Disclaimer: None of these characters are my invention; neither is the state of California or the city of Los Angeles. Nor is the idea of having a birthday original with me. Okay? But Postum and Michelob are real products and very good for you, as well as being, I'm quite sure, absolutely delicious.

Feedback: Comments welcome at lwalker@owlcroft.com

A/N: Cheri and Deb -- Thanks are insufficent; gratitude is ne'er enow.

by

Owlcroft

"Nah, really, I think just the two of you oughtta go." Judge Hardcastle stirred the contents of a cup vigorously. "You want some?"

"Huh-uh." Mark McCormick shook his head. "But it's his last week-end here."

"So? That makes it even more important that it just be the two of you. Besides, he probably wants to make it special 'cause of your birthday."

"My birthday was three days ago and he called ship-to-shore to sing 'Happy Birthday'. How much more special can I take?" McCormick folded his arms and leaned against the refrigerator. "Come on, Judge. If I leave you here alone, you'll spend all night going over the Franklin case and then I'll have to listen to you complain tomorrow about how you do all the work at the clinic."

"Nope. There's a game on T.V. tonight and I'm gonna have hot dogs and beer in front of the tube and take off my shoes and relax. You go on with Sonny and let him treat you to one last big dinner." The judge took a sip from his mug and made a face. "What's in this, sulphur?"

"It's Postum, Judge. Remember, you said you had it when you were a kid and really liked it?"

"Well, they musta changed it, 'cause now it tastes like a cat box."

"And how would you know what a cat box tastes like?" asked Mark with a grin.

Hardcastle poured out his cup into the sink and turned back to the younger man.

"But you should let him take you out and say 'Happy Birthday' in person before he heads off to Florida, okay? I mean, come on, he's your--"

"Don't say it, Judge." McCormick held up a hand. "I'll go. All right? After all, when did I ever turn down a free meal?"

"You sure you want to go here?" McCormick glanced at his father in the passenger seat of the Coyote. "It's really expensive. And you don't have to feel like you should take me out anyway. Tell you what, let's--"

"No, I've already made reservations." Sonny Daye grinned at Mark. "Everybody on the ship said this is the place for special occasions. Come on, let your old man buy you a fancy meal for once. And hey! It's your birthday dinner, right?" He clapped Mark on the shoulder. "Now hand over to your keys to the valet and let's go."

"Nah, I'd rather park it myself." McCormick edged into a space down the block and turned off the ignition. "You never know when one of those jalopy jockeys might feel like taking a little joyride."

"You're kidding, right? A valet would never do something like that." Sonny threw him a quizzical look.

"I did once." Mark shrugged and cocked his head to the side. "It was on a case and I was just pretending to be a valet, but I took off like a bat outta Carlsbad in that car."

Sonny looked at McCormick in astonishment. "I gotta hear about this."

"Well, it was about five years ago and the judge wanted me to pretend to be this nerdy guy asking for an autograph."

They entered Chez Petite and Sonny murmured his name to the maitre d'.

"The guy was Arthur Farnell and Hardcastle wanted--" Mark broke off suddenly to touch the arm of the maitre d' and ask, "Can we have that guy as our waiter?" He pointed to a tall, sallow, supercilious-looking waiter.

"Certainly, monsieur. Right this way, if you please." The maitre d' seated them at a wall table near the front of the room.

"Thanks," Sonny slid a hand discreetly in the maitre d's direction and nodded at Mark. "Go on. Hardcastle wanted to get a guy named Arthur Farnell."

"Yeah. See, Farnell was having dinner in a fancy place like this and we had to get his attention. So, the judge wanted me to act like a fan and ask for an autograph and he made me wear one of those sleeveless sweater things, and glasses and a bow tie!" Mark laughed at Sonny's expression.

"Good evening, messieurs. My name is Bernard and I will have the honor of serving you tonight." The waiter bent his head condescendingly.

"Thanks, Bernie," said McCormick. "What's your special tonight?"

