Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle and McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators.
Feedback: Comments welcome at trekfantoo@yahoo.com
A/N: This story originally appeared in House Blend 2, published by Agent With Style. If you're not familiar with their work, check them out; they have a lot of good stuff to offer. And, many thanks to Susan Z., who many moons ago contributed a lot of time and effort to help me get this thing done.
Mark McCormick sat at the poolside table, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth by the forkful without pausing between bites.
“You’re doing it again,” growled a voice from behind the morning paper.
The fork dropped immediately to the plate with a loud clatter, and McCormick could feel the burn creeping into his face. “Sorry,” he mumbled around the eggs.
The paper lowered to reveal the cragged features of Milton Hardcastle, retired Superior Court judge. Though he faced McCormick with a scowl, the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. “We’re not on a schedule here, kid,” he replied, “and you don’t have a work detail waiting for you. Slow down.”
McCormick reached for a slice of toast and tore off a bite, looking at the older man thoughtfully. “No schedule maybe,” he finally replied, “but have you looked around lately? Keeping this place in shape practically qualifies as hard labor.”
Hardcastle lost the battle to keep the grin off his face. “Time you learned the value of an honest day’s work, McCormick; it’ll do you a world of good.”
McCormick shook his head as he grabbed his fork again. “Whatever you say, Hardcase, whatever you say." He resumed his meal at a more leisurely pace, and Hardcastle disappeared behind the paper again. As he reached for his orange juice, McCormick took a moment to reflect on the man hiding behind the sports page.
It had been almost four weeks since he had come to live with the judge, and things still seemed just a little bit strange sometimes. Actually, if you really thought about it, the whole situation was strange, and not just a little bit. Whoever heard of a judge taking an ex-convict into his home to play Batman and Robin? He would have been less surprised if ol’ Hardcase had had another kind of game in mind. Of course, if that had been the offer, McCormick would still be sitting in a prison cell somewhere, probably with a murder rap added to the grand theft auto. He shook his head slightly, amused now at the very idea of the sworn defender of justice making inappropriate propositions to a helpless felon.
But strange or not, he had to admit that he and Hardcastle had worked pretty well together in Vegas chasing after Martin Cody, and up in San Francisco, they had managed to drop the net around that businessman, Joe Donaldson, without a hitch. Well, not much of a hitch. There had been that one moment when Donaldson’s security chief had gotten the jump on him. The chief had held him at gunpoint, using McCormick as a shield so that he and his boss could escape. McCormick had thought it might all be over for him; he was certain Hardcase would give him up before he would lose this arrest. But he had been wrong. The judge had been willing to let them walk out in exchange for McCormick’s safety, and that willingness had touched Mark deeply.
But even if he had a surprising soft spot, Hardcastle was still the same man who had sent him to prison for two years, still the same man who had now blackmailed him into joining his crazy justice crusade, and…still the same man who actually seemed to be trying to make him comfortable with this new situation. McCormick was having a difficult time reconciling the Hardcastle he had spent two and a half years hating with the one now sitting across the patio table, but he knew he needed to straighten out the confusion. Soon.
McCormick finished his breakfast, pushed the plate away, then sat silently. After a moment, he cleared his throat.
Hardcastle folded the paper down and peered over the top. “Something on your mind, McCormick?”
“Um, actually, Judge, I was wondering if you had plans for me today." Seeing the raised eyebrow, the young man hurried on. “I mean, I know I have to clean the pool, and Sarah wanted me to weed the front gardens, but after that….”
The judge folded the paper completely and set it aside. “What’s up, kid?”
“I thought…well, I thought maybe I could go out for a while this afternoon. I mean, I’ve been on a pretty short leash since I got out, and I just wanted to…I don’t know…run some errands and stuff.”
“What kind of errands?”
“Nothing much. Go to the bank…get some groceries…you know, just stuff.”
Hardcastle examined him speculatively. “Short leash, huh?”
McCormick dropped his eyes. “That wasn’t exactly a complaint, Judge,” he said quietly.
“No?”
“No,” McCormick assured him, cursing himself for broaching the subject. “Look, forget I brought it up. I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds." He pushed away from the table and began gathering up the breakfast dishes. “I’ll just take this stuff in to Sarah, then I’ll start on the gardens. I’ll get the pool later, so I don’t disturb you.”
Hardcastle watched the young man closely. Not for the first time, he thought that McCormick seemed more disgruntled teenager than convicted felon, and he wiped a hand across his mouth to hide the small smile. “McCormick,” he called as the lean figure started away from the patio.
“Yeah, Judge?” McCormick answered, not bothering to turn back.
“Do your chores first. And be back by four.”
The ex-con whirled around, the change in demeanor immediate and complete. “Really?” He crossed back to the table quickly-almost dropping the dishes in the process-the grin lighting up his face. “I appreciate this, Judge, I really do. You want me to do anything for you while I’m out?”
The judge returned the grin. “Yeah. Behave yourself, kiddo.”
Hardcastle smiled as he looked at the shimmering blue water of his pool; the kid had done a good job. He turned his attention back to the papers on the table in front of him, intending to close out the files on Martin Cody and Joe Donaldson. He had jotted only a few notes when the ringing phone interrupted his thoughts.
“Hardcastle,” he growled into the receiver.
“Where was your pet convict last night, Hardcastle?”
“Who is this?” the judge demanded.
“Let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen,” the voice replied. “You might be interested in page seven of this morning’s Times."
The line clicked closed before Hardcastle could ask any further questions. He stared at the receiver in his hand, not at all pleased with the implication of the unexpected call. He replaced the phone and grabbed his morning paper, turning quickly to page seven. He scanned the print, looking for….well, he wasn’t exactly sure what, but he assumed he would know it when he saw it. Halfway down the second column, he found what he was after. He read and re-read the short article, trying to determine if there was anything there that implicated McCormick in the pawn shop burglary. But except for the fact that it appeared to be a clean job, there were precious few details.
Hardcastle glanced at his watch; McCormick was due back in half an hour. He was relieved that he wouldn’t have to wait much longer, but on the other hand, that didn’t give him much time to figure out just what the hell he intended to say.
He let his eyes wander back to the newspaper, and let his thoughts wander back over the last month. He had been almost certain that McCormick was the man for his retirement project, but he had been disappointed to learn that the kid had been busted again before he'd even had the chance to talk to him about the idea. So, he had made some calls and arranged for McCormick to appear before him one last time, setting up the perfect opportunity to entice the young man into his ‘employment’.
It had been a little rocky, but McCormick seemed to be adjusting. He had done well working the case against Cody, even though he was inexperienced and had been dealing with his own grief and anger. And then, in San Francisco, the kid had shown true potential, and true courage. As they had put together their case against Donaldson, McCormick had grasped some of the intricacies of the evidence easily; he had contributed useful ideas; and he had willingly walked into Donaldson’s organization to put together the final pieces of the puzzle. When that scumbag security chief had put a gun to McCormick’s head, Hardcastle had seen in the young blue eyes a weary acceptance that his life was in another’s hands, and it had touched the judge deeply.
As he sat by the pool, it occurred to Hardcastle that the phone call had caught him completely off guard. He realized that he had already developed an amazing amount of trust in the young man, though he certainly had not intended that to be the case. He had deliberately kept McCormick on that short leash in an effort to establish discipline, and yet the first time the kid had simply asked, he had given in to the sad puppy dog eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be that way, and the story on page seven was precisely why. With a sigh of resignation, Hardcastle set his files aside and waited for McCormick to return.
