Brian Coltrane

"Does it LOOK like ah can move?" Brian coughed out. Dazed from the hard blows of his face to the floor, and with Riddick's weight pinning him, Brian concentrated on the main objective...which at the moment, involved breathing. He gave another cough, and uttered a low moan of pain. The situation felt hopeless. Surrender wasn't an option. Brian knew if Riddick snapped his neck...a possibility very real at the moment...then Rosco or Min would be forced to face this big goon. Brian shut his eyes for a moment, drew in a slow, shuddering breath, and gave himself a final moment to think. His enemy's weight was heavy on him, and his arms were pinned to his sides by Riddick's legs...his neck, dangerously trapped by Riddick's strong left arm... But Riddick's right hand was broken and he couldn't be bracing his balance with it all that well....it was going to be risky, tho'.... Brian opened his dark eyes, gritted his teeth, and with a furious snarl, turned his right wrist and made a clawed grab for the hamstring muscle in Riddick's right leg, gouging it and twisting. At the same time, Brian raised his right shoulder up and tilted Riddick to the left, forcing Riddick's left elbow down into the floor. Brian broke free of the neck-hold at the same time Riddick pulled the hamstrung leg loose, but this was fine. The progressive momentum of the roll to the left had done the job; and Brian, now rolling with his back over Riddick's chest, backhanded his right fist to smash into Riddick's face. Brian followed this up instantly by rolling off the big man...but not before he drove his left elbow hard into Riddick's groin. This made Riddick roar in pain, and curl forward in an attempt to protect the area....which was what Brian wanted. He shoved his left elbow back square into Riddick's right eye, knocking Riddick's head back, and gauranteeing a swollen eye that would be hard to see with. Brian scrambled away on all fours, hauling himself upright with the aid of the ring ropes. The knee Riddick had kicked was screwed up and giving him trouble; he couldn't completely put his weight on the leg. But he could limp, and this is what Brian did, getting as far away from Riddick as possible. He stayed to the inside perimeter of the ring and used the ropes to aid his orderly retreat. He had to regroup and evaluate the damage... His leg hurt, his face hurt, he ached all over, and Riddick had made a promise to kill him. Other than that, he was fine... But on Riddick's part...the right side of the big man's body had taken much damage. A broken hand, an injured hamstring, and a fast-closing eye...all on the right side. Riddick may not have realized it yet, but he was effectively cut in half. The hit to the groin had been a bonus. "You...shoulda...called it...off..." Brian panted, watching his enemy struggle to get up. (cue Riddick.)

Brian rolled away with the kick and sprang to his feet. His nose stung painfully, and he gave a deep intake of breath to sniff back the blood. But his expression bore a jackal's smile, and he laughed low and deep in his chest as he circled Riddick. Brian remained out of arm's reach, pacing quickly, lunging in with jabs only to dance back without landing a blow. A whiff of air could be heard as Brian's arm shot forward in another feint; there was both speed and power being demonstrated in the moves. Yet he didn't close in on Riddick...not yet. He was keeping the larger man on guard, keeping him on the defensive, forcing him to protect himself from a threat that never landed.... Unexpectedly, Brian jogged backwards a couple of steps and abruptly pulled off his black t-shirt. He twisted it lengthwise between his hands, then dove forward and snapped it like a whip, striking Riddick's unprotected stomach. Instantly, Brian jumped back, twisted the shirt and snapped it again. It was maddening, distracting...the blows landed with a sting on Riddick's bare skin, irritating as hell. The shirt snapped towards Riddick's face, cracking an inch from one eye, making the big man flinch. The strategy seemed unfathomable, however, from a physical standpoint. The snapping shirt caused Riddick's skin to sting, but it couldn't possibly knock him out, and sooner or later he'd be successful in grabbing it away. In fact, Riddick was reacting quickly, on to the game.... ....and Brian snapped the shirt at Riddick's face once more, and Riddick's white eyes were fixed upon it, ready to grab it....and this was exactly when Brian jumped forward and issued a fast snap-kick with his left leg into Riddicks’ gut, lashing it out with the snap of the shirt in a synchronized move. The kick sent Riddick falling down once more. This time, Brian didn't follow him to the floor to complete the attack. He simply found Riddick's right hand and stomped down on it with his boot heel, as if trying to drive in a nail. There was a short, sickening crunch that spelled cracked knuckles. Brian sprang back and moved away, still holding the black shirt. He put distance between himself and Riddick and waited for his enemy to stand again. He no longer invited him to surrender. (cue Riddick...)

