This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any actual resemblance to persons or historical persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Dukes of Hazzard characters, settings, locales, ect. and the Rockford Files characters, settings, locales, ect. are owned by other entities who have not endorsed this fic nor have they given express permission for the character's use. Author makes not claims to these characters and is not making any profit from their use.
The Rockford Files is a Public Arts/Roy Huggins Production in Association with Cherokee Productions and Universal-an MCA Company. The Dukes of Hazzard is a Lou Step Production in Association with Warner Bros. Television.
All original characters are the property
of the author.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the author or any legally assigned agents of the author.
© Copyright: 1996-2004. Lisa Philbrick
The Dukes of Hazzard
Of course I would attempt to cross two of my all time favorite TV shows. Jim Rockford meets Rosco P. Coltrane. =)
Diane Lloyd thought she had the address wrong. When she pulled her black Mercedes in to the parking lot of 29 Cove Road, all she saw was the bluish gray building of the Sand Castle Restaurant on her left and a green and white house trailer on her right. The Pacific Ocean stretched out for miles in front of her beyond the parking lot and the beach. Parked in front of the house trailer was a tan 1978 Pontiac Firebird and a 1975 red and sliver GMC pick up truck.
Diane brought her car to a stop and looked at the address she had written down with her own hand.
The Rockford Agency. 29 Cove Road, Malibu. 555-2368.
She shrugged, figuring she may have written the street number wrong. She cut the engine of her Mercedes and got out of the car, walking to the door of the restaurant.
Nope, this ain’t Hazzard County. This is Paradise Cove, Malibu, California. The lady with the fancy car is lookin’ for a private investigator named Jim Rockford. What she doesn’t know is that she found him. He lives in that house trailer there. Now, y’all stick around, you’re gonna meet quite an interestin’ fella and in a bit you’ll
find out what this all has to do with the folks in Hazzard, more specifically Enos Strate.
The woman was surprised when the bar tender told her that 29 Cove Road was the house trailer.
"Yes, ma’am. We keep telling Jim he should get it repainted and maybe get a nice sign or something. You’re not the first to think it was the wrong address."
"Oh." Diane smiled. "Well, thank you."
The bar tender nodded.
Diane left the restaurant and walked across the parking lot to the house trailer. Before she got to the door, she caught a glimpse of two men walking on the beach heading toward the trailer. The tall, dark haired man was holding a fishing pole in one
hand and the casting reel in the other. He was dressed in a pair of khaki pants and light blue denim shirt. The older, shorter man was carrying a fishing pole as well, along with a metal tackle box. He wore a dark denim shirt and jeans with red suspenders. His blue cap was just off to the side of his head.
Diane could hear the tall man sounding off about the manufacturing disaster he held in his hands.
"...and I just bought it two months ago," he was saying. "Twenty-three bucks, Rocky. That’s the last time I let Joe sucker me into another one of his great deals again."
"I know it, Jimmy. I feel bad about it."
"Excuse me," Diane said as the two men came up on to the pavement. "Is one of you Jim Rockford?"
The two men looked up at her. The tall one smiled. "I’m Jim Rockford," he said. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"Well, I was hoping to hire you. My name’s Diane Lloyd."
"There ya go, sonny. Maybe you can make enough money to buy another casting reel."
Jim shot Rocky an amused look and then looked at Diane. "Won’t you come inside?"
Diane followed Jim and older man into the trailer.
Jim gestured to the chair that was in front of the dark wooden desk. While Diane took a seat and looked around the trailer, Jim put the fishing rod and separate reel on the coffee table near the couch that was at the end of the trailer, to the right of the door as you came in.
"Twenty-three bucks," Jim mumbled. He came back to the desk and sat in the chair behind it.
"This is very nice," Diane said, still looking around.
"Thanks." Jim smiled.
"I’ve heard about you," Diane continued. "And if it had been sooner, I’d have been here before now." She paused a moment. "My husband was Carlton Lloyd. He was..."she stopped bringing a slim hand to her face. "I’m sorry. Even after four years it
still hurts. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry."
