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 Greatest American Hero and Dukes of Hazzard characters, settings, ect. are owned by other entities who have not endorsed this fic nor have they given permission for their use. Author makes no claims to these characters and is not making any profit off their use.


© Copyright: ­2013. Lisa Philbrick


The Greatest American Hero/The Dukes of Hazzard

Southern Cross Series:




By: Lisa Philbrick



Mickey Corbin walked out of the Atlanta Federal Pen a free man. Waiting for him was long time friend Leroy Mercer and Lila Daines, a curvy buxom blonde who had been waiting for this day for twenty years. Corbin stepped not five feet from the gate when Lila ran up to him, careful not to trip in her high heels, and flung her arms around him.  He returned the hug, squeezing her tight. “I’m finally home, baby.”


“I’m so happy! Oh Mickey there’s so much we can do now. I’ve been thinkin’ about—“


“Woah, woah,” he said with a chuckle, easing back from her a bit. “I know you got all kindsa plans and dreams, honey. But like I told you the past few weeks, I got some business to take care of first before we do all that okay?”


“I know, I know. But I’m just so excited now!”


He smiled, still devilish looking after all these years. “I know you are.” He looked at her hair. “You changed your hair again?”


“Yeah.” Lila grinned and gave the platinum doo a touch of her hand. “I did it this weekend. Just like I used to have it.” Although the passage of twenty years was evident with Mickey, his sandy colored hair had more grey in it and his green eyes were a little harder tint, Lila was refusing to acknowledge that she was any closer to 50 than he was. She smiled at him and hugged him again. “Oh we can finally do all those things we talked about over the years!”


“Yeah, babe. And we’ll do them. I promise. Soon as I finish my business.” He looked at Leroy. “You been working on that stuff I asked you to for me?”


“Hey, Mickey, ya just got outta the joint, man,” Leroy replied. “Let’s celebrate! Get some beer and good food and whoop it up! We’ll have time to finish planning everything later—“


“I want this Fed, Leroy,” Mickey said evenly what little sparkle had been in his eyes for Lila now clearly gone. “I been waitin’ twenty years for this. We’re not celebrating anything until I nail this guy. I lost twenty years, man! What the hell is there to celebrate?”


Leroy was unaffected by Mickey’s change in demeanor. It was the same old Mickey and Leroy just looked back at his old friend. “How about the fact that you weren’t in prison for life?”


“It was close enough. Now have you been working on that stuff I asked you to?”


“Yeah, yeah I got it together. I got a place for us to use. Thing is Mickey, like I been tellin’ you all along. Getting Frank Mayson ain’t gonna be easy. He’s a big shot now like I told ya.”


“We’ll get to him, Leroy. And it’s not as hard as you think. Don’t think I spent my days in there just staring at the walls. I followed that man’s career for twenty years.  I know how to get his attention.”


“Oh Mickey can’t you and Leroy talk about this stuff later?” Lila said. “C’mon, I haven’t eaten all day and I’m hungry!  I thought we’d go to the Blue Moon. It’s just like it was the last time we were there, over twenty years ago. Remember, Mickey?”


“It’s gonna take us a few days to finalize everything,” Leroy said. “We’ll talk about it all later, ok? Lila’s right. Let’s go get something to eat and take the time to relish the fact that you’re a free man now!” Leroy slung an arm around Mickey’s shoulders and nearly pulled him into a headlock to get him to move down the path to where their car was parked. Mickey laughed at the friendly roughhousing and Lila laughed too, putting an arm around Mickey. The three walked away from the Atlanta Federal Pen.


*** *** ***


A couple days later, to keep her from being bored and meddlesome while he and Leroy finalized their plans, Mickey sent Lila shopping for clothes. She too would have a part in his scheme to trap Commander Mayson and to play upon her desire to be an actress he told her it would be a couple of the biggest performances of her career. Lila was more than willing to help, if it meant things could be over with sooner and they could carry on with their other plans.


While Lila was out shopping, Mickey and Leroy finished their planning at Leroy’s apartment.


“I found this in the paper yesterday,” Leroy said, handing the Atlanta Journal-Constitution to Mickey. “Feds are investigatin’ some murder over in Alabama and they’ve stalled out on it apparently. Says if anyone has any tips to contact the Atlanta FBI.”