"Fancy meetin' you here," Brian drawled. He gave a smile to Riddick and took a few steps closer, pacing around just short of arm's reach. Keeping an eye on Riddick, Brian spoke to him casually. "This reminds me of the old days, when you were bound n' determined to get the better of me. I guess nothin's changed, man. I think a part of ya was nevah gonna be satisfied until you went for it one more time." Chuckling ruefully, Brian shook his head. "An' now it's come down to this, after we've learned how to get along. You know damn well I can't surrender to you, Riddick. No more than you can surrender to me." Turning away slightly, Brian took off his jacket. His motions were slow, almost reluctant. "Ah didn't want this fight, Riddick...." He held the leather jacket in his hand and hesitated, as if on the cusp of a last decision... Suddenly, Brian spun in place and whipped the leather jacket at Riddick's face, hurling it with an open-handed pitch with all the strength of his arm behind it. Immediately, Brian pounced, the jacket no sooner hitting Riddick's face than Brian leapt upon him with a high tackle, knocking the big man over and keeping the jacket pressed over his face. Brian sank a knee into Riddick's chest, pushed the jacket hard against Riddick's face, and denied the man air....but only for a few seconds, just enough to let the instinctive panic of the blinding, suffocating move unnerve his enemy. Riddick was now giving struggle, and this was no more then the opening feint.... Brian whipped the jacket off Riddick's face abruptly and let the sunlight glare down without warning into Riddick's white eyes. Such was the dramatic change in light, that Riddick didn't immediately see the coiled fist Brian had ready... ...and the fist was unleashed heavily into one eye of Riddick's and then the other with rapid, snakelike strikes. "YIELD!" Brian snarled, sending another blow to hammer down on the sensitive eyes. (cue Riddick....)

Brian spent a few minutes washing up and replacing his tattered wardrobe. A fresh black t-shirt was pulled over his chest, and he put on his black leather jacket. At some point, he would have to take it off again...but he preferred to make his entrance with it on. The jacket's weight was reassuring as it hung open over his shoulders and covered his back. It was a part of him, and it had seen him through many fights and deadly confrontations in the past. Therefore, he wore it now as he approached the ring. His boot steps were even and sure; his spine was straight and his shoulders high. His bearing was one of cool resolve as he walked through the crowd. Though is body contained some aches from the fight Garrett had given him, Brian felt ready to face his next opponent. An opponent he knew well. He and Riddick had clashed in Hazzard for a long time; they had fought at nearly every opportunity. Eventually, a peace had been agreed upon between them...but perhaps the peace just wasn't meant to be. For the moment Riddick joined him in the ring, they would be enemies once again. And every blow exchanged was capable of opening old wounds. More...they were each capable of destroying the other. This fact resounded through Brian's mind. His dark eyes were fixed forward and his face was emotionless, but those who knew him well caught the brief glimpses his eyes made in the direction of friends and kin. Finally, Brian entered the ring. He was alone in it, for the moment, and he paced around slowly, restless like a caged panther. He soon noticed Riddick finishing his own preparations and moving towards the ring. Brian stopped pacing. He now stood motionless, except for the breeze that caught his hair and gently stirred it. His turned his face to the wind and held his head high, basking in the warmth of the sun and in the caress of the wind. It was a last moment of peace. For one of them would not be leaving the ring under their own power. (Cue Riddick.)

