Brian Coltrane

Brian looked up from the ground to see Fargo and Anderson turn their heads towards the voice. It was all he needed. He rolled and swept one leg out in a sweeping kick, knocking one of Fargo's legs out from under him and bringing the bounty hunter to the earth. Fargo landed hard on his back, and Brian leapt on him instantly, knowing that he could not allow Fargo to draw that gun. With a knee planted firmly in Fargo's chest, Brian delivered a heavy punch to the jaw, hard enough to spin the bounty hunter's face towards the ground. At the same time, the noise between Rosco and Anderson indicated that there was no peaceful surrender going on.... (Cue Rosco, Anderson, or Fargo!)

HOWDY MILLISA!!!! You're another one of them shy, quiet types, eh? Anyhoo, welcome! G'wan and look around, help yerself to the fridge. Happy Hazzarding! Brian

"Ah can't show ya where he is," Brian heaved out. "'Cause he ain't here." With a pained breath, Brian folded the cards but kept his bluff. "Ya see...ah hauled 'em out of those woods, 'cause ah knew ya'll were gunnin' for 'em. Figured he was worth some money...thought ah'd cash in easy-like. So ah called a buddy of mine, n' we thought we'd sneak yer prize away from ya. It worked, too...my buddy took that dude of yours and hightailed it outta heah. If ah hadn't been fussin' with wipin' the blood off my clothes...I woulda been long gone mahself. " Brian gave a self-depreciating laugh that turned into a cough. His arm felt like it was being slowly dislocated, and his ribs ached from where the rifle stock had connected. These guys were playing for keeps...and the story he just gave them, would either buy him time...or a single bullet. (Cue Fargo & Anderson and/or Rosco & MaryAnne!)

A hiss of pain escaped through Brian's teeth as Fargo leveraged the bent arm higher. Gritting his teeth, Brian thought desperately of putting up a fight...but Fargo's grip was no joke, and the sniper rifle that Anderson held wasn't doing anything to brighten the outlook. All Brian had, ironically, was his hick act. He'd play the card for all it was worth. "Awright!" Brian gasped out when it felt as if his arm was about to dislocate. "AWRIGHT! Ah won't lie to ya. Ah do know who yer talkin' about...ah found 'em." Then, with a calm, quiet voice, Brian added, "And you'll nevah find 'em." (Cue Fargin' and Dammit!)

Tension filled Brian's voice, though he kept the drawl thick. "Ah have no damn idea what you're talkin' about. And I ain't hangin' around out heah alone, you @%&*$#, so now's your last chance to leave before it's too late." Brian said nothing else, but turned his head slightly to glare over his shoulder. His dark eyes held a dire threat as he gazed at Fargo, the hate for the bounty hunter unable to be disguised.

"That's a helluva idea," Brian drawled. "In fact, ah think ah'll just be headin' out there now, n' leave you boys to your...." Brian paused, noting the rifle in Anderson's hands. "...deerhuntin'," he said with a smile. "Good luck, y'all." With that, Brian turned his back to Diablo's driver's side, hiding the pistol he had tucked in the back waist of his jeans. He reached back as if to open Diablo's door handle.... (Cue Fargin'... I mean, Fargo n' Dammit Anderson!)

