Chapter 5

Friday, August 1, 1997 – Los Angeles

After checking in with the fledgling detective division that had only recently referred to itself unofficially as the Human Trafficking Unit about Jane's case file, Enos was frustrated that more progress hadn't been made. He'd handed the file off in the first place because the unit was supposed to have more specialized resources.

What he hadn't factored in, as Kate so plainly spelled out to him, was: the lack of public awareness, lack of funding, lack of cooperation from victims either by fear of reprisal or deportation, and general lack of inter-agency organization. Not to mention that international coordination depended on the caprice of the global political climate on any given day of the week. That was particularly true for anything in the former U.S.S.R., Ukraine, which had its own internal problems, and Belarus.

Interpol, whose records were computerized in the 1980s and whose linked intelligence gathering was state-of-the-art for identifying patterns for the time, had been alerted but had, to date, returned no results. The file had been downgraded to a level one status until some feedback was received.

Enos decided to call one of the senior investigators in the unit to which he had entrusted Jane's case. Lieutenant Rodriguez was close to retirement age and had been working sex crimes for twenty years. He had never worked directly with Rodriguez before but knew the man's reputation.

"You know we don't have the funds or the resources," Rodriguez said when Enos asked him about the case's progress.

"Lieutenant, I know I'm probably oversteppin' my bounds, but is there any possibility I can try to get some movement on that file?"

"Do you have the time?"

"I can make time."

"You ever worked sex crimes, son?"

"Yes, Sir." Enos said, quietly.

Rodriguez paused before responding. Enos guessed the lieutenant was pulling his personnel file.

"Yeah, I see you have...Then, you're welcome to join the battle. But I warn you. It's not one we win most of the time. Just know that once you get into this, it ain't neat, and it ain't ever pretty. Even hard-bitten detectives get burned out long before any other division. Sex crimes, especially those that involve children, are not for weak stomachs."

"Yes, Sir. I know." Eno's voice had a quiet quality of sad acknowledgment, something he rarely exhibited. "I'm not lookin' to change divisions. Just want to see this case through."

"You say that now...If you clear it with your Unit Commander, we'll send you the file and any activity since you turned it over. And, I'll have all the responses for any inquiries made to date routed to you."

"Thank you, Sir."

"I doubt that thank you is appropriate, son. But good luck to you anyway."

[When the call ended, Rodriguez pulled a spiral notebook from his pocket and added Det. E. Strate to his shortlist of potentials for recruitment.]

Enos took the proposal to Thompson, who rejected the idea of taking over another division's file when their caseload was already heavy with yet-to-be-resolved cases. Enos had been prepared to do the work independently and had only asked Thompson to satisfy department protocol.

The result of asking Thompson was that now the man, fourteen years his junior, believed he was obsessive-compulsive and incompetent. No matter – he was never going to win his partner over, he didn't have the time to try and no longer cared one way or the other.

Captain Mallory granted Enos's request with the proviso that there was nothing in the budget for more overtime than required by his and Thompson's assigned cases. Therefore, it would be unpaid time, and it could not compromise his on-duty assignments. Enos had predicted and prepared for that outcome as well.

With Soonie out of town, he could cut down on his time at the community center, skip church and work on Jane's case nights and weekends for the next few weeks.

Thus, he broke the first rule of being a cop in L.A. It would not be the last time.

Saturday, August 2, 1997 – Los Angeles

The first week Soonie was in New York, she had talked to Enos on the phone only three times: on the day she arrived, on Wednesday, and on Saturday night – mostly just small talk about New York and what she was working on.

Not until Saturday night was she able to cajole him into telling her about Jane's case. Without relating the excruciating details of the child's death, he managed to convey how much he needed to find out who she was, to give her a name.

"She must have parents or family that need to know what happened to their baby girl. I gotta' hope she had someone who misses her," he said.

"We have some Ukrainian clients...and I would like to help. I could see if they have any influence they could use to locate records or the scientific studies you said Doctor Flores would need to match the levels of contamination."

"Soonie, you're amazin'."

She smiled, even though he couldn't see her. "I will talk to Uncle and start my inquiries tomorrow."

"It's late there. I should let you get some rest," he said reluctantly.

"Are you going to get some rest as well?"

"I'll have to. I have another 'horrendous' day with Detective Thompson tomorrow."

[On the other end of the line, Enos smiled to himself and hoped Sheriff Rosco wouldn't mind if he borrowed one of his favorite phrases.]

