Feedback: Comments welcome at lwalker@owlcroft.com

Rating: Teen Plus

Now the important stuff: sincere thanks go out to the three midwives of this homely baby, and also to the Collective for forcing me to go to Arkansas.

This story is gratefully dedicated to Cheri, pants-kicker extraordinaire.

Judge Hardcastle checked his watch as he slammed the truck door shut. Only forty minutes late. That's not so bad, considering McCormick.

“You got the maps, right?” he asked. “And the presents are in the back?”

“Yes, Judge. Yes, Judge. Yes, Judge.” Mark McCormick climbed in behind the wheel and sighed as he fastened his seat belt. He was not a 'morning person' anyway, and Hardcastle had asked those same questions twice already.

“'Cause you almost forgot the maps, ya know,” the judge continued as McCormick turned the key in the ignition. “They were lying right there on the table where ya couldn't miss 'em.”

Mark turned the engine off and leaned back in the driver's seat.

“What?” asked Hardcastle irritatedly.

Mark sighed. “Look. You said this trip was gonna be fun.” He assumed his gruff Hardcastle voice. “It'll be great, McCormick! You'll experience America, McCormick! We'll see the sights, meet the people, get to know our heritage.”

He reverted to himself again. “Well, if you're going to start crabbing right here in the driveway, I'm not going. I'm not going to see anything, meet anyone, get to know anything, I'm not going to pass Go, collect $200, or see Aunt May on her birthday. Now.” He looked across at the judge. “We've got everything on your list, we've made all the plans for the trip, we've done all the work involved. Can you just knock it off for a couple of states, say, maybe 'til New Mexico?”

Judge Hardcastle scowled. “No complaining?”

“No.”

“No crabbing?”

“No.”

“No getting on your case for anything?”

“No.”

Hardcastle thought for a few seconds. “Then I won't be able to talk at all!”

McCormick laughed and re-started the engine. “Okay, here's a thought. Why don't you explain to me about your family?”

“What about my family?” The judge was craning his neck to get a last glimpse of the house as they pulled out of the driveway.

McCormick flipped the left turn signal and checked for traffic on the PCH. As he turned onto the highway, he said “I remember the night you brought me home. Here was this incredible, luxurious estate but you were trying to tell me how you were so poor when you were a kid. You said your family sharecropped in Kansas, but all of your family lives in Arkansas. “

“Well, yeah.” The judge was examining the California map, but shot a glance at his friend. “I was born and brought up in Clarence, and Worden's where Aunt Zora's husband lived.” He folded the map to show the Sacramento Valley and continued, “But in 1931, the Depression was so bad that my folks decided they'd try sharecropping with my mother's cousin in Kansas. 'Course, that was the first year of the drought that started the whole Dust Bowl thing.”

“You were there during the Dust Bowl?” Mark asked curiously.

“Yeah. Don't forget to get onto I-5.”

“I won't.”

“Yeah, it was . . .” Hardcastle shook his head. “It's hard to describe.” He thought for a bit. “You got dust in your ears, in your nose, between your teeth. You couldn't keep it out of the house; it came in around the window frames, the door frames, it got in your food. After a year and a half, my folks decided they'd rather be poor in Arkansas without the dust, and we moved back.”

“Did Aunt May and Aunt Zora move, too?” Mark was beginning the merge with Interstate 5.

“No, Zora was already married and living in Worden by then. Herbert had a real nice haberdasher's there. It's a department store now. And May was helping their dad take care of the family farm outside of Clarence . They had a herd of cattle, Herefords, I think, along with the farm. They had a little better luck than my dad did, I guess. I don't think they were ever as poor as we were.”

McCormick had settled into 'drive 'til you drop' mode. “But everything turned out okay, didn't it? I mean, you had food and clothes and a family. You went to school and became a famous judge--”

Hardcastle snorted at that.

“Well, maybe an infamous judge.” Mark cast an impish glance at his passenger.

Hardcastle snorted again.

“So, really, even though you were poor, you were okay. From all you've told me about your childhood, it sounded like you were pretty happy.” Mark pulled around a slowpoke in the right lane and threw him a derisive look. “You had friends, and a brother and a sister. Sounds to me like something most people might envy.”

