Barney picked the lock on the back door of the furniture warehouse. The three cases of dynamite were sitting by the doorway. The door lock clicked; Barney quietly opened the door. He dragged the three cases of dynamite into the warehouse, which was dimly lit, and he began snooping around. The warehouse appeared to be empty. At first, all Barney was finding was exactly what someone would expect to find in the warehouse, couches and arm chairs and tables. He was almost convinced that there was nothing illegal happening in the warehouse, and that he would have nothing more to do than get rid of the dynamite somewhere else and return Floyd's car. That's when, unfortunately, he found a door labeled 'Loading Dock B.'"

Barney opened the door, and on the other side, in the small loading room, were four tall pallets of cocaine. Barney sighed, "I was hoping I would not find this."

It was a hustle, but Barney managed to move the three crates of dynamite into the B loading dock area. Barney held a single stick of dynamite in one hand, and his lit zippo lighter in the other. He spoke to himself, "I'm glad no one is here. That does make it easier."

Out of the dark shadows behind him, a voice asked, "What is going to be easier."

Barney's eyes almost popped out of his head and his hands shook erratically, "Who... who... whose there?"

It was Bill Radley, the man from earlier in the day, the man with the angry fist who had beat down his childhood friend in front of the dress shop. Barney knew this when he slowly turned to face him, "Bill Radley?"

Bill observed the stick of dynamite in one hand and the flaming Zippo in the other, "What are those for, Barney?"

"It's um... " Barney cleared his throat, "well, it's uh..." Then Barney caught his composure and barked at Bill, "Say, you're under arrest pal. You and everyone else here now."

Bill looked left to right and shrugged, "No one here but me and you, Barney."

Barney said, "Then you put your hands up."

Bill raised his hands, "You didn't answer the question. What's the dynamite for?"

Barney said, "I'm going to make sure this cocaine is destroyed."

Bill poked out his lower lip and nodded, "That's a good idea. There is only one catch."

Barney asked, "What's the catch?"

Bill Radley's closed hard fist came down hard on Barney's left jaw, sending Barney straight down to the ground. Bill Radley said, "Catch is, I'm not going to let you." Barney's lighter had went out, and slid away from him on the floor when he had hit the ground. The stick of dynamite was also lost, and it rolled away from Barney even farther. Barney winced and said to Bill, "You hit hard."

Bill reached down and grabbed Barney's shirt, raising him with almost no effort at all, and struck Barney again, sending him to the ground again. Bill said, "The mayor said we might have some trouble from you. That's why I'm here posted as the guard tonight." Barney began to crab walk away from Bill, trying to escape from his laying position as Bill advanced, "I'm just here doing my job, handling problems," Bill said.

Barney said, "Yeah, looks like they can really count on you." Barney rolled over as quickly as he could and floundered into somewhat of a fleeing run. Bill easily caught Barney by the back of his shirt and said, "Yeah, and guess what my orders are to do with you?"

Barney said, "Offer me a bribe to keep quiet?"

Bill yanked Barney closely to him, close enough to whisper in Barney's ear, but he did not whisper, he growled, "No. We already tried that. If the bribes don't work, then there is only one thing left." Bill slung Barney into the wall with a sickening thud; Barney's head had struck the cement wall. Dazed and bleeding from his forehead, Barney staggered back from the wall and fell to his butt. Bill walked to a shelf in the nearby corner and grabbed a crowbar which was hanging there by boxes of tools and various items such as packing tape and rope. Bill brandished the crowbar in his right grip will tapping into his left palm. "Hope you had a good life, deputy."

Barney stood, and though his vision was milky and out of focus, he could plainly make out the crowbar. Barney motioned for Bill to stop walking, "Jus... jus... hold on there... let's talk this out."

Bill swung the crowbar, intentionally missing Barney, toying with him, and laughed at Barney's expense as Barney flinched and staggered backwards. Barney gave plead again, "You don't want to do this. You don't want blood on your hands."