Wednesday, August 6, 1997 – Los Angeles

What is the saying, no rest for the weary? That's how Enos felt. Having to be Thompson's stooge for the last three weeks was working on his last nerve, and he had not made much progress in Jane's case during the previous six days.

Today, for instance, he and Thompson were supposed to be following up on a tip received about an extortion attempt on auto repair shops, but no one would own up to making any complaints. Nor would they admit there was any substance in the anonymous tips that had been run up the ladder and landed on Thompson's desk.

Thompson ruled it a waste of time and decided it should go in the cases-going-nowhere pile. Enos disagreed, so he went by Deacon's Midnite Salvage4 on the way home.

"Sugar, where have you been the last two Sundays," was Deacon's greeting when his truck pulled up in the yard, which was strewn with assorted fenders, tires, body frames, and unidentifiable parts. "You missed some world-class barbeque last week." 4

"Sorry, Deacon, I've been pretty busy the last couple of Sundays. Looks like it's gonna' be that way for at least the next few weeks."

"Well, you just make it when you can. Hey, that friend of yours…Kate? She showed up last Sunday to talk to the congregation."

"She's real passionate about those kids, Deacon. They need homes to stay in when they're located. There's not enough families in the foster system to take care of um all."

"She made a good argument. I can't promise anything, but we'll figure out something we can do to help."

"Thanks, Deacon. Meanwhile, we've been hearin' about threats bein' made against auto repair businesses, and I wondered if you've heard anything."

"Sure have. I called it in. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"I suspected. You mentioned somethin' a few weeks ago at church that got me to thinkin' when me and my partner were canvassing the region today. Nobody's willin' to admit they've been extorted."

"They wouldn't. Too scared."

"Maybe you should be too. These guys are usually pretty well connected, and they don't take prisoners."

"Sugar, you don't get to be my age in this business without some dude getting in your face and trying to make you do something you don't want to do. The first time you give in, they got you."

"I surely hope you're right."

"And when did you get a partner?" she asked, suddenly remembering.

"Three weeks ago."

"Anybody I know?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Anybody I want to know?"

"No, Ma'am. Deacon, I think maybe you might want to consider steppin' up security some for a while…till we can get a handle on this."

Although she was curious about the new partner, as well as why he, or she, wasn't someone she would want to meet, Octavia Deacon had known Enos Strate long enough to know when to butt out.

"Plan to. You want names?"

"As long as I can't stop you from jumpin' outta' the fryin' pan into the fire, I guess you might better give me anything you have."

Now he had to worry about Deacon. Was there no end to it?

Thursday, August 7, 1997 – Hazzard County Sheriff's Department

Sheriff, and Boss of Hazzard County, Rosco P. Coltrane, was in his office late, awaiting a call. He had already covered former County Commissioner (and former Boss) J.D. Hogg's memorial portrait in preparation for the activity, unbecoming a low-down scoundrel, that was about to take place.

"Flash, you little velvet eared canine, it's just like bein' one o' those secret agents iddn't it." He crinkled up his eyes and snickered his signature laugh.

Right in the middle of the second snicker, Daisy opened the door and walked in like she owned the place.

"How'd you get in here? That door's 'sposed to be locked!" Rosco huffed indignantly, picking up Flash III and walking in front of the desk.

"Well, Sheriff, you locked it but left the key in the outside keyhole," Daisy said, dangling a set of keys in front of her. "I figured it was an invitation."

Truth is, Daisy knew a way into that office that didn't require a key, but she wasn't about to share that with Rosco.

"Well…you shouldn't be here. Now give me that key and get on outta here. Shoo! I'll tell you what the dipstick had to say later, like always."

"Sure, Rosco, you can have the key. But I'm not leavin'."

"I thought you said you weren't ready to talk to Enos yet."

"I'm not. But you're holdin' out on me, and I want to know what and why. And I'm not leavin' until you tell me or I hear it for myself."

"What do you mean I'm holdin' out on you? We had a deal, Daisy. You promised you'd stop callin' me every week, and I promised to report to you after I talked to him."

"I'm not goin' back on our deal. Have I called you in the last month?"

"No, but you been comin' by the office so much since you been home people are beginnin' to talk. 'Specially you bein' here so late."

"Talk about what, Rosco?" Even though she was in a determined mood, Daisy couldn't help being amused.

"Well, you never mind…are you gonna' leave or what?"

"I'm stayin'. You can go ahead and arrest me if you want, but I'm not leavin'. And when I do get around to calling Enos, I'm gonna' tell him that you arrested me and he's gonna' want to know why. And I know you been holdin' out on him."