Sonny looked at him interestedly, but kept quiet.

"Tonight's special," answered a frosty Bernard, "is Ris de Veau,served in a delicate cream sauce with--"

"Nah, I don't feel like having glands tonight. I'll just have the New York steak, with onions, done medium. Oh, and some french fries, too." Mark turned to Sonny. "They got a great steak tartare here. I had it once. Ol' Bernie here didn't tell me it was raw hamburger, and I bet he got a big kick out of it when I ordered it done medium. Right, Bern?" He nudged the scandalized Bernard in the side gently.

Sonny was trying desperately to keep a straight face and was losing badly. "I'll have the same thing," he said squeakily. "Sounds great." He cleared his throat loudly. "And a bottle of wine. Okay with you, Mark? A nice French red, maybe a Burgundy . . .?"

McCormick looked Bernard right in the eye and said, "We'll have a Rothschild-Mondavi Opus One from 1980. If you have it."

"Certainly, sir. We have everything." Bernard bowed frigidly and departed.

"So, anyway, I figured Farnell wouldn't look twice at a guy asking for an autograph, so I put on a vest, took his keys and hooked his car." McCormick smiled in reminiscence. "He called the next day, and we were set to go."

Sonny took a sip of his ice water. "So you've been here before, huh?" He raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Another case or just dinner out on the town?"

"Well," Mark smiled back, "that was a case of crooked cops. Hardcastle knew a guy who worked here as a busboy and we needed him to pick a certain pocket. That's a long story, though." He took a sip of his own water.

"No, hey, I want to hear it. Especially if it's got crooked cops in it."

"Oh, we've had more than one case of cops gone bad. But that one involved a bunch of guys the judge used to . . .oh, look, here's Bernie back again."

Bernard stood stiffly at attention. "I am sorry to say that we do not currently have the wine monsieur has selected. Would you care to make another choice?"

McCormick smirked slightly. "Oh, well, that's okay. We'll just make do with a regular Mondavi Cabernet, then. Pick out a good year for us, will you, Bern?"

He turned back to Sonny to continue his story while a thoroughly-demoralized Bernard left for the wine cellar.

Dinner was over, the plates had been removed, and only a tiny bit of the wine remained.

"Sounds like the two of you have had some real adventures." Sonny was leaning back, patting his stomach tenderly. "Want some dessert? I bet they got some kinda cake."

Mark shook his head. "No, I'll pass. But you go ahead if you want. Maybe we can think up a dessert the chef doesn't know how to make."

Sonny laughed softly. "Poor Bernie. No, I'll take a pass, too." He waved in the air to signify he was ready for the check.

"Let me get the tip," McCormick was scribbling something on a small piece of paper.

"No way! This is my treat!" Sonny was emphatic.

McCormick shook his head and pulled out his wallet. "No, I really want to leave a tip for the guy. Come on, you gotta let me do this. It's a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Tell you what; you can pay for the parking at the airport. Deal?"

Sonny sighed. "Deal."

Bernard brought the check on a small tray and placed the tray on the table; Sonny handed him a credit card. Bernard took it, placed it on the tray, picked up the tray, and carried it off.

"You know, the guy bugs me, too. All that snooty stuff. What kind of tip are you going to leave him?" Sonny craned his neck to try to read what Mark had written.

"A really good tip. One that he needs." Mark folded the note over a single dollar bill, then looked furtively around the room. Seeing Bernard busy with the credit card, he hastily shoved a twenty under the vase of flowers on the table. "I'll tell you outside," he told Sonny.

They saw Bernard bearing the tray back toward their table and prepared to leave.

"Thanks, Bernie," said Sonny, reaching for the credit card. "Great meal."

"Merci, monsieur, and bon soir," muttered Bernard sorrowfully.

Mark grinned at him and handed him the note enclosing the dollar bill. "Here you go, Bern. A little something just for you."

He pulled at Sonny's arm and nodded toward the door.