"Take your time."
Diane paused another moment before she continued. "My husband was murdered almost four years ago. About six months ago, the police closed the case, saying it was unsolvable. I think they’re wrong and I think I know who killed my husband but I need help proving it."
"Carlton Lloyd," Jim said thoughtfully. "I remember reading about that. I seem to recall he was a collector of rare coins?"
"That’s right. He had a partner, Gerald Coyle. I think it was him that killed Carl."
"What makes you say that?"
"In September of ‘81, Carl and Gerald had just successfully purchased some rare Civil War coins from the estate auction of Warren Hunter. The coins are worth hundreds of thousands of dollars and my husband was about to enter into negotiations with the Smithsonian for the opportunity to display the coins. Two weeks later Carl was killed and the coins turned up missing, presumed taken by the killer and probably sold on the black market. The reason I suspect Gerald is because he didn’t seem very interested in recovering the coins, and he suddenly had the cash on hand to buy a new house out in Encino."
"Cops couldn’t link him?"
"No. He had some woman as his alibi. She could easily have been lying but the cops were unable to catch her in it."
"She could be telling the truth."
"I wasn’t the only one who thought Gerald may have done it. There was a rookie cop working for LA at the time named Enos Strate. He believed my suspicions, but he being just a rookie and not having any proof, nobody above him could be convinced." Diane looked at Jim. "I’m sure there’s a way it can be proved, but the cops have given up on it and I can’t investigate it myself, I don’t know how. I’m prepared to pay your fee."
"Two hundred a day, plus expenses?"
"No problem." She paused and before Jim could utter a start to reject the job, she said, "I have to know. Maybe I’m wrong which I doubt I am, but if it turns out I am then I could live with that. Please, could you look into it for a couple of days?"
Jim thought a moment.
"If you work on it for two days," Diane continued, "that would be at least four hundred dollars. Then you get yourself a new casting reel and do what the bartender over at the restaurant thinks you should do."
"Put a new coat of paint on your trailer and get a nice sign saying this is the Rockford Agency, so people like me won’t think they have the wrong address." She smiled.
Jim chuckled. A new coat of paint and a sign weren’t exactly what he was thinking, but he did need some money. He nodded.
"Okay. I’ll look into it for a couple of days. You have to understand though, if I turn up anything new that could link Coyle or anybody to your husband’s murder I’ll have to turn it over to the police."
Diane’s face contorted in slight disagreement for a moment. She then nodded. "Okay."
Now ol’ Jim Rockford is a pretty straightforward kinda fella. Like most folks in this country, he’s in debt. His trailer’s been financed more times the he can remember, his car’s been damaged and repaired more times than he can remember and even tho’ he charges two hundred dollars a day, more often then he’d like to admit his clients stiff him.
He’s also an ex-con. He served five years back in the late sixties for a robbery he was wrongly convicted of. He was eventually fully pardoned, but he’s one of the few PI’s who is disliked so much by the Los Angeles Police Department. Although it might be because he has a knack for solving those closed or dead cases the police have
Jim got what information he could from Diane and no more than two hours later, Jim started by trying to get a line on those missing rare coins. Now even tho’ it’s been almost four years, Jim figured somebody might have a long memory or that the coins have changed hands a few times. Now if y’all thought Boss Hogg was always
lookin’ for a good deal and an easy buck, you haven’t met Angel Martin.
Jim walked in to the bar and spotted Angel sitting at a booth by himself. If standing, Angel would be shorter than Jim and he had thinning curly black hair and matching beard. He sat smoking a cigarette with a glass of scotch in front of him. He
was dressed in a suit, which to Jim signaled that Angel was probably up to his usual no good.
Angel was constantly on the look out for a new way to make a quick buck and was more trouble than a new baby. It was amazing he’d survived this long since being paroled just before Jim had been released from prison. He was constantly walking the fine line between landing back in jail and staying out. Getting into trouble was as natural as breathing to Angel, and many times Jim had been pulled in unknowingly. Why he remained friends with the guy was unknown.