The judge looked at his watch as he heard McCormick’s car, the Coyote, pull into the drive, and smiled in spite of his concerns: the kid had a minute to spare. He heard the engine and the blaring music stop simultaneously, and then heard McCormick’s voice calling out loudly.
“Judge? I’m back!”
Hardcastle shouted out before McCormick headed to the main house. “At the pool, McCormick!”
McCormick poked his curly head around the bushes. “Hiya, Hardcase. You been sitting out here lazing by the pool all day?” He plopped down at the table and pulled a small paper bag from the grocery sack he was carrying. “Well, you can keep right on relaxing, because I brought some burgers for lunch. Where’s Sarah? I got one for her, too."
McCormick’s grin was infectious, and Hardcastle found it mirrored on his own face as he answered. “Sarah got a head start on her weekend off; she went to visit some friends.”
McCormick shrugged happily as he doled out the burgers and fries. “Oh, well. More for us." He eagerly unwrapped one of the sandwiches and devoured almost half of it in his first bite. Seeing the judge watching him, he felt his face flushing again, and placed the burger gingerly on the tabletop. “I’m working on it,” he said seriously, then laughed. “I’ll get better, Judge, you’ll see.”
Hardcastle winked at his young charge. “I don’t doubt it a bit, kid." He took a bite of his own burger. “Do you have any drinks in that bag of yours?”
McCormick shook his head as he swallowed a handful of fries. “Nothing cold,” he said rising from his chair, “but I’ve got stuff in the gatehouse. Soda? Beer? Water?”
“Soda’s good.”
McCormick disappeared into the gatehouse and returned a minute later with two cans of soda. He dropped back into his chair and pushed one of the cans across the table to Hardcastle. “Your wish is my command, Your Honor,” he quipped.
“You’re in a good mood,” Hardcastle observed, as he popped the top and raised the can to his lips.
“Yep,” McCormick answered, grinning around his hamburger. “It was good to be off the leash." The laughter in his voice removed any possible insult from the words.
“So what’d you do this afternoon, McCormick?” Hardcastle asked between bites.
McCormick’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “Whaddaya mean?”
“Whaddaya mean, what do I mean?” Hardcastle countered. “I’m just making conversation.”
“I don’t think so, Hardcase,” McCormick replied, all traces of laughter gone. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well…maybe I feel better with a little bit of a leash,” the judge admitted, though he suddenly realized that he already missed the light that had disappeared from McCormick’s eyes. But it was his job to keep the kid in line.
McCormick glared at Hardcastle over his soda. “You sure know how to kill a mood, Judge." He looked at the jurist expectantly. When it became clear Hardcastle was waiting for him to continue, McCormick sighed loudly in exasperation. “All right. Whatever."
But then, he took a deep breath and calmed himself. “You know what?” he said earnestly. “If it were me, I’d probably wonder, too."
Hardcastle smiled gently, surprised. “Would you?” Damn. This kid was hard to figure out.
McCormick met his gaze. “Yeah, Judge, I would. I’m sorry. I know I have to earn your trust." He offered a slight smile. “And I will…I promise. Okay, obviously, I stopped at the supermarket,” McCormick indicated the bag of groceries at his feet, “and I stopped for burgers. Before that, I was at the ba--”
“McCormick, wait,” Hardcastle interrupted suddenly. “This is silly. I don’t know what I was thinking." He paused, uncertain. Finally, he followed his heart. “I’m glad you had a good day.”
McCormick stared at him. “Really?” he asked softly.
“Really." Hardcastle returned to his meal.
McCormick shook his head, again realizing he had a long way to go before he would fully understand this situation and just what the hell he should expect. But he had never been all that good at simply waiting for whatever came along, so…
“Judge?”
“Yeah?”
“This is kind of weird for me." He stuffed a couple more fries into his mouth, confident that the judge would understand his comment.
“You think it’s not for me?”
McCormick shrugged. “I don’t know, Hardcase, but Sarah said you had other cons here before. I thought maybe you had some words of wisdom, or something.”
Hardcastle gave a short, gruff laugh. “You asking me for advice, kiddo?”
“Maybe." McCormick’s answer was guarded, but he still managed a slight grin. “Would that be okay?”
“It would be absolutely okay…if I had any to give. Every situation is different, McCormick. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that we’re gonna have to rely on each other …even if it is kind of weird.”
“You mean trust each other,” McCormick clarified.
“Eventually,” Hardcastle replied, not wanting to commit to too much too soon, then repeated, “Even if it’s kind of weird.”
McCormick regarded him silently for a moment, then the grin spread across his face. “Fair enough, Kemosabe. I can sure give it a try if you can. Hey,” he continued after a pause, “there was something I was going to tell you about, though.”
Hardcastle raised his eyebrow quizzically, saying a silent prayer that whatever the younger man was about to say wasn’t newsworthy.
“I met someone today.”
The judge stared at him wordlessly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The animation had returned to McCormick’s face, and the blue eyes were positively dancing.
“Is that so?” he finally managed to reply.
The brown curls bobbed up and down. “Yep. We were both looking at the latest Billy Joel album in the music store. Well, she was looking, so I joined her. I think it was fate. Her name is Valerie.”
“Valerie, huh?” Hardcastle asked. “So you taking her out?”
“No, course not,” McCormick answered emphatically. “I didn’t know if you’d want me away from the estate again, or…well, you know what I mean." The judge was surprised to realize that there was no resentment in the words.
“Yeah, I know what you mean, kid,” Hardcastle answered, making a mental promise that he would talk with the kid tomorrow about the ground rules for coming and going from the estate. That should give him plenty of time to come up with them.
“But I did invite her over for a picnic dinner on the beach,” McCormick continued. “I wasn’t really sure about that, either, though, so I can call her and cancel if it’s a problem.”
“Tonight?”
McCormick nodded. “Yeah. But if it’s a problem, just let me know. It’s okay.”
Hardcastle grinned as he realized that McCormick was sincere; he was waiting for permission. “No, McCormick, it’s not a problem. I just wasn’t sure you’d be able to have dinner tonight after everything you’ve just eaten." He watched as the young man ate the last bite of the extra burger.
“Don’t be silly, Judge,” McCormick managed to say through his food. “Dinner is hours from now.”
The judge laughed as he gathered the trash from his lunch. He wrapped everything into the newspaper lying at his side, then tossed the entire ball across the table. “Throw this junk out.”
McCormick began to gather up his own trash, then remembered something. “By the way,” he said, reaching into his bag again, “I went ahead and picked up a copy of that new tape for you, too.”
“Billy Joel?” Hardcastle asked uncertainly. “For me?” He seriously doubted that he and McCormick would share similar tastes in music.
“So you’ll never forget me,” McCormick said with a grin. He tossed the cassette on the table and walked away, hearing the judge trying to stifle laughter as he looked at the album title.
An Innocent Man.
The phone was on its third ring before Hardcastle recognized the sound. He rolled over slowly and grabbed the receiver from the cradle. “Hello?” he said groggily.
“It’s two o’clock,” said a cheerful voice. “Do you know where your convict is?”
That woke him up. “What is it you want?” he demanded. “Who are you?” But just as before, the caller was gone without any further conversation. The judge leaned over to slam the phone back in place, then flopped back onto the bed. “What the hell?” he muttered to the darkness.