After watching Garrett Duke get hauled away in the ambulance, Brian had turned his attention to the fight between Rosco and Breyer. He witnessed the battle in silence, standing near Cully, offering his presence in support of Rosco's efforts. It was with grim satisfaction that Brian watched Rosco apply some brutal cop-tactics against Breyer. Ol' Rosco had a mean streak that was making itself known in short order. When Breyer surrendered, Brian felt pride in his cousin's victory, and also relief that Rosco was leaving the ring intact. Garrett had not been as fortunate. In fact, every round had contained a savagery that was beyond expectation. For himself, Brian felt no stirrings of guilt for what he had done to his earlier opponent. Humanity was locked away, forced aside by the need to fight and survive. There were no half-measures in these situations. As Rosco left the ring and met up with Cully, Brian stayed with them long enough to make sure Rosco was alright. Their eyes met for a moment, each expression holding congratulations and concern to the other. Then, as the next rounds were announced, Brian gave a single nod to Rosco and turned away. They each had another battle to face, and each of them had to prepare for it.

What about the infamous characters?

From the corner of his eye, Brian saw the gathering of the Dukes. He tried not to look at them, but Kristy's wail caused his dark eyes to glance briefly her direction. Her tragic expression broke through the red haze of fury in Brian's mind. A man's life was in his hands, and the Duke family was watching. "@#%&*!!" Brian gritted through his teeth, slamming Garrett's head down for a final time. He sprang up from the wounded Duke, and delivered the coup de grace', driving a boot down hard on Garrett's injured leg, smashing the boot heel into the back of the unprotected knee. Brian ground the boot into the back of Garrett's kneecap as if he were crushing out a cigarette. Between the twisting the leg had received, and the blow inflicted to the back of the knee, it was unlikely that Garrett would be able to stand up for awhile. At least, not without the aid of a decent crutch. Whether Garrett was conscious enough to utter a surrender, Brian didn't know. By the looks of the bleeding and broken Duke, it didn't much matter. Brian looked over one shoulder at the Duke family. He pointed back to Garrett. "Get him outta here," he growled. "Get him out while he's still breathin'." (cue a Duke )

The punishing kicks seemed endless. After falling from the first kick, and then receiving the kick to the face, Brian found himself flat on his back. Garrett was trying to crush him as if he were a big cockroach. The boot heel smacked into Brian's chest with so much force, that the embattled Coltrane felt as if his heart was about to jar loose from the impact. He suffered through the kicking blows and concentrated on protecting his head, keeping his forearms over his ears. This left Garrett free to kick at his side, and Brian's breath came out in coughs of racking pain. If anything, this encouraged Garrett, who delivered a quick succession of kicks to the chest and ribs in an effort to finish off the enemy Coltrane. Garrett, of course, had to balance himself on one leg to do all that kicking. Brian suddenly sat up and flung his arms around the leg Garrett was kicking him with. Grabbing the leg firmly in a grim embrace below the knee, Brian twisted it and rolled away like a log, causing Garrett to come crashing down to earth face first. Without hesitation, Brian used the twisted leg for leverage, folding it up over Garrett's back, while he planted his own left knee deep into the lower section of Garrett's spine. Due to the broken arm, Garrett would not have enough leverage to push himself up off his stomach and break the hold, let alone push Brian's weight off.... ...but Brian wasn't done with him. The opportunities for Garrett's surrender were now expired, null and void. With a snarling fury, Brian kept Garrett's twisted leg hooked within his bent right arm. Brian brought the leg further out of place as he leaned forward with excruciating pressure, knowing Garrett would begin to feel ligaments tearing...all while Brian's knee sank deeper into the lower spine... ...but Brian wasn't done with him. Without word or warning, Brian's left hand grabbed the back of Garrett's head, gathering up a fistful of hair. With this left-handed hold secured, while the captured leg remained trapped within Brian's right arm....and with Brian's left knee still digging in Garrett's back, keeping the Duke pinned stomach-down.... Brian yanked Garrett's head back by the hair and then shoved it forward, smacking the Duke's forehead hard to the floor. Garrett's face was already a mask of blood from the broken nose, but this didn't stop Brian. He yanked Garrett's head back and did it again. And again. And again. And again, heavily and without cease...no longer able to tell if Garrett was conscious or not... ....and a cold, terrible part of Brian didn't care either way. Garrett had refused to surrender to the "likes of him." Garrett would rather be carried out of the ring... So be it.

