Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Hardcastle and McCormick characters, I just wish I did!

Portions of Rolling Thunder are used in this fan fiction. This episode was written by Patrick Hasburg and Stephen J. Cannell

A/N: Alternate ending to the pilot episode Rolling Thunder. After Mark is almost kidnapped, Hardcastle reports that the guys were just hired thugs, paid to leave Mark in the trunk of a car down by the docks. What if Hardcastle had not stopped them...?

Ratings and Warnings: T for slight language.

Special thanks to Cheri, the ever diligent beta.

The lock pick slid quietly into the keyhole. A few jiggles and the door opened. Easy money, the thug thought as he and his associate made their way into the nicely decorated gatehouse. His friend cocked his gun, preparing for the next part of the job. The soft carpeting muffled their footsteps as they moved up the stairs into the loft area. The gunman moved to the right of the bed and the other moved to the left. A pair of loafers was lying on the floor next to the bed, with socks stuffed inside. He picked up one of the socks and pushed it into the mouth of the young man peacefully sleeping in the bed.

Mark McCormick awoke suddenly with the feeling of something being shoved into his mouth. As he reached out automatically with his right hand, he encountered an arm. His eyes widened at the big stupid grin on the face of the intruder. Before he could react, he felt something cold and hard at the left side of his neck and a hand on his left arm. His gaze swung in that direction and he saw the ugly mug of another man, and noted that the cold, hard item against his neck was a gun.

Oh, shit! Mark thought. This can't be good. But before another thought could enter his still groggy mind, he felt his arm being pulled and his body sliding closer to the side of the bed.

"Good morning," Ugly spoke up. "You're coming with us, ace."

Mark's shoes landed in his lap as he slid his legs over the side of the bed onto the floor. As he picked up a shoe, his pants followed. Mark pulled the sock out of his mouth and looked around nervously. "This is a mistake, isn't it? Are you sure you got the right guy here?"

Mark started pulling his pants on and then stood to zip them up. Stupid walked toward Mark's side of the bed, holding his sport coat.

"Let's go," he grunted. "You've got an appointment about a stolen car."

"Oh," Mark replied innocently. "What stolen car is that?" He took his coat and put it on, thinking he needed to find a way out of this. He didn't know who these goons were, but he didn't think they were here with a Publisher's Clearinghouse check.

Stupid grabbed his arm and said, "Let's go."

"All right, okay," Mark stalled, bending over with his shoes in his hands. "Let me just get my shoes on here."

Mark had one shoe on, but held tight to the other, as he swung up and whacked Stupid with it, causing him to fall back into Ugly.

Mark took the opportunity to run to the railing and leap over it. All that practice running away from cops sure does come in handy. He landed on the couch below and somersaulted across the room. As he rolled into the bookshelves on the other side of the room, he heard two gunshots and the sound of breaking antiques. Sarah's not gonna like that, he thought of the housekeeper who had warned him about the inventory of the gatehouse.

He looked up past the table he was partially hidden behind, to see Ugly and Stupid halfway down the stairs already. He knew he needed to get away before they made it all the way down. But there was too much damned furniture in the way. Mark jumped to his feet and attempted to leap over the Victorian wing chair, but only made it halfway, when three more shots rang out.

As the chair tipped over, depositing him closer to the door, he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder. This doesn't feel good, either! Mark thought, as he noticed the red stain starting to saturate the material covering his shoulder.

As he attempted to get up, he thought he heard Stupid warn, "Don't kill him."

Well, that's good, they don't want me dead. But for how long?

Mark stumbled to his feet and headed for the door, but Ugly had already made it there. Mark couldn't stop his momentum and bumped right into the big goon. Ugly was ready and sent a fist into Mark's face. The impact sent him reeling backwards, right into the arms of Stupid, who grabbed both his arms, pinning them behind his back.

The bullet in his shoulder screamed to be noticed, but Mark had more things on his mind at the moment. As Ugly approached, Mark got his footing and sent a well-aimed kick between the man's legs. Ugly sank to the floor and the brief diversion was enough to give Mark the opportunity to send his left elbow into Stupid's midsection. Stupid doubled over, but somehow maintained a grip on one of Mark's arms. He threw Mark away from him, causing him to land on a table and break it. Oh, great! Something else Sarah's gonna be mad about.

Mark pushed the broken table off him and managed to get to his feet, just as Stupid drew near. Mark rushed at the man, pushing him away. He reached the fireplace and grabbed the small utility shovel.

Yeah, this'll hold up well against two maniacs with a gun. Mark swung the shovel in Stupid's direction, hitting a vase instead. Just my luck, it's probably a Ming. As he swung, Mark backed up toward the fireplace then around the couch heading in the direction of the stairs. He was hoping to get closer to the door.

"Don't be dumb, kid," Stupid warned. "Put it down."

"Yeah, yeah," Mark responded as he swung again. His swings were getting weaker as his shoulder began to grow numb and his arm became unsteady.

"If you don't put it down," Stupid threatened, "I'm gonna hurt you."

"You're gonna hurt me?" Mark bluffed with false bravado. Stupid had picked up the broken table and Mark gave a few ineffective thrusts with his shovel. He was still backing toward the door when he felt two hands grab him from behind. Apparently Ugly had recovered from his injury. Stupid moved closer and Mark struggled to get free. But the wound in his shoulder and the earlier punch were taking their toll on him.

Stupid hit Mark several times in the face and then landed a huge blow to his abdomen. The air rushed out of Mark's lungs and his vision started to fade as he sank to the floor. He felt himself roughly lifted, and dragged along the ground.