He lay on his back in the dark for ten minutes, arguing with himself. Hadn’t he just told the kid they were going to have to trust one another? How could he now go storming down to the gatehouse checking up on him like some warden after lights out? And even if the gatehouse was empty, what would that prove? He hadn’t specifically told the kid he couldn’t go out, just let him operate on the assumption that he was confined…a tactic he was seriously regretting now. But… even if it was an unspoken agreement that McCormick would need permission to leave the estate, would his absence automatically indicate some greater guilt?
Hardcastle pondered that last thought for a moment. After all, it wasn’t like he had anything approaching evidence, just some nameless voice on the phone. Was that reason enough to risk the rather fragile bond that he was beginning to form with McCormick? But if he stayed here now, would he ever be one hundred percent sure, or would his own uncertainty destroy the very foundation he was trying to protect?
Finally, as he had done for over thirty years, Hardcastle turned to the law. McCormick had been placed in his custody as a condition of parole. Hardcastle had an absolute legal right to know the kid’s whereabouts anytime he chose. Whatever type of bond might be forming, it wouldn’t be wise to forget the fundamental nature of their relationship.
Hardcastle rolled out of bed, pulled on his bathrobe and battered tennis shoes, and started down the stairs, trying to stay focused on the fact that he had made his decision. Damn, he hated this. It wasn’t in his nature to second-guess himself, and yet everything about this McCormick situation was causing him doubts. By the time he reached the front porch, he had almost convinced himself to turn around and go back to bed…until he realized that the Coyote was not sitting in the driveway. Shaking his head angrily, he stomped toward the gatehouse, ignoring the turmoil growing inside him.
Mark McCormick was a happy man. As he climbed out of the Coyote, he thought it was possible that this had been the best day he’d had since being paroled from San Quentin. Well, maybe second best, his mind amended quickly, as his last lunch with Flip Johnson flashed into his thoughts. Today had definitely been good, though. He and Valerie had certainly had a wonderful evening, but it surprised him to realize that much of his happiness was left over from the earlier part of the day with the judge. It was hard to believe, but it seemed Hardcastle was truly beginning to trust him, and-though he would never admit it to anyone else-he liked the way that felt.
As he thought about their conversation, McCormick looked around guiltily; old Hardcase would probably have his ass for being out without permission. Thank God the house was still dark; the judge would never know. He opened the door to the gatehouse and slipped inside silently.
“Where you been, McCormick?” said a voice from the darkness.
“Jesus!” McCormick yelled out, slamming on the lights. He grabbed at his chest and fell against the wall, only slightly exaggerating the fright he had experienced before noticing Hardcastle sitting calmly on the couch.
“You trying to give me a heart attack, Hardcase? What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Waiting for you, hotshot.”
“What happened? Was the grass growing so loudly it woke you? Have a nightmare about hedges growing wild? Or did you just miss my smiling face?”
Hardcastle felt a smile forming at the smart-ass response, but he shook his head firmly. If he’d had this conversation earlier today, maybe he could be sleeping now. “Don’t try to change the subject, McCormick.”
“Didn’t know there was a subject, Judge,” McCormick commented as he walked further into the room. He pulled out a chair from the table, swiveled it around, and straddled the cushion. Resting his chin on the back of the chair, he met Hardcastle’s eyes. “So what’s up?”
“You really need to ask?” the judge replied, no trace of amusement remaining. “I asked you where you’ve been. What you were doing would be good, too.”
McCormick grinned slightly. “A gentleman never tells." His good mood was preventing him from seeing the hard glint settling in the judge’s eyes.
“You’re stalling,” Hardcastle said bluntly. “What is it you don’t want me to know?”
The cold stare and dull monotone finally registered in McCormick’s senses, and he felt his spirits plummet. “You’re serious,” he said, shaking his head as he rose from the chair. “Unbelievable. It’s late, Judge,” he continued, “and I’m really tired. Let’s not do this tonight." He crossed the room and started up the stairs to his bedroom.
“We are gonna do this tonight, McCormick,” Hardcastle said firmly, as he rose from the sofa. “Whether we do it here or downtown is up to you.”
McCormick froze on the stairs, and then whirled on the judge as he felt his hurt and disappointment complete the transformation into anger. “Is this the way you show that trust you were talking about earlier, Hardcastle?” he yelled.
“Is this the way you earn it?” Hardcastle shot back.
The angry response died on McCormick’s lips as he remembered his promise. “No,” he said quietly, “it isn’t." Didn’t this guy ever get tired of being right?
He returned to the living area with the judge. “Valerie had car problems this afternoon, Judge, so she came out here in a cab. I took her home.”
“That’s it?” Hardcastle didn’t seem entirely convinced.
McCormick nodded. “That’s it. I’m sorry I made it into an issue; I told you I was tired." He plopped himself back onto the chair at the table. He waited until Hardcastle had seated himself back on the sofa, then continued. “What else do you want to know, Hardcase?”
“So you just decided to go out? After this afternoon?”
“I know the timing is bad-”
“You think?” Hardcastle interrupted. “Seems to me like a classic case of taking a mile instead of an inch.”
“That wasn’t my intention, Judge, I swear." He watched his custodian closely, hoping to see some of the earlier faith return to his eyes, but it wasn’t there yet. He rubbed his hands across his eyes wearily. “Okay, Judge…just tell me what I should’ve done. Pound on the door and drag you out of bed at one o’clock in the morning and ask if it’s okay to break curfew? C’mon, Hardcase, I want to see her again; I sure as hell didn’t want her around while I had to go crawling to my parole officer for permission to leave the house.”
“So you didn’t tell her about our arrangement?”
“It’s not exactly the best ice-breaker conversation, Hardcase.”
For a moment, Hardcastle’s face was filled with sincerity. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are, kiddo. Everyone makes mistakes at some point in their life.”
McCormick stared at him, disbelieving. “That might be a little more encouraging if we weren’t in the middle of this inquisition scene, Judge,” he replied blandly.
Hardcastle admitted to himself that the kid had a point. But still…. “Where does Valerie live?” he asked suddenly, getting his thoughts back on topic.
“Over in Windsor Hills,” McCormick replied without argument.
“And you took her home at one?”
McCormick nodded. “About that, yeah.”
“So I think that still leaves us needing to talk about what you’ve been doing. It’s almost four-thirty, McCormick. Last time I checked, it didn’t take three and a half hours to make the trip to Windsor Hills and back.”
McCormick grinned slightly. “We, uh…might have taken a little bit of a scenic route, if you know what I mean, Hardcase.”
“And after you dropped her off?” Hardcastle asked.
“I came straight home." McCormick searched the older blue eyes again. Nope. Still not there.
“Judge, please. Tell me what to say. You want an apology? I’m sorry. Really. You want me to promise it won’t happen again? Okay. Your house, your rules. I won’t breathe without your permission. You want to call Valerie and check my story? Go ahead; I’ll give you the number. I mean, what the hell? I like her and all, but I gotta live with you. Hardcastle. Please. Just tell me what to do.”
The judge studied the ex-con thoughtfully, struck by the vulnerability he saw in the blue eyes. It hit him suddenly that those eyes were the root of his problem. In his judicial mind, McCormick was a typical punk kid: too many wild ideas, too little respect for anyone or anything, and too damn stubborn to appreciate the last, best chance that life was likely to throw his way. You didn’t have to spend much time around McCormick to realize that his attitude and behavior were a perfect match for that stereotypical viewpoint.