Bernard unfolded the note, glanced at the dollar and sneered. Then he read the note which said, "Lighten up, Bernie! And look under the flowers. Bone swah!"

"You said your flight's not 'til eleven?" McCormick leaned momentarily on the frame of the Coyote.

"Yeah, we got plenty of time. I don't have to be at the airport for another hour and a half." Sonny checked his watch. "How long does it take from here?"

"Just under an hour. You want to go on out there or drive around a little or go for a walk?"

Sonny thought for a minute. "Let's go on to the airport and then find a place to just sit and talk for a bit, okay?"

"Sure." Mark climbed in and put his key in the ignition. "Sit and talk, huh?"

"Yeah." Sonny had opened the wing door to get in, and was now pulling it back down. "If that's okay with you?"

Mark shrugged carelessly and started the engine. "So how come you're taking the red-eye? Man, I hate those. The judge and I had to take a midnight flight out of Arkansas once and that was bad enough."

Sonny smiled to himself ironically. No matter what the matter for discussion, Hardcastle was included in it at some point. "Red-eyes are cheaper." He shrugged. "Besides, they're usually fairly empty and the stewardesses have to give away all that food and there's plenty of room to spread out. It's not so bad." He looked over at Mark as they drove down El Camino towards the freeway. "Hey, look. The cruise line's shipping all my stuff. That's pretty good. And this way I got to spend one last night here in L.A."

Mark glanced at him questioningly. "You mean you were supposed to leave before this?"

"Yeah, the rest of the crew left this afternoon. But, as long as I'm there by tomorrow night, nobody cares." Sonny stretched and smiled. "So, what were you and the judge doing in Arkansas?"

Sonny confirmed his seat on the flight to Miami and that it was on time, then the two headed for a small, dark bar close by the reservation desk.

"Hey, you want some champagne?" Sonny looked at Mark and cocked his head. "It is supposed to be your birthday, just a little late."

"Sonny, I gotta drive home. I'll just have a beer. But if you want some . . ."

"Nah." Sonny signaled to the cocktail waitress with two fingers and mouthed the word 'Michelob'. "I just wanted to make tonight special, you know." He adjusted his tie nervously. "Which kinda brings me to what I wanted to talk about."

McCormick slumped a little further into his chair.

"You see, kid, I wanted to tell you that I was glad you looked me up in Jersey." He ran a hand over his face and then said, "Thanks," to the waitress who had placed two glasses of beer on the small table. "Run a tab, okay?"

"Sonny," said Mark slowly, "You don't have to tell me anything like that. We understand each other, at least, I think we're starting to, and there's nothing you have to try to tell me or explain to me."

Sonny fiddled with his beer glass for a moment, then looked at his son.

"Yeah, there is. There's one thing I want you to know about and it's taken me a long time to work up to it, so let me get through it, okay?" He drank beer, sighed deeply and said, "Your mother's family hated me. All of them. I mean, really hated me. If one of them had seen me get hit by a bus, they'd've run over to make sure I was dead, and then kissed the bus driver."

McCormick drank a little beer thoughtfully. "Well, I guess I can understand that."

"But that's not all." Sonny ran a hand through his hair. "They wouldn't have anything to do with your mom as long as I was living with her. I mean, she'd see them at Mass and they'd completely ignore her. When you were born, she wanted her mother to come to the hospital to see you, but the old battleaxe hung up on her when she called." He looked at his son. "Your mother was very close to her family before I met her. She missed them very much."

Mark shook his head slightly. "I guess I have to believe you. I don't really remember having much to do with any of them before she died. I think she talked on the phone to her sister once in a while, but that was about it."

"Damn. I was afraid of that." Sonny rested his head on a palm briefly. He looked back up at Mark and said, "That was the only thing that made me feel any better about leaving you two. I really thought they'd take her back if I was gone."

McCormick took a sip of beer and said nothing.