Mickey took the paper and looked at the article. “Perfect. That’s perfect! We use this. We call ‘em, tell ‘em we got some information and we wanna meet up with a Fed. Tell ‘em where and when.” Mickey handed the paper back to Leroy. “Do it, Leroy. Call ‘em.”


Leroy walked over to the telephone and sat down on the edge of the bed. He dialed the phone number from the article. After a moment he connected.


“Yeah, man. I wanna talk to somebody about the Thurston murder in Birmingham. I got some information…” There was a pause and Leroy looked at Mickey. “They’re transferring me to an agent…”


At the bureau, Agent Bill Maxwell was sitting at Agent Gary Patterson’s desk. Bill had agreed to man the phone for Patterson, who was the lead contact agent in Atlanta for the Thurston case, while the agent was out of the office on other FBI business. Since the article had hit the news the day before, a few tips had come in.


Bill stopped writing on one of his own reports and answered Patterson’s buzzing phone. “Maxwell.”


“Yeah,” Leroy said. “I’m callin’ about the Thurston murder in Birmingham.”


Bill grabbed a steno pad. “Okay. What’s your name?”


“I got information, man. Serious information.”


“You got a name?”


“Never mind the formalities man. I got what you need to know. I got names and I got proof and I’m willing to deal…at the right price.”


“Keep talking,” Bill said.


“Not on the phone, man. I can’t stay here. Thurston was an important dude, right? Important enough that I might have people watching me, dig?”


“Yeah, okay,” Bill said with an eye roll. “I dig. It’s your dime. Give me a teaser of what you know and let’s see if we can talk an arrangement.”


“You meet me, some place where I know I won’t be watched.”


Bill sighed. “You know the clandestine meetings are only good for TV drama? C’mon, give me something worthwhile here or stop wasting my time.”


“My information’s solid, man! Solid! And it could get me killed! That may not be worthwhile to you but it’s important to me. You wanna get these people or don’t you care about justice?”


Mickey snickered. Leroy was really playing the part well.


“Yeah and guys like you would sell their mother for five bucks,” Bill retorted. “So far you haven’t sold me on anything. Whatever you got isn’t worth spit until I hear it and at that point we might consider a price. Dig?”


“It’ll be worth your while, man. And it’ll be worth mine too. You really want justice meet me tonight at 10 o’clock at the Southern Scrap Metals and Recycling Yard on Medford Ave.”


“Uh uh. You haven’t given me anything worth showing up for—“


“I told you man, I can’t say nothin’ on the phone and I can’t stay here much longer. I got what you need to know, man.” Leroy paused. “I know where Thurston’s nephew is at. If you’re interested in the rest, be there tonight.” The phone clicked.


Bill rolled his eyes and hung up. He wrote down Southern Scrap Metals Yard on Medford Ave, 10pm. Agent Patterson was going to love this one.


Mickey, meanwhile, didn’t exactly love Leroy’s finish. “Well? That Fed gonna be there or not?”


“Hard to tell,” Leroy replied. “I think he could tell it was a snow job.”


“Christ, Leroy, I need a Fed in hand. It’s the only way I’m gonna flush Mayson out!”


“I know man, I know. Look, we’ll go tonight and see if he shows up. If he does, we’re cool. If not, we try something else. Don’t worry, we’ll nab a Fed.”




“The Southern Scrap Metals and Recycling yard?” Agent Patterson said later, when Bill reviewed the phone calls he had received while Patterson was out. “He couldn’t pick a nice run down bar or topless joint? Usually snitches like dives.”


“Maybe he doesn’t drink or like topless girls?” Bill shrugged.


“Then he should get out of whatever line of underworld work he’s in.” Patterson looked at Bill’s note. “Ten o’clock. And he didn’t give you anything? No name? Nothing?”


“Other than claiming to know where Thurston’s nephew is at. He probably knows where Jimmy Hoffa is too.”


“The world is full of fruitcakes, Maxwell. As much as I appreciate the public’s help with cases sometimes, it seems we spend more time chasing dead ends. This is likely another one.”


Bill nodded. “Yeah, probably some twinkle toes who wants to feel important for about five minutes, talking to a Fed.” Bill paused and eyed the steno book in Patterson’s hand. “Ignore it?”


Patterson pondered for a moment. The Thurston case had run cold and the disappearance of Thurston’s nephew, who was the FBI’s number one suspect, had all but brought the case to a grinding halt. Despite the unusual theatrics of the phone call, it was the first one to offer knowing of the nephew’s whereabouts.


