We got a lot to discuss and time's a wastin'."

XXXXX

Luke jerked out of the hazy half-doze he had fallen into when he heard the door to the cell block creak open. Sam was already on his feet by the time Luke hauled himself off the narrow cot. Both men were anxious and relieved to see Carl Cook standing there.

"I got here quick as I could," he said to the DEA agent. "I know you wanted me to come earlier, but I couldn't get back here to see you until now."

"Don't worry about it," Sam answered. "Did anyone see you come?"

Carl gave a quick shake of his head. "I don't think so. I had to wait a while before the coast was clear, though. You were right; someone was watchin' city hall; they're gone now." His mouth drew into a tight line and his eyes bored into Sam's. "Tell me what's goin' on in my town, Avery."

Sam told him. He didn't need to explain as much as he thought he would. Carl was surprisingly well-read for a country deputy and he understood exactly what Sam had been dealing with. He'd also had his own suspicions for a while, but hadn't known enough to act on them. "Okay," he said when the DEA agent had finished. "What next? If this thing's comin' to a head, we need to act now. I didn't see nobody on my way here, but I could definitely hear some noise startin' up not too far away. I don't know why, but it sounds as if people are gettin' stirred up, and I think we might have major trouble on our hands before long."

Sam glanced at his watch. "Almost two…well, it doesn't matter. Carl, you need to get on the horn and call any cops from neighboring towns that would be able to help. Don't do it from the station. I've got a feeling it could get pretty dangerous here in a little while. And here, gimme your pen." He took the writing instrument and a piece of paper the deputy gave him and scribbled something down. "When you're done, call this number. It's my contacts in Atlanta. Tell them what I told you and they'll be on their way." He shook his head ruefully. "Wish I'd been able to give that to you before."

"Never mind, I'll take care of it. Now, what do I tell Parker? Does he know about this?"

"Not from me. Do you trust him?"

Carl hesitated just a fraction of a second too long before he said, "I want to."

"Then don't tell him anything. Just get on out of here."

"First I'm gonna let you out. You two are comin' with me. Parker'll kick my ass from here to California for it, but I don't want you here if trouble starts. You'll be sittin' ducks. Hold on, I got the keys out front." He stuffed the piece of paper in his pocket and disappeared.

Luke rested his forehead against the bars of his cell and squeezed his eyes shut. He'd wanted to ask if Carl had heard anything about Bo and Daisy…if this town was as unfriendly as it sounded, his cousins could wind up in deep trouble.

He looked up expectantly as the cell block door opened again—and suddenly tensed as he saw Sheriff Parker stride through the door. "Everything all right back here?"

"Yes, we're fine," Sam said. "…Is Deputy Cook still here?"

"No, I sent him home," Parker replied. "Turns out we both had the same idea to check on you since things are kinda restless tonight. He's had a hard week, so I told him I'd be here the rest of the night. You two go on back to sleep. I'll be out front." He walked away and shut the door behind him.

XXXXX

The clock on the wall read 2:07. Bo wasn't back yet. Daisy nibbled on her thumbnail, casting a nervous glance at the door. For the past half-hour, she had grown more and more anxious. The dead silence outside had become alarmingly noisy. She couldn't hear it well from inside the motel room, but she knew it would be loud wherever it was. She suspected Bo was the cause, but she didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

Her slender fingers picked at the frayed edge of the hole in the knee of her jeans. She couldn't wait any longer. Bo was counting on her leaving for Hazzard, but she wasn't about to run out on her cousins when she knew they could be in grave danger. She hopped off the bed, pulled on her jacket, and was out the door.

Once she was outside, the vague rumblings she had heard from the motel room became clearer. Voices. Angry voices, and lots of them. She said a quick prayer and started following the noise. When she caught up with them, she stayed out of sight and waited until she could safely peek around a corner to see what they were up to.

A mob of people—mostly men, but a few women—was heading towards the center of town. Flashlight beams bobbed around and cut through the darkness in the spaces between street lamps. When they passed beneath one of the tall orange bulbs, Daisy felt her blood run cold. Bo was at the front of the group. He appeared to be all right, but his arms had been bound behind his back and he was being jostled along as his captors shoved him down the street. And more than one person in the roiling sea of people was carrying an ominous-looking coil of rope.