"Let's get him out of here, quick, before someone wakes up," Mark heard one of them say. He wanted to fight against them, but he was using all his energy not to completely black out. The world was spinning at an alarming rate and he didn't know how much longer he could stay conscious.

What is wrong with me? Mark asked himself. I've been beat a lot worse than this, and managed to keep my head. Mark was dumped unceremoniously into a small, enclosed area and his shoulder protested in agony. He then remembered the bullet lodged there. The blood he'd lost was causing him to lose the fight against the encroaching dark. As he felt the engine roar to life and the metal around him vibrate with movement, all that ran through his mind was Hardcastle's gonna think I ran out on him.

"Good morning, Your Honor," Sarah gave a small nod to Judge Hardcastle as he moved through the kitchen toward the back door.

"Good morning, Sarah," he returned as he grabbed his basketball from the floor. "You haven't seen McCormick, yet, this morning have you?"

"No, Your Honor, but I was just going to wake him. I don't want him thinking he can just lie around here all day, when there's work to be done. I still don't think it was a good idea putting him in the gatehouse."

"I'll walk down with you; I want to shoot a few hoops before breakfast." He ignored Sarah's comment about McCormick's sleeping arrangements. They walked outside and toward the gatehouse. "He's probably still asleep, what with being up half the night. Hey, if you can wake him up, send him out. He played a pretty decent game of basketball last night."

"Oh, I'll wake him up all right," Sarah promised and as she got near the door of the gatehouse muttered, "...lives in a barn. Doesn't even shut the door."

Hardcastle dribbled the basketball a few times, chuckling at Sarah's grumbling. Then he heard her scream. He ran over quickly and rushed through the door. Sarah was standing in the middle of the room with her hands over her mouth.

"Look at this, Your Honor." she scolded. "I knew you shouldn't have trusted that criminal."

Hardcastle looked around. The place looked like it had been tossed. Chairs lying on their sides, tables broken, vases and other knick-knacks smashed on the floor. The judge could feel his temperature rise.

"McCormick!" Hardcastle bellowed. "McCormick!" The judge started up the stairs, still yelling his name when Sarah cut in.

"He's not here, Your Honor. He's not about to stick around after doing this."

I can't believe he did this to me! I told him I'd help him nail Cody. That seemed so important to him. How could I have been so wrong, again? Hardcastle continued to berate himself as he gazed at the unmade bed. But something wasn't quite right, here. He couldn't put his finger on it. He looked around again. Then he knew.

"Sarah," he yelled down to the housekeeper, "I don't think McCormick took off."

"What?" she questioned. "Well, he's certainly not here, Your Honor."

"Right," he said. "But, why would he leave without these?" Hardcastle appeared at the top of the steps, holding a pair of socks, a dress shirt, and a shoe.

"McCormick may not be the brightest bulb," Hardcastle started, "but I'm pretty sure he knows how to dress himself. He wouldn't leave without his shirt and socks, and only one shoe."

"No, I guess not," Sarah murmured as she straightened tables and chairs. She clucked as she noticed how many things were broken and saw the stains on the once spotless furniture. She took a closer look at one of the stains and said, "Your Honor, you might want to have a look at this."

Judge Hardcastle was behind her in seconds, staring at the red stains, not just dotting the chair, but covering a portion of the carpet as well. He reached down to touch the stain on the rug and found it still sticky.

"That's blood, and fairly fresh," he informed her. "I would say McCormick didn't leave on his own. From the looks of this place, it appears he put up quite a struggle. I'm gonna look around outside, see if I can find where the perps got in and how."

Hardcastle left Sarah, still muttering about ex-cons in general, and headed down the driveway. As he walked, he noticed small drops of blood every few yards. About halfway down the driveway, he found McCormick's other shoe.

Near the main road, he saw some tire prints that looked like someone had peeled out of here, fairly recently. He started looking around some more, hoping for another clue when he heard someone approach.

"Morning, Milt," his neighbor, Allen Betley, greeted as he moved closer with his dog on a leash. "Did you have some trouble up at the house?"

Milt looked curiously at his neighbor and asked, "Why would you say that?"

"Well, I've been out walking Penelope for a while. About thirty minutes ago I saw two guys in a blue, two-tone sedan high tail it out of here. Looked like they might have been putting something in the trunk.

"Something, or someone," muttered Hardcastle.

"I wasn't close enough at the time to see what it was," Allen admitted regretfully. "But they drove right past us, hell bent for leather."

"You didn't see the make of the car or get a plate did you?" Hardcastle asked hopefully.

"A Ford, I think. And I specifically looked at the plate, just in case they'd been up to no good. It was 1FWY158, California. Did they take something valuable, Milt?"

The judge thought of the smart-mouthed ex-con that he had made a promise to help. "Yeah," he nodded, "they did."

"What?" Mark grunted as the movement of the vehicle jarred him awake. He tried to get his bearings and realized he was still in the trunk of the car that Ugly and Stupid had dumped him in. He could feel his hands tied behind his back. They must have done that while he was passed out. His right shoulder was aching but his arm was completely numb. Mark struggled to get the rope undone, but moving only caused the pain in his shoulder to get worse.

He didn't know how much time had passed, especially since he must have been unconscious for some of it. He had a good idea where they were taking him, though. Martin Cody knew that he had stolen the Coyote, and he wanted it back. And if he were willing to kill Flip and his lawyer for that car, he wouldn't hesitate for a second in killing Mark. Once he found out where the car was, that is. Well, he's not going to find out, not from me, anyway. If he knew Barbara had the car, he wouldn't hesitate in killing her, either.