Bill swung again, missing intentionally again, laughing again, and said, "Too late for that deputy. My hands have been drowning in it."

Barney was backed against one of the pallets of bagged cocaine, there was no place left for him to go. Bill drooled a bit as he grinned; this would be the final swing. Bill said, "I like using this. The brains squirt out."

Bill brought down the crowbar.

The visual image in Barney's mind of his, or anyone's, brains squirting from a cracked skull after being smashed by a crowbar, that plus the beating he had already taken, was too much for Barney to handle. He felt himself, in only a moment of time, passing out. It would be just as well. He would not have suffer the possible anguish while dying from the blow he was about to take. He slipped into darkness. His body dropped, limp, to the floor. The crowbar hit home.

Not into Barney's skull, however. Barney fell to floor just in time to cause Bill's swing to miss. The crowbar caught three bags of cocaine, located directly where Barney's head had just been, and tore them open. A white cloud fumed from the bags, and Bill danced back a couple of steps fanning the dust away. He yelled, "Damn it all to hell."

Cocaine poured from the bags, down the side of the pallet, and onto Barney's face. At first, barney coughed a couple of times, then he sneezed. He then sniffed to clear his nose, and he sniffed hard. His powdered face awoke, his eyes blood shot and wide, his mouth pursed tightly. Barny didn't so much stand up, it was more like he shot up. The hair on his head stood on straight, as though it had been electrified. Barney threw down his hands in front of his groin, grabbed it and made an obscene pelvic thrust, "Oh SHIT yeah baby!"

Bill was speechless, though he did try, "What the. What?"

Barney charged Bill, grabbed and yanked the crowbar from Bill's grip, and tossed the crowbar across the loading dock with so much force, it stuck into the concrete wall like a pin in a pin cushion. Bill continued to back away, "Look deputy. You stay back." Bill clenched his fist and drew back, "Don't come close or you'll get another."

Barney grabbed Bill's fist and gave it a twist, breaking Bill's wrist with the sound of popping bones and ligaments. Bill screamed and dropped to his knees. Barney raised his own fist and knocked Bill out cold.

Barney retrieved his Zippo, ignited it, and picked up a single stick of dynamite. Barney lit the dynamite and the fuse hissed. He jammed the hissing stick of dynamite into Bill's hand and told the unconscious man, "I didn't want any casualties. I'm going to make an exception for you." Fully throttled on cocaine, Barney ran out of the warehouse.

The explosion was so massive it still knocked Barney to the ground, and Barney was nearly two hundred feet away from the warehouse when it went up in flames and thunder. Barney raised his head from the dirt and saw someone walking towards him, the glow of the burning warehouse only giving some hint as to who it was, but Barney knew that walk all too well. It was Andy.

Barney stood and wiped the dirt from his pants. There was not longer any cocaine on his face; the percussion from the explosion and the speed at which he had ran removed most of it. Barney swaggered a moment, and then dropped to his knees. He was too exhausted to stand. Andy was close to him now, and Barney smiled up at Andy. "Andy," his voice crackled. It was a dry voice, full of smoke. "I sure am glad to see you."

Andy shook his head and said, "Barney. What have you done?"

"I stopped it, Andy. I stopped the crooks and the cocaine. We can stop all of this. We can make Mayberry what it used to be."

Andy stared at the ground, "I really wish you had not done this Barney. I didn't want it to come to this." Barney now noticed that Andy had a shotgun by his side. Barney had missed seeing the gun in the dark and the flickers. Andy choked up on the gun and held the barrel inches from Barney's head.

Barney pouted, "You gonna kill me Anj?"

Andy said, "I don't have a choice now Barney. Damn it Barney. Why did you do this? I don't have a choice now." Andy pulled the pump on the shotgun and it clicked.

Barney said, "But Andy. I stopped it. We can get Mayberry back, we can get it all back."

Andy sighed and said softly, "No, Barney. It doesn't work like that anymore."

