“Losing a loved one is never easy, but that trying time becomes more difficult when that loved one is a child—and a newborn at that…” Ellie's voice trailed off. She'd been speaking for all of five minutes now.

The words became lost to Cliff, who sat on the other side of Pam, as he thought back to Afton's funeral from the day before…

“And I will always regret not being there for Afton when she needed me the most and for being a sorry husband in general.” Cliff stopped and tried his best to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat. “She deserved a lot better than she got from me…so Afton, if somehow you can hear me now, I'm sorry.”

Another wave of guilt crept over him when he thought about how he barged into the hospital, demanding to do business with Pam when she'd just lost a son. Spending a few hours comforting her had completely changed his intentions and he hadn't mentioned anything about his business proposition. Instead he'd sat on the side of her bed, holding her hand while she cried. As if to make himself feel better (more so than she), Cliff reached over and clenched Pam's hand in his. She looked at him, smiled weakly, and then directed her attention back to the service.

“And I'll end by saying that if anyone can survive through this tragedy, it's my son Bobby and his wife Pam.”

Ellie took her seat between Bobby and Christopher and the minister took Ellie's spot up front.

Bobby took Ellie's hand in his and squeezed it and she responded by patting him on his leg. Two funerals in two days. Bobby wasn't sure if he could take another one. The first had been Todd Foster's, someone who Bobby considered a good friend and someone whose life was taken well before it should have been. He glanced back at Lucy, someone else who had been lucky enough to call Todd a friend—and someone else who had also lost a loved one.

She had attended Mitch's funeral two days before and much like Cliff, she'd had regrets and a big feeling of guilt. Lucy shifted to one side in her seat and thought about her ex-husband and how they'd never really resolved their differences after that final divorce. Then her thoughts drifted to Neil, who was lying at home in bed, fighting for his own life. It wouldn't be long…and she'd be attending yet another funeral. The thought was almost too much for her to bear and Lucy had to excuse herself from the service.

She brushed past John Ross and he followed her out into the hospital lobby. “Lucy…”

She stopped and turned around at the sound of her name. “I had to get out of there.”

John Ross nodded in understanding. “I know where you're coming from. That couldn't be easy for you, having just lost Mitch…and now with Neil…”

Lucy rested her head against John Ross' shoulder. “I'm so afraid of losing him. I know it's going to happen but I can't prepare myself for that, no matter what I do.”

“At least you have the chance and the time to grow to accept it,” John Ross responded, sounding far off. His mind was on Melissa and T.J. “I had the two people I loved most in this world just ripped away from me with no notice whatsoever. At least you'll have a chance to say goodbye…and days to spend with him…a chance to let him know that you love him.”

Lucy knew that she had to do that before it was Neil's time to go. “Thanks for the reality check…you're absolutely right.”

John Ross smiled and wiped a tear off his cousin's cheek. “Aren't I always?”

“Let's not go there.”

“Then how about we go back inside for the rest of the service?”

Lucy nodded and looped her arm through John Ross' and they walked back into the chapel together, both feeling more of a sense of comfort.

"Mr. Ewing? This is Rentree down at the front desk, there's a man here calling himself John Doe who wants to see you...are you expecting anyone, or should we escort him out?"

"Yes, I've been waiting for him..." J.R. started. "You folks can close down the building now, lock everything up and start the security sweeps."

"Yes Sir."

J.R. flicked on his desk lamp and stood up to face the window. The moonlight illuminated the tops of all the buildings he could see below him, and the scattered cars and people below all seemed so small. "Still my town..." he thought to himself.

A knock came at the door. J.R. turned. "Come in," he shouted.

The door opened and a man wearing a dark trenchcoat and carrying a leather attaché case entered. "Hello, J.R." he said simply.

J.R. sat back down at his desk. "Please, call me Mr. Ewing." He looked up at him. "Help yourself to a drink- you may need it- and have a seat."

The man poured himself a drink from the bar and joined J.R. on the opposite side of his desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure tonight?" He asked, as he lit up a cigarette and took a long drag.

"Put it out, Congressman," he said flatly. "I want to talk to you about the oil exploration in the Gulf of Aden...Ewing Oil is interested in becoming an exclusive partner in this venture."