The movement of the car stopped and Mark knew he had to act fast once the trunk was open. He just wasn't sure how. With his arms tied behind his back and his head slightly dizzy, he didn't know if he could manage anything effective.

Come on, McCormick, think! He gave himself a pep talk. You made it through two years in San Quentin. The things you saw in there make this seem like a day at the beach. He could hear the trunk being unlatched, so he positioned himself on his back with his feet ready to spring.

As the trunk swung open, Mark kicked with all the strength he had left. When his feet came in contact with something solid and he heard a resounding "Oof!" he thought he might actually have a chance. But then he heard a commanding voice instruct, "Get him out of there. And no need to be gentle about it. And dispose of this car; I don't want it anywhere near here."

Four hands reached in and grabbed him roughly, hauling him out of the trunk and depositing him on the cold, concrete floor. Mark struggled to get to his knees and looked around. He was in some sort of small warehouse or storage room and Martin Cody was glaring daggers at him.

"Nice try, Mr. McCormick," Cody applauded. "But you're at a bit of a disadvantage, don't you think?" Cody indicated the three other large men standing around him.

"Actually, Mr. Cody," Mark said, "I think you're at a disadvantage, or you wouldn't have brought me here."

"But we're going to rectify that situation, right now. You'll tell me where my car is, and I might not kill you."

Mark sneered, "Like you killed Flip Johnson and his attorney."

"Now who's spreading such nasty lies?" Cody asked. "I'm just a business man, trying to make a living."

"You're a slime ball murderer," Mark accused. "And everyone's gonna know it soon enough."

"Why must you make everything so difficult?" Cody spoke calmly. "If you just tell me where my car is, this can be over."

"Go to hell!" Mark spat out at him and received a kick in the face that sent him flat on his back.

The thug that kicked Mark advanced again, but Cody held out a hand to him. "Thank you, Joey." Cody leaned over Mark and warned, "Mr. McCormick, I'm slowly losing my patience with you. Tell me where that car is or my friends here will make you think being in hell is the better option."

With that, Cody lifted his foot and brought it down, gently, on Mark's right shoulder, increasing the pressure, slowly. Mark sucked in his breath, trying not to give Cody the satisfaction of seeing him in pain. But as the pressure increased, so did the pain. Mark gritted his teeth as the agony in his shoulder grew stronger, but nothing more than a groan escaped his lips.

Cody backed away from Mark, and with an exasperated sigh, commanded, "Joey, make him tell me where the damn car is! I'm supposed to be in Vegas already. This delay is not in my plans."

"Cody!" Mark yelled as Joey Morgan, and one of his pals, dragged Mark to his feet. "You're such a chicken-shit coward. Whatsa matter, you can't handle your own dirty work?"

Cody turned around and faced Mark again. "I'm a rich enough man to be able to pay people for things like that." He put his face close to Mark's and whispered, "Just like I paid someone to kill your friend, Flip Johnson."

At the admission, something in Mark snapped. He started struggling against his captors and yelled, "You bastard! You worthless piece of scum. You're gonna pay for this."

Cody just looked bored. "Get my car back," he ordered, and turned and walked away.

"The police have an APB out on McCormick and the car that Betley said he saw down by the gate," Hardcastle informed Sarah. "I shouldn't have let this happen. I should have realized someone like Cody would have connections and find out that McCormick wasn't in jail anymore."

"Well, you're right that you should have left him in prison," Sarah agreed. "People like that don't belong out on the streets. And they definitely don't belong in the gatehouse. Why you feel the need to bring them home with you, I'll never know."

"I was thinking McCormick might be different. I was hoping to give it a shot anyway. Not sure if I'll get a chance to now. Who knows what Cody will do to him? Damn it!"

"Your Honor!" Sarah scolded at the language from the judge. "It's not your fault that someone abducted him. If he chooses to steal cars from suspected murderers, he's got to expect consequences."

"Yeah, well, he may be a criminal, but he never did anything worth being killed for," Hardcastle defended.

Sarah looked shocked. "Do you really think they'd do that?"

"Cody's desperate enough to send some goons out after him, he could be desperate enough to do anything."

"You're right, Your Honor," Sarah conceded. "No one deserves to die. And he did show some manners last night, eventually."

"Well, I'm gonna run down to the station and see if they've got anything on this Cody that might help me find McCormick. If anyone calls here, tell them where I am."

"Certainly," Sarah said and watched as the judge walked out the door. She looked again at the bloodstains on the carpet and chair and wondered how badly the young man had been hurt.

That went well, Mark thought as he spit the blood pooling in his mouth on the floor. Morgan and his fellow goon had spent the last half-hour playing 'Beat the Con'; with him being the subject. He was having a hard time holding his head up, but knew now was the time to try and get out of here.

After Mark wouldn't tell them anything, except where to go, they had handcuffed him to a corner of the desk in the back office of the warehouse. Once Morgan and his friend had left, Mark looked around frantically, trying to find anything that would get him out of here. He pulled open the desk draw, and scanned the contents. Pencils, rubber bands, thumbtacks, paper clips. Paper clips! Can I do it? Worth a try. Mark took out the paper clips and started to unwind them, when he heard a sound outside the door.

"Damn it!" groaned Mark as he shoved the paper clips in his pocket and quickly shut the drawer. He slumped back against the desk, hoping they weren't going for the Bonus Round.

It was Cody and he had his goons behind him.

"My patience is wearing very thin, Mr. McCormick," Cody growled. "It seems I may have to move the consequences up a notch."