Brian absorbed the prize money announcement without changing expression. Having been given some room by Garrett, Brian paced around in a slow circle, pondering what to do. "Twenty-five grand. That buys a whole lot of grits, don't it? But that don't mean all this is right." Brian gave a short sigh and continued to pace. He was aware of Garrett's watchful gaze, but other than glancing over his shoulder at the wary Duke, Brian made no move towards him. "Doesn't seem right to hurt somebody for money, does it. Oh, I used to be involved in all kinds of grim stuff, but things have changed. I've changed, too. Know what ah mean?" Brian paused with his back towards Garrett. He spoke without looking at the young Duke. "Wasn't right of us to get into a fight like this for no good reason. An' it sure ain't right to hurt a man for money...." A soft, rueful chuckle came from Brian, and he shook his head regretfully. "But seein' as how ah was prepared to kick yer ass for free, I sure as hell can't back down now -" Without warning, Brian spun around and snapped a fast, hard, right-handed punch into Garrett's nose. The stunning blow broke cartilidge and caused blood to spill free. At the same time, Brian snaked his left hand out beneath, and grapsed Garrett's right arm, jerking the stunned Duke forward and pulling him past his own body.... ...and with Garrett's right arm extended straight and captured in his left-handed grasp, Brian issued another lightning-quick strike, landing another heavy punch directly on the outside of Garrett's left elbow. The extended arm could not flex to avoid the damage, and a loud, clear *SNAP* announed the cracking of bone as the elbow was forced the wrong way. Brian released Garrett in the follow-through motion and tossed the opponent Duke hard to the ground. Impassively, Brian noted Garrett's the heavily-bleeding nose and the odd angle of the broken right arm. "It's finished, Garrett," Brian said softly. "You're not gonna breathe very well through a busted nose, and your right arm is broken. If you force me to, I'll keep hurting you. But I'd rather you walked out of here under your own power." Brian stared at Garrett intently, but there was no hostility in the Coltrane's dark eyes. Instead, there was an understanding. "You faced me without fear, n' for that, you've got my respect. That don't pay no twenty-five grand, of course...but my respect is somethin' money can't buy." Taking a few slow steps around the fallen Duke, Brian watched Garrett and waited for his opponent's decision. (Cue Garrett)

Meanwhile, back in the first ring, Brian overheard the complete savagery of Chet and Min's battle - but he couldn't spare attention to it, given that Garrett was trying to mash him like a potato. "YO! Hang on, man! Wait a second!" From his flat-on-back position, Brian put out one palm, panting for breath. "Let's figure somethin' out, eh?" Knowing the Duke would pause long enough to hear him out , Brian asked a question. "Awright, before you continue with the pinata practice, answer me somethin'. What the hell is the prize, here? Is it worth gettin' all busted up for the sake of empty pride? I ain't heard nothin' about no cash money, no trophy, no kiss by a bikini babe, or no trip to the Bahamas." Brian took a deep breath and looked Garrett in the eye. "Fact is, we're makin' fools outta ourselves. Granted, yer a Duke, an' I'm a Coltrane, and fightin' each other comes natural. But we're also men of honor. Do you got any real malice towards me, Garrett? Have ah ever done anythin' so wrong to you, that you'd see fit to beat me senseless? An' for that matter, what cause do ah have, to cause you bodily harm?" Falling silent, Brian made no aggressive move, and made no special effort to defend himself. He simply waited to see what Garrett would say. (Cue Garrett!)