Barney closed his eyes tightly, this time he imagined nothing.

The rubble and flames of what once was a warehouse exploded again. The third crate of dynamite had finally ignited. The explosion pushed Barney forward to his hands and knees. Andy's hair was blown back and his ears now rang. Andy shook his head quickly to cope with the ringing, and began to aim the gun back down on Barney. Suddenly there was a loud whistle, so loud that even the ringing in Andy's ears could not drown it out. Andy looked up into the direction of the whistle, but he saw nothing. The crowbar had shot from the second explosion like a missile straight towards Andy. It did not make full contact with Andy's head, but it did glance enough of a blow to instantly render Andy unconscious.

Barney sat up on his buttocks and sighed, "Yep. That time I DID... shit my pants."


Aunt Bee was pacing nervously in the hospital waiting room. Barney had been bandaged, but overall was doing fine. The doctor entered the waiting room. An anxious Aunt Bee and Barney looked to the doctor. The doctor said, "Sheriff Taylor is conscious now. He is going to be fine, I think. I do want to keep him here for a couple of day's of observation. He does have a pretty bad concussion."

Aunt Bee asked the doctor, "Well, can we go in and see him?"

The doctor said, "One at a time. Please take it slow, be easy. From what we can tell, he has lost a couple of weeks of memory."

Barney inquired, "He can't remember the last two weeks?"

The doctor said, "It seems that way."

Aunt Bee said, "Oh, my goodness. Will he get his memory back?"

The doctor answered, "It's so hard to tell with a head injury this extensive. My experience has shown that whatever he can't remember right now is probably gone for good."


Floyd was in the back of the barber shop in his office. He had lit his candles and poured water into the silver plate. Other than the candle light, it was completely dark. Floyd stepped into the water in the plate with his bare feet. Pins of light permeated the darkness, the light from the candles faded away and was replaced by cosmic clouds of stars and galaxies. Floyd was no longer in his barber's coat, instead he wore a tunic of pure white. Maybe a yard or so in front of Floyd another figure appeared. It was hazy, only a silhouette at first, and slowly came to focus. It was Earnest T. Bass. Earnest also stood in a silver plate, but instead of water, it was filled with blood.

Floyd spoke in a voice that would have emanated from a university professor as opposed to a country hillbilly, "This is your champion? The small runty one?" Earnest was dressed in a black business suite with a black tie. His hair was perfectly groomed, parted to the side, and his face cleanly shaved.

Floyd replied, "This is my champion."

Earnest T. paused a moment and said, "Poor choice. But I suppose the rules allow it."

Floyd gave a single nod.

Earnest said, "Though, I have to say I considered filing a grievance."

Floyd asked, "On what account?"

Earnest replied, "The bench speeches, those little talks. It seems like you are crossing the line into active interference."

Floyd smiled, "Really? What would you call the little stunt where you jumped in front of the truck and caused it to crash? You wouldn't call that active interference?"

Earnest smiled back, "Whatever. Okay. So we are even."

Both faced one another in silence for a complete minute. Earnest asked, "Are you sure this will be your champion? It seems like he was not up to this challenge. I am not going to allow a second champion if you loose this one."

An enormous set of white feathered wings unfolded from behind Floyd. From tip to tip, the span of the wings was at least twenty feet. Floyd's eyes glowed, as if hot embers had replaced his eyeballs in the sockets. The intensity of the glow grew into a brilliant and radiant shine.

Earnest said, "I am going to take this mean you are sure. Very well." A set of wings, just as large as Floyd's, stretched out behind Earnest. The feathers were not white, they were a dark grey. Earnest T.'s eyes did not glow, instead they became dark and empty holes as deep as the universe. Earnest said, "Let us consecrate this."

Bands of energy shot from the sets of wings and collided between the two figures. Then, as suddenly, the energy was gone.

Earnest said, "Done and done. But, please. Careful. No more bench talks. Deal?"

Floyd said, "You owe me a car."