Mark looked distastefully up at Cody, "It doesn't matter what you do to me, Cody; you will never see that car."

"I think you're right," Cody agreed. "It doesn't matter what I do to you, but it might matter what I do to someone else. Joey," he addressed his right hand man, "go find Barbara Johnson. Mr. McCormick might be more willing to talk if someone else's life is on the line. And Ms. Johnson is the daughter of your good friend, Flip. You were quite protective of her at the funeral. Let's see if that still applies here."

No, don't bring her into this, Mark panicked. He put on a cool front and replied, "She's got nothing to do with this, Cody. This is between you and me."

"Until I get my car back, anyone's fair game. But I will promise you this. Joey won't hurt her until she gets here. I'm thinking you might be more cooperative then."

Cody stared at Mark for a few moments, expecting him to give up the location of the car. When he realized no such confession would be forthcoming, he turned and left the room, his entourage following close behind.

He knew Cody had been bluffing when he mentioned Barbara, but Mark was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If he told Cody that Barbara had the car, she would get hurt. If he didn't, she would still get hurt. Damn! I need to get out of here.

Mark groaned as he attempted to get to his feet, his right arm being of no use anymore. He looked out the office window. Good, Cody and his goons were nowhere in sight. Mark got the paperclips out of his pocket and started working on the handcuff locks. I've got to find a phone and call Barbara to warn her. I can't let Cody's goons get to her. The paper clip was not doing what he wanted it to. What I wouldn't do for my lock picks right about now. And with that thought, he heard a click and his right hand was free.

He didn't bother wasting time unlocking the other hand. He needed to get to a phone and warn Barbara. Mark moved to the door and quietly opened it. No one appeared to be nearby, but he wasn't taking any chances. He stayed close to the wall and moved down the hallway. One of these rooms had to have a phone. Ideally, he would have loved to get out of this building, but he had no clue as to where he actually was. He didn't want to take the chance that there was no other phone in the vicinity.

As he moved down the hall, he glanced in the office windows. There, a phone, and still no one around. I guess Cody underestimated my criminal survival skills. Mark moved into the office and shut the door behind him. He lowered himself to the floor behind the desk and gently lifted the phone receiver. He dialed Barbara's number and waited impatiently while it rang. Come on, Barbara; pick up the phone. The phone kept ringing and ringing.

Well, at least if she's not home right now, Morgan can't grab her. But what happens when she does get home? Mark racked his brains trying to think of someone he could call that could warn Barbara. But after two years in prison, his friends were limited. A small thought popped into his head, but he quickly pushed it back. No way! It won't work. He thinks you went back on your word and took off. He's probably already got all the paperwork pushed through to put you back inside.

Mark reached inside his pocket and pulled out the small card the insane judge had handed him yesterday. He looked at the numbers on it. He couldn't believe he was actually considering it.

What the hell! Maybe he'll actually believe you. Mark picked up the phone again and dialed the new numbers, thinking this was the craziest thing he'd ever done. No, agreeing to work with that donkey in the first place would probably be the winner.

"Did you find out anything, Your Honor?" Sarah asked as Judge Hardcastle walked into the den.

"They found the car," Hardcastle answered, and at Sarah's hopeful look, finished, "McCormick wasn't anywhere near it. They did find some blood in the trunk. There wasn't a ton of it, so hopefully he's not too badly wounded. But I'm pretty sure he is hurt. And that Cody is the one who grabbed him."

"Don't go blaming yourself," Sarah admonished. "The boy is a thief. You reap what you sow, Your Honor."

"Yeah, but the kid didn't steal this car for personal gain," Hardcastle explained. "In his own misguided way, he was trying to get justice for his murdered friend. That doesn't make it right, of course," Hardcastle added quickly, "it's just..." he trailed off and looked thoughtful. The phone ringing shook him out of his musings.

He sat behind the desk, grabbed the receiver and barked, "Hello."

I can't believe I'm doing this, Mark thought. Calling the judge who sent me to prison, for help. No one inside would ever believe it. Not after the way I ranted about the donkey for two long years. The phone was picked up on the other end with a gruff, "Hello."

"Judge," Mark whispered fiercely into the phone, "it's McCormick, I need your help."

"McCormick!" the judge bellowed so loudly that Mark was afraid someone would hear. "Where are you?"

"That doesn't matter, right now," Mark continued to whisper as loudly as he dared. "I need to you to find Barbara Johnson, Flip's daughter. She's in danger. Cody's sending someone to go pick her up right now. He's gonna use her to get me to tell him where his car is. Her address is in that file you have. You have to warn her."

"Where are you, McCormick?" the judge's voice softened slightly.

"It doesn't matter, Judge. You just need to get Barbara out of Cody's way, now."

"And I'll do that," the judge promised. "But I need to know where you are."

"I don't know where I am, some warehouse or something. It's not Cody's manufacturing plant, though. I've been in there, and this isn't it. There aren't any windows, so I don't even have a clue where it could be. Judge," Mark insisted, "you've got to get to Barbara. I swear, when this is all done, I'll turn myself in, I promise." If I'm still alive, that is.

"How badly are you hurt?" Hardcastle questioned.

How did the old goat know about that? "I'm fine," Mark lied, frantic for Barbara's safety.

"Then why is there blood all over the carpet in the gatehouse?" Hardcastle called his bluff.

He's worried about his carpet! "I'll pay for the damn carpet to be cleaned. Would you just go and get Barbara. Shit!" Mark swore as he heard a noise outside the room.