"You Dukes are all alike. Can't trust none o' ya'."

Daisy didn't respond. She just walked over to the chair beside his desk, crossed her arms and legs, and established her beachhead.

Earlier in the day, Daisy had sat at the kitchen table with Uncle Jesse while Bo and Luke were in Capital City looking at a car that Bo and Cooter had their eye on. Cooter (a.k.a. Congressman) Davenport had just about talked Bo into leaving the Nascar chase and going into business with him restoring classic cars. Cooter had found a salvage yard in Los Angeles that knew how to wheel and deal, was legit, and had nationwide contacts. He would supply the capital and Bo would manage the business.

"Uncle Jesse, what would you think if somebody told you he wrote you a letter a week, sometimes two, for the last ten years and when you started reading them, you found five whole weeks missing?"

"I don't rightly know." Jesse had an opinion but kept it to himself. "How far have you got?"

"September 1988."

"Did you check the rest of the bundles? You said they was all bundled up, so it was–"

"Yes, Sir, I checked. At first, I just found the first bundle and then the second, and so on. After so many bundles that didn't have any missing weeks, I untied the rest and put all the letters in date order. Other weeks are missin' too. Sometimes he made up for them the next week, sometimes not."

"And what do you make of it, Daisy?"

"You know as well as I do what I'm thinking. When Luke came back from Vietnam, there was lots of stuff he didn't want to talk about."

"I know, Daisy. But Enos didn't go to war."

"Didn't he?" She shook her head slowly. "It took 'ten years of shoot-outs, gang wars and a tour on the SWAT Team' for him to get up the courage to ask me to marry him...I was so stunned that he asked…I didn't remember his exact words until today." 3

"Does it matter what he didn't want you to know, Daisy?"

"It matters. I'm not sure exactly why just yet…but it matters."

Thursday, August 7, 1997 – Los Angeles

Enos's apartment, within walking distance of Chinatown and Dodger Stadium, may not have offered the best view in Los Angeles, but it wasn't the worst either. Chinatown was a tourist magnet, but he loved it because it had so much color and a unique atmosphere...and don't get him started on the food.

Unfortunately, even though plopped in the middle of it was one of the prettiest lakes in Los Angeles, the Echo Park area where he lived was a gang activity hotbed. His neighbors were grateful to have a Police Officer living in their building, and, after nine-plus years working in the area and eight years of living in the same apartment, he knew most of the long-term shop owners.

Before he could put the key in the lock, Mrs. Huang, his neighbor from across the hall, peeked out of her door and called him over. The woman was eighty if she was a day and had the hearing of a bat.

"Yes, Ma'am?" Enos asked wearily. It was probably about her grandson, Daniel.

Mrs. Huang presented him with a small casserole dish. "I made too much again. Thought you might be able to use it." As this scenario had played itself out many times before, she added, "It will go to waste otherwise. You know Daniel hates Lasagna."

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you. I'll be sure and get the dish back to you as soon as I can."

Enos knew that if he didn't take the casserole, her feelings would be hurt. Besides, he liked her Lasagna. On the other hand, he also had a penchant for the crisp green beans swimming in soy sauce and the Char Siu in the bag dangling from his left hand, getting colder by the second.

Mrs. Huang looked down at the bag, clearly marked with the restaurant's logo, shook her head, and gave him the Chinese version of "Tisk-tisk."

She had been on his case recently about eating Cantonese take-out. "Forget being injured on the job," she liked to say, "salty foods will be your downfall one day." She had checked in on him every day for two weeks after he was shot. Then there would be the obligatory follow-up, "You need to get a wife."

Everybody and his grandmother seemed to know what he needed. He was the only one who wasn't sure anymore.

Today was supposed to have been a half-day off, but it was 6:15 pm by the time he was able to excuse himself from his kindly but overprotective neighbor, 9:15 in Hazzard, and probably closer to 9:45 when he would be able to place the call. That was really too late to be calling, but Sheriff Rosco had insisted.

Although he hadn't thought about it for a few months, volunteering for extra duty at overtime rates would get him even closer to that thirteen or so acres outside Burbank he'd had his eye on. With no family to feed, house, and clothe for the last ten years, he'd amassed quite the nest egg.

His third-floor apartment was not Spartan, but even Enos had to admit it was a bit lackluster, something to which he'd paid little attention before. In the eight years he'd lived there, he'd not felt the need to add much. Lately, though, his living space seemed to be missing something…or everything…or someone.