“Yeah,” said the judge slowly. “I can't complain. We were well enough off in the things that counted. And we had some help, too, when times got really bad. The best people in the world live in Arkansas.”

It was McCormick's turn to snort. “Like the good people of Clarence? Come on, Judge.”

“Hey, you only met a fraction of the people there, and most of Clarence is good people.” Hardcastle was getting ruffled and made a visible effort to back off a little. “You'll see when we get to Worden. It's only about 30 miles from Clarence and a lot of folks have family in both places.”

“Okay, I'll take your word for it. For now, at least.” Mark glanced at the judge. “Why don't you lean back and catch some z's? I'll wake you up for a pit stop at the Arizona border.”

“You're really gonna do that? You're really gonna just bomb on through there at a hundred miles an hour?”

“Judge, I am taking no chances on ever setting foot in Arizona again. I am gonna go through there like a bat out of Carlsbad.”

Hardcastle sighed. “All right, but I'm not paying for your tickets.” He brightened and added, “But I'm really looking forward to Carlsbad.” He pulled out the New Mexico map and started calculating miles again.

They stopped for lunch in Needles and then the Great Arizona Road Race began. Sure enough, Mark stopped the truck just over the Arizona border four hours later, ticketless. He hopped out of the truck, stretched and said “Hah!” derisively toward the Grand Canyon State.

Hardcastle also got out of the truck to stretch. “Well,” he said mildly. “That was interesting.” He tilted back his baseball cap and looked at McCormick. “But I got a real good idea. How about, on the way back, we go up through Utah and Nevada?”

“Okay with me.” Mark climbed back into the truck on the passenger's side, and buckled his seat belt. “From now on, this is strictly a pleasure trip.”

And it was. They both enjoyed the Carlsbad excursion (cavern tour and museum) and the judge got a little misty at the Alamo while Mark looked on sympathetically. Then, it was on to Arkansas, specifically the little town of Worden.

At six-fifteen on Friday night, Mark pulled the truck up in front of a two-story house just inside the town limits and turned off the engine. Looking at the Studebaker in the driveway, he smiled wryly. “Somehow, I think I would know Aunt Zora lives here.”

The judge got out a little stiffly. “Yep. I bet she's had that car since her husband died, and that was a good twenty years ago.”

“Milton!” The screen door banged open and Aunt May was heading for them, arms wide. “Milton! You made it!”

The door banged again and Aunt Zora was on her way toward them. “Milton!” she called, just as Aunt May said “Mark!” and embraced him heartily, giving him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

After both aunts had thoroughly welcomed both men, McCormick offered to bring in the suitcases, “. . . and somebody's presents,” he said archly.

“Oh, forget the suitcases 'til after dinner, dear.” Aunt Zora hooked her arm through his and drew him up the sidewalk after the judge and Aunt May. “The pot roast has been done for half an hour already.” She smiled up at him engagingly. “And there's pie.”

Mark allowed himself to be persuaded.

The pot roast was excellent and the pie was even better. The first interruption of an idyllic vacation came the next morning at breakfast when the judge learned his brother, Gerald, was expected that afternoon.

“Ah, Je-jeepers.”

McCormick looked at him in mock surprise at his language.

The judge glared back at him. “Why didn't anybody tell me Gerald's gonna be here?”

“Because we all knew this was exactly how you'd react, Milton.” Aunt May handed Mark the plate of biscuits. “Mark, dear, would you like some more coffee?”

McCormick nodded, his mouth full of home-cured ham, and smiled his thanks.

“Well,” grumbled Hardcastle, “somebody shoulda told me, so I could've stayed home.” He shoved a biscuit across his plate peevishly. “I don't know why --”

Aunt Zora interrupted him firmly. “I don't think you have any right to complain, Milton. It's May's birthday and she surely has the right to invite anyone she pleases. Gerald's her nephew, too, you know; and if the two of you can't get along for a few days, just long enough to celebrate her birthday, then you'll both be acting like children.” She pointedly set another plate of ham directly in front of Mark.

