Disclaimer: No owning, no suing.

Sorry this took so long. I know there are people out there reading, just not reviewing, so I'm going to keep punishing you by updating. And BTW, its okay to leave a review long after I've completed the story, I'll take it! Any feedback, even late feedback, is okay. And I can't help but get a kick out of the fact that I've created such a character of controversy. Come on, you want to complain about how crazy Henri-Mae is? I'm all ears! I love debate! LOL. ANyway, this is the final chapter of THIS installment. I should begin posting the next installment within the next few weeks, after I get the ending finished and the rest of it polished off. So beware...you have not heard the last of Henri-Mae Locke!

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An obscenity that would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap by Uncle Jesse's own hand escaped from Bo's mouth as Gabrielle tossed Henri-Mae right toward the General Lee. She landed against the windshield, causing it to crack in a spider-web pattern, but she didn't slide off.

"Slow down!" Luke cried.

"If I do I'll throw her off!" Bo barked back, struggling to decelerate slowly enough so as not to destroy the friction between Henri-Mae and the General, as it was the only thing keeping her on. He lifted his foot from the gas pedal, and once it became clear that he was no longer flying with the traffic, he swerved gently onto the shoulder.

Gabrielle had stayed put long enough to make sure Henri-Mae had landed without breaking her neck. Then she jumped and grabbed hold of the edge of the roof and swung herself up as if it were a balancing bar. Righting herself, she walked as if taking a stroll down a crowded street, right across the trailer roof, heading for the cab.

For several moments, nothing happened. As the General came to a halt, which took a considerable number of minutes, the semi seemed to charge on straight. Gabrielle had reached the cab, and had climbed down on top of it. She managed to get in through the driver's side window, which was when things got interesting. The semi began to serve, more violently as the time passed, and suddenly it was screaming as its breaks were set into motion. The stop was too sudden – the truck couldn't take it. Slowly, it went from driving straight to turning at an angle, the cab going one way and the trailer another. Soon it was sideways and sliding uncontrollably across the freeway, until it could no longer take the pressure and tumbled forward, falling on its side, yet still going ever forward.

Bo put the General into park. He slid out and sat on the door's edge, unsure of whether to look at Henri-Mae and make sure her arm hadn't been broken when it had slammed into the windshield, or to watch as the traffic disaster in front of them unfolded.

Henri-Mae was pushing herself off the hood of the car. Her feet were unsteady, though, as her body struggled to compensate for the tremendous amount of stress it had just endured, and when they touched ground, her knees buckled. Bo reached for her, now on his feet himself, but she didn't seem to feel him. Her eyes were locked on the spectacle, expression torn between an adrenaline induced glee of having survived such an incident, and sheer terror from knowing how close she'd been to getting killed.

Something was still moving. For the first time, Henri-Mae saw the motorcycle, for it had circled back around the semi like a dog dancing eagerly around a tree with a cat chased up into its branches. "Nice bike," she murmured, unaware of herself.

Bo's eyes were back on the scene, too. Luke had started to move forward, wanting to help, not knowing how.

The cab's driver's side door was facing up. It was pushed open from within, and Gabrielle's head appeared, followed by her shoulders, and then her whole torso as she pulled herself to sit right on the side of the truck.

Her partner, whom Henri-Mae had not yet met, pulled to a stop just below her. They exchanged words, and Gabrielle reached back into the cab, producing Farrell, whom she had by the collar, like a naughty pet.

The interesting thing, in the midst of all of this, was something long and black curved along Gabrielle's cheek. Like a snake had embedded itself against her skin. A gleam of sunlight caught it and showed a metallic reflection. With her other hand, Gabrielle had pressed her fingers to her ear, where it ended – or began, depending on your perspective. And she was speaking.

"You're sure?" she said, and there was a sparking in her eyes, a kind of fierce pride that only comes with knowing how good of a job you've done.

"Sure of what?" Henri-Mae asked as she attempted to step forward, with bare minimum success.