The sound of the approaching car gave short warning. The high beams of the blue Camaro swung around the corner, and headed straight for the spot where Riddick had entered the woods. The headlights found more, however, than the car's occupants had been looking for. The broad chrome grill of another late-model Chevy stared back at the Camaro...the parked Impala being too close to the scene of Riddicks' fall for coincidence. The blinding glare of the Camaro's headlights had Brian at a disadvantage. He couldn't see inside of the Camaro, and had no idea who he was dealing with...or how many. But he had the awful feeling that Fargo and company had not left town as he'd hoped. There would be no ducking and running now that he'd been seen. Brian waited next to Diablo, affecting an air of indifference, as if standing around at the edge of the woods this time of the night was the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps too, he could get some information. It wasn't like the bounty hunters had been after him, anyway. This confidence was shaken by the fact that there was a broad smear of blood in the grass where Brian had tried getting the worst of it off his jacket. The two large branches that had served as stretcher poles were also nearby. But worst of all, Brian realized, were the dried bloodstains on his hands from moving Riddick's wounded body. It wasn't going to look good. As the doors to the Camaro opened, Brian squinted against the glare of the headlights, and considered drawing his gun for the hell of it. But he didn't have his jacket; and the gun tucked in the back waist of his jeans would take an obvious, telegraphing motion to draw. He just wasn't as fast this way; no one was, when they had to reach behind their back. Having little defense, Brian chose an obnoxious offense. He gave a lazy wave to the men who stood by the Camaro, and spoke to them in the thickest drawl he could produce. "If ya'll are lookin' for the Tastee Freeze, it's about eee-leven miles north a' heah." (Cue Fargo and Dammit Anderson!)

As MaryAnne's patrol car sped away, Brian and Rosco watched it silently for a moment, each wishing Riddick survival. The odds weren't good, but with MaryAnne driving Riddick to the hospital, and being able to radio ahead for a trauma team...at least there was some hope. Rosco broke the silence and turned to Brian. "I know you don't like answering police questions. But I need to know if you seen who done it." For once, Brian didn't hesitate. "I've been watchin' that damn bounty hunter for days. Tailed 'em here tonight. I can tell ya by the noise that he n' Riddick had a scrap in the alley. Looked like Riddick got the upper hand in it, 'cause I saw that bounty hunter run from the alley holdin' his gut. Riddick came out a couple of minutes later....but before he got too far...someone planted a bullet in his back." Brian paused, and added in a troubled voice, "I didn't know that Fargo wasn't workin' alone. I'd nevah seen 'em with anybody elese in town." Rosco listened intently. "Could ya tell where the shot came from?" "I heard somethin' just as the shot went off, like somethin' heavy' hittin' the ground. Given that, 'n the fact Riddick took the bullet high in the back...I'd have to say somebody nailed 'em from a roof." "Which alley?" "There," Brian pointed. "Behind Cooter's, just a ways down." "Awright." Rosco gave a nod, and then an order. "I'm gonna go check it out. You stay here. If I get into trouble, call for help on Diablo's CB." "But -" "Hush! We can't afford to both be knockin' around in that alley, and this is official police work!" Leaving no room for arguement, Rosco stalked off, his gun holster unsnapped, his hand resting on the handle of his .38 Colt. Brian recognized the unspoken concern in Rosco's voice, and for this reason alone, he obeyed. He also figured the bounty hunters were long gone by now, the sight of the patrol cars probably sending them off. With nothing to do but wait and worry, Brian tried cleaning Riddick's blood from his jacket. Having been used for a stretcher, the lining was a mess, and wiping the coat against the grass did nothing. It would need to be dry cleaned....there was no putting it back on in this condition. Which made him edgy. Brian tossed the soiled jacket into the backseat of Diablo, feeling nervous for a reason he couldn't describe. He made sure his gun was tucked into the back waistband of his black denim jeans, then finished straightening the sleeves of his black shirt. This done, he waited for Rosco, his dark eyes scanning the night for any threat....the woods silent and shadowed behind him. (Cue....Fargo, Dammit Anderson, or Rosco, or MaryAnne!)

