Gravedigger pulled to the side of the street warily, leaving room between him and the other car, all the while staring at the busy man. Autumn climbed out tentatively, approaching from the sidewalk to seem less conspicuous. The man didn't notice her right away, seemingly much too busy sifting through the contents of his trunk.

Autumn leaned against the coupe, giving the man a nod. "Howdy, mister."

The man hit his head on the trunk lid as he startled, immediately looking up at her. "Yeah? What d'you want?"

Autumn shrugged. "Oh, I couldn't help but notice a suspicious figure loadin' guns into the back of a car."

The man's gaze darted around and he quickly shut the trunk lid. "No idea what you're talkin' about."

Autumn raised an eyebrow.

"You a cop?" the man growled.

A faint smile played on Autumn's lips. "Y'know, I can't help but think that you might be related to a friend of mine."

"I can imagine."

"You heard about what happened to Bo, didn't you?" Autumn caught a flash of that blue-eyed gaze and it was chilling. "That's why you're here, ain't it? I've heard a lot about you, y'know."

The man growled again, walking out from behind the car whilst fixing his cuff. "I don't have time for this."

"You want help?"

The man glanced at her again. "Excuse me?"

"I'm pretty good with guns if you can believe it."

The man shook his head. "No, absolutely not, are you outta your mind?"

Autumn shrugged. "Any friend of the Duke boys is a friend of mine."

The man sighed. "We ain't really…" he sighed again. "Bo… don't want nothin' to do with me."

"Is this you tryin' to make up for it?"

John shook his head. "This's me gettin' revenge on the bastard that hurt my son."

Autumn shrugged again. "Well, not that it's any of my business, but I think you're just gonna go and get yourself killed."

"I highly doubt that." He opened the door of his car. "And besides, it ain't like anybody's gonna miss me anyway."

That said, he climbed inside, starting the engine. Autumn leaned down to look into the opened window.

"So, you want me to tell Bo that his old man's goin' on a rampage fueled by blind rage and might just get himself killed?" she asked.

"You a narc?" John asked. He was putting the car in gear now.

"Not normally, but I could be. You just give me a call when things don't go your way, okay?"

John rolled his eyes and grumbled. "I'll call ya if I get shot, and who the hell even are you, anyway?"

"Name's Autumn, I'm an honorary Duke."

"John. And you can go ahead and forget this."

With that, the man was gone, pulling away in his coupe.

Detective Tollefson, who had found himself with unworldly long hours trying to dig for evidence, walked beside Jay on the street toward his Impala. Lack of sleep had left him groggy and the stress was starting to get to him. He was smoking again, anyway. Jay was rambling about something the detective had deemed as nonsensical as he wasn't paying attention as they approached the car.

He was inches away from sticking his key in the door when a sound caught his attention. And it made him stop. He quickly hissed for Jay to be quiet and listened intently, both men standing very still.

And that's when he heard it. A low ticking sound. Tollefson quickly dropped to the ground, shimmying underneath the car.

"Oh no you don't," he grumbled, reaching up toward the source of the ticking.

Jay quickly rounded the vehicle and crouched beside him where his legs stuck out from underneath. "What do you think you're doing?"

"There's a bomb under here somewhere, I'm going to disarm it." There was a noise from underneath the car and Tollefson let out a noise. "Oh, found it."

Jay sighed. "You even know what you're doing?"

"No, but it shouldn't be too hard."

"That thing's set to go off any minute now."

Tollefson raised an eyebrow, studying the wires in his hands.

"Alright," Jay said, "I was in the military for eleven years. Now, what you need to do is cut the right color wire."

"I think I got that."

"From my understanding, it's either the red or blue wire."

"Right… red or blue." Tollefson froze for a moment with the wires in his hand, eyes looking between them.

"Try the red one."

Tollefson still didn't move, a hint of rosiness rising to his cheeks. Jay noticed this absence of activity.

"Donny, the red one."

An embarrassed look crossed Tollefson's face. "I don't know which one's the red one, I'm… colorblind."

Another pause before Jay answered. "You're colorblind?!" The man immediately broke out into laughter.

"Don't laugh at me, it's not funny!"

Still laughing, Jay handed the detective his pocket knife, looking underneath the car at the wires in Tollefson's hands. "The one in your right hand."

The wire was cut and the ticking stopped. Tollefson lay there a moment, breathing a sigh of relief. However, Jay seemed to have other ideas as the man grabbed him by the ankles and promptly dragged him out from underneath the car. There was an echoing bang! as Tollefson's head impacted the car's metal frame and Jay cringed.

He quickly helped the detective up, Tollefson holding a hand to his head. "Oops."

Tollefson groaned. "Now I'm colorblind and concussed."