Pendragon, that's terrific news!! Your hard work is payin' off. I know you've got more hard work ahead of you, but all of us here will be rootin' for ya. Meantime, you know that whenever you need to come up for air and goof around...Hazzard will always be here. Con-graaad-u-lations! Brian

Walks into the fighting ring, clad in usual black t-shirt, black jeans, and boots. The trademark jacket is worn as well, hanging open. Casually strolls up to Garrett, unimpressed by the Duke's bravado. Gives him a mocking, sinister grin. "Garrett, you just made your first mistake...in assumin' I'm like anyone you've evah fought before." Without warning, clasps hands together and swings a heavy, two-fisted chop across Garrett's jaw, throwing body weight into the blow. Spins around in the follow-through, and lightning-quick, lashes out a vicious, sweeping kick into the Duke's side, connecting with the lower ribs and sending the off-balance Duke to the ground. "RRRRAAAUGH!!" With a savage cry of fury, lunges on the fresh-landed Duke and jabs a hard elbow deep into Garrett's gut, then immediately swings a right cross to snap hard against the jaw again. With no pause, leans forward to lay left forearm over the Duke's throat, bent at the elbow, bracing own body weight into it. Own right hand is clenched around own left wrist, the leverage of both black-clad shoulders weighing down upon the captured neck. Looms face over the prone Duke, and through bared teeth, snarls in a low voice.... "Yield while you can still move any part of your @#%&* body."

The followin' is a special announcement for Garrett Duke. Garrett, I'm waitin'. And the longer you keep me waitin', the meaner I'm gonna get. Be advised, Duke, that this is yer last chance to forfeit. You won't have the opportunity to surrender in the ring. They're gonna carry your unconcious body OUT. For the record, I'm not interested in showin' mercy or good sportsmanship. I'm gonna make short work of you, boy...'cause there's a long line of Dukes right behind you. You'll have the honor of bein' the first to fall. Since no one else is rushin' up to the ring....I'm callin' you out, Garrett. Know why? Not only because I'm a sadistic son of a &%$*#...but because I don't want you to have a chance to study somebody else and figure out how to fight. KHEEHAHA. You and me, Garrett, on the first round. The whole of Hazzard County is gonna be watchin'. And I've put down far tougher characters than you. Your number has been pulled. Come and get it. Brian Coltrane

Brian grinned and gave a warm chuckle. "You don't need lessons, Doc. You're a natural." He pulled her a bit closer, the fluid movements of their dance synchronizing to an easy rythym. Brian sighed in contentment and shut his eyes for a moment, willing a timelessness to close over them and capture this feeling forever. He was jostled slightly by another dancing couple as a large man in a white shirt accidently bumped against his back. There was no telling who bumped who, really, so Brian glanced over his shoulder and muttered a brief apology. "Whups, sorry." It was then he recognized Riddick. Brian blinked in surprise, noticing Riddick and Val's presence for the first time. A quick glance around the club revealed a few more familiar faces, and this caused Brian to raise an eyebrow in curiosity. (Cue anybody!)

Yo, Riddick! I'm normally the last person to ask this kind of question, but....are there any rules? ( I need to know what I'm breakin'. Khee!) How's this work, 'zactly? Do the rest of the participants vote on the combatants efforts in the ring, and choose the winner of that round? How may posts back n' forth does each pair of fighters get before any such vote? Should be some kinda reasonable limit. I'm assumin' this ain't no duel-to-the-death type thing. Maybe we should clarify that, eh? Riddick, thank ya for organizin' the First Annual Stomp-A-Duke contest. KHEEHAAAA! Oh, Gaaaarrett....I got yer number, boy!