Bo and Luke looked at each other, puzzled. Bo had one hand clamped firmly on Henri-Mae's arm. Neither noticed.

"I don't understand," Luke said, the most clearly thinking person at the moment, as he hadn't been driving, "I thought you were after terrorists."

"And we got them," Michael said.

"This is Michael," Gabrielle said to Henri-Mae. "My regular partner."

"Terrorists?" Gabrielle echoed.

As if on cue, a white Cadillac containing a Sheriff way out of his territory pulled up to the scene. The Atlanta Police Department was around them like buzzing gnats, and it seemed too much to ask that any questions would get answered.

Henri-Mae felt a hand on her shoulder. Gabrielle was beside her, smiling gently. "I'll explain everything, later," she said.

"Henri-Mae!" came Boss' agitated voice as he hustled his chubby cheeks to the scene, Rosco on his heels, "Henri-Mae, are you okay?"

The sight of Boss just brought it back. How he had treated her. How Farrell had attempted to take advantage of her. She turned on the captured Fed, now in the hands of police officers with dark blue uniforms and shining silver badges, and stomped up to him.

"Sometimes, cheap shots are what works," she said into his face, and then she kicked him as hard as humanly possible, causing him to double over – or quadruple over, considering he wasn't upright to begin with – in sheer agony. She turned and flounced back over to Boss.

"Feel better?" the older man asked hopefully.

"It's a start," she said, folding her arms crossly. She stared down at the man.

Balladeer: Henri-Maehad half a mind to just quit then and there, run off with Gabrielle and Michael, as if they were the traveling circus. If they'd even take her. From the redness of his cheeks, it was apparent that Boss was well aware of how badly he screwed up. For the man to show shame, however, must have meant that he was getting it from outside his own practically non-existent conscience. Rosco looked mad enough to start spitting bullets, and his glare was directed at Boss. There was also a reddening hand-print on his cheek, small and delicately shaped. It had to have come from Lulu. No doubt word about the incident in the Sheriff's office had traveled as fast as she'd feared.

" Look, I'm sorry," he said, running the brim of his hat through his fingers, "but we caught the guy, he's gettin'what he deserves…"

"Boss," Bo said, suddenly unable to help himself, as the realization just flooded through him and the adrenaline burst it wide open in a haze of red, "were you in on this before that creep attacked Henri-Mae? And you still didn't put him behind bars?"

Boss spluttered and looked at Gabrielle, as if pleading for help. "That would be my fault, guys," she said. "I wouldn't let him jail Farrell. We had to wait for him to make his contact or all of this would have been for nothing."

Henri-Mae turned on Gabrielle. Softly, almost so that no one else could hear over the traffic still humming nearby, she said, "You mean it was a set-up?"

"We weren't setting you up, Henri-Mae," Gabrielle said.

"And what if he had raped me?" Henri-Mae went on, oblivious, "What then? Would you have let him walk then?"

"I knew you could take care of yourself," Gabrielle began, but an angry clearing of the throat from Michael stopped her. She turned, and looked distinctly embarrassed by the look he was giving her. "It was for a greater good," she said. "Come on, I would never have let him hurt you—"

"Oh, you did a great job protecting me yesterday," Henri-Mae snapped.

"Look, I'm sorry," Gabrielle said. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

"You can't," Henri-Mae said. She folded her arms, the small cluster of them practically oblivious to the teams of workers around them, cleaning up their mess, watching their little drama unfold. No one said a word of reproval to either of them – in fact, they kept a respectful distance. "You're worse than all of them! You're just a big player!"

"I'm one of the good guys!" Gabrielle said in a small voice. "Come on, Henri-Mae… terrorists! And after beating me at racquetball the other day I was sure you could protect yourself—"

"She bet you at racquetball?" Michael said, cutting into the conversation.

Gabrielle looked at him, distinctly sheepish. She shrugged. "She's got a good jump," she said.