Before he could verbalize another thought, the door crashed in and Cody was standing there in a rage. He grabbed the phone from Mark and threw it on the floor away from him. Mark tried to move when he saw Cody's foot heading in his direction, but his reflexes had been slowed considerably by the earlier games with Morgan. It hit him in his injured shoulder and Mark couldn't muffle the cry of agony that erupted from his mouth.

Hardcastle heard McCormick swear and the sound of the phone being dropped or thrown. A cry of pain, that he assumed was from McCormick, split the air, even over the telephone line.

He listened intently for what was happening and heard Cody ask, "Who was on the phone?"

McCormick's flip answer, "I was talking to my bookie. I got a lead on a great horse in the fourth race, today," floated through the line. Damn it, McCormick. That fresh mouth is gonna get you killed, especially with someone like Martin Cody. And sure enough, Hardcastle heard another thud and the resulting groan of pain.

"I'm beyond tired of these games, McCormick," Hardcastle heard Cody say, then finish, "Get him out of here. And secure him better this time. Tie his hands away from each other. He's a bit of an escape artist, apparently."

The judge heard sounds of movement and a growl of frustration. And then the phone line went dead.

Looking up, he found Sarah's troubled eyes focused on him with unspoken questions.

"That kid's gotten himself into a heap of trouble and now he spreading the wealth. Cody's going after Barbara Johnson, thinks it will make McCormick tell him where the car is."

Hardcastle picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. "Hey Frank, I need you to find someone for me, pronto. It could be a matter of life and death."

"Who are you and what is this all about?" Barbara Johnson demanded as Hardcastle approached her.

The judge's connections had worked overtime in locating Barbara Johnson. The cops had found her at her accountant's office and were holding her until he could arrive. Hardcastle thanked the officers and started leading her toward his old truck.

"Wait a minute," Barbara objected. "I'm not going anywhere until I find out what this is all about. The cops wouldn't tell me a thing."

"I'm sorry, Miss Johnson," Hardcastle apologized. "We got a warning that your life might be in danger. I'll explain everything on the way."

Barbara reluctantly agreed and followed the judge into his truck. As they started driving, she continued her questions. "So who warned you that my life was in danger? And from whom?"

"Mark McCormick warned us that Martin Cody was sending some men out to pick you up," the judge filled her in. "And not for a social call."

"Mark!" Barbara exclaimed. "Where is he and how does he know what Cody's doing? And who are you and why are you involved in this?"

"Oh, I thought you knew," explained the judge. "I'm Judge Hardcastle."

"Judge Milton C. Hardcastle?" questioned a shocked Barbara. "The same judge who sent Mark to prison for a crime he didn't commit?"

"The very same, Ms. Johnson," Hardcastle smiled. "Now he did commit the crime. That Porsche was registered to Melinda Marshall. The fact that they were co-habitating at the time was irrelevant. The fact that he signed it over to her, was just plain stupid."

Barbara took a second to compose herself. Why would Mark be involved with this judge again, and where is he? She voiced her question out loud. "Where is Mark, and why did he contact you?"

Hardcastle started at the beginning, filling Barbara in on McCormick's arrest, pre-trial hearing, and the subsequent deal they made to nab Cody. "Only Cody sent some guys out to my place early this morning and they took McCormick. He's getting desperate to get that car back. McCormick managed to escape long enough to get a call through to me. He knew Cody was sending some guys out after you."

"Oh, no," Barbara moaned quietly.

"Apparently McCormick wouldn't tell them where the car is, so he figured he would use a little gentle persuasion, in the form of you. McCormick might be able to take a beating, but Cody figures he wouldn't let them hurt you, he cared for your father too much."

"So Cody doesn't actually know that I have the car," Barbara stated.

Hardcastle looked at her sharply as understanding dawned.

Barbara rushed on, "Mark stole the Coyote because I asked him to. He didn't want to do it, but when I convinced him that it was the only way to get at Cody, he agreed.

"He's got free will, Ms. Johnson," Hardcastle reminded her. "He could have said, 'no' to you."

"You don't know Mark that well," Barbara smiled.

Hardcastle was starting to get the picture, and an idea.

"If you have the car, then we can contact Cody and make a deal to get McCormick back."

"Cody's not gonna deal with the cops," Barbara pointed out. "It'll be admitting to the kidnapping."

"But he's not going to be dealing with the cops. You're going to call him and offer an exchange. The car for McCormick."

"But once Cody knows I have the car, what's to stop him from killing Mark?"

"You ask to hear from McCormick before the trade and set it up in a very open place. Say that if you don't see McCormick alive and well, you'll take off and forget about the deal. That should do it, I hope."

"Okay, if you're sure it will work. But then how do we put Cody behind bars?"

"The cops already know my suspicions about Cody, as well as the fact that he has McCormick. They'll be in on this the whole time. As soon as you drive up with the Coyote and we see McCormick is okay, we move in for the arrest."

Barbara looked at Judge Hardcastle in a new light. "Thanks, Judge. I appreciate your helping us do this." Then a new thought occurred to her. "But what about Mark? What happens to him after this?"

"If we...," the judge stopped and corrected, "when we get him out of this, McCormick and I will have to decide if our little arrangement is still viable."

As they pulled into Gull's Way, Hardcastle said, "Now, you've got a phone call to make."

"When is he going to call?" Barbara asked for the fifth time, as she made yet another circle around the judge's den.

"He'll call," the judge assured her. "He needs that car for his little show tomorrow, doesn't he? You left a message at his office and left this number for them. He'll call you back. Now you know what you're going to say when he calls, right?"