"Exclusive? Mr. Ewing, some companies have already signed on...and besides, Ewing Oil hardly has the capital or the resources to spearhead this on its own, we're talking a multi-billion dollar venture! We've already approached at least fifty companies, there's no way..."

"Ewing Oil is a multi-billion dollar company, Congressman. We're closely connected with Wentworth Industries, we have regular partnerships with Four State and PetroTec; I'm not talking about going it alone, I'm talking about having control over which companies are involved in this - through you."

"Mr. Ewing, that's way out of my jurisdiction, I'm only a Texas Representative, I'm not calling the shots in this..."

"Please," J.R. interrupted, "don't insult both of our intelligence. I've done my research, and you're on the committee. You're also serving your sixth straight term, and people listen to what you have to say...even if you are a Democrat."

The man combed his hands nervously through his longish white hair. "This is true, but I barely won the last election...I'm talking 53% of the popular vote, and as things stand right now, we're already looking at a good chance of defeat. If the Republicans even smelled scandal...I'd be finished."

"You could be finished right now, Sir," J.R. said mockingly. "Forgive my bluntness, but deliver me this deal or you won't even be on the ballot next election."

"How do you figure? There's not even a Democrat challenging me for the nomination."

"Sure there is."

"And who is that?"

"Whomever I pick. All we have to do is bring in the Governor, bring in the Mayor of Dallas- you do know my sister-in-law, don't you? A few photo ops with the opponent and you'd be finished. I could run my twelve year old grandson against you and he'd clean up."

The man stood up. "I guess my mind's made up, then...I won't seek a seventh term. Only when hell froze over would I ever make a deal with scum like you."

"Well then hell will be the site of the next Winter Olympics," J.R. said as he stood up to stand equal-height with the congressman, "because I know something that could destroy you...and if I have to use it, if for no reason other than petty revenge, you'll be finished in this state. You'll finish off two decades of public service as the punchline of a thousand jokes."

"Just what the hell do you think you have on me?" The man spat out.

"Sit down," J.R. directed. "I'll tell you all about it."

“Hey, watch out there,” came Ray's voice as he ducked to the side to avoid being barreled over by Lucas. He pulled the towel off his head and looked up at Ray, but instantly he knew what Ray had seen.

Ray rubbed his thumb across the tattoo that encircled Lucas' upper arm. “When did ya get that?”

“A few days ago.” Why didn't he seem angry? Ray's initial reaction was not what Lucas had expected.

“That's definitely interesting. I almost got one myself one time…a long time ago, but I backed out at the last minute.”

“You're not pissed?”

“I think you're mature enough now to make your own decisions…and if a little tattoo is the worst you ever do, then I think you'll be fine.” Ray patted Lucas on the shoulder and continued in the opposite direction, leaving Lucas deep in thought. Ray passed Donna, who had been standing around the corner and she reached out and grabbed him by the shirt before pulling him into the bedroom.

“Ray…are my ears and eyes playing tricks on me? Did Lucas get a tattoo and you didn't lose your head over it?”

Ray smiled. “Oh, believe me. I would have loved to, but I bit my tongue. Lucas only does crap like that for shock value and to get a rise out of me, and of course for attention. Guess what he got…”

Donna was quiet.

“A pat on the shoulder.”

“Ray Krebbs, you're too much. The way I see it, is your 'plan' has two possible outcomes. Number one is that Lucas will give up and decide it's not worth it. Or number two…”

“Yeah?”

“He comes home with a couple of earrings, a few more tattoos, and a guy named Felipe. Would that get a rise out of you?”

Ray chuckled. “Hell yes it would get a rise out of me. I'd probably go get the shotgun out of the hall closet and give him to the count of ten to get out of the house.”

Donna fastened her watch and took a glance. “I have to get to work. The council meeting starts in an hour and I haven't even prepared any notes.” She gave Ray a quick peck on the lips. “See what happens when you come back home? I get nothing done.”

“Oh, I see how it is. Guess I'll be going back to Kansas to help Aunt Lil out on the farm…the pigs seem to need me more than you do lately. I've been spending more time with them than you.”