The judge muttered a few words, looked up at his aunt from under his eyebrows, muttered some more and then spoke reluctantly. “Okay.”

McCormick put a slice of ham on the judge's plate.

“I'll try. But, he's gotta try too.”

Mark put another slice of ham on the judge's plate.

“And if he gets too annoying, I'll just take a walk or something. Will you cut that out!” he yelled as McCormick put a third ham reward on his plate.

The aunts grinned at each other and May handed Mark the honey for his biscuits.

“What are your plans for the day, Milton?” Zora asked with a smile.

The judge was working on the ham with enthusiasm. “Well, I thought I'd show McCormick the town. See what's changed, what's stayed the same. Maybe take a run out to the crick --”

“Oh, here we go again,” murmured Mark.

“Show him Uncle Thurmond's farm, stuff like that. Maybe run any errands you got for us.” Hardcastle spread honey on a biscuit. “Might even shop for a birthday card at the drugstore.” He winked at May, who smiled back.

“Hey!” Mark looked up suddenly from his fifth biscuit. “What about Warren? Is she coming, too?”

May shook her head. “No, dear. She couldn't make it. Something to do with a failed continuance. But she promised to call Saturday.”

“Oh, too bad.” McCormick thought about that for a minute. “On the other hand, maybe not. I think we'll have enough Hardcastles as it is. I am seriously out-numbered here.”

“You're out-numbered all by yourself in a closet,” muttered the judge.

Zora immediately snatched away his plate of food and put it in the sink.

Gerald Hardcastle arrived in a rental car from the Fort Smith airport right after lunch. He proudly dispayed his new moustache, which the judge immediately compared to a dead caterpillar. Gerald responded with a few remarks about being glad at least he was keeping his hair, unlike some others in his family. This resulted in both men being thoroughly scolded by their aunts and having Mark assigned to baby-sit them while May and Zora baked. The brothers looked at each other sheepishly and agreed to better behavior; they even managed to be cordial during the afternoon, which was spent in looking over photo albums and making black walnut cake for May's birthday that night.

McCormick enjoyed both activities, but especially the photos of a wee Milton Hardcastle in knee pants and bow tie.

“I don't know why my father always took pictures of us on Sundays.” The judge tried once again to close the album. “You'd think one or two would show us hoeing the garden or feeding the pigs.”

“I need a copy of this one, Judge.” Mark was pointing to a particular photo that showed a juvenile version of the scowl he'd become so familiar with. “To hang over the mantel in the gatehouse.”

The judge smiled falsely and nodded, grabbing the photo album. “Sure thing. It can go right next to your mug shot.”

“Whoa!” Gerald was appalled. “Milt! That's not a very nice thing to say. Mark, I apologize for Milt. He didn't mean it.”

The judge was incensed. “You can't apologize for me! Only I can apologize for me and I'm not doing it! You can't--”

“Milton?” Aunt Zora's head was peering around the kitchen door. “Is there a problem?”

“No, ma'am,” said Mark, standing up to get between the brothers. He grinned at her. “Old Hardcase here was just showing Gerald how he yells at the bad guys when we catch them. Right, Judge?”

“Yeah. That's right, Aunt Zora. Milt and I are getting along just fine.” Gerald coughed nervously. “Say, how's that cake coming along? I get to lick the beaters!”

“Hey!” yelled 'Old Hardcase'. “But I get to lick the bowl!”

Mark shook his head and grinned some more. “Life with the Cleaver family,” he murmured.

Aunt May's seventy-fifth birthday party was a big hit. The black walnut cake was pronounced the best ever and the presents were much appreciated. Mark took some pictures of the family with Gerald's camera, and then had a couple taken of him with the aunts.

After everyone had coffee, Zora reminded everyone that the next day was Sunday, so they shouldn't stay up too late.

“We've checked into the Catholic church for you, Mark. They have Mass at eight in the morning and again at eleven.” She paused. “But, of course, you're welcome to go to church with us instead. We're Baptists.”

“Most everyone around here is,” explained May. “Except for the Methodists.”

Zora nodded. “Do you want to me call you for the early Mass, dear? We go to our service at eleven.”