"Yes," Barbara confirmed. "I demand proof that Mark is alive by talking to him, and set up a time to meet them. Do you think Mark is still okay? You said he was probably injured when they grabbed him. And Cody is a ruthless man. If he was trying to get information from Mark, God knows what he'd do to him. Oh, Judge, I'm so scared for Mark. I never meant for him to get hurt or dragged into anything like this. I just wanted Cody to pay for what he did to my dad."

"And he will, Ms. Johnson, you can bet on that."

Barbara went back to pacing and was stopped short when the phone rang. Hardcastle signaled for her to come around the desk and answer it. She grabbed the phone and said "Hello," and nodded to let the judge know it was Cody.

Hardcastle pressed the button for the speakerphone. Cody's voice came out loud and clear. "Ms. Johnson, what can I do for you? My office said it was urgent that you speak to me."

"I understand that you're looking for me, Mr. Cody. That you sent some people over to pick me up."

"Well, I do have some things of your father's that I thought you might like to have," Cody said evasively. "If you just let me know where you are, I'll have someone deliver them to you."

"Let's cut to the chase, Mr. Cody. I know you have Mark McCormick with you. The cops seem to think he took off to avoid prosecution, but I know Mark better than that. And I have a few contacts of my own. What Mark probably didn't tell you was that I have the Coyote. And if you want it back, you need to let Mark go."

They could almost hear Cody smiling. "Now, Ms. Johnson, what makes you think Mark McCormick is with me?"

"Because I know Mark wouldn't just bust up a judge's house and leave for no reason," Barbara explained. "The cops questioned me for a while about Mark, thinking I might know where he went. And don't even think about sending someone to my house to look for the car. It's not there and I'm not there. I can hide the car and myself for quite a while and you'll have nothing to show your investors tomorrow. So, if you want it back so badly, you'll do as I say."

"Fine, Ms. Johnson," Cody replied. "But I'm going to assume there will be no police. Because if there are, you and Mr. McCormick will both be charged with auto theft. They might go light for you. But McCormick already has a record; I don't imagine they'll be as lenient with him. But I need that car to be in Las Vegas before noon tomorrow. Why don't you drop it by the plant tonight."

"I'm not doing anything until I know that Mark is all right," Barbara informed him. "And I'm not taking your word for it. I want to talk to him."

"Whatever you say," Cody answered, and then in a softer voice, as if he took the phone away from his mouth, they heard, "Go get McCormick and bring him in here."

"He's on his way as we speak," Cody said. "So, my manufacturing plant?"

"No, someplace a bit more public and out in the open," Barbara suggested. "How about the racetrack parking lot. And I want to see Mark out in the open before I get anywhere near you. If I don't see him alive and well, I don't bring the car down."

"The racetrack is okay with me, but there are too many people around at night. Why don't we do it at sunrise tomorrow morning," Cody suggested. "Not too many people up at that hour, you'll get a good view of McCormick, and I'll get the Coyote to Las Vegas before noon."

Barbara hesitated, concerned over Mark's condition, but Hardcastle nodded so she agreed. "Let me talk to Mark."

"You're a lucky man, McCormick," they heard Cody saying in the background, "Flip's daughter is being smart and giving me my car back, in trade for you. Now be nice and tell her thank you."

"Barbara?" Mark's voice came over the line. "What are you doing?"

"Mark!" Barbara cried anxiously. "Are you all right? I've been worried sick about you."

"Barbara, don't give him the car, whatever he says," Mark insisted. "He'll just end up killing us both. He admitted to killing Flip, ahh!" The sound of something hitting something else came over the line.

"Mark, Mark! Are you all right?" Barbara cried into the phone.

"Yeah, I'm still here," Mark grunted back.

"Mark, don't judge me too harshly. It was hard to plead my case to Cody. But he was willing to let you go in exchange for the car. I've got to do this. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Mark agreed as dawning hit. "We'll let the donkey have his way, this time."

Cody grabbed the phone and finished the conversation. "Okay, Ms. Johnson, you know he's alive and well. Do we have a deal? Tomorrow, at sunrise, at the racetrack. You bring the Coyote and I'll bring McCormick, alive."

Barbara agreed to the terms and hung up the phone. She looked nervously at Judge Hardcastle and wondered, "Do you think he understood my little message about you?"

Hardcastle remembered the donkey comment and smiled, "Oh, yeah, he understood."

"When she gets out of the car, we kill them both, understand?" Cody directed Joey Morgan as they were standing outside the office Mark was being held in. "We can't have either one as a witness."

Mark looked out the office door and tried to focus on what else they were saying. Cody had showed up a few minutes ago and informed his men that they'd be leaving shortly. He hoped this worked. For Barbara's sake, anyway. He didn't want her getting hurt. I've got to trust Hardcastle.

What a laugh! Trust the very same judge who had sent him to hell for two years. And who would likely send him there again, when this was over. There was no way Hardcase would want them working together after what had happened. He had screwed things up pretty bad. And the funny thing was, that even though Mark had been dead set against taking Hardcastle's deal at first, he had somewhat accepted it.

Hardcastle had come into the holding cells, had it only been a day and a half ago, and told Mark that he believed the accusations against Cody. Mark had been very surprised. And even more so when the judge had re-offered his deal, but with Cody being the first case.

Driving into Gull's Way and playing the game of killer basketball had made Mark reevaluate ol' Hardcase. There was more to this guy than he originally thought. He wasn't sure what, but his curiosity was piqued, no doubt about it. As he had drifted off to sleep, after the game the other night, he had actually been looking forward to working with the judge, if only to see what made him tick.