As long as you didn’t look in his eyes.
Even when the smart mouth was running a mile a minute-which was most of the time-the eyes held a warmth and intelligence that belied the punk exterior. And in those rare moments when the words coming from the young man’s mouth were filled with open sincerity-moments like now-the eyes revealed a depth of conviction and emotion that seemed almost out of place in one so young. These were the moments that caused the judge’s confusion, for it was during these moments he was forced to admit that he might have underestimated the ex-convict in his care. He knew how to deal with punk kids; he was becoming less confident that he knew how to deal with McCormick. He shook his head slightly.
“Just don’t lie to me, McCormick,” he finally answered.
“I haven’t,” McCormick assured him, and the eyes offered their own guarantee. “I wouldn’t.”
Hardcastle recapped the conversation. “So you and Valerie were here until about one?”
“Right.”
“Then you drove her, in a somewhat roundabout manner, to Windsor Hills?”
“Right.”
“And you didn’t tell me you were going because you didn’t want to disturb me or embarrass yourself?”
“Right." McCormick was quickly losing interest in the conversation, but he wasn’t about to argue any further.
“And you were going to tell me about it tomorrow at breakfast?”
“Ri-” McCormick broke off before he finished the word. “What?”
Hardcastle regarded him coolly without comment. And watched the eyes.
After a brief moment, McCormick shook his head. “I didn’t say that, Judge.”
“No?”
“No. Let me give you a little lesson from Convict 101: Never admit to anything.”
“Hard to build trust with an attitude like that, kiddo,” Hardcastle commented mildly.
McCormick shrugged slightly. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll follow your rules, Judge. And I won’t ever lie to you. I don’t know that I can promise you more.”
“What if I need more?” the judge challenged, though he honestly thought McCormick had perfectly outlined the recipe for success.
“I don’t know,” McCormick admitted softly. He paused for a moment, and then continued. “Then maybe I’m not the one for this,” he suggested. He worked to keep the sadness from his voice, unaware that his eyes had already betrayed the secret.
Hardcastle rose from the sofa, abandoning his suspicions. “You’re not getting off that easy, kid,” he said gruffly. “You’re the one until I say you’re not.”
McCormick looked up at him, immediately sensing the change in mood. Not understanding it, but sensing it. He smiled hesitantly.
“Indefinitely, huh?”
Hardcastle laughed at McCormick’s word. Had it really only been a month since he had explained to the kid how things could work? Only a month since McCormick had agreed to be in his custody ‘indefinitely’? Somehow, it seemed a lifetime ago. But still he laughed, confident that they would find a way to make it work. Even indefinitely.
“Go to bed, McCormick,” Hardcastle instructed, as he walked toward the front door. “I don’t want to have to listen to you whining all day tomorrow about how tired you are.”
McCormick raised his hand in pledge. “You won’t hear a word, Judge." He was relieved to watch the judge leave, but he sat without moving for a very long time, wondering-for about the millionth time-just what he had gotten himself into.
It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and McCormick could think of a hundred things he’d rather be doing than trimming hedges. But since being in a jail cell wasn’t one of them, he kept clipping. He and the judge had spent an uneventful day yesterday, and they had completely avoided discussing the incident from Friday night. McCormick wanted to believe that meant Hardcastle was satisfied that the issue was closed, but deep down, he knew better. He still wasn’t sure exactly what had triggered the judge’s suspicions, but he was certain he would hear more about it eventually. The fact that Hardcastle had absolutely nothing to worry about was unlikely to figure into the old guy’s thinking.
Even so, the jurist had done a pretty good job yesterday at keeping things normal…if they had actually established a “normal” yet. They had talked about some files the judge had at the top of his most wanted list, played some basketball, watched the Yankees on TV, and gone to Santa Monica for pizza on the pier before returning home to watch Rooster Cogburn on the nine o’clock movie.All in all, it was a pretty decent day. If it hadn’t been for the times McCormick had caught the judge looking at him out of the corner of his eye, things might have been great. But the judge had been looking, and each time, his eyes had been filled with uncertainty. Oh, he had covered it up well, but McCormick had seen, and now he was left to wait and wonder just when Hardcastle would let the other shoe drop.
It might not have been so difficult to deal with if the questioning looks weren’t continuing even today. At breakfast, Hardcastle had seemed almost his usual self, and McCormick had dared to hope that maybe they were going to be able to move on. But later in the morning the judge had grown distant, and had buried himself first in his newspaper, and then in his files. Only occasionally had he poked his head out to stare silently as McCormick worked around the yard, and he would disappear back into his reading anytime the young man looked his way. And still McCormick didn’t understand any of it. But he knew that he was rapidly losing any amount of control he had ever had over this situation, and since he had never gotten a handle on it to begin with, he certainly didn’t know how to go about fixing it now.
Fixing it. McCormick paused as he lingered over the thought. What, exactly, did he think he needed to fix? In many ways, he had it made. Martin Cody was in jail and he wasn’t. Hadn’t that been the whole reason for going along with Hardcastle’s crazy scheme in the first place? He had never expected to be happy about the arrangement; it was simply the means to an end. And he had certainly never expected to care about the judge or his opinions.
So why had he been so pleased to discover Hardcastle’s faith in him? And, more importantly, why did he now feel the loss of that faith like a physical blow? Realistically, of course, if the judge truly doubted him, McCormick knew it was just a matter of time until he was back behind bars, and that was an outcome he couldn’t bear to consider. But he was honest enough with himself to know that incarceration was not the only thing bothering him, though he was damned if he knew why anything else mattered.
“Dammit!” he yelled, as he threw the clippers to the ground in frustration.
“McCormick?” Hardcastle was on his feet instantly. “Are you okay?”
“Would you care?” McCormick shouted as he stomped toward the patio, suddenly determined to confront Hardcastle with the anger growing from his confusion.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” the judge sputtered.
“I want to know what’s going on, Judge." McCormick had made it to the concrete and continued toward Hardcastle. “Tell me what’s bothering you." He reached the table where the judge had been working. “What do you want to ask me?” He took the last step and planted himself directly in front of an astounded Hardcastle. “What is it you think I’ve done?” he shouted into the judge’s face.
Hardcastle locked his eyes on those glowering just inches in front of him, and stood his ground. After a moment, he trusted himself to speak rationally. “I think you better step back, kid.”
McCormick simply continued to glare down into the ice blue eyes for a long, long moment. Finally, Hardcastle’s words sank in, and he realized this was not the way to deal with his frustration. He lowered his eyes and deliberately backed away. He knew he should explain.
“Judge…” he began.
“Sit down,” Hardcastle directed coldly.
McCormick tried again. “Look, Judge-"
“I said, sit down. Now.”
McCormick swallowed tightly and dropped into the nearest chair. His initial burst of anger had disappeared, leaving only an inexplicable sadness. And now, a new fear. He had gone too far, and he knew it. If Hardcastle hadn’t been considering sending him back before, he sure as hell would be now.
Hardcastle stood over the dejected form. “Apparently we need to get some things straight, McCormick. When I said I wanted us to be partners, I never meant equal partners. You’re out on the Milton C. Hardcastle charity wagon, you know, kid. It would serve you well to remember who’s in charge around here.”