“Uh, no.” Mark tried to come up with a polite way of staying home, but failed. “No, eleven's fine for me, too.” He caught Hardcastle hiding a grin by rubbing his face, and added, “That was very nice of you.” He glared at the judge defiantly.

“And, Milton,” May was starting to pick up plates and cups. “Do you need your sport jacket pressed? Knowing the way you pack, I think it might be a good idea.” Mark helped out by collecting the judge's plate which gave him the opportunity to grin at Hardcastle's discomfiture.

McCormick came out of Mass in a very good mood, looking forward to an enormous Sunday dinner. He'd arranged to walk back from church since it was only about a quarter of a mile and the weather was cooperating for a change.

Up ahead he saw a young black woman struggling with three heavy shopping bags and increased his pace. There were also four teen-aged boys, all white, leaning against a pickup truck a bit ahead, staring at her avidly.

One of the boys called out, as the girl approached them, “Oooh, mama. Them buffalo gals just make me all itchy inside. You know what I mean, boys, all hungry and needy.” The others hooted and laughed, slapping each other on the back and shaking their heads.

Mark broke into a trot and caught up with her just as she passed the truck-leaners, carefully avoiding even glancing in their direction.

“Excuse me, miss?” He used his most charming smile. “Can I help you with those?”

A weary face looked up at him in surprise. “Well, I don't live too much further . . .” She glanced at the teenagers warily. “I appreciate the offer, but--”

“Hey, back off! This little bit of chocolate's spoken for!” The speaker was a thin teenager with lank, blond hair and grubby overalls. “You know how they all love to just give it away. Well, this ol' boy's first in line for it. You just get behind the rest of the boys here and wait your turn.” More raucous laughter and shouts of agreement.

Mark raised his eyebrows and looked at the young woman skeptically. “What is this? Have I wandered into 'To Kill a Mockingbird' or something?”

She bent her head to hide a smile, then gasped as McCormick took two of the shopping bags from her and started walking.

“Oh, wait!” She ran after him, leaving the teens angry, but undecided how to respond.

“At least let me carry two of them.” She reached for his right hand, but he pulled away.

“I've got them okay. And they're way too heavy for you.” He hefted one experimentally. “What's in here anyway, bricks?”

“No, books. My church is collecting books for the old age home and I didn't realize we'd get this many or I'd've taken the car.” She looked at him shyly. “Thank you for helping. My house is just up there, the white one with blue shutters.”

“Got it. By the way, I'm Mark McCormick. You're . . .?” He tried the smile again.

It seemed to work just fine. She smiled back and said, “Martha. Martha Hawkins.”

He stopped and set down the bag in his right hand. “Nice to meet you, Martha.” He extended his hand.

She flinched back from him. “Oh, no, don't. It'll only make them worse.”

Sure enough, like hounds baying on a scent, the four boys starting howling and shouting what sounded like epithets of some kind.

“Do you care?” asked Mark, hand still out-stretched.

“Well,” said Martha slowly, “My father says not to tease a mad dog.” She sighed, then smiled. “But they're already in a lather, aren't they?” She took his hand in hers. “It's very nice to know you, Mr. McCormick.”

“Hey! I'm not quite old enough for that!” They started walking again. “Call me Mark.”

“All right. Mark it is. Have you come visiting someone in Worden? I don't remember seeing you before.”

Mark explained about Aunt May's birthday and then they discussed the book drive, all the while pointedly ignoring the animal noises and catcalling from the gang following them.

Finally, just short of Martha's house, Mark heard the word he'd been more or less expecting to hear and said, “That's it!” He put down the bags of books and turned to face the boys, who were only about ten yards back.

“That is absolutely it! If you kids don't have anything better to do than make fools of yourselves and insult your neighbors, then it's time your parents were told what their little boys get up to when they're not around. I'm telling you right now, knock it off, apologize to this lady and then get home, or so help me, I'll make you wish you had!”