Now, he'd never get the chance. If Cody didn't kill him at some point this morning, then he'd be back in jail before you could snap your fingers. Except, maybe they'd let him stop by the hospital first. His shoulder was now on fire and he could barely move his hand. It didn't help that it had been tied to the radiator all night. He had spent a while trying to figure out a way to escape, but with his other hand still handcuffed to the desk, it had been impossible.

Mark tried to focus back on Cody and his men, but the room kept getting fuzzy every now and then, and it was way too hot in here. He was sweating profusely, but wasn't sure where the heat was coming from. The radiator near his hand was stone cold.

Joey Morgan approached and commented to Cody, "He don't look too good Mr. Cody. She said she wanted to see him alive and well. He's alive, but he ain't well."

"She only has to see him from a distance," Cody assured him. "She doesn't know that neither one of them will be walking away from this." He indicated that Morgan and his men should get McCormick ready to go.

They walked over and undid Mark's restraints with a "Time to go, sport." They grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet. The pain in Mark's shoulder so overwhelmed him that the room started getting dark. He felt them drag him outside and push him, none too gently, into the back seat of a car.

At Mark's slight groan, Morgan turned to him and remarked, "It'll all be over soon, McCormick. Then we'll put you out of your misery."

As another goon slid in next to him, Morgan started the vehicle and drove away.

"Are you sure this is going to work, Judge?" Barbara asked worriedly. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Mark wasn't supposed to get hurt. Cody could have done anything to him, by now."

"He'll be fine, Ms. Johnson," Hardcastle attempted to calm her. "Cody needs him alive to make the trade. If he thought McCormick wasn't going to make it long enough to do that, he would have made the trade last night. We just need to sit tight. Cody will be here any minute. We've got plenty of cops already down in that parking lot. They're well hidden in the dumpsters and vendor's stands. We won't let Cody get away."

Barbara still looked worried, especially when two vehicles pulled into the parking lot. From their spot on the hill overlooking this area, they could see just fine. They saw Cody get out of the lead car and several men get out of the second vehicle. They reached in and pulled someone out of the back seat, propping him next to them, outside the car.

Hardcastle lifted his binoculars and focused on the group. It was definitely McCormick, but looking a bit different from the last time the judge had seen him. His feet were bare and his undershirt was bloody and his battered face had a moist sheen covering it. His eyes were open, but just barely, and he was definitely not standing on his own. Damn it, kid! What did you get yourself into?

Hardcastle slid out of the truck and gave words of assurance to Barbara. "Just drive down there. As soon as you get McCormick away from them, we'll move in to get Cody."

Hardcastle closed the door and climbed into the police vehicle next to the truck. Barbara drove down the road and made the turn that would bring her into the parking area.

Cody saw the truck with the accompanying trailer pull into the parking lot. He straightened and said, "Look alive, boys. That's your paycheck rolling in here."

Barbara pulled the truck fairly close to Cody and his men. She took a look over at Mark and realized that her fears were justified. He was barely standing and his face was a chalky white, except where it was starting to bruise. She stopped the truck so that her door was away from Cody. She got out quickly; hoping Judge Hardcastle and the cops would be coming soon. But she had to get Mark away from Cody's men first. They would have no qualms about killing him once the cops rolled in.

Barbara walked around back and began to unhook the trailer. As she did, she yelled, "Cody, send Mark over here."

Cody indicated to Morgan to walk Mark over to Barbara. Mark started walking; wondering at what point the cavalry would be coming. It took every ounce of strength he had just to move his feet and remain upright at the same time. He had made it most of the way, when he heard the sirens. He could feel Morgan freeze, and in that split second, knew it was time to act. Mark spun around and planted his left elbow deep into Morgan's middle. The surprise on Morgan's face was priceless. He wasn't expecting any resistance from the walking wounded.

As Morgan bent over in pain, Mark kicked his weapon out of his hand. But it had taken everything Mark had in him. He sank to his knees. Barbara was at his side in seconds, along with a half dozen cops who were rounding up Cody and his men.

"Oh, my God, Mark! Someone get an ambulance!" Barbara yelled to anyone who would listen, as she knelt next to Mark, keeping him from sliding completely to the ground.

"There's one on the way," Hardcastle said, as he knelt next to McCormick, also. "You okay, kiddo?"

Mark nodded his head slightly. "I'm sorry, Judge. I didn't run out on you, really." His eyes were troubled and starting to droop.

"It's okay, kid, I figured that out," Hardcastle assured him.

Mark shook his head again, "Sarah's mad, I know. Sorry, I'll help..." his voice started to trail off.

Hardcastle put his hand on McCormick's and said, "Don't worry about the gatehouse. You just rest. The ambulance is here. They're gonna fix you good."

That got a chuckle from Mark as he whispered, "Cody said the same thing."

"How long does it take to get a bullet out of someone's shoulder?" Barbara asked anxiously as she resumed her pacing in the hospital waiting room.

"I don't know," Hardcastle replied. "I'm sure they'll give us some news soon."

Hardcastle looked over at the door where they had taken McCormick about an hour ago. His vitals were stable, but he still had a bullet in his shoulder and he was running a pretty high fever. This never should have happened. We should have gone after Cody without anyone getting hurt.

The judge wasn't sure what he would do with McCormick now. With Cody in prison for murder, kidnapping, assault and a host of other related crimes, the Coyote legally belonged to Barbara Johnson. McCormick's getting the car for her was quite legal, now. Of course, there were all the other related crimes, like B & E and Flight to Avoid Arrest.