“Yes, sir,” McCormick replied almost inaudibly.
The response was so unexpected that Hardcastle simply stared. Though the curly head was lowered as McCormick sat slumped in the chair, he didn’t need the eyes this time; he understood the emotion driving the response. All the contrition in the world wouldn’t make McCormick address him in that fashion, but fear would. Only fear. Well, good. Hadn’t that been his intention? Yes. But… But what? He wanted the kid to be afraid of prison; sometimes that was the only thing that kept people in line.
But I don’t want him to be afraid of me. The thought came unbidden into Hardcastle’s mind. He shook his head, as if he could dislodge the wayward idea; he didn’t have time to even try to figure out what it meant.
He grabbed his chair and dragged it around the table, seating himself directly in front of McCormick. “Talk,” he commanded gruffly.
McCormick looked up at the judge, his face betraying his fear and confusion. He shook his head. “I’m not the one with something to say, Judge." He waited for some kind of response from the older man, but Hardcastle only sat silently, looking at him expectantly. He took a deep breath, and searched for the right words.
“Okay. Judge…I don’t know what’s going on the last couple of days, but something is obviously wrong. Something has made you suspicious of me, and I’ll be damned if I know what it is. I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s more than an illegal drive to Windsor Hills. You’re kind of hard-nosed about things sometimes, Judge, but I think that would be overkill, even for you. Besides, unless I’m completely off base, all this started before my date with Valerie. You had something on your mind when I came home Friday afternoon, and it wasn’t an update on my love life.
“But,” he continued, working it out as he spoke, “you couldn’t have been all that worried earlier in the day, or you would never have let me leave the estate. So something must have happened while I was out Friday. I’m not sure how I could cause something to go so wrong when I wasn’t even here, but I do have a talent for trouble sometimes." He grinned slightly, but wasn’t particularly surprised when Hardcastle didn’t respond.
“Anyway, Judge, all I know for sure is that something is bothering you, and it’s something about me. I swear, I haven’t done anything wrong, so whatever it is that’s on your mind, I wish you would just spit it out so we can get past this. In retrospect, I know that you tried to ask me about it twice on Friday, but both times you let me off the hook. I appreciated it at the time, but now I wish you would just ask your questions. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong." He finally met Hardcastle’s eyes. “I know you’re worried, Judge, and I know what that could mean. At least give me a chance to defend myself before you send me back to prison.”
“Well,” Hardcastle said after a moment, “I’m glad you didn’t have anything to say, kid." He examined McCormick closely, relieved by the sincerity shining in the eyes. The key would be how long the sincerity remained after their conversation.
“So, if I’m understanding you correctly, McCormick, you’re telling me that you haven’t broken any laws since you’ve been here? Is that a fair statement?”
“Yes, Judge, that’s a fair statement.”
“In the interest of honesty, I’m going to tell you that your little lesson from Convict 101 makes me wonder about the veracity of that answer.”
McCormick didn’t flinch, and his eyes didn’t waver. “Can’t say that I blame you. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. All things considered, Judge, it occurs to me that a lot of the truths I tell you might backfire on me. But…when I said I’d never lie to you, I didn’t mean just as long as the truth was convenient. I meant never.”
Hardcastle contemplated the statement, but didn’t offer a reply. Instead, he offered an explanation.
“I’ve gotten some phone calls this weekend. The caller implied that you were involved in a couple of burglaries. The first call came Friday while you were out, and he directed me to a newspaper article about a job at a pawnshop that had happened Thursday night. And you’re right, I was going to ask you about it when you got home, but I backed off, and I can’t really tell you why.
“Then, Friday night, they called again to alert me that you were not where you belonged. That’s why I was looking for you to begin with, and waited for you in the gatehouse. But I have to admit, you seemed so sincere in your explanation, and I didn’t have any kind of proof, so I let it go again. But they called again yesterday and the story they told me to read was about a burglary in a house in Beverly Hills. The owner had been out most of Friday night, and when he returned home about 3:30, he found his brand new Mercedes gone and a couple of thousand dollars missing from his safe.
"The newspaper just had it listed as part of the police log, so I called downtown yesterday afternoon and got some more of the details. They don’t really have any real leads on the perpetrator, but they did find the car almost right away. It was down at the racetrack. There were no prints, but they’re going on the idea that it might be someone affiliated with the track because the car was found in one of the restricted lots." Hardcastle still watched McCormick closely, seeing the realization of the implication sink in, bringing with it a greater fear, but there was still no guilt evident in the eyes.
“Anything else, Judge?” McCormick asked in a low tone.
Hardcastle nodded. “Someone called this morning while I was in the shower, but it wasn’t the same guy, and this one wasn’t calling for me, but for you. They left a message." He saw the question written on the young face, and absolutely believed the puzzlement was genuine. He knew that he had to be careful-after all, he had been wrong before-but every instinct he possessed said the kid wasn’t involved in whatever was going on. Still, it would be interesting to know what the smart mouth-and the eyes-would have to say about this.
“He wanted you to know he wasn’t happy that you missed your appointment yesterday. He said you still had work to do before he would help you with your early release program." He paused, and then added, “Was there someplace you were supposed to be yesterday, kid? Or someplace that you’re planning on going?”
“No,” McCormick replied forcefully as the blue eyes blazed with controlled anger, “absolutely not. Judge, I don’t know what any of that is about, honest. I didn’t pull those jobs, and I’m not working with anybody to stage any kind of escape. I wouldn’t do that, and I think you know it, at least on some level. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be here now. I know I told you this was weird, but I am trying to make it work. Besides, you've been pretty lax in the security department, Hardcase; if I had wanted to run, I wouldn’t have needed anyone’s help. Hell, if that had been my plan, I would’ve headed east out of Vegas instead of west, and this would’ve all been over weeks ago.”
Hardcastle didn’t comment, though he knew the kid was right. In fact, even though things had gone pretty well while working in Vegas, the solo drive home really had been his first test for McCormick, and the young man had passed with flying colors. It was even possible that the moment he had truly felt trust beginning was the moment he had returned from Nevada himself and found the Coyote sitting in the driveway. Finally, he spoke again.
“Maybe you should go ahead and give me a better idea of where you were when you weren’t here; and the more details you have, the better.”
McCormick nodded his head. “Yeah, okay, anything you want. First of all, I can’t explain Thursday night. I didn’t leave this property, Judge, but I don’t have a way to prove it. Whatever time I left you and went to the gatehouse is the time I was in for the night. I listened to some music and watched some TV, and then I went to bed. Whoever ripped off that pawnshop, it wasn’t me. Besides,” he added as a thought hit him, “you were in the gatehouse just the other day. Did you see any hot property lying around anywhere?”
Hardcastle laughed slightly. “Are you telling me you don’t know anyone who could fence the stuff?”
“Well….” McCormick fidgeted in his chair. “No, I guess not. I’m sure I could get it done,” he admitted. “But, jeez, Judge, let’s be realistic about this: how much stuff could I fit into the Coyote, anyway? It’s not exactly the right vehicle for carting off a shop full of electronics, you know. But, anyway, the point is, I was here Thursday night, not anywhere else.
“As for Friday afternoon…the first thing I did was stop at the bank; I guess that was just before noon. Then I went to the mall to browse the music shop.” He grinned briefly. “My date with destiny, you know. I really wasn’t at the mall all that long, a half hour or so. I made a quick trip to the market to pick up stuff for the picnic, and then…” McCormick broke off suddenly and his face clouded.