“Stop feelin' sorry for yourself Cowboy. I'll be home in a few hours.” Donna waved to him and walked out into the late morning sunshine and into what would shape up to be an interesting day.

Dent's phone rang. He fumbled for it in his suit pocket, while carefully keeping his eyes on the interstate. His eyes grew wide when he saw the number show up on his display.

“Dent here. Yes sir. Yes…right now, sir?“ Talking to the man always made Dent leery. In financial circles, the man on the other end of the phone was considered more deadly than Attila the Hun. Still, taking orders now meant real power later.

“Blackmail? Sir, I don't have any of those documents. I would need them before-…under the seat?” Dent reached under his seat as he came to an exit, and by the time he reached the stoplight, he found a thick manila file. Obviously Dent's car had visitors when he was in the gala.

“I can go take care of it, sir. His house is very close.” The phone went dead in his hand. What a boorish man.

Dent drove his Porsche to the front gates of McKay Manor, and went to the box next to the gate.

“Stephen Dent to see Carter McKay! I have some interesting business to propose to him!”

A tired sounding servant answered, ”Mr. Dent, Mr. McKay wishes to know what sort of business.”

“Oh, nothing big. West Star Oil, some information he might be interested in.”

The gates stayed closed. Then, after six seconds or more…time enough for a man to think why someone would come this late…the gates opened for Dent.

“Drive up, Mr. Dent. Mr. McKay will see you at the door.”

Dent smirked. The boss was just going to love this. Dent straightened his tie as he got out of the car, and as he walked up, McKay opened the door, the light from the house very bright behind him. Dent walked up the steps to greet him. He offered a hand.

“Hi, Mr. McKay. Stephen Dent, formerly of the United States Congress, currently of the West Star board of directors.”

McKay took it. He looked very tired. “Mr. Dent. I'm well aware of who you are. Why don't you come in and tell me what it is that you want.”

Dent walked behind McKay, and noticed the house's décor. The man had no taste. They sat in McKay's study, which was lined with books that Dent doubted McKay had ever read. Dent took a seat in the chair across from McKay's desk.

“I let you in…Mr. Dent…because this has something to do with West Star?“

“Well, Mr. McKay. Why don't you take a look at these?“, Dent said as he opened the thick folder on the table. He took out a smaller red folder and handed it to McKay, who frowned upon opening it. He flipped through the pictures slowly. He glanced at the typed papers. “What in the hell is this?!”, McKay roared as he suddenly stood. Dent sat calmly.

“McKay. Sit down,” he said. McKay obediently sat down, and Dent stood. “Let me explain the facts of life to you. Your name is Carter Henry McKay. Your first job was as a field hand for a West Star field, where you met Dr. Herbert Styles, a major West Star shareholder. Knowing Styles got you a long way.”

Dent stood, and paced around McKay. “You worked yourself through some other industries, but oil was always what you came back to. One such industry…was organized crime. You worked for John Danzig, AKA Johnny Dancer, even running one of his casinos. You went back to work for West Star, under Jeremy Wendell in the early 1980s as a troubleshooter. You put down a labor strike by having some of Dancer's men kill union leaders.”

McKay rose, face red-hot. “Dent, if anyone ever sees that…. I'll break you in half.“ McKay was furious. In his mind, he wondered what kind of a story he could give to justify shooting Dent in self-defense.

As if he read his mind, Dent stared McKay in the eye. “Lots of people know why I'm here. Lots of people know about that file, and all of them will go to the authorities if anything ever happens to me, or to the people I represent. Now sit down…and listen. The story's just getting good.“

“In 1988, you moved next to Southfork Ranch, and incited a range war to get Section 40 of Southfork, which I'm told has a large amount of oil. You worked with the Ewing brothers to send Jeremy Wendell to jail, free your son from a South American jail, and last but not least…use your connections to the Styles family to get yourself elected as the new chairman of the board. You had some minor successes as a Chairman, but you were later ejected by the board for supposedly killing Dancer. After your first Southfork plot failed, you rested on your laurels and then just last year you hired out someone to poison Southfork cattle and cause other trouble around the ranch, in hopes of buddying up to Ellie Ewing, the ranch owner.” Dent waited for a reaction from McKay, but there was none.