"Hey, Angel," Jim said as he took a seat across from Angel.
Angel narrowed his eyes. "How’d you find me here?"
Jim sighed. "I asked a couple of people where you were. If you’re suddenly in the witness protection program maybe you should keep your mouth shut."
"I’m waiting to meet someone," Angel said not so much bothered by having been found by Jim and suddenly excited to tell Jim of his latest enterprise. "This is the big one, Jimmy. You are looking at the future co-owner of the Golden Peacock franchise here in LA."
Jim nodded amusingly. "Who’s the other owner?"
"Sam? Sam ‘Quick Buck’ Bennan?"
“That was ten years ago, Jimmy. This is different.”
“I can imagine. Considering that was a ‘self-watering’ plant.”
“It was practical, Jimmy! And it was in demand. It was a brilliant idea.”
“It was useless, Angel. The plants were plastic. They didn’t need water.”
Angel shrugged. “Nobody noticed.”
Jim rolled his eyes.
“What are you here for anyway?” Angel asked.
“I need you to do me a favor.”
“Fifty?! Wow, you must really need this favor.”
“It’s more to make sure you do it. Do you remember about four years ago a rare coin collector named Carlton Lloyd was murdered?”
“Well, maybe you’ll remember this. He and his partner had just purchased some rare Civil War coins that were worth several hundred thousand dollars. They turned up missing after he was killed. There’s reason to believe that his partner may have taken the coins and sold them to finance his new house out in Encino.”
Angel nodded. “Yeah, I do remember now. So what do you want me to do? Ask around to see if they were sold and possibly have changed hands?”
“Yeah. More importantly who first bought them after they turned up missing. Although if Lloyd’s partner did take them I doubt he sold them himself.”
“Fifty bucks, huh?”
Angel nodded as he lifted the glass to take a sip of a scotch.
Self watering plastic plants? Hmm, maybe Boss and Angel should meet each other.
A couple of hours later, Jim was in the squad room of the LAPD walking towards Lieutenant Dennis Becker’s office. Before he got to the door, Dennis came out quickly.
“Oh,” Dennis said. “Sorry about that, Jimbo.”
“It’s all right,” Jim said. “Can I talk to ya for a minute, Dennis?”
“Don’t have time now,” Dennis replied and started to walk away. “I’ve got to get this report on the Chief’s desk before four and then there’s a mess of other stuff I have to do.”
Jim followed after his friend as they walked out of the squad room and into the hall. “It’ll only take a minute. I want to ask you a couple of questions about a cop.”
“Enos?” Dennis repeated glancing back at Jim. “Somebody giving you bad information or something, Jim? Enos Strate’s not a cop here anymore. Hasn’t been for almost three and half years.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Back in Georgia, I believe. I suppose Personnel would have that information. Why don’t you check there?” Before Jim could reply, Dennis had disappeared through another door.
“Yeah, Dennis, I’ll do that,” Jim said to himself and chuckled.
* * *
Jim found out from the police Personnel department where Enos currently was, and as he was driving back to his trailer, Angel was hitting the streets, earning his fifty bucks, and a lot of trouble for Jim.
Angel, unfortunately, wasn’t getting any helpful answers in regards to the coins, but he was asking the right person at this particular stop. Angel had known Joey McGinnis for years, even did a little business with him on occasion. Joey did know
about the coins but he told Angel that he didn’t, because he had been asked--no, threatened--to not reveal who had sold the coins to him and to who he in turn sold the coins to.
After Angel left, Joey went in the back to his office and picked up the phone.
“I know it’s been four years,” he said after the line connected, “but somebody’s asking about those coins...”
* * *
Later that evening, Jim was on the phone to Diane with what little he had so far.
“Very little,” he said. “That rookie cop you talked about isn’t in LA anymore. He’s from Georgia and went back there about three years ago. I’m still waiting to get a line on those coins, but after four years I probably won’t get much on that.”