"And you didn't throw the game?" Michael asked, leaning in a little closer. Gabrielle just gave him a dirty look. "Congratulations," he said to Henri-Mae. "If you beat Gabe here in a racquetball game, you were more than a match for Farrell and his bag of tricks."

This seemed to mollify her a bit.

"But still, Gabrielle owes you," Michael went on, folding his arms.

"I'm going to train her!" Gabrielle insisted.

Michael snorted. "Big deal. I mean something really big." He looked back at his bike, and then at Henri-Mae. He made a motion. "How about that?"

"About what?" Henri-Mae asked.

"The bike?" Gabrielle echoed.

"Go on," Michael said. "You can ride, can't you?"

Henri-Mae took a little step forward towards the shining back thing. It gleamed in the mid-morning light like a toy on Christmas Day. Her jaw had dropped a bit, but when she reached out with her fingers to caress the smooth surface of the front windshield, which curved around sleek and sharp and tinted black, she remembered to moisten her lips. "You're serious?" she managed.

"Yeah," Gabrielle said, a hint of reluctance in her voice. "I can always get another one."

Michael snorted. "It's practically new," he said. "She's ridden it once. She'll get another one like that." He snapped his fingers. "You take this one."

Henri-Mae looked at them, skeptically. "Feds get paid that much?" she said.

Both agents just looked at her.

You really aren't Feds, are you? Henri-Mae wondered in her head. As if they'd heard her, both shook their manes of silky blond hair. They seemed almost like angels, with their golden locks and bright blue eyes.

Boss interrupted the moment as he came forward. "Well, see? No harm done. And I'll even pay to get the Sheriff logo painted on it for you."

"Not so fast," Henri-Mae said, her earlier humiliation still lingering in her memory. "I want something else, too."

"What is it?" Boss asked.

"First of all, if you do paint a logo on this pretty bike, it's gonna be a really tiny one. In the back."

"What else?" he asked, squinting her in distrust.

"Two weeks paid vacation," Henri-Mae said.

"What!" the fat man barked.

"I need time to recover from this." She folded her arms and tossed her hair from her eyes. She looked very put-upon. Bo and Luke couldn't help smirking at each other.

Boss turned around as if to walk away and reject her offer, but Rosco planted himself in his path, still so angry he couldn't speak. He glared down at Boss, and the most amazing thing happened.

Boss caved. "All right," he said. "Two weeks with pay," he added miserably. Rosco nodded his head and some of his anger eased.

Balladeer: Folks, you just witnessed a moment in history, where Rosco stood up to Boss and won. First time for everything, I suppose.

"Be back at work in two weeks, Henri-Mae?" Rosco asked, as Boss went around him to get back into his car and put this misery behind him.

"Two weeks, Sheriff," Henri-Mae said, winking at him. Rosco tipped his hat at her and followed Boss to his car, where they headed back to Hazzard.

"I think Rosco is a little sweet on her," Luke said to Bo in an undertone. Bo just looked at him, pained.

"Henri-Mae and Rosco? I don't think so."

"So what are you going to do with those two weeks?" Michael asked Henri-Mae. She looked to Gabrielle.

"A promise is a promise," she said to her.

"True enough," Gabrielle said. "Mind if I hitch a ride on my old bike?"

Henri-Mae smiled and scooped up the helmet. It slid over her head, as if it had been made for her. "You get shotgun," she said, swinging her leg over. The engine roared to life sweetly and smoothly, like a singing bird having just awoken.

Balladeer: And that's the legend of how Hazzard did it's little bit in the war against terrorism. Henri-Mae got her two weeks off, but after the workout Gabrielle gave her, she needed another two to recover, and not even Boss Hogg was gonna give her that. But now she can toss a man over her shoulder like he was a bail of hay and not break a sweat, and that's sayin' something.

The End! Don't worry, it's not over until the fat lady sings, and I currently have larengitis. :)