“Is this an A&E biography? What do you want?”

“McKay, the people that I represent know about how you got back into power. You wiretapped JR Ewing's office, and we have your wiretapping experts who did it confessing. It's all right there. Pictures from their sealed files, statements, confessions. We also have statements from people in jail as to your involvement with Dancer, and I know about some of your less than legal moves as a troubleshooter. The wiretapping alone is an issue, because in Texas, I don't believe there's a statute of limitations. Between that and the murders, I'd say that I own you.”

“Dent, what do you want? Money? Ill triple whatever they're paying you. Come to work for me.“

Dent laughed. “No, thanks. I'll tell you what I do want, though. Every single share that you own of West Star. Sign them over to a holding company my employers own, and then I'll make sure that no one ever sees that file.”

McKay thought a minute, and then realized he wouldn't get sent to a white-collar jail for all of the crimes that were covered in that file. He'd get sent to one of the nastier jails in Texas. He needed to be free to get revenge. JR was the only one who could be behind this. JR needed to be handled once and for all. None of these thoughts were visible.

McKay mustered a smile. “All right, Dent. You have me. I'll get the papers drawn-“

“Won't be necessary, McKay. I have them right here. Just sign on the X.”

McKay grabbed a pen and signed hurriedly.

“Keep the file, McKay. I have more.” Dent grabbed the papers and walked to the door. Here was where McKay would probably threaten him, he guessed.

“Dent. I won't forget this.“

“I don't give a damn.”

Dent walked out, and went out to his Porsche, tearing through McKay's land. He put the papers next to him, and reached for his phone.

“Mr. Wendell? It went better than we thought.”

“Good, Dent. Good. What do you think he's going to do now?”

“Probably go after JR Ewing again.”

“Good job, Dent. You'll make Governor in no time at all if you keep taking orders. Just make sure my lawyers have those papers by tomorrow morning.”

Wendell hung up on Dent again.

He walked over to the bed, where Alyssa Thompson of the board was waiting.

“ I don't understand, Jeremy. What does this do? Why not make an offer on McKay yourself?”

“Well, my dear…with my stock and McKay's stock…that's about 18% of West Star. Not a huge bloc…but it's a start. A few more minority shareholders and some proxies, and I'll be calling the shots again. Besides,” he said as he kissed her neck, ”the secret to power is pitting all your enemies against each other.”

She laughed. “Jeremy! You want McKay to think JR was the one backing Dent so they'll destroy each other.”

He looked at her a second and smirked. ”Seems that way, doesn't it? JR will be off playing wildcatter in Africa…and between that and McKay, he'll be way too busy to stop me from getting West Star back. Now…no more business talk.”

Alyssa laughed and used the remote to turn off the lights. At that same time, Dent was smiling. His phone rang again.

“It went over just like you said, sir. Wendell bought it, McKay bought it.” Dent went on to describe what happened that evening, and he knew that his real employer was a man who knew how to take care of his friends.

They were both taken aback when a tall, slender frail woman opened the door. "J.R. Ewing," she exclaimed, "I haven't seen you in...it must be twenty years or more!"

"It certainly has been too long, Mrs. Davis," J.R. said, with somewhat mock sincerity. It was no secret that Cynthia Davis was not exactly the most likeable woman in the oil community. "You remember my wife - Sue Ellen?" He asked.

"Ex-wife," Sue Ellen said quietly as she stepped on his foot.

"I don't think I do...sorry, Dear, but I am 90 years old..." she said. "Come in, come in!" The pair entered and were pleasantly surprised to se that the inside of the house was nothing like the exterior. The place was spotless, and pictures of her late husband and herself hung on the walls everywhere. "Sit down, make yourself at home," she said as she rifled through her purse for her cigarettes.

Sue Ellen coughed as she took a deep breath and choked on the smoky air. "Sorry dear, but it's my house, and I'll smoke if I want," she said sternly. "So J.R., I really don't know what to do...Gordon's lawyer had been running the company since his death, but then he passed away last summer and his son took over, and I really don't know what's been happening...I don't think I've seen any money!"