Patterson shook his head. “No. I’ll check it. I’m sure it’s nothing but unfortunately we can’t be choosey about the tips and leads we get.”


“I’ll go with you. Since the guy talked to me, he might be expecting an agent named Maxwell. No sense either one of us chancing this thing by ourselves.”


Patterson nodded. “Yeah. I appreciate that. Meet me here at 9:30 tonight and we’ll drive over.”


“You got it.”




At nine-thirty that night, Bill met Agent Patterson back at the bureau and the two agents drove to Medford Avenue in Bill’s Crown Vic.  The scrap yard was located on Atlanta’s industrial west side and Bill guided the car, with Agent Patterson’s directions, down empty dark streets and past looming old industrial buildings. At Medford Ave, Bill drove slowly down the road, he and Patterson both looking at each side of the street. Field lights lit part of the scrap yard but the yard and the street itself were empty and still. At the entrance to the scrap yard, Bill pulled over and stopped. He shut down the engine and left only the parking lamps of the Crown Vic on. The gate to the scrap yard was closed.


He turned his watch toward the light of the nearby streetlamp.  “We’re just shy of 10 o’clock,” he said.


“We’ll wait only a few minutes,” Patterson said.


Bill nodded and rolled his window down to listen for noises. A cool night breeze blew lightly in.


After a minute, somebody walked up the side of the Crown Vic from the rear and came to Bill’s window. Bill turned his head.


“Agent Maxwell?”




Suddenly Bill was staring down the barrel of a gun. Before he could react, the passenger door of his car was being opened. Patterson too had a gun barrel in his face.


“Easy, boys…” Mickey said, his words and click of his gun causing Bill to look. The man was dressed completely in black with a black ski mask. He waved his gun at Patterson. “Both of you. Out. Backseat.”


The two gunmen stepped back just enough for the agents to exit the car, each keeping guns trained closely on the two Feds. Bill and Gary both moved, slowly and carefully, keeping their hands within view of the gunmen.


Once out of the car, Bill and Gary both were stripped of their weapons. Leroy and Mickey tucked the respective guns into the back waistband of their pants.


“You mind telling us what’s going on here?” Gary asked.


“Just get in back there,” Mickey replied.


Bill and Gary both stepped backward to the back doors of the Crown Vic. Bill didn’t make any hasty move to get into the car yet and glanced across the roof of the Crown Vic at Gary.


Gary opened his door and stood with the door between himself and his gunman. Mickey stepped closer to get into place to push the door closed once the agent was in the back seat. Gary paused for only a moment, started to make like he was about to get in back and then shoved the door open wider at Mickey.


Mickey yelped as the door hit him and fumbled a moment as Gary sprinted away from the car.


Bill tried to turn against Leroy but was grabbed by the arm and pushed against the car, his arm twisted up and tight against his back. The cold gun barrel was shoved into the back of his head.


Mickey, meantime, had recovered quickly and slammed the door closed. He raised his gun at the now fleeing agent.


Bill saw it. “NO! GARY!”  The report of gunfire drowned out the rest of Bill’s call “GARY!”


Mickey fired again. Under the glow of a streetlight, Bill saw Gary jerk and go down. Bill looked at Mickey, figuring the gun to be turned on him next. Instead, Mickey simply walked down the crumbled sidewalk to where Agent Patterson lay sprawled face down on the ground, only the slightest movement indicating he was still alive.


Bill watched in horror as Mickey raised his weapon to the fallen agent. He closed his eyes just before the trigger was pulled.


Mickey walked back to the car. “Get him in the car, Leroy. Front seat.”


Bill opened his eyes as he was yanked off the car and then shoved back to the driver’s seat. He stumbled into the car and then was pushed to the middle of the bench seat by Leroy. Mickey settled into the passenger seat as Leroy got behind the wheel.


Sandwiched between the two masked men, Bill turned enough to look back at where Patterson was left face down under the street light. Leroy started the car and pulled away from the scrap yard. Bill looked at Mickey next to him and found his voice, rough and seething.


“What the hell do you two want?”


Mickey chuckled. “You Fed. I would have been happy to have both of you, but your partner apparently didn’t want to play. Let that serve as a warning for you. For now, you just relax and follow the rules and everything’s gonna be cool, got it?”


Bill said nothing, only glaring back at Mickey with a look that promised neither to relax nor to follow any rules. The Crown Vic disappeared around a corner and into the darkness…


Chapter 2