“And then what, McCormick?” Hardcastle demanded.
McCormick took a breath, his promise of ‘I’ll never lie to you’ at war with his rule of ‘never admit to anything’. The promise had to win.
"Then I went out to the track for a little while." He glanced at the judge. “I just wanted to touch base with some friends, see how everyone was doing. I couldn’t stay long, and they…they invited me back, and…God…this is going to sound bad, Judge.”
Hardcastle didn’t like the sound of that. “Whatever it is, hearing it from someone else would make it sound worse,” he pointed out. “So they invited you back, and what?”
McCormick plunged ahead. “And they gave me a crew pass and a key to one of the side gates so I could come and go without paying admission every time."
He watched Hardcastle struggle with that piece of information. “I told you it would sound bad,” he said softly.
“And have you been back?” the judge asked levelly.
“No, Judge, I haven’t; I swear. I mean, I know, I’ve got the whole Convict 101 thing working against me still-remind me not to tell you things like that again, by the way-but still…I haven’t been back, and I certainly didn’t stash a stolen car there.”
“So, that was Friday afternoon,” Hardcastle said non-committally. “What about Friday night?”
McCormick shrugged. “I don’t really have much to say that you haven’t heard already. I left here about one. Valerie and I drove down the coast a ways. We stopped at Marina del Rey for a while and sat on the beach. We got to her house at maybe 2:30 or a little later; she invited me inside for a drink. And don’t worry,” he added quickly, “I settled for coffee. I left her house about 3:30 or 3:45 and came straight home. I didn’t make a trip to Beverly Hills, and I didn’t break into any houses. And I sure as hell didn’t set up any deals with some goon to help me run out on you." He looked at Hardcastle, depression carved into his features. “I don’t have proof to offer you, Judge. I don’t know what else to say.”
Hardcastle examined him thoughtfully. “If I assume that everything you’re saying is absolutely true,” he said slowly, “then that means someone is trying to set you up. Can you think of anyone who would want to do that?”
McCormick considered the phrasing of the question. Not really a resounding vote of confidence, but it was a start. “No,” he answered sadly, “I really don’t. I wish I could give you a list of people to consider, but, honestly, Judge, I haven’t made all that many enemies." Again he flashed the quick grin. “Believe it or not, I’m a pretty likable guy.”
Hardcastle felt his own grin forming in response. “That’s really not that much of a stretch,” he admitted. “Besides, I have to say that your file pretty much supports your answer. I didn’t find anything that indicated any type of ongoing animosity with anyone.”
That was another interesting comment, McCormick thought. He decided to pursue what he considered the most important point. “You keep a file on me?”
The judge’s grin spread over his face. “That surprises you, kid? What is it you think we’re doing here?”
“I thought your files were all the bad guys, Hardcase. It didn’t really occur to me you might have one on me.”
“Bothers you, does it?”
“Well…yeah, a little bit,” McCormick admitted. “It’s just another reminder that-” He broke off, realizing he was about to divulge more of his inner turmoil than he intended. He wasn’t about to confess his confusion over this relationship. “Never mind.”
“Another reminder that what, McCormick?” Hardcastle asked.
“Nothing,” McCormick answered with a small shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter; just kind of caught me off guard, that’s all.”
“I thought you were supposed to be coming clean with me,” the judge reminded him.
“I’ve told you everything you need to know, Judge. Or at least everything I can think of that might be important. Let’s not dwell on the other thing." The eyes were suddenly dull and empty, revealing nothing.
Hardcastle filed away that small insight: the eyes might not be able to lie, but they could shut down, effectively locking out the world. It occurred to him that a similar emptiness had undoubtedly been in his own eyes for much of the last ten years, and for many of the same reasons: sharing too much with others was a clear path to pain. Whatever McCormick was feeling about the file-or what the file represented-he would let it go. Besides, he didn’t need the kid using him as a sounding board for his emotions; it wasn’t like he was looking for them to be buddies.
“So,” Hardcastle said finally, “what am I gonna do with you, McCormick? I can’t have someone running around committing crimes while they’re in my custody, you know.”
McCormick responded to the light tone. “I can see where that would be a problem, Judge." He smiled his most engaging smile. “Tell me what I can do to make it better and I’ll do it.”
Hardcastle instinctively believed him, but he needed one last test. “What I think I need, kid, is to know that you are somewhere safely out of the way of any further manipulation…or maybe temptation.”
The color drained from McCormick’s face as he understood Hardcastle’s comment. For just a moment he had been unprepared for the other shoe to drop, which only made it worse. “For how-how long?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Hardcastle admitted. “A lot of that depends on how the investigation goes.”
“Will you be doing the investigating?”
The hopeful tone stopped Hardcastle, but he recovered quickly. “Of course,” he replied. “You’re in my custody, so that makes you my responsibility. I’ll figure out what’s going on.”
“And when you find out it’s not me, can I…can I come back?” McCormick hated to ask, knew he sounded weak, but he couldn’t let pride keep him from the one thing that might actually help him get his life going in the right direction.
Hardcastle couldn’t trust himself to look in the eyes now, knowing that one look would make it impossible for him to finish what he had started, and it had to be finished. He had to have proof, one way or the other. But, dammit, how could this be so hard? It hadn’t even been a full month yet, so how could he feel so connected to this kid already? Besides, he was a hired assistant; it wasn’t supposed to be more than that. And yet…
Can I come back? The words rang in the judge’s ears, and he knew how difficult it would have been for McCormick to pose the question.
Hardcastle briefly considered one of the other things that had been keeping him up nights lately: even though bitterness and resentment were never far from the surface with McCormick, the kid was so willing to risk honesty, it was hard to harbor suspicions.
“Of course you can come back,” he finally answered gruffly, unwilling to reveal any of his own emotions at the moment. “I told you, you don’t get off so easy. Indefinitely usually means longer than a month you know, kiddo.”
“Okay,” McCormick replied softly. He glanced down at his tank top and shorts. “I need to shower and change first, if that’s all right.”
Hardcastle hated the dullness that came from McCormick now, but he pushed that thought aside. “Yeah, kid, it’s all right. Do you want to have lunch before we go?”
McCormick shook his head. “I’m not really hungry." He started to rise from the chair, and then remembered why he had been directed to sit in the first place. He paused, and allowed his eyes to meet Hardcastle’s.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you like that, Judge,” he said simply, then stood and walked slowly toward the gatehouse.
Hardcastle watched the receding figure for a moment, but as soon as McCormick was out of earshot, he grabbed the phone. He had plans to make. He sure as hell didn’t intend for the kid to be locked up long.
They drove toward the police station in an uncomfortable silence. The judge was behind the wheel of his prized Corvette, and McCormick was turned away, staring at the passing scenery.
When he had first emerged from the gatehouse, McCormick had seemed almost normal. A bit subdued, but still engaged. He had asked to listen to the recorded message on the answering machine in the hopes of recognizing the voice, but he had not. Then, with a vicious complaint about jail food, he had decided maybe he should have a sandwich before leaving. He had carried his plate into the den and found a football game on television, but he had promised to only take a few minutes. Hardcastle had offered to let him stay and watch the entire game, but the young man had declined, muttering something about delaying the inevitable. Finally, he had excused himself to go back to the gatehouse for a minute, saying he couldn’t go to jail with bologna breath.