J.R. thought. "Where are the records kept?"

The old woman thought. "Well, I think the lawyer's still running everything out of the office, and that's in the old Weststar building downtown..."

J.R. jotted this down on the back of a business card. "Alright, we'll do what we can, and I'll let you know as soon as possible what's happening."

"It was nice seeing you again, Mrs. Davis," Sue Ellen said.

She nodded in agreement as she took another puff of her cigarette. "Thank you both for your help."

Just as she reached for the top bundle of papers, her intercom beeped and Donna hit the flashing button. The voice of Ethan, her secretary, came through the machine. “Ms. Krebbs, there's a woman here to see you.”

“Does she have an appointment?”

“No, she says concerned citizens don't need an appointment…” Ethan's voice trailed off and there was mumbling in the background. “Excuse me…she says that concerned supporters of your campaign don't need appointments.”

“Well then, by all means, send her in.”

Not long after, the door swung open and Ethan showed an older lady into the room. “May I get you something to drink? Coffee maybe?” He asked.

The lady shook her head. “No thank you. I didn't get to be this old by living off of caffeine.” She proceeded toward Donna's desk and took a seat.

Donna gave her an amiable smile, but it only took her about two seconds to sum this lady up. She was one that wouldn't hesitate to speak her mind. Donna had encountered her kind several times on the campaign trail. “Well…what can I do for you Ms…”

“Katzman. Enid Katzman.”

“Ms. Katzman.”

“I'm pretty sure you know why I'm here. A woman as conscientious about her city as you are surely knows about what those malevolent oil companies have cooked up in Africa.”

Donna glanced over at the pile of papers to her left. Maybe if she'd read through all of it earlier, she would have known what this woman was talking about. “I'm sorry Ms. Katzman. I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, but I would appreciate your enlightening me.”

A look of shock crept across her face. “Do you have no idea who I am?”

Donna felt as if her grave was slowly being dug as each question was asked. “I suppose not,” she said, not giving Donna a chance to answer. “My husband was the late Alexander Katzman…a man who dedicated his entire life to conservation and preserving endangered species.”

That rang a bell. Donna remembered reading about him while in college. He had spent years living in Africa studying the effects of pollution on local tribes and had also done some field research on the lowland gorilla. He'd been killed during a revolt by a village of Nigerian people, a revolt that he had started in an attempt to sabotage some of the work being done in Africa by one of the larger oil conglomerates. “Yes…I remember reading about your husband. I just didn't make the connection. He was a very admirable man, with what he did.”

Ms. Katzman smiled. “Yes he was. A martyr for Mother Nature. He loved God's creation and wanted to protect it.”

“But what did this have to do with what the companies are doing now? Do they have something planned in Africa?”

She nodded. “I suppose it's not that unbelievable that you wouldn't know about it, after all, it really is a big secret. The only way I know about the deal is through connections I have within some of the companies.”

“Well please do tell me what's going on.”

“The U.S. government is contracting some local independents to do some exploration and drilling in Africa—Western Nigeria to be more specific.” “That couldn't possibly be bad for our city…like it or not, the oil companies play a huge role in making our economy what it is. What's good for them is good for us.”

“Mayor Krebbs, I don't think you realize exactly what is going on—or what has been going on over there. The companies that have been there in the past have absolutely raped and pillaged the land. They've destroyed villages to bring in equipment to drill. Oil spills are a weekly occurrence. Fires rage out of control. The oil has seeped into the land…into the mangrove swamps…into the drinking water. Animals are dying. People are dying. The equipment is faulty. They've set up monstrous pieces of machinery right next to where children play each day—machinery that has been known to explode. Nigeria has been absolutely ravaged because of what the U.S. government has done. I think if you were to see pictures…”

“Show me,” Donna said, cutting her off.