So where does this put your little project?

Well, he promised he'd do it, if you helped nail Cody. We nailed Cody, so no problem, right? The problem was that the judge felt more than a little guilty about McCormick getting shot. That wasn't really part of the deal.

Maybe I'll give him a choice, let him decide.

Right, that would work. Given a choice, he would choose you over anything else. Fat chance!

Hardcastle was still mulling over his little dilemma when a doctor appeared near the desk and he heard him say McCormick's name. The nurse pointed in their direction.

The judge and Barbara met him halfway.

"Mark, how is he?" demanded Barbara.

The doctor smiled. "He'll be fine. The bullet came out easy enough, just a local anesthetic, no need for surgery. But he lost a good deal of blood and has quite an infection going there. He's got a good number of bruises and contusions, apparently from the beatings he received. We'd like to keep him until his temperature is back to normal and the infection is under control. He's a bit weak right now. Apparently he hadn't had anything to drink or eat for the past day and a half. That, on top of the infection, and the assault, has really depleted his strength."

Hardcastle nodded, "Can we see him?"

"Sure," the doctor agreed. "There's a nurse in there now, just cleaning him up and checking his IV. But she should be done in a minute. You can go on in, he's in treatment room seven. They'll be moving him to a regular room shortly."

Barbara and Hardcastle moved down the hallway until they found the room. They opened the door to find Mark flirting with a pretty brunette, who was trying to fasten the strap on his sling.

Barbara looked up at the judge and smiled, "He must be feeling better."

"Appears so," the judge returned.

At their voices, the nurse looked at them and then back at Mark. "Now don't take that off. You need to keep that arm and shoulder immobile for a while." She turned and walked towards the visitors with a smile. "Make sure he keeps that on. We don't want him opening up that wound again. It's infected enough. The antibiotics in the IV should take care of that. But he has to rest, also. Call me if he needs anything."

"Absolutely," Hardcastle promised as he looked down at her nametag. "Thank you, Julie."

As she walked out, Barbara moved closer to the bed and took Mark's hand. "Mark, I am so sorry that I dragged you into this. I never imagined, when I asked you to get the Coyote for me, that anything like this would happen."

"Barbara," Mark interrupted, "It's okay. I'm gonna be fine and Cody's going to jail for a long time, right?" He looked at Hardcastle for confirmation.

Hardcastle nodded. "The DA's got an airtight case, thanks to you."

"I have to give my thanks to both of you," Barbara said. "I really appreciate what you did for me. And Mark, here," she handed him a set of keys, "I want you to have this."

Mark lifted his good hand and took the keys. "What is this?"

"The keys to the Coyote. I want you to have it."

"Oh, no, Barbara," Mark objected. "I can't accept this."

"Sure you can. I want you to have something to remember me by, while I'm in law school."

Mark nodded, stunned by the enormity of the gift.

Barbara just smiled, looked at the judge, then back at Mark, and said, "I'm going to check with the nurse when they're moving you to that room. I'll be back in a few minutes."

As she left, Mark looked away from the judge. Here it comes, he's gonna tell you your parole has been revoked and you've got more time waiting for you inside. Mark heaved a big sigh. How could he screw up his life so badly in such a short period of time? He didn't want to go back inside, didn't think he could handle being back there. Especially after having six months on the outside. Not that the six months had been great. He had been turned down for every job he had applied for. Nobody wanted a thief working for him. But he had been free. Free to walk around, do what he wanted, eat what he wanted, not live in fear for his life, and look up at the stars every night.

Of course, most of his friends had abandoned him, all except Flip. Flip was the one who was gonna get him back on his feet. But Flip was gone, along with his chances to get back into racing. This judge, this Lone Ranger, had offered him a chance to do something good a few days ago and he had grudgingly accepted. That offer probably wasn't valid anymore. He wouldn't want a Tonto who would botch a case like he had this one; who needed to be rescued, instead of doing the rescuing.

Mark took a deep breath and began, "Judge, I'm sorry this didn't go the way it should have. Look, I'll pay for all the damage to the gatehouse, somehow. I haven't had a lot of luck getting a job, and racing's pretty much out of the question, without Flip's help. I will get the money, but I can't do it inside."

Hardcastle looked at McCormick, and for once, all the wisecracks and smart mouth was gone. He could see fear, real fear, in his eyes. He didn't like it in there.

He didn't belong in there.

Of course, he did. He committed a crime; he had to pay the price.

McCormick's voice brought Hardcastle back. "Judge, I don't want to go back inside," he pleaded. "Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. But don't send me back there."

Hardcastle looked at this fresh-mouthed kid, who was suddenly serious. He thought back on the last day and a half. The kid had gone through a lot, much more than he had expected him to. He had almost gotten killed. But when the chips were down, he had called you for help. And he was still willing to come work with the judge, help him with his cases. Even before they had nailed Cody. He was a man of his word. Hardcastle was beginning to see that.

He'd do anything, huh? Maybe I could get him to get rid of the fresh mouth and wisecracks. That promise would be broken within a few hours. Hardcastle chuckled. It would be too boring, anyway.

Mark got nervous at Hardcastle's slight laugh. He was about to tell the judge to go shove it, when Hardcastle spoke up.

"Well, McCormick, I think we can work something out. As soon as you get released from here and are back on your feet, we'll look at those files and saddle up."

Mark felt the weight lift from his chest, as relief settled in its place. His mouth broke into a huge grin and he smiled, "Hi Ho, Silver away."