"Look, I'm not gonna try and kid you here. I took a hike on the two of you." Sonny pushed back slightly from the table and stared at Mark. "I got a job offer out here for a two-month gig and I took it, okay? I'm a louse, a heel, a rat. I was a coward and a liar. But I really did think her family would take care of you both."

Mark still sat quietly, took another sip of beer.

Sonny sighed, then made a wry face. "So, then I ran out on you again, in Atlantic City." He wrapped his hands around his glass. "Same deal, huh? I figured you had the judge to look after you, so I could run away again. At least it seems like that worked out okay."

McCormick looked at him and took a breath to say something.

"No, no, I know." Sonny waved a hand at him. "It was still a crummy thing to do. And the fact that it worked out has nothing to do with me." He sighed, then finished his beer.

Mark blinked suddenly in surprise. "You're trying to say you're sorry. Aren't you?" He snorted in disbelief. "You're trying to apologize for running out on us. And for leaving us poor."

"Yeah, I guess," said Sonny, sounding depressed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them thinking of the past.

Sonny finally drew a deep breath and reached into his jacket pocket. "Here." He extended a closed hand to Mark. "I thought you might like to have this."

"What is it?" McCormick took the small metal object and looked at it closely.

"It's a shamrock. A charm, meant to go on a bracelet. Probably just brass, but your mother got it for my birthday one year." Sonny looked at his son solemnly. "She told me it would bring me good luck."

Mark looked at his father with a serious expression. "You sure you want me to have this?"

"Yeah. I think she'd like that. And besides, I haven't got anything else to give you for your birthday." Sonny smiled tentatively. "And this way it's kind of a present from both of us, see?"

McCormick considered this, then nodded like a man who' s finally reached a decision. "Thanks." He put a hand into his jacket's inside pocket and withdrew a small package. "Here."

"What's this?" Sonny took the bundle from him. "Postcards?"

"Postcards. Already addressed and stamped." Mark put the tiny charm in his pocket where the postcards had been. "To make it easier for you to keep in touch."

The judge was almost through with his notes on the Franklin case when he heard the Coyote pull up in front of the steps. Hurriedly, he shoved the items on his desktop into a drawer, wincing as he heard his coffee mug hit the bottom. He scurried over to his chair in front of the T.V., turning it on as he sat.

"So, you back already?" he called as he heard the front door close.

"Yeah. Sonny's plane took off right on time. Hey! Did you know where he was taking me?" McCormick was removing his tie as he entered.

"No, where?" Hardcastle turned to face him. "How was it? You have a good time?"

"Chez Petite, it was great, and yeah, I did. You finish the notes on the Franklin case yet?"

"Now, I told ya I wasn't gonna work on the Franklin case tonight." The judge huffed a little then glanced at McCormick. "What?"

Mark grinned at him. "One of the pages fell on the floor over here where you can't see it."

"Dammit! I just threw a coffee mug in my drawer for nothing." Hardcastle shook his head ruefully. "Okay, I put in an hour or two. But the game was over and there was nothing else to do." He grinned. "It's a lock. We got 'em cold, kiddo."

"Great. You can tell me all about it tomorrow." McCormick took off his sport coat and removed a small object from one of the pockets.

"So, dinner at Chez Petite. Did ya have the steak tartare?" The judge raised his eyebrows and chuckled.

"Not this time." McCormick stood looking at whatever he held in his hand for a moment, then held it out to the judge. "Look what Sonny gave me. My mom gave it to him for his birthday."

"Huh. Four-leaf clover?" Hardcastle peered at the charm interestedly.

"He said a shamrock, but I guess it's kinda the same thing." Mark took the charm back and put it in his shirt pocket. "He kept it all those years. Do you believe that?"

"Sure. It meant something to him. Now he's got something else to remember her by."

"Hmmm." McCormick reached for the television remote control and hit the mute button. He sat on the couch, waved the judge to his chair and grinned. "So, you'll never guess who our waiter was!"

Finis