The casserole went into the refrigerator for tomorrow's supper, and the take-out went onto the counter. While Enos turned on the oven, as warming those particular food items in the microwave was not an option, he loosened and pulled off his tie, then undid his top two shirt buttons. He slid a CD into the player and turned the volume down slightly.

After he had eaten the barbequed pork and green beans, he steeled himself for the call to Rosco. The Sheriff was not going to sidestep his questions about Daisy for the third time.

Thursday, August 7, 1997 – Hazzard County Sheriff's Department

Daisy was still locked into a cross-armed and cross-legged position on the chair next to Rosco's desk and demanded, "Rosco, what is it you're not tellin' me?"

"Daisy, I don't have any idea what's missin' in those letters. I didn't even know he wrote um till you told me just now."

"You mean you never communicated with him while he was in California?"

Until the reunion, Enos hadn't been back to Hazzard in years. Except that once, in the spring of '88 that Rosco wasn't supposed to talk about. It was before Daisy ran off and got married, and the dipstick hadn't been back since. However, Rosco had heard from Enos, not once a month like now, but regularly. Even Rosco didn't understand why he hadn't shared that fact with anyone in Hazzard, not even his little fat buddy.

"Did you?" he asked her, defiantly.

Watching the lightning bolts cross Daisy's eyes, Rosco regretted those two words as soon as they left his mouth. Truth was, when her head wasn't buried in his chest next to his heart, and she wasn't crying her eyes out, Daisy Duke scared the bejesus out of him. She'd gotten even scarier since she graduated from college, so he was grateful to be saved by Cletus's voice on the radio.

Rosco grabbed the hand mike without looking at Daisy. "I thought I told you I was on oh-fficial business and wasn't to be disturbed."

Rosco and Daisy listened to Cletus rattle on about the gnats, the deer flies, and the mosquitoes as big as deer flies out at the quarry and how it was Thursday night and couldn't he come in early cause there weren't gonna be nobody tryin' to take a swim on a Thursday night...

"Don't you worry about what night it is, Cletus," Rosco said into the phone, "You just catch us summa those out o' town hooligans comin' up here from Capital City and usin' the quarry ta' take midnight swims without payin' the customary fee."

Rosco switched off the radio.

"Rosco, that's just about the lamest thing I've ever seen you do," Daisy said, finally letting go of the death grip she had on her arms. She could hardly fault Rosco for being right; she hadn't made any effort to communicate with Enos. Still punishing him, she guessed.

"Just never you…" The phone interrupted Rosco before he could get his foot into his mouth again.

Before he could stop her, Daisy hit the speaker button.

Giving her his mock 'disgusted' face, he said into the phone, "Hazzard County Sheriff's Office, Sheriff Ros-co P. Coltrane speaking."

Daisy shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"Hey, Sheriff. How's it been goin'?"

"Oh, fine, fine, Enos." Rosco wasn't sure what, or how much, to say with Daisy listening in.

"Sorry, it's so late. I was 'sposed to have a half-day off. But we got tangled up in a domestic dispute when we were on a routine follow-up call this morning, and it took half the afternoon to sort it out."

Daisy and Rosco could hear music playing in the background on Enos's end.

"Well, you know, Enos, a Sheriff's work is never done either, so don't you worry about how late it is. Hey, you gone high-brow on us, Dipstick?"

"Huh?"

"That music you got on the radio don't sound like stuff you used to listen to when you were mindin' the jail."

"It's called contemporary classical, and I don't do a lot of things I used to," Enos said without thinking.

Daisy noticed how changed Enos sounded, oddly similar to when he first came up to her on the farm's back porch in April...

"Well, that's a fact," Rosco said, slightly deflated.

"Sorry, Sheriff. Got a lot on my plate right now," Enos said, then paused. "Sheriff, why do you have your phone on speaker?"

Rosco fumbled and fidgeted and stumbled over his words, "What...how…?"

"I been on enough conference calls the last few months to know the difference between the sound of..."

"Like I said, a Sheriff's work is never done. I was multi-tasking."

"Ahhh." Enos said. On the other end of the line, he had his eyebrows raised and was shaking his head. "You mind takin' it off? It's hard to catch everything with Flash breathin' in the background."

Rosco glared at Daisy triumphantly, although he felt he would regret that later as well. He picked up the receiver to cancel the speaker.

"Hey, I got some news that'll perk up those ears. Guess who got hisself arrested and hauled off to the Federal clink this week?"

"Don't have a clue," Enos said, not noticing, again, that he had not slipped back into talking-to-Rosco speak.