"Yeah, but at least you ain't blown up."

"Speaking of, seems like somebody thinks I'm getting a bit too close."

"I'll say. What now?"

"I'm gonna go call my boss, see if I can get an advance on my retirement."

He found him within hours. It was a sunny day that day. Warm, happy. It was quite nice. He didn't plan on dying on a day like this.

It was a shabby house in the countryside, with bad siding and a broken fence. Apparently, it had used to be a boarding house, that much he'd gotten from the man he'd forced information out of. A .45 to the head served as a good bargaining chip. Normally, it required two or more reluctant informants to get what he wanted. Regardless, it was an old boarding house on a backcountry road in Hazzard County.

It used to be red, the porch looked as though it was once white but it was now a mottled gray. A creaky sign hung by the porch steps, its faded half-sun contrasting yellow in the wood. The sign, of course, read 'The House of the Rising Sun: room and board.'

His coupe, also a Charger, rolled to a stop in the driveway. He liked the fact that his son had a Charger. He wanted one too. So he acquired one. Its body was shiny and black and had a red stripe that went around the rear. He liked his car.

The house, on the other hand, seemed to be deserted. Very well. He'd wait inside until the creep got back. He took his… belongings out of the trunk of the car, shoving his revolver down into the holster under his left arm, and walking up the porch steps with his Tommy in hand. Aptly, he knocked on the door, pressing his ear to it as he did. Someone was home. He could hear movement inside, anyway.

When the fool didn't come to answer the door, he took a short step back. He kicked the door, putting his weight behind it, nearly blowing it off its hinges. Within a moment, he was raining bullets down in the interior of the house. Stuffing flew from the couch and armchairs in the living room. Dining table and chairs splintered. Kitchen wares fell to the floor and broke.

After a moment of this, John paused, lowering the smoking muzzle of his gun and looking around the house. He breathed as quietly as he could muster, trying for the life of him to hear anything above the ringing in his ears. He was kind of hoping that his initial doorway attack would take the perpetrator out. It seemed as though he was wrong.

As he made his way to the kitchen, he found there was return fire from the living room. Quickly, he overturned the dining table, taking cover behind it. He listened intently to his surroundings, coaching himself in his mind.

This man he was after, as he'd been informed, was ex-military. And while he was an amateur criminal, was still well-versed in the use of firearms. Maybe he'd need to be a bit more careful.

John listened to the quiet house as the return fire had seemingly disappeared. Slowly, footsteps emerged, coming out from behind the living room couch. He quickly pushed himself up, mowing down the house with bullets once more. He watched a tall man in a purple coat scream and clutch his hand as he dropped his gun, then immediately dive back behind the couch.

John laughed as bullet after bullet drilled itself into the walls and furnishings of the house. That is until the Thompson clicked. The man growled and tossed it aside, pulling his revolver.

"Come out you piece of shit, it's you and me," he called out into the seemingly empty space.

Slowly, that same figure emerged, hands raised. He was, in fact, very tall. However, he didn't look the serial killer type. His face was frightened and he looked young. His chest shook with breaths and he took great care in stepping out from behind the couch. He was limping. His right hand bled. And there was a thick, white bandage covering his left ear. Or, at least, where his left ear would have been.

John kept his revolver trained on him, watching the sheepish grin curl up the younger man's mouth.

"You wouldn't kill someone who's unarmed, would you?" he asked in an innocent tone.

John's eyes narrowed. "Have and I will, and that's exactly what I came to do."

"Please," the man said, lowering his hands and holding them out in front of him, "take me away, make a citizen's arrest, I'd rather go to prison than die."

John raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. He wanted to kill him so badly, but, then again, maybe he could do with one less murder charge against him. Finally, he sighed, taking hold of the man's wrist. Just then, the man's arm twisted, hand reaching up to grab his wrist and quickly pull him in. Before John knew it, the man's forehead was crashing into his nose.

John felt himself get lightheaded and about fell. His gun went clattering to the floor. He staggered backward, cupping his hands over his bleeding nose. He knew it was broken, but there wasn't much he could do for himself in this situation. He shook his head, looking back up at the other man who stood over him, wiping a spot of blood off his forehead and laughing.

"Oh, your son taught me that, by the way." He pointed to his missing left ear. "But I'd say I had worse consequences than a broken nose."

John growled, wiping blood away from his mouth, and putting his fists up. "I'm gonna watch you hang for what you done."

The man laughed again. "I'll tell you how this is going to go. I already know that you're not going to listen to me, so what's going to happen is that I'm going to kill you, then disappear forever. I think I remember Luke telling me you were supposed to be dead, anyway."

John wiped his nose and mouth again. "You believe everything you hear?"