Brian gave his collected kin a withering look, which suggested that he might be happier remaining on Diablo's roof. The mirth of the gawking townsfolk - including Doc Walker - had taken him down a peg. He turned his dark-eyed glare directly to MaryAnne. She watched him with a barely contained grin, holding Bandit's leash in a casual grip. For someone who didn't remember who the hell he was, the Deputy had just put him through a classic wringer. He raised one eyebrow at MaryAnne, speculating whether this experience had jogged any recollection from her...but she only gave a small, "I couldn't resist" sort of shrug and smiled at him. Bandit barked and wagged his tail, as if encouraging Brian to come down. Having been called off, the German Shepard was friendly again, and would treat Brian with the usual chew-toy affection. Brian accepted Cully's outstretched hand, bracing his own right palm against it. Cully braced his arm, and Brian used it for leverage as he jumped down from Diablo's roof, flexing his knees with the landing and standing up completely straight in the next instant. The dismount from the car roof had been more graceful than the ascent up to it, and he had that much to salvage his pride with. "Awright," Brian said to the grinning faces, trying to hold his own expression of offended dignity. It wasn't quite working, and he gave up and grinned himself. "Awright! I'll admit it was worth it, 'cause we shook Boss up. KHEE!" After a chuckle, Brian looked at MaryAnne again. She had smiled along with the joke, but didn't seem to understand why annoying Boss Hogg was a good thing. The man was her employer, after all. "Just trust me on that one," Brian told her. The moment he spoke it, he realized how silly it must have sounded. How could she trust him? She didn't remember him. And if she ever researched past records in an attempt to figure him out....without having the benefit of her own memories to balance out those past events.... Brian suddenly gave a smile that was a little too quick, and backed up a step. "Anyhow! I'm sure ol' Rosco here can tell ya all kindsa stories about Boss. Specially how him n' Boss team up on some schemes that....uh..." There was a problem there, too. Brian shut up and his eyes darted to Rosco's. What would a MaryAnne with no memory think of the Sheriff's clouded record? "Whups," Brian muttered to himself, seeing the Sheriff's steel-blue eyes look back at him with the same thought. Both of them could be in deep trouble with MaryAnne, if she figured out their respective pasts, without remembering all the things that went along with it.... (Cue MaryAnne!)

"GAH!!" Startled, Brian jumped at the voice, even though he quickly recognized it. "Aw hell, Rosco! Thanks for the free coronary...." There was no time for the usual banter, though, and both men knew it. "Riddick took a shot in the back," Brian quickly explained. "And Lord knows how hurt he is anywhere else. If you can lift the other end of this contraption...." Rosco was already doing so, and Riddick was soon carried level between them, the progress much faster. As Rosco and Brian hauled Riddick from the woods, Brian explained as much as he knew of the events involving Fargo and his sniper associate. The Sheriff listened grimly, not finding optimism in any of it. As they stepped clear of the trees, each of them tensed, knowing that they might be being watched... They were, but it was MaryAnne who spotted them. With one hand resting on the holster of her weapon, her watchful gaze scanned the area, ready to react to any threat. She saw Rosco and Brian at about the same time they saw her, and moments later, Riddick was lifted off the rustic stretcher and gently placed into the backseat of her patrol car. The cruiser, having lights and siren, was the logical choice for transport of the wounded man. Brian began dismantling the stretcher to regain the clothing he'd sacrificed in it's construction. He listened as Rosco and MaryAnne exchanged a fast decision... (Cue MaryAnne!)

"AAAAAAAHH!!" Brian sprang into a run and exploded through the double doors of the booking room, sprinting down the hall for the exit. Bandit followed instantly, barking madly and giving chase. The German Shepard plowed through the booking room doors right behind Brian, the toenails of the dog skidding around the corner. Savage barking echoed loudly down the corridor, amplified by the tile hallway. The outside doors of the court house banged open, announcing that Brian had at least made it that far. If only Boss Hogg hadn't picked that moment to be walking up the court house steps. "YAAUGH!! WHAT IN TARNATION - " Whatever else Boss had to say, it was cut off by Bandit's barking; though the sounds of the sputtering county commissioner indicated that Boss had just suffered a hard landing on his posterior. Through the windows of the booking room, Rosco, Cully and MaryAnne were able to watch as Brian made a desperate run for the parked Chevy. Bandit was hot on his heels, and was readying a classic get-the-badguy takedown, but Brian made a flying leap for Diablo's hood. He landed square on it and scrambled for the roof of the car. Bandit, deprived of the prey, barked and growled in complaint and stood on his hind legs, front paws on the Chevy's passenger door. Standing on Diablo's roof, Brian heaved in air and watched the dog bark at him. Boss Hogg got back to his feet and shook a chubby fist, a smashed cigar clutched tightly within it. The exact words didn't carry, thanks to Bandit's continual barking, but the message suggested a lack of appreciation for Coltranes as a whole - including their dogs. (Cue MaryAnne!)