"Ezra Bushmaster!" he tittered. Turns out he was all tangled up with...uh…Mama Jo and her gang. They was as thick as fleas on a dog's back…no offense, Flash...Oh, by the way, you're probably gonna' get a subpoena from the Federal Prosecutor in Atlanta."

Enos had already been contacted by the Georgia State Police to let him know they had picked up Slimy Ezra based on his tip. He'd already received notice from the Federal Prosecutor that he would definitely have to give testimony either by phone or in-person in Mama Jo's trial.

"Don't that beat all," Enos said, as innocently as he could manage. "But that'll likely not be for six months to a year. Takes um that long to put those kinds of cases together…But Sheriff, that's not why I called. I been askin' you about Daisy the last two times I called, and you been side-steppin' me every time. I want to know if she's alright, and after the day I've had, I'm not in any mood for messin' around."

[Once the initial hurt and anger were over, thanks to Kate letting him talk it all out, he started thinking about what Daisy must have been going through. He'd wanted to fulfill that lifelong dream so much that he'd failed to consider what moving so fast would do to her. He knew she had been married and divorced. When she ran off and got married, it had cut him deep, but none of that mattered to him now. He had been so concentrated on getting what he wanted that he'd let her not only accept his proposal without time to think about it but had agreed to the quick wedding.

They weren't teenagers. He had waited thirty-two years. Why couldn't he have been satisfied with being engaged and waited a little longer; to let the idea settle in, let her be sure?

He had only himself to blame. He should have been the voice of reason and caution. He should have been satisfied with just knowing Daisy wanted to marry him. He'd seen the anguish on her face when he left that afternoon. Maybe it was her pain that he couldn't face that day, not his own. Now, he didn't know how to make it right.]

"Boy, you better straighten up and fly right."

"Rosco! I asked you a question. Just answer it, or I'll stop callin' and find out some other way!"

Even Daisy heard that – without the speaker.

In his whole life, Enos had never talked to Rosco in such a forceful manner. Out of habit, Rosco started to call Enos to account, but he was so dumbfounded he just stared quizzically at Daisy, trying to decide how she was doing. She wasn't blubbering into his uniform anymore. Beyond that, he honestly didn't know for sure.

"Well, about Daisy…she's doin' okay as far as I know. She's back home…visitin' for a spell."

Daisy was making a throat-slitting gesture at Rosco, but he was ignoring it. If he was going to pay, he might as well go the whole Hogg. He tittered at the pun in his head.

"But I don't see her much."

Rosco reckoned he wasn't telling Enos a lie, wondering why he should be worried about that – he used to lie to him all the time. He had not seen much of Daisy in the last three months, give or take every other day for the past week. She had only dogged him by phone before that. Rosco didn't, strictly speaking, do a lot of things he used to these days either. Then he got bold.

"You ever gonna talk to Daisy again, Enos? I think she feels real bad about what happened between the two of you."

"Of course I'm gonna talk to her again," Enos's said, sadness dripping off the words.

"Well, then, it's good you're plannin' to talk to her again."

Rosco felt ridiculous, repeating himself, but Enos wasn't supposed to know that he was relating answers directly to the flesh-and-blood Daisy. "You think that's gonna be anytime soon? 'Cause I got me a feelin' she wouldn't hang up on ya."

"I just wanna' be sure I don't mess it up when I do. For now, though, I just need to know how she's doin'…I miss her."

In one of those moments when Rosco showed his own layers, he said into the phone, "I know you miss her, Enos. To answer your question…I don't think she's dancin' no jigs, but she appears to be holdin' up. She even smiled at me today."

That wasn't a lie either. She was smiling at Rosco now.

Enos wasn't sure if Daisy smiling at Rosco was a good thing or a bad thing. She had never been partial to Rosco before, and the only expression he had ever seen her give him was a glare unless she was shuckin' and jivin' the Sheriff to get Bo and/or Luke out of trouble. At least Rosco had given him an answer. The jury was out on whether or not it was a straight answer.

After Rosco said goodbye to Enos and hung up the phone, Daisy kissed him on the cheek and exited his office, leaving him stroking Flash's soft ears and cooing to the hound. She was glad, now, that Rosco had ignored her. Enos missed her. He wanted to talk to her.

She wasn't going to let Rosco entirely off the hook, but she was no longer contemplating running him down with her bike, either.

References:

(3) Direct quote from DOH: Reunion! Enos said it to Daisy as he was building up to his proposal.

(4) Deacon and Deacon's Midnite Salvage: From DOH: Hazzard in Hollywood. Note: I have given her a first name (Octavia) later in the story.