“So what does that leave?” Diane asked.
“Well, I was thinking of flying to Georgia to talk to the cop and see what he remembers from the case and what he thought was significant.”
“Lot of cold leads, huh?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid so.”
Diane sighed. “I guess it’s just meant to be this way.”
“Well, if I can’t get a line on the coins and if nothing comes up from talking to the cop, I may still have one more card to play.”
“Can I ask what that may be?”
Jim hesitated. “Well, it’s not exactly legal.”
“Never mind,” Diane said. “I don’t want to know.” She laughed though. “If it should come to that, do me a favor will you? Don’t get caught.”
Jim smiled. “I don’t intend to.”
It was a little while later when Angel arrived to collect his fifty bucks.
“You didn’t find anything?” Jim asked.
“It was weird, Jimmy, nobody knew anything about those coins. I mean nobody and I talked to a lot of people. Either you got a bum piece of information or those coins weren’t sold out of here.”
“Or they were sold and the person conveniently forgot.”
Angel made a face, agreeing that that could be true. “So what are you going to do now?”
“Fly to Georgia.”
“A former rookie cop who believed Diane Lloyd’s theory about her husband’s death. Lives in a place called Hazzard County.”
Angel chuckled. “Hazzard? What the heck kind of name is that?”
Jim shrugged. He pulled out two twenty’s and ten from his pocket. As he handed the money to Angel, he said, “Thanks anyways, Angel.”
* * *
Jim was able to book a flight to Atlanta for 11:30am the next day. In the morning he called his father to tell him where he was going and for how long.
“It probably won’t be more than a couple of days but can you get my mail and check on the trailer?”
“Sure thing, sonny. Where abouts in Georgia you goin’ to?”
“Place called Hazzard County. It’s south of Atlanta. I’ll have to get a map when I get there.”
Shoot, it ain’t that hard to find. Unfortunately for Jim, he won’t be the only one going to Hazzard.
Angel’s morning was already off to a great start. He didn’t get even ten feet from his apartment building when he was suddenly grabbed from behind and pulled into the alley.
“What?! What is this?” he demanded. His eyes darted back and forth between two suit attired men. One of them had a firm grip on Angel’s shirt and had him pushed against the brick wall of the building.
“You were asking around yesterday about some rare coins,” the other man stated. “Why?”
“Coins? Coins? I wasn’t asking about any coins.”
The first man tightened his grip and pushed Angel harder against the wall.
“Uh, well, I might have been inquiring a little about some coins, yeah.”
“Why?” the other man demanded.
“Well, uh, an acquaintance of mine was interested.”
“In what way?”
“I--I don’t know. I think he wanted to buy them.”
The man holding Angel suddenly threw him to the ground. When Angel turned to look at the two men, the one who had thrown him had a gun pointed at him.
“Wait! Wait a minute. Alright, what do you want to know?”
“Who is this acquaintance?”
“His name’s Jim Rockford. He’s a PI.”
“What does he want to know about the coins?”
“He just wanted to know who’s bought or sold them. One of the two guys who had purchased them from some estate auction four years ago was murdered and the widow thinks the partner did it.”
“Where is this Jim Rockford?”
“Malibu. But he may not be there now because he’s flying to Georgia today.”
“Yeah, but he’s going to some place called Hazzard to find some former rookie cop named Strate.”
“Where in Malibu does this Rockford live?”
“Cove Road, on the coast. It’s a house trailer by the Sand Castle restaurant.”
Gee, why doesn’t Angel just write out the directions for them?
The man who had been doing all the talking seemed content with the answers Angel gave. He nodded to his associate, who replaced the gun back into the shoulder holster and then picked Angel up off the ground and to his feet. He brushed his shirt off
and then smiled and gave Angel’s bearded face a pat.
Angel remained still, carefully watching the two men walk out of the alley.
Well, now that Angel has sung like bird loud enough to ruin a peaceful Sunday mornin’, Jim will be bringing not just his big city charm with him, but big city trouble too.
Go to Chapter 2