The retreating footsteps of the sniper - who Brian now knew as Dammit Anderson - faded into the distance. Having overhead the radio transmission between Fagro and Anderson, Brian realized how close the sniper had come to finding them. Coltrane luck had held out again. His attention returned to Riddick. Something had to be done, and fast. MaryAnne or Rosco might have found Diablo by now, but with Fargo and Anderson being nearby, there was no risking firing a shot to flag down the law. He had to get Riddick to Diablo....but how? The big ox was too badly wounded to attempt hauling in a fireman's carry, not to mention the man's considerable weight. Brian would do neither of them any good if he collapsed under Riddick between here and the car. Leaving Riddick to go seek help wasn't an option, either. Brian knew he may not find him again in these woods. The woods....as Brian glanced around, he found inspiration in the dead branches that were scattered everywhere. Quickly, he snapped the saftey on his gun, and tucked it into the back waist of his jeans. He removed his jacket next, laying it on the ground, the back of the jacket flat to the earth. It was a crazy idea, but it was all he had... He rattled through the dead branches until he found two large, thick tree limbs that would serve the purpose. Working fast, he snapped off the small twigs from the main section of each branch. He had to chance the noise; he was losing time as it was. The branches were clean in a matter of seconds, and though neither of them were perfectly straight pieces of timber, Brian managed to slide them into the sleeves of the open jacket. He stretched the jacket open as wide as the sleeves would allow. Next, Brian lifted beneath Riddick's shoulders and lifted him onto the open jacket, gently turning him over to his back. The thick leather jacket cushioned the wounded back somewhat, and offered warmth to the wounded body. Brian then removed his own shirt. It was one of his nicer black shirts, being long-sleeved and having small, onyx-colored buttons. But right now, it had a more important purpose than fashion. Brian stretched the shirt sleeves open wide, then flipped the shirt over a few times until it was wound like a long strip of cloth. He used it to secure Riddick's torso to the makeshift travois, carefully sliding it under the back of the jacket, tying the sleeves across the top of Riddick's chest. Lastly, Brian took off his belt, using it to loop the end of the thick branches together right beneath Riddick's boot heels. The strip of leather would help keep the branches from moving around too much, while giving another measure of security that Riddick wouldn't slide off the thing. Brian lifted the top of the travois up from the ground, tilting Riddick up, sparing the wounded back from being dragged over the earth. Brian tucked the large branches under his bare arms, and held them in a locked grip as his legs powered forward, one stride at a time. Riddick's weight was leveraged by the angle of the travois, making it possible to move him without compounding the injuries. It was still a jarring, bumpy ride as the travois was dragged forward. Brian took care to avoid the worst of the rocks and larger branches on the ground; but some of them couldn't be helped. Nor could he avoid for himself the cut of branches against his bare chest and shoulders. He ducked his head down and pulled the burden at the best pace he could make. He sincerely hoped his earlier distress call had been heard... ...because niether he nor Riddick were out of the woods yet. Literally. (Cue MaryAnne )