A light baritone voice came from behind him, clear and carrying, “I think the part about going home is certainly a good idea. An apology would be appreciated, but that, I suppose, is asking for too much. Just as a point of interest, young men, your activities could be construed as assault. If I should decide to report them to the authorities, as a matter of pro bono publico, it could be a little unpleasant for you. Martha, introduce me to your friend, would you?”

Mark turned to see a tall, slender man in his forties who greatly resembled Martha. He didn't give Martha a chance to introduce them, but immediately stuck out his hand and said his name.

“I'm happy to meet you, Mr. McCormick. I'm Martha's father, Benjamin Hawkins. Won't you please come in?” Mr. Hawkins gestured toward the white clapboard house.

Mark could hear the scuff of gravel and surly voices fading that meant the 'gang' had departed. “I'd like to, but I'm expected back for Sunday dinner. And if you know the Hardcastles, you know how good their dinners are!”

“I certainly do. But before you go, please allow me to thank you for providing an escort for my daughter.” Ben Hawkins put his arm around Martha's shoulder and looked at her solemnly. “It's nearly irresistible at times, isn't it? Teasing the mad dog?”

Martha smiled wryly at her father. “Yes. But I'll work on it.”

“Look, it was probably my fault, Mr. Hawkins.” Mark walked past him to put his two bags of books inside the white picket fence gate. “I think I maybe made things worse for your daughter by being so . . .um . . .”

“Intransigent?” Hawkins grinned suddenly. “You must've caught it from the Hardcastles.”

McCormick grinned back. “If that means stubborn, then, yeah. Uh, I just hope I haven't caused you any extra trouble with those yahoos. Would it be all right if I checked back tomorrow, maybe brought one of the Hardcastles along? See, I'm here with Milton Hardcastle and you probably know he's a judge, and you're a lawyer, right? So I figure the two of you have a lot in common.”

Ben Hawkins thought for a moment, then smiled. “The case for assault, is that it?”

Mark nodded. “So, we'll drop by tomorrow then. Afternoon okay?” He turned to Martha. “You're out of school for the summer, right?”

She chuckled. “I graduated from high school two weeks ago. Please do come by. But don't worry about causing us any trouble. Daddy's reputation is enough to keep trouble away from us.”

“Great. Now, I gotta get going or the judge will get all the drumsticks.” Mark trotted off, calling back “Nice to meet you! See you tomorrow!”

The Hawkinses looked at each other. “He seems to be quite a nice fellow,” Hawkins picked up the two bags Mark had carried. “And altogether a man of principle. It will be a pleasure to meet Judge Hardcastle.”

Martha looked after Mark briefly, then followed her father into the house. “I just hope he doesn't have any trouble with those guys because of this.”

Sunday dinner was enlivened by Mark's mad-dogs story.

“Well,” Aunt May was disgusted and disturbed. “There was never any trouble of that kind 'til those Jordans moved here, and that son of theirs needs someone to take him in hand, if you ask me.”

Aunt Zora nodded firmly. “That's right. We've always gotten along with all our neighbors here. There's just no place in Worden for feelings like that. Here, Mark, have some more potatoes.”

Gerald cleared his throat resoundingly and reached for the dish of peas. “I don't think I've met anyone named Hawkins. And you said he's a lawyer?”

“Yep. You could go with us tomorrow, Gerry, and if he and Hardcase start talking law, we can visit with Martha.” Mark offered the judge some more chicken.

“Thanks, I think I will.” Hardcastle forked another drumstick onto his plate. “I don't remember any Hawkins here, either. How long they been around?”

“Oh, they haven't been here that long, dear. About, what . . .” Zora looked at May for help.

May took up the story. “About six years now. Not very long, but they're such nice people. His wife died just a year or so after they'd moved here. Now, she was originally from here, a Brigance, I believe.”

“That's right. Maud Brigance, she was,” Zora took over again. “She moved to Chicago and got married and I think they only had the one child. Then, she got sick and wanted to come back here. Poor thing. She was the best gardener I ever knew.”

“And now these roughnecks and hoodlums are bothering her daughter, and probably all the other black families, too.” May put another biscuit on Mark's plate. “It just makes me so angry! Zora, we have to do something.”