Brian stammered an answer. "Of course ah'd rather dance with you! What man in Atlanta wouldn't?" As he said this, Brian flicked his gaze over Chance's face and figure...and found himself stunned. Now that he was looking upon her fully, he noted the brown suede top that daringly bared one shoulder and clung to her torso...and the black leather pants that fit her like a second skin, so tight that they could be used as a wetsuit for scuba diving. The black motorcycle boots that arched at the heel and clung to her calves added an element of sensual assertion. He tried not to think about what a well-aimed kick with those boots could do to him. Brian's dark eyes slowly rose back up to look Chance in the face. Her hair was full and a little wild from dancing, and she was wearing just enough makeup to compliment her attire. He had never seen her look as magnificent and dangerous.... "Doc," he breathed out finally, "There is no way I can look at you in that outfit...and have any earthly hope of talkin' my way out of this one. 'Cause you are the Greek goddess of Sex and Motorcycles, and I am just a mere mortal, ensnared by your beautiful spell." With this, Brian clasped one of her hands in his own, and brought it up to his lips, kissing the palm. It was a slow, warm kiss, and his dark eyes shut a moment as he placed it, in silent apology for any earlier offense. And then, with her hand in his grasp, he pulled her closer to him, and wrapped one arm around her slender waist. His body began to move to the music...and the bass line was no match for the tempo of his madly thudding heart.

Full Name: Brian A. Coltrane Age: 29 Height: 5' 11" Weight: 180 Attributes/Skills: Experienced action character with achievements in gun fights, knife fights, street brawls. Well-versed in all dirty tricks. Innovative tactics are combined with sound criminal instincts to foster survival in adverse circumstances. Incurable smart ass. Devious and resourceful. When all else fails, can run like hell. Liabilities: Partially reformed. Occassionally suffers from bouts of latent heroism, but this can be controlled with the proper medication.

Meanwhile, Brian was aware of nothing other than the music and the buxom blonde waitress who was doing a snake charmer's dance in front of him. At the tap on his shoulder and the "Mind if I cut in" question, Brian didn't immediately associate the voice with that of Chance Walker. The music was loud, and this was the last place he'd expect to find someone he knew from Hazzard. So it was with a cavalier smile that he half-turned in mid-boogie and said carelessly, "Join right in, baby! If you can out-grind my dance partner here, I'll buy you a drink!" Then he recognized the face, and stared into the crystal blue eyes that held both ice and fire.... "GAH!! Oh #&*%! AHH! I mean...Howdy Doc...." Brian stopped dancing for a moment, turned back around, and reached a hand down to help up the waitress, who was doing sultry moves around his leg. The waitress stood up and looked at him curiously, wondering what was wrong. She then noticed Chance standing there. She looked back to Brian, and gave a knowing smirk. "Will you excuse me, honey?" Brian said to the waitress. "I'm about to be dead." He handed her a crisp twenty for a tip, and she smiled and scampered off...though not before dragging her palm across his chest and down his sleeve in farewell. This done, Brian turned back to Chance, and faced the music.