"Easy, Bandit! You'll see her in just a minute!" Brian held Bandit's leash tightly as the German Shepard strained to break loose and run ahead. The storm had riled the dogs who were left at home, and it seemed that Bandit could sense that something wasn't quite right. The Shepard whined through it's nose and pulled hard, not content to walk at the human pace. "You think you have it bad?" Cully retorted to Brian. "This bassett hound must weigh sixty pounds!" "Fourty," Brian corrected, straining against the pull of the German Shepard. "And I have to admit, you carryin' that dog makes you a dead ringer for Rosco. Yer gonna halfta explain this 'identical cousins' thing to me again sometime....whoa! Bandit, stop that!" Bandit had changed tactics. Being unable to break free, the German Shepard had backtracked to wind around Brian's legs. The leash tangled around one human leg and Brian fell to the tile floor of the hallway. "Ooof! Damn mutt...." Bandit gave a canine grin and pulled forward, tongue hanging from the side of his toothy mouth. The German Shepard hunkered down like a draft horse, dragging Brian down the hallway. "Is that any easier?" Cully asked, looking down at Brian with a smirk. "Shaddap." Brian held the leash in a two-handed, overhead grip and let the dog drag him on his back for a short distance. Maybe the exertion would take the edge off the dog. It didn't. Bandit scented MaryAnne and Rosco through the booking room doors and started to bark loudly. Flash lifted her head from Cully's arms and let out a long howl. The dogs seemed determine to come in with fanfare. Brian got up to his feet before Bandit plowed through the booking room doors. He held the dog back as best as he could as the German Shepard pushed through the doors. Bandit saw MaryAnne and started to wag his tail excitedly. Would MaryAnne remember her dog, or would Bandit's friendly aggression frighten her? Dropping the leash, Brian stood back with Cully to await the answer.... (Cue MaryAnne! )

Carefully, Brian pressed two fingertips to the side of Riddick's neck. The pulse, weak and fickle, was just enough to prove that life remained in the wounded body...but it wasn't going to last long at the going rate. "Riddick, man...we gotta get you outta here," Brian muttered. "Movin' you might make things worse...but stayin' in the creek ain't helpin' ya either." Decision made, Brian put his gun away within the jacket pocket. He reached beneath Riddick's arms, and lifted the torso up as gently as possible, mindful of the wound to the back. It was a bad wound and close to the spine, making any fireman's carry of the large body impossible. Instead, Brian dragged Riddick from the creek, getting him to the grassy bank that afforded dry rest. The sudden sound of footsteps crunching over dry leaves gave Brian no time to do anything more. He eased Riddick to the turf, letting him rest stomach-down as he had been found. Whoever it was coming through the woods was going to find them in a few moments. Brian had the nasty feeling that the pending visitor was not Rosco or MaryAnne. Every criminal instinct in his body was telling him to run like hell.... But he was the only thing standing between Riddick and death. Brian quickly drew his weapon again, took two steps back, hoping the nearby trees would protect him from the moonlight. Whoever was coming, it would be a short matter of time before they got here.... ....and the unsettled question in Brian's mind, was who would see who first. (cue Riddick)

It had happened too fast. By the time the loose bricks of the roof announced the sniper's presence, the shot had already been fired. From his vantage point within the parked Chevy, Brian had witnessed Fargo's fast exit from the alley. With Diablo's window open, the sounds of the fight had carried easily. Interfering with it, however, had not been an option; Riddick may well have mistaken Brian's presence and purpose. Knowing this, Brian could only watch, and would only take action if Fargo proved the victor. But to Brian's disconcerted surprise, Fargo wasn't working alone. No wonder the bounty hunter had been willing to leave his quarry in the alley; there had been a backup plan all along. The gunshot announced the sealing of Riddick's fate, and as the large man tumbled to the ground, Brian snatched up the CB microphone in Diablo and made a carefully-worded distress call. There were only two people in Hazzard that would understand the cryptic message, and Brian hoped at least one of them would respond. There was no time to wait for a reply. Brian hung up the CB and got out of Diablo, one hand reaching inside his jacket for his gun. The attackers were about to find themselves under fire. Maybe Riddick was already dead, but if he wasn't, there was no way the job was going to be finished now. Just as Brian was running towards him, Riddick scrambled up and crashed away into the woods like a mad deer. Brian quickly looked back towards the last known position of the sniper. No one could be seen....there was no instant pursuit, no second shot. The gunman may still be watching, or could be long gone.... Trusting to Coltrane luck, and to the cover of his black clothing, Brian charged after Riddick. The snapping of twigs and crunching of brush could be heard ahead. The man-made trail that Riddick was carving with brute force was easy enough to follow. Maybe he'd only been grazed by the shot; maybe it wasn't as bad as it first looked.... ...until the hard, heavy thud of a body hitting the earth removed the last of Brian's optimism. A few seconds later, he saw the sight of Riddick's large body splayed in the creek, unmoving. "Riddick?" Brian spoke quietly, not wanting to be mistaken for Fargo in case Riddick was conscious. "Riddick, it's me, Brian. I saw the whole thing...just take it easy, awright? I'm here to help ya..." Gun still in hand, Brian approached Riddick's inert form carefully. The moonlight shown down upon the small clearing, giving the shallow creek a pale reflection of light. The steady flow blood seeping from Riddick's body spoke of the serious wounds... and Brian knelt down next to the fallen man to check for a pulse...not expecting to find one. (cue Riddick.....)