Enid Katzman opened up the case she'd been carrying and she set a film projector on Donna's desk. Donna dimmed the lights and within a few minutes, she found herself staring at images—horrible images. The first slide was of a woman holding a badly disfigured child. “He was playing and there was an explosion from a faulty piece of machinery. The poor child was lucky to live, but he'll forever be scarred because of that.” She changed the slide an another equally heart-wrenching picture flashed on the wall. “This one was taken while this village burned.” Enid pointed to a Nigerian woman who was surrounded by seven children. “The bundle she has sitting next to her was all she could salvage out of the house. It was claimed that the fire was an accident, but some say it was deliberately set just to get the village out of the way for drilling.”

“That's awful.” Donna tried to swallow, but a lump in her throat prevented her from doing so.

Enid changed the slide. “This was a portion of the Gulf of Guinea right after an oil spill that leaked thousands of gallons of oil into the ocean.” She flashed on. “This was some sort of bird, if you can believe that. Another victim of an oil spill.”

Donna stared at the shapeless mass of black feathers. The next picture was one of a young Nigerian girl, probably no older than fourteen.

“This is Kwana, a young lady I met when I spent time in Nigeria. She doesn't go to school because she has to work to help feed her family. See…with all the money that is being pumped into the country of Nigeria through the oil business, none of it trickles down to help people like her. Do you know what she does?”

Donna shook her head.

“She's a prostitute. Kept in business by the heathens that make up the drilling teams…”

“That's heartbreaking…” Donna was truly at a loss for words, especially with the last slide.

Enid Katzman nodded in agreement. “I think you've seen enough to get my point, but trust me…these pictures are nothing compared to actually witnessing it firsthand. I know that stopping this current deal from going through won't stop the entire problem, but it will be a start. I know you are a woman of compassion and I know that you have the power to stop this…this Project Guinea or whatever they're calling it now.”

“I'm afraid it's not that easy.”

Enid smiled. “Anything worth doing never is. But somehow, I think you could put pressure on these Dallas-based companies. Make them not want to be a part of this.” She reached into her portfolio and pulled out a piece of yellow paper. “This is a list of all companies currently signed on, as well as a list of those contacted that haven't yet decided one way or the other.”

Donna took the paper from her and quickly scanned the list. Her eyes rested upon the words Ewing Oil. The Clifford Group, WestStar, and several others were also upon the list. It looked more like a “Who's Who in the Oil Industry” than anything else. “I'll see what I can do Ms. Katzman. I appreciate your bringing this to my attention.”

“I know that you will. Thank you for your time.”

Donna showed her to the door and once it was shut, she sighed. The images that had briefly flashed on her wall were now imbedded in her mind. The burned child, the village, the fourteen year old girl that had found her way into prostitution. Something inside of her told her that stopping Project Guinea would not be enough—but it would be a start.

She turned into the parking lot of a small office building which in no way compared to the Ewing Building of Dallas. "Here?" She asked in disbelief.

"Apparently," J.R. answered, equally unimpressed.

The office building seemed to complete the set of the Davis "empire," one which would once have made the Ewing dynasty look small. As they got out of the car and walked up to the building, Sue Ellen turned to J.R. and asked, "and you still think you want to buy this?"

"Where's your sense of adventure?" He asked with a sly grin.

As they opened the door, a bell attached to the door clashed against the glass. A quick scan of the room yielded nothing exciting: a desk covered in papers, an electric fan, a dried up fern and a door leading to an inner office. As if on cue, (or perhaps because the bell had foretold their arrival), a man emerged from the inner office. "Hello...do you have an appointment?" He asked.

"Uh, well, no...we're here on behalf of Cynthia Davis," J.R. stammered, "and she wants us to take a look at the books."

"Ah, yes, Mrs. Davis mentioned that you'd been coming up...I'm sorry, let me introduce myself," he said as he held out his hand. "I'm Gary Pierce, Mrs. Davis' lawyer." Sue Ellen and J.R. shook it in succession. "I really don't see how Mrs. Davis has anything to worry about...she hasn't been feeling herself lately..." he muttered. "Everything here's all yours, though...I was just heading home, I'll take you into the inner office?"

J.R. nodded, and they followed the man into the second room. This room was even more simple than the outer office: a rather plain desk, a chair, and a file cabinet. Not even a window. This is gonna be fun... Sue Ellen thought to herself.