They were starting to circle each other now, like wolves, staring each other down.

Allen grinned, shaking his head and twirling fingers around his ears. "No. Can you imagine the kind of monster I'd be if I listened to all those little voices in my head?"

John lashed out at him, catching his cheek. Allen reeled back, shaking off the sting.

"You talk too much, and drop your left when you do, too," John explained.

Allen's grin was back, his lip curling. "Thanks for the tip, old man."

"Not old," John struck at him again, "just experienced."

He managed to hit him again. He clipped him in the jaw, having to reach past his protective left arm. But he'd gotten him nonetheless. It seemed as though this foe was better with guns than with his fists. That, or it was another trick.

In a split second, John realized that the two of them had circled to the point that his revolver was back in reach. Quickly, he dove for it, grabbing it and immediately training it back on Allen. However, the other man rushed forward, forcing John's arm up just as he pulled the trigger. John struggled against Allen's hold, realizing he had him by the wrists, and was bending his right arm back. Nevertheless, John struggled, finding the man to be much stronger than he looked.

There were a few strained grunts between them until John found himself dropping his gun again, only to be suddenly released. Within a moment, Allen kicked him, right in the stomach. The man who limped and whose left knee would buckle every now and then stood on one foot and kicked him. If John hadn't been so mad about being kicked, he would've been impressed that the man had been able to do that.

Regardless, he was sent stumbling back into the overturned dining table. As he shook off the mild disorientation, he realized that the man hadn't followed suit in his attack. He quickly looked for him, watching as he bent to pick up the gun he'd dropped earlier.

Instinctively, John dove for his revolver once again, and there were two gunshots fired at the same time.

He didn't feel it right away, but he felt himself stumble backward into the wall behind him, nearly hitting his shoulder on the telephone on the wall. He slid down to the floor, clutching his chest where he felt it was warm and wet.

There was no sound. He only stared out into the other room, watching as the other man writhed on the floor, clutching the back of his left thigh, blood seeping out between his fingers.

John had got him.

But he'd gotten John.

Every breath, he felt, expelled more blood out of his body. It'd pierced his lung. He had minutes. Maybe less. He shook his head, leaning it back against the wall. He grit his teeth.

"Fuck!" he growled.

With his head raised, he caught sight of the phone. And that strange woman from this morning naturally came to mind.

Autumn, who had dropped by Tri-County to visit the Duke boys, was shocked to learn that there was a phone call for her. She hadn't even gotten the chance to tell Bo what his dear old dad was up to.

She quickly made her way to the phone in the corridor outside the Duke boy's room, telling them and Gravedigger that it was probably just her grandmother, who had a tendency to call at spontaneous intervals. However, it wasn't. And she suspected that it wasn't.

"Hello?" she said, picking up the receiver.

"Oh, it's you."

Autumn stole a glance down the corridor and folded her arms, leaning against the wall. "You called me."

"Like you told me to do if I ran into any trouble. Look," there was a scoff and a stifled cough, "I'm afraid I ain't got much time left, I kinda… got shot."

Autumn sighed. "Where?"

"Uh… I dunno, lung I think."

"No, where are you?"

"Lovely little place called the House of the Risin' Sun, old boardin' house, actually. Think you can find it in a timely fashion? I don't exactly have time to write out a last will and testament so it's gonna have to be word of mouth."

"Right," Autumn said, running a hand through her hair. She was starting to get stressed. "Yeah, I'll be there. I'll get the cops, paramedics, everybody. Don't worry."

"Thank you."

Autumn nodded and was about to hang up the phone until she heard the man on the other end again.

"Autumn?"

She put the receiver back to her ear. "Yeah?"

"Tell… tell Bo that I love him… and that I'm sorry… for everythin'."

Autumn nodded and finally placed the phone back in its cradle. She could feel the lump in her throat rising. Promptly, she wiped her eyes, took a breath, and walked back to the room, ready to deliver the news.

And as she did so, the expression on Bo's face nearly broke her. Here this boy was, just turned loose from the clutches of evil, barely able to sit up on his own, and now his own father was dying.

There were tears in his eyes, and Luke was shaking his shoulder. "Hey," he said, "hey, c'mon now, it's okay. Not like you ever cared much for him anyway."

Bo nodded, wiping his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Autumn couldn't help but eye the dark scab on the curve of his wrist as he did.

"I know, but… I didn't even get to say goodbye," Bo said. He looked at her. "You sure he's gonna die? I mean, he has been known to overreact a little…"

Autumn sighed, laying a hand on his shoulder. "It was a lung shot, Bo." She shook her head. "He ain't got much time, I'm so sorry."

"We better go find him, c'mon," Luke said urgently, nudging Autumn's arm.