Not to interject, 'cause it's the Deputy's decision - but that would be more of a Greek Mythology thing, than a time period. Of course, Ancient Greece itself would be a time period. An' just thinkin' aloud here, the mythos of Mt. Olympus and the immortal dwellers within was a core part of ancient Greek culture. So it could be considered either fantasy, or time-period, dependin' on interpretation n' application. Either way, it spells toga party. Heh heh! Deputy, it's your call.

Doc, nevah let reality be a barrier. Khee! Maybe there weren't many female doctors back then, but so what? If you went back in time, there'd be at least one! For example, there weren't many female deputies back in the old west, but that doesn't stop me from puttin' MaryAnne into it. (With her permission, o' course.) But that's part of the fun. Now about this 20's n' 30's era. Yeah, I know quite a bit about it. I'm well-versed in criminal history, as ya might guess. An' tho' I've nevah felt as natural in a pinstripe suit as I do my everyday garb...I'm sure I could pull it off. Problem is, I could come back from that period with all kinds of ideas, n' maybe it's wiser to leave bad enough alone. Khee!

Me, alter history? Y'all give me far too much credit. An' I hardly think the medieval period constitutes an opportune time to be a bad guy. Hello, you'd have to be nuts, you'd have to be bona-fide insane, you'd have to be stark ravin' bonkers to even THINK about bein' on the wrong side of the law in those days. Think about it, Ye Olde Hazzard County Jail in circa 1479 was probably equipped with all kinds of discouraging items, designed to extract fast confessions. Dig? Nope, you ain't gonna see me tanglin' with the law in this one. Fergit it. Tho' I do think Ye Olde Towne Sheriff and Ye Olde Towne Deputy may bear some resemblance to a modern-day Rosco n' MaryAnne, if one can overlook the crossbows. Hmm...and the idea of me, wearing a few peices of armor, leather pants, high-topped boots...astride a black horse, sword at my side? Nah....nevah gave it the slightest thought.

Oh, I'd say it's pretty damn obvious where Hope and Ian ended up. KHEEHAAA! *holds a flower while speaking, plucks at the petals one by one* Ya know, readin' a romance make a person take stock of their own heart. *looks at the flower in hand, which now has two petals remaining* And romance is a risky prospect. Nothin' has brought down more bad guys in their day than the distraction of female attention....take John Dillinger for example. Gunned down by the Feds, courtesy of a tipoff by his lady friend. *inhales the scent of the flower's remains, gives a wistful sigh* Yeah, romance is awright for some, but me, I know better... ...in fact, I know better than to pass up the chance at it myself. KHEE! *bites down on flower, chews it up and swallows it* *with a mild, silly grin on face, strolls away, singing to self* Knock three times on the cieling if you waaaant meee....ba daa da daaa...twice on the pipe...if the answer is no....