Far away from the dance floor, two men stood near the bar and conversed in low voices. The noisy disco was an unlikely place for their meeting, which was exactly why they had chosen it. This neutral ground was relatively safe from the eyes of the criminal underworld and the law, and it was here that Brian had met up with an old friend. At the moment, Brian was questioning his friend with a sanity check. "Let me get this straight, Rusty. You broke into a video store and cleaned it out of every movie in stock?" "Yeah!" Rusty beamed. "Got everything they had, rated from G to XXX." Brian snorted. "Teriffic. Used movies are worth about five bucks on the black market, ya know. I can't believe the Syndicate sanctioned you for a job that cheap -" "They didn't," Rusty said with a quick swallow. "That's why I needed to talk to ya. I can't keep this stuff at the Jigsaw, because if I get caught freelancing again..." "Dammit, Rust! You're riskin' your hide over a cheap score like this? I outta let you sweat it out. Better yet, just dump the stuff. Ain't worth it." "Bri, use your head. I'm not THAT dumb. Used movies aren't worth much, but copies of them, sold in new packaging and priced like new movies, are worth a whole lot more." Rusty gave a devilish grin. "I got the copying place and distributor all lined up. I just need the movies stashed for about a week." "You're smarter than you look," Brian conceded. "Awright. I'll hold the stuff for a week. But no more than that! I can't afford to get caught with it either. Dig?" At Rusty's eager nod, Brian handed over his car keys. "Diablo's parked in the alley. Put the goods into the trunk, an' I'll wait here." Rusty snatched the keys and hurried off. Brian lounged against the bar and sipped at a bottle of beer, acting like another lone wolf at the disco who was just there to pick up babes. He had to keep up a cover. He made eye contact with a cocktail waitress, flashed her a smile, and nodded to the dance floor. The buxom blonde was only too happy to oblige, and as a new song started up, Brian tossed off his black jacket and left it over the barstool. He took the cocktail waitress by the hand and led her to the multicolored haze of the dance floor. The song "Super Freak" wasn't one of Brian's favorites, but it was fun to dance to, and the lyrics seemed to inspire his dance partner to show off her sluttiest moves. She ground to the floor as she dragged her palms down the front of Brian's black shirt and down the thighs of his black jeans. "Kheehaa!" he grinned, rocking his body to the music's bass line. (cue anybody!)

A smile broke open on Brian's face. He looked at Cully, beaming. "She remembers!" "It would have been a lot to forget," Cully muttered, having heard Brian's references to a seedy family history. The ex-stuntman was then startled by an unexpected hug from Brian, who was laughing and pounding him on the back. "Kheehaha! She remembers!" Brian repeated. "She remembers," Cully echoed, chuckling at the young man's relief and sharing it. He gave Brian a thump on the back in return. At this, the dogs had enough and began to bark loudly, demanding their share of attention. (cue MaryAnne! )

Brian got into the Camaro without a word. He had watched Fargo's decision process with deepening horror, and for an awful moment, had thought that it was all over for the Sheriff. The bluff had nearly been played too well. Fargo was as cold, ruthless and brutal as they came, and had it not been for Anderson picking up on the scattered seeds of doubt, Rosco's body would already be cooling in the street. With difficulty, Brian kept himself from looking out the car window to watch Rosco's departure. He said nothing as Fargo and Anderson sat down in the car and started it up. He kept all emotion from his expression, his dark eyes fixed forward in a silent stare out the windshield. Rosco's words echoed in Brian's mind as the Camaro pulled from the curb. **"I got kin! I don't want 'em to find me that way..." ** Brian felt the same. But in his own case, he had the feeling his body would never be found. (Cue MaryAnne!)

Brian attempted to come to Rosco's rescue. "Aw hell, MaryAnne! Rosco ain't done nothin' that bad. What's a few fake fire hydrants? Who cares about changable no-parkin' zones an' fake speed limit signs? And so what if Rosco kicks out a brake light before writin' a ticket for a busted one? The county's gotta raise money somehow! That's all small potatoes anyway, he ain't done nothin' like railroad the Duke boys into jail for like..." Brian paused and looked at Rosco. "What's it been, three weeks? You been slackin'. " Brian turned back to MaryAnne, giving a weak smile at her piercing blue gaze. "So ya see, cousin? Rosco ain't done nobody no harm. And hell, if you put up with me after I originally came to Hazzard to make a hit on the Dukes, well...there ain't nothin' Rosco's done that...." With a swallow, Brian realized that he'd let more slip than intended...and in doing so, he had just slipped a rope around his own neck and Rosco's. (Cue MaryAnne!)