She nodded, wiping her eyes again and following him out of the room.

Gravedigger sped down the road where Luke directed him, an ambulance and two patrol cars racing behind him, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Meanwhile, Luke spoke with Autumn as she drove, her face twisted in worry.

"So you talked to John this mornin' and didn't tell anybody?" he asked.

"I was goin' to, I was gonna tell y'all everythin' at the hospital but then he called. I'm sorry," she said, stifling a shuddering breath.

Luke sighed, running a hand over his face. "Look, John wasn't exactly loved around here so don't feel too bad. And I'm sure he'll be fine, like Bo said, he's got a bit of a tendency to exaggerate."

Autumn shook her head. "You didn't hear him on the phone. He knows he's gonna die, Luke."

Luke was quiet for a moment before he finally replied. "John's gonna be just fine." He nodded. "He's gotta be."

Within moments, Gravedigger pulled into the driveway, sliding to a stop behind the black Charger parked in front of the house. The sheriff and deputy weren't far behind.

Autumn was the first one out, running up the porch and through the battered door. She stopped in the middle of the room, however, staring at the scene before her.

The interior was littered with bullet holes. Shells rolled on the floor. There was blood and two writhing figures. The younger of the two was curled in front of the couch, clutching his bleeding left leg. He wasn't going anywhere.

The other was against the wall that partitioned the stairs to the second floor and the kitchen. He sat below the phone, receiver hanging down by his head. He offered a weary smile when he saw her. His hand was held tightly over his chest, trying to trap as much blood as possible. Probably the reason he'd survived for so long.

"Hey," he said.

His voice was coarse and quiet, not the loud and clear boom that it had been that morning. Autumn felt her legs go weak and she moved to kneel beside him, taking his hand in hers.

"It's gonna be okay, the paramedics are here. They're gonna take care of ya, you're gonna be okay," Autumn said quickly, tears pooling in her dark eyes. She wiped them away.

John shook his head, the blue shine in his eyes was starting to fade. "No," he said. His gaze turned to Ridgefield who was still on the floor, writhing in pain. "You just make sure that bastard gets what he deserves. That's the one thing I ask for. And give Jennings a swift kick in the ass for me. For April."

"That's two things."

"That's two things," John repeated in a mocking voice. "I don't see a light, think that means I'm goin' the other way."

Autumn found that she was beyond words now and could only shake her head as the lump in her throat choked her. John's head rested against the wall behind him, his breathing was starting to slow. Autumn clutched his hand tightly, feeling as his body began to relax and the hand that covered his chest fell away.

His eyes drifted closed.

Luke ran in, Rosco, Enos, and a team of paramedics at his heels. However, Luke didn't even spare John a glance. His gaze rested on Allen. Immediately, he was on him, grabbing him by the lapels of his coat and shaking him. He was yelling at him, calling him all sorts of things. Autumn thought that he'd kill him right there, but Rosco and Enos pulled him off.

The paramedic team split in two, half tending to Ridgefield and the other coming to check over John. They didn't do so much as check his vitals and shake their heads, turning to Autumn.

"He's gone. There's nothing we can do," said one.

Autumn nodded, standing up and backing out of their way as they worked to move him.

As the other paramedics worked to get a tourniquet on Allen's leg, the two officers had to practically wrestle Luke to hold him down and keep him from tearing their suspect limb from limb. And Autumn grew a bit scared.

She'd never seen him act like this. Usually, he was a bit more reserved and, moreover, civilized. Now, he was savage. Could this be the very thing that revenge did to a person? He was acting crazy, yelling obscene things at Enos and Rosco, his right eye seemingly having been injured in the tussle as it was now a flood of bloodshot red.

As Ridgefield was being taken away, Luke finally managed to get the officers off of him, Autumn watching as Rosco was punched. The sheriff reeled away, staggering back into the arms of his deputy. Enos shot a worried glance back at Luke who was breathing heavily and practically foaming at the mouth.

That is, until he gave a shake of his head, pressing the heel of his palm to his temple as if he had a painful headache. Disoriented, he looked around, running a hand over his face and sighing.

"You all right there, buddyroe?" Enos asked, still holding the dizzy sheriff's arm.

Luke groaned and dropped his hand. "Yeah, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me." He looked at the still-reeling sheriff. "And sorry about that, Rosco."

Rosco made one of his noises, trying to regain his balance as Enos let go of him. Enos frowned, watching his superior officer stagger around.

"I'd steer clear of him for a while if I was you, Luke," he said.

His tone was friendly but Luke knew it was a warning. Luke nodded.

I won't say I don't feel bad for ol' John. Ridgefield's in custody, anyway. All thanks to him.