Awright, havin' had time to ponder the matter....I hereby declare myself as a registered par-ticipant for the Photo Story. ( We'll soon find out if a picture does paint 1,000 words. KHEE!) I'm also considerin' entry for the Spark Word challenge, tho' I'm havin' a hard time coming up with inspiration for the word "Reprobate." (yeah, riiiiiight....heh heh.) Movin' forward, I have a ree-quest for the Time Period category. I realize it's not in this round of challenges ( just as well, 'cause I'm already over-committed) but I'd like to offer a suggestion. Some folks are more experienced in this than others; and everyone's grasp of historical reference is stronger or weaker dependin' on the period. So to give everyone a sportin' chance to participate, I'd like to see the first time-period challenge as an "open" field, allowin' folks to choose whatever time period appeals to them. And since I'm fairly fluent in the western category, I'd challenge myself by going into the Medieval period. (chaos for all. Khee!)

Sonofagun! Yeah, allowin' folks to post to the topic will do wonders for collectin' feedback. Seriously tho', I'm diggin' the ideas. Might have a go at it myself. The time-period ones interest me the most, as the possibilities are wide open there. I'll see what I can come up with.

Rosco's quiet plea held Brian to the spot. Abandoning his family in their hour of need wasn't what he wanted to do....but MaryAnne's cold, unknowing expression had shaken him. What if she never remembered him? What if she never remembered Rosco, or anyone in Hazzard again? As Brian looked up into the worried blue of Rosco's eyes, he saw the unspoken pain within them. Rosco must be having the same kind of thoughts... The decision was made. "I ain't gonna bail on ya," Brian promised the Sheriff. "Sorry I even thought of it. It's just that...well, MaryAnne's pointed a gun at me before, but she's nevah pointed one as cold." Brian stepped up closer to Rosco and Cully. "I'll get over it, tho'. She needs us...even if she don't know who the hell we are." (cue Rosco or Cully)

Brian accepted Cully's handshake, and looked at this newfound relative with friendly curiosity. "Long-lost cousin, eh? Ya know, MaryAnne had tol' me once about Rosco havin' an identical cousin, but I thought she was just pullin' my leg. Khee! The way this family tree works, I'm gonna find out that I'm my own uncle or somethin'...." After the handshake, Brian regarded both Cully and Rosco for a second, stopping his banter and becoming serious. "Awright, y'all had mentioned somethin' about MaryAnne havin' am-nesia. Given the recent misunderstandin' I had with her in town, I'd say that's likely. She thought I was ransackin' the store and pulled her gun on me. I reacted kinda strongly to that, not knowin' what the hell was up....an' now the whole damn thing's a mess. " Brian turned his dark-eyed gaze to Rosco. "Under the circumstances, I'd best avoid MaryAnne for awhile. I'm gonna ask you to take me at my word that I wasn't lootin' the store. I was lookin' to see if anybody was trapped in there....an' when MaryAnne showed up and accused me of theivin', I kinda played it up, thinkin' she was horsin' around. It's my word against hers, cousin Sheriff. But until MaryAnne gets her marbles back, there ain't gonna be no sortin' it out." With a parting glance at both Cully and Rosco, Brian took a step back, preparing to leave. "Take care of her."

"GAAAAAAAH!!" Brian jumped and spun around like a spooked cat, startled by the sight of Rosco standing there in uniform. Brian's dark eyes were a little wild as he glanced from Rosco, to Cully, and then back to Rosco again. Finally, Brian cleared his throat and managed to speak. "Rosco, I gotta hand it to ya. You really got me surrounded this time." (Cue Rosco or Cully!)

"Oh, so now yer a ventriloquist!" Brian took a step closer to Cully. "Throwin' your voice, thinkin' I'll turn around so you can get the drop on me. Like hell! Cheap parlor tricks ain't gonna fool me! An' if MaryAnne has am-nesia, then ah've got deja vu'....'cause I've heard this all before!" Brian paused, seeing that the object of his wrath - whom he still believed to be Rosco - was holding back a grin with obvious effort. Annoyed, Brian folded his arms and asked a single question. "Awright, what the hell is so damn funny?!" (Cue Rosco!)