Brian hoped Rosco would live to forgive him, for what he was about to say next. "G'wan n' shoot 'em!" Brian suggested to Fargo. "So what if he's the county Sheriff! He's as yellah as the day is long!" Brian's voice was a mocking drawl, and his expression was one of scornful distain as he glanced from Fargo to Rosco. "Folks might get curious when the Sheriff don't return from his patrol, and mind ya, his brother-in-law is the County Commissioner. But that ain't gonna save yer yellah hide, is it Sheriff! Makes mah own pree-diciment downright tolerable, knowin' you're gonna hit the ground first." Brian laughed malovently, appearing to be eager for Rosco's demise... ...but the laughter was feigned, and in Brian's dark eyes, there was both pain and apology as he locked his gaze to Rosco's. The last bluff had been played. Either his dangerous ploy had helped Rosco's chances... ...or he had sealed his cousin's fate. (Cue Fargo! )

....and the sound of the rifle shot froze Brian in place, fist raised and poised to strike. A numbing dread filled him at the thought that Rosco had been shot. A quick glance towards Anderson showed the sniper standing with the gun raised upward, a cruel smirk on his face. A short distance away, Rosco was half-crumpled over the Camaro's nose. It was a sight that would have driven Brian to rash action, except that the Sheriff lifted his head and slowly straightened up. The game was almost over, and the score was two to zero against the Coltranes. Brian released Fargo and stood up, raising his arms halfway to show he had no more resistance to offer. Frantically, his criminal-trained mind tried to conjure a way to get Rosco off the hook...without revealing that he and the Sheriff were relatives. So far, the bounty hunters didn't know Brian's name, and assumed him for a local hick. The bounty hunters also didn't know that Rosco knew anything about Riddick. Maybe, Brian thought, he could plant a seed of doubt in Fargo's mind that would make killing a cop seem unnecessary. He sure as hell hoped so....and he also had to hope that Rosco would understand, and go along with it. "Ah reckon you were on the wrong patrol at the wrong time, Sheriff," Brian drawled, letting his arms drop. "Here you figured on handin' out a couple of easy parkin' tickets, n' found yerself in hot water. Didn't figure you for the type on gettin' involved, seein' as how you're so close to ree-tirement n' all. I'll be damned if you've caught so much as a butterfly in the past five years! Ah suppose it's the thought that counts, but help like yours, ah don't need!" Brian gave a mocking grin with the words, but his dark eyes were sending an entirely different message to Rosco. Silently, Brian pleaded with Rosco to play along, and get the hell out of this, if he could. Because if Fargo killed Rosco right now, it wouldn't change Brian's own fate. If any Coltrane posteriors were going to be saved, it would have to be one at a time. ... (Cue Fargo, Anderson or Rosco!)

....was beginning to wonder if Cully would take on renters if MaryAnne pitched him and Rosco out of the Coltrane homestead. Unwittingly, Brian knew he'd just triggered the worst. If MaryAnne snooped around, she'd find enough to dislike about her local cousins to last a lifetime. "Gah!" Brian followed Rosco and Cully up the courthouse steps. MaryAnne was marching resolutely ahead of them, Bandit trotting along at her side. Maybe, Brian thought to himself, MaryAnne wouldn't pull any files. Especially right in front of them. Maybe she was just going to ask them a few questions, which they could dodge easy enough, until her memory started to come back. She knew they were all kin. Surely she had to believe that, even without her memory. As MaryAnne's determined walk took them all back inside the booking room, Brian tried making an appeal. "Cousin," he said to her with his most charming, criminal-of-the-year smile. "Ol' Rosco n' Boss might enjoy a good shuck n' jive once in awhile, but there's nothin' to worry about. Forget I said anything, eh? Listen, why don't we all go back home, n' I'll make us a big batch of my mafia chili. Biscuits and everythin'-" The sudden, piercing gaze from MaryAnne made Brian's words stop and retreat back down his throat. He swallowed them down, and said nothing more, as MaryAnne turned her burning, acetylene-blue eyes from his face to Rosco's.... (Cue MaryAnne!)