“Now, Aunt May,” Gerald held up his hands placatingly. “We have a famous judge here who could give you some real useful advice on how to handle this, I'm sure.” he winked at McCormick. “Milt. What would you advise?”

Hardcastle mopped up the last of the gravy on his plate, and chewed thoroughly before he answered. “Well. First, I'd need to know some more. McCormick. They were all kids you said? In their teens?”

Mark nodded, his mouth full of biscuit.

“Okay, the first thing I'd do is find out if the families involved want anyone interfering in their business. This Hawkins guy doesn't sound stupid to me and he's gotta know how to pick up a phone and call the sheriff or the juvenile division of County Services. The next thing I'd do is tell anybody looking to get involved to leave it to the professionals to handle, because I don't want any of my relatives butting into it.”

He leaned back in his chair and looked at his aunts, softening his tone slightly. “I know you mean well, and these are your neighbors and neighbors look out for each other. And you can offer to help out your friends, but don't go getting yourselves hurt, okay? That's not gonna help anybody and it'll make me madder'n hell if you do.”

“Milton! Your language!” said the aunts in unison.

“Sorry.” He held up an apologetic hand. “All I'm saying is, if there's trouble, I don't want anybody named Hardcastle involved in it, okay?”

Zora started clearing the table. “Well, we certainly wouldn't be in any danger with Ben Hawkins around. He's a martial arts expert, Milton. What are the three, May? Karate, tae-kwon-do and . . .something. Thank you, Mark.”

McCormick was stacking plates and silverware. “That must be what Martha meant. She said her father's reputation kept them safe. He sounds like quite a guy.”

May carried the leftover chicken into the kitchen and re-appeared with two pies. “We have apple and blueberry. I suppose you all want a piece of each?”

The three men smiled and nodded happily.

Dinner on Sunday night was leftovers. No one but McCormick had much of an appetite for them, so they ended up snacking in front of the television, watching “60 Minutes”. Just as that ended, Zora stood and announced, “Now, here are the rules. You can't talk during the show, only during the commercials and if you've seen it before, you can't say who did it. You can take notes, but you have to name your prime suspect during the last ten minutes. Understood?”

“No, what?” the judge was confused.

Gerald patted his arm. “Milt. It's 'Murder, She Wrote'. No talking, and you have to try to solve the mystery before it ends.” He whispered, as the opening credits began, “I've been through this before.”

“Oh,” Hardcastle shot a look at McCormick, who seemed amused. “Well, if it's . . .”

“Shhhh!” said the aunts.

“I'm gonna take a walk, Judge,” Mark whispered. “You wanna go?”

Hardcastle shook his head, glaring back at the aunts. He made a shooing motion and settled back on the couch more comfortably so he could nap during the program.

Gerald snickered and got a “shhh” of his own.

After almost ten minutes, the judge gave up and decided a walk might be a good idea, after all.

He stood on the front porch for a minute, not turning on the porch light because it would only attract mosquitoes. He enjoyed the fresh air and the sounds of birds starting to nest for the night. It was still just light enough to see for a ways, but dark was setting in. Then he yawned, stretched mightily, and started down the steps to the front yard. Just as he reached the gate he heard a familiar “ooof!” from the small field across the road. Peering into the dusk, he heard muffled cursing and what sounded like threats. Then, there was a thud and a short cry of pain in a voice he knew better than his own.

“Hey!” he shouted as he ran across the road. “What the hell's going on?”

A group of shadowy figures turned as he approached and he could see someone curled on the ground in a fetal position. “All right!” he bellowed, assuming the stance of someone with a rifle. “Just stand right there! The first one that twitches gets an earful of lead!” Then he made the clicking noise he and Gerald had used to simulate cocking a gun when playing cowboys.

Irrationally, the group scattered and fled immediately.

“Gerald! Hey, Gerry!” Hardcastle yelled toward the house. Then he approached the groaning McCormick on the ground. He dropped to his knees and touched McCormick gently on the shoulder.

“Hey, kiddo. They're gone, okay? What happened? Are ya all right?”

“Do I look all right?” Mark said, through clenched teeth. “I think those bastards broke my ribs.” He grimaced horribly and moaned again.