"Everything's in this file cabinet here...receipts, tax statements, maps...I 'inherited' this mess from my dad, and the clerks have yet to sort everything out. But, you're welcome to it!" He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a set of keys, handing them to Sue Ellen. "You won't mind locking up when you're finished?"

Sue Ellen smiled. "Not at all, thank you for your help Mr. Pierce...we'll try not to, uh, mess anything up."

The lawyer couldn't help but laugh. "You know, I actually wouldn't mind if you left the place unlocked...this is one client I could do without..."

He was instantly greeted by Bart, his right-hand man and a jovial fellow that never met a stranger and Ray knew that the place had been in good hands the entire time. “Well hell Ray, glad you decided to stop by the place again…you know, make sure it's still here and all.”

“Oughta make you feel good that I have this much faith in you Bart. The place looks great. How's business?”

“Booming. I had to hire on a few more to help wait tables, so payroll's a little out of hand, but we're making enough money to cover it.”

“I thought I might come back to work, now that everything's under control with Aunt Lil's farm, but it looks like you've got everything here under control too,” Ray laughed. He was almost disappointed that the place was in such good shape.

“There's always room for one more. Besides, you know I like to be your bartender. Runnin' the place is nice and all, but there's a hell of a lot of headache involved, ya know?” Ray nodded. A lot of headache indeed, but it was something he could be proud of. Damned proud of. He'd taken a seedy strip club and turned it back into a respectable dining establishment. Now the place was packed like it hadn't been since grand-opening.

“So what's your secret?” Ray asked. They both broke out into a hearty laugh.

“I really haven't changed that much. Added a few things to the menu…brought in a beautiful woman to sing a few songs every Thursday night…”

“Now there's an idea,” Ray commented.

“Real pretty woman named Morgan…real pretty voice too. You really ought to stop by tonight to have a look and to let her meet the owner of this place.”

Ray glanced down at his watch. “I just might do that.”

“You're not thinkin' about leavin' already are you?”

“I hate to, but I've got some business to tend to, but I'll be sure to drop back by. I've been meaning to take more of a hand in runnin' this place.”

Bart wiped off the bar and chuckled. “Like I said, you won't hear any complaints from me on that.”

Before him he had all sorts of documents, mostly pertaining to deals Gordon Davis made with Jeremy Wendell in the mid seventies, shortly after he had left Weststar. That in itself was rather strange, since it had been a very poorly-kept secret that there was no love lost between Gordon and Jeremy, who had been a long-time Weststar vice president. It had stunned Jock, and most of the oil community, when Davis abruptly retired and named Jeremy his successor. Along with that were all of his tax returns, financial statements...everything about the man's life was literally in a pile in front of him.

"Sue Ellen, what all do you have there?" He asked his partner in crime, who was sitting in front of an equally disorganized pile. "Have you found anything current, yet?"

"No...this looks mostly like old Weststar papers," she explained as she leafed through them, "...at least, I think it's Weststar..."

"Lemme see those," J.R. said as he took the pile from her. "Yeah," he said in agreement, "you've got your history right, just the names wrong. These are from Davis Oil, which was what Weststar was called for the first couple of years, before he brought in some of the other guys...it's odd that these wouldn't be at the Weststar headquarters, though..."

Sue Ellen continued to sort her stack. "Well, this is more recent...these are receipts from the sale of six service stations, it looks like they were just made late last year..." She continued to flip, when something caught her attention. "J.R.," she said with a pause, "when did Jock first meet Gordon? Do you know?"

J.R. thought. "Hmmm...well, I've never really been able to get a clear-cut story on the early years, but from what I understand, Daddy had worked for Gordon at Weststar in the late twenties, before partnering himself with that idiot Barnes...so, I guess 1928, 1929, somewhere in that area. Why?"

"Well then..." Sue Ellen said, a twinkle in her eye, "this is very interesting. Take a look." She handed him the document.

J.R. took a quick scan of it, and his eyes lit up. He leaned over, and kissed Sue Ellen on the cheek. "Ahh," he said with a laugh and grin, "no wonder I love you!"

CREDITS ROLL

This episode was written by Matt Becker, Travis Bowden, and Justin Stiles.