Hardcastle had watched discreetly from the den window, and saw McCormick pause at the Coyote in the driveway. He had seen the longing in the young features as McCormick contemplated the freedom the car represented. He had gotten a little worried when McCormick pulled the keys out of his pocket and propped himself on the window opening of the sports car. And he had almost run from the house when he saw the ex-con actually slide completely into the driver’s seat, but he had forced himself to wait. After a tense minute or two, he was relieved when he watched McCormick pull himself slowly back out of the car and resume his walk toward the gatehouse.
But when the young man returned that time and announced that he was ready to go, he had withdrawn into a protective shell. Hardcastle had made a couple of attempts at conversation as they first drove away from the estate, but the one word answers that still managed to be filled with complete misery were more than he could deal with, so he had decided to just keep quiet. It wasn’t like he could really make this better for the kid, anyway, so they rode in silence.
By the time he pulled into the parking lot of the police station, Hardcastle thought that if McCormick got any more tense the kid might literally explode, but he still didn’t have a way to make the situation easier. He climbed out of the ‘Vette and had taken a few steps toward the building before he realized that McCormick hadn’t moved. He sighed, and turned back to the car.
“McCormick, this isn’t forever,” he said as he squatted down beside the car.
“No,” McCormick agreed sullenly, as he stared through the windshield. “I imagine it’s only about three to ten. I figure I can be out in five with good behavior.”
“McCormick,” Hardcastle said forcefully, “look at me." He waited silently until the young man grudgingly turned his head.
“I don’t need a pep talk, Judge.”
“Good,” Hardcastle growled, “'cause you’re sure as hell not gonna get one.”
McCormick felt a small smile forming in spite of his mood. “Okay, then what?”
The judge became serious. “Have you known me to sugar coat many things, kid?”
“Hardly,” McCormick snorted.
“And I’m not now, either. If I was throwing in the towel, I’d tell you. I’m not sandbagging you here, McCormick. If everything you’ve told me is true, this will be a very temporary situation.”
McCormick thought about that, and then nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay." He took a breath. “Okay, I’m ready. Sorry, didn’t mean to get all weird on you.”
The judge grinned and slapped McCormick’s arm as he stood up. “Not a problem, kid. We’ll make this up as we go along.”
McCormick followed the judge into the building, trying to hold on to the relative calm he had found in their brief conversation, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. This was wrong. How could he just allow himself to be led here so easily? He should have taken the Coyote when he had the chance. In fact, maybe it still wasn’t too late. If he didn’t take another step forward, he could probably make it back to the Corvette before Hardcastle could round up enough cops to stop him.
But even as the thought crossed his mind, McCormick knew he wouldn’t do it. No matter what happened, he couldn’t betray the man who walked in front of him, so confident that he was being followed. He wasn’t quite certain why that was, but he knew it was true. He shook his head as he hurried to catch up with the judge. It was crazy, but somehow it was the only thing to do.
As they reached the junction in the corridor, McCormick turned left as Hardcastle started to the right. “Hey, Hardcase,” McCormick called after him, “I’m sorry to have to be the tour guide here, but this is the way to booking and the cell block.”
“Yes, but this is the way to the temporary holding cells,” Hardcastle replied.
“I-I don’t understand,” McCormick said as he closed the distance between himself and the judge.
Hardcastle turned to face him. “McCormick,” he explained patiently, “I told you I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. If I run you through central booking, there’s going to be all sorts of questions down at the parole board, and I don’t have answers to those questions yet. I just need you contained for a while; I don’t need a lot of bureaucrats telling me how I should be running my life. Or yours, for that matter.”
McCormick flashed a genuine grin. “So let me get this straight. You’re putting me in jail, but you’re still trying to protect me?” He paused as he considered the other man thoughtfully. “You are definitely something else, Hardcase.”
“Now you’re cookin’." Hardcastle grinned, and led him down the hall.
The judge continued the conversation as they walked. “I’ve got a lot of friends here, kid, and one of ‘em is going to help us out for a while; you can trust him.”
“Friends here, huh?” McCormick replied. “Well, that makes one of us." He stopped suddenly, just barely managing to avoid running into Hardcastle, who had stopped at one of the office doors. He read the name on the doorplate. “This Lieutenant Harper the guy we’re here to see?”
“Yep. Now, listen…about this holding cell. I told you why I don’t want to process you through channels, but this could take a while, and you’re gonna be in there all alone. You gonna be okay with that?”
McCormick glanced sideways at him. “If I say no, will you take me back home?” For just a moment, he thought he saw a flash of guilt in the judge’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced with the silent stubbornness of one accustomed to getting what he wants. “All right,” he went on, “in that case, yeah, I’ll be fine with it. It’s not like jail is exactly a social scene, anyway, Judge. One cell is really about the same as another.”
“I don’t know about that, McCormick,” Hardcastle contradicted. “You ever spent any time in solitary?”
The usually friendly face hardened suddenly, and emptiness settled into the blue eyes.
“Once or twice,” McCormick answered, his wooden tone forbidding further discussion.
Hardcastle nodded somberly. “Okay, then you have some idea what to expect. That usually makes it a little easier. It won’t be nearly that bad, of course, because Frank will stop in to see you now and again. And, of course, the room isn’t exactly the same either; bigger, and much more comfortable, I would assume. Mostly, I just wanted you to be prepared.”
McCormick found that he appreciated Hardcastle’s concern. Someday, he might even tell him that. But for now, “I’ll be fine, Hardcase. I’m pretty sure I can take anything you can dish out.”
“Yeah, whatever you say, kid,” Hardcastle harrumphed as he knocked on the office door. Hearing the answering voice, the judge issued a single command. “Behave yourself, hotshot. Harper’s one of the good guys." He opened the door and led the way inside, not seeing McCormick’s rolling eyes behind him, but knowing they were there, just the same.
“Frank, this is Mark McCormick. McCormick, Frank Harper,” Hardcastle performed the introductions.
McCormick was sizing up the detective behind the desk, and he was immediately astonished when Harper rose from his chair and offered his hand. “Good to meet you, Mr. McCormick,” Harper said.
McCormick extended his own hand. “You, too, Lieutenant,” he replied. “The judge tells me you’re going to be helping us out, so I guess a thank you is in order." He saw Hardcastle’s quiet look of approval, and smiled to himself.
Harper seemed surprised. “I wouldn’t have expected you to consider it much of a help,” he stated, “but you’re welcome all the same.”
McCormick shrugged fractionally. “I know it could be worse,” he said truthfully.
“So, Frank, did you find someone like I asked?” Hardcastle broke in. He dropped into a chair in front of the desk, as Harper re-seated himself. He motioned at the other empty chair, but McCormick waved it off, and leaned himself against the wall next to the file cabinet.
“Yes, Milt,” Harper replied affably, “I found someone. Let me get him down here.”
As the lieutenant picked up the phone and made a quick call, McCormick took the opportunity to observe him further. The man was shorter than the judge, a bit younger, and considerably more amiable. His round face seemed to have been lined with frequent laughter, and he was obviously comfortable in his position. He made his call to summon someone else to the office, and then engaged in companionable conversation with Hardcastle. He didn’t seem at all concerned with an ex-convict hanging out in his office, and McCormick was still impressed with the basic decency of the handshake. In his experience, most cops didn’t take the time to be polite to cons, ex or otherwise. Typically, you were lucky to get civil; polite was really beyond expectation. It occurred to him that he shouldn’t be surprised. Hardcastle was nowhere near a typical jurist; why would he befriend a typical cop?
He was still evaluating the lieutenant when he heard the knock on the door. Harper invited the visitor in, and McCormick was startled by what he saw walking through the door. Clad in jeans and a tee shirt, the man entering the room could have been his brother. About his age and his height, but a bit stockier-more muscular, really, he admitted to himself-curly brown hair, blue eyes, and a decent tan. He focused in on Harper’s voice; he wanted to know what was going on.
“This is Officer Bill Wilde,” the lieutenant introduced. “Bill, this is Judge Hardcastle and Mark McCormick.”
“Good to meet you both,” Wilde replied. He glanced at the judge. “Lieutenant Harper says you’ve got some work for me?”
Hardcastle nodded. “I just need you around my place for a while. I need someone to stand in for McCormick over there.”
Wilde simply nodded. “Okay." He was too good an officer to ask why.
Mark McCormick had no such restrictions, however. “What’s up, Judge?”
“If you expect someone to keep telling me about all your misdeeds, don’t you think it would be helpful if they believed you were still free to perform them?” Hardcastle asked logically.
“You think someone’s watching me?” McCormick didn’t seem to consider the idea very likely.
Hardcastle faced the younger man squarely. “I figure we’ve only got two options, kiddo. Either someone is watching you so they will know when-and when not-to accuse you, or…” he trailed off, letting McCormick figure out the second option.
“Yeah, yeah,” McCormick responded bitterly, “I got it. It’s either that or they can accuse me because they really know when I actually committed the crimes. All right…someone must be watching me.”
“Thought you might see it my way,” the judge said as he turned his attention back to the two police officers. “So, Wilde, I just need you to hang around my house, do a few minor chores to keep up appearances,” he ignored the sarcastic snort from behind him, “and occasionally run some errands so that you can be seen around town." He grinned maliciously as he dropped the last bomb: “I think you’ll really like the sports car.”
McCormick glanced up sharply. “Judge…”
“Something to say, McCormick?” Hardcastle asked, the tone almost daring the ex-con to object to the plan.
McCormick slumped back against the wall, his cold eyes drilling into the judge. “No, Hardcase, not a thing." He saw the quick grin exchanged between Hardcastle and the lieutenant, and just shook his head. He knew he was being unreasonable; it wasn’t like they were going to hurt the car, after all. And he knew without being told that it was probably the car that was actually being watched; the physical similarities with his stand-in were just the finishing touches on the plan. But he didn’t like the judge having such fun at his expense. Someday he might tell him that, too.
McCormick forced his mind to focus on the conversation that was continuing without him. He heard Wilde telling the judge that he could be ready within the hour, and he felt his tension rising again. Not much longer now. He allowed the conversation to drift to the background again and focused instead on maintaining enough control to stay put rather than bolting from the office. After a few more minutes, he realized that the others were rising from their chairs. That was undoubtedly his cue, too, but he would wait for specific instructions.
Wilde left the room, and McCormick felt Hardcastle’s attention on him again. He glanced over at the judge, and was surprised at the concern in the eyes. He forced a calmness he didn’t feel into his voice. “I’m fine, Judge. I just hope this works.”
“No reason it shouldn’t,” Hardcastle assured him. “So you ready?”
McCormick nodded and pushed himself away from the wall.
Emerging from behind his desk, Harper addressed the young man. “I know this is a bit unofficial, Mr. McCormick,” he began, “but there are still some rules for the holding cells. Are you wearing any jewelry?”
“No.”
“McCormick,” Hardcastle growled a low warning, “that includes the medallion.”
Without looking at the judge, McCormick tugged on the collar of his shirt, revealing a bare neck; the ever-present Saint Jude medallion had been safely packed away back at the gatehouse.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve invited me to this slumber party, Judge,” he said. “I know the drill.”
Hardcastle grimaced at the bitterness in the tone, but Harper spoke again before the judge could be baited into an argument. “What about your pockets? Anything?”
“No,” McCormick answered again, “but I’m sure you’d like to check that out for yourself." He raised his arms away from his body and allowed Harper to do a quick pat down.
“Okay,” the lieutenant said, “if you guys will come with me….” He led them from the office and down the corridor to the nearest temporary cell. He opened the door inward, and stepped aside.
McCormick paused, seeing the interior of the small room from the hallway. The dull grayness that emanated from inside the doorway sent a chill to his soul. He flinched as he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“This is what I’m dishing out, kiddo,” Hardcastle said, a quiet challenge in his tone.
With a glare at the judge, McCormick jerked away and stepped deliberately into the cell.
“Okay, McCormick, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” the judge told him.
“I’ll be here,” McCormick answered. He saw the door being closed, and knew he had to ask the question that raged in his mind. “Judge? What if they don’t call?”
Hardcastle stopped the door momentarily. “Then I’ll be disappointed,” he said, surprising them both with the simple honesty of the answer. “And for what it’s worth…I’ll be very surprised." He saw McCormick’s eyes widen in surprise as he pulled the door closed behind him.
“It’s worth more than you know, Hardcase,” McCormick whispered to the empty room, “but I’ll be damned if I know why.”
As McCormick was settling into his new-but familiar-surroundings, Hardcastle and Harper were in the detective’s office waiting for Wilde to return.
“I am not getting soft!” Hardcastle was insisting indignantly. “All I said was I wanted you to take care of him. We do still take care of prisoners in our custody, don’t we? Or has something changed since I retired?”
Harper grinned. “Nothing’s changed around here, but I’m not so sure about you." He ignored the glare from Hardcastle and continued. “The kid was throwing a lot of attitude your direction, and you just let him get away with it. Never thought I’d see the day when old Hardcase got taken in by a pair of puppy dog eyes.”
“Look,” the judge tried to explain, “he’s in my custody. I’m supposed to be watching after him; it’s part of my judicial responsibility.”
“Whatever you say, Milt,” Harper laughed at the other man’s obvious discomfort.
“Frank." The suddenly serious tone of Hardcastle’s voice got Harper’s attention immediately. But other than the single word, the judge was strangely silent.
After a moment, Harper spoke. “Milt? What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Hardcastle admitted. “I’m pretty sure he’s innocent….”
“Which is why he’s over here instead of at the other end of the building,” Harper reminded him. He observed his old friend closely. “You’re not feeling guilty about this?”
Hardcastle met his eyes. “It’s not my job to put innocent guys in jail, Frank. Though McCormick, of course, has a different view of things.”
Frank laughed slightly, then sobered immediately. “Milt, listen to me. The kid’s only on parole for six months when he’s out stealing cars again. Then, a month after you arrange the best break he’s ever gonna get, you’ve got someone telling you he’s out burglarizing a variety of places and planning to skip out on you. And, finally, when you ask him about it, the only explanations he can come up with just corroborate his guilt. Honestly, anyone else would’ve had him back inside so fast his head would still be spinning. You’ve got a right to be more than ‘pretty sure,’ Milt, and we both know it.”
“Yeah, I know,” Hardcastle agreed softly. “And I think he knows it, too, whatever that’s all about. Kid makes me crazy." He gave a brief laugh. “Maybe I am getting soft, but take care of him for me, anyway, will ya, Frank? No sense teaching someone else how to clean the pool and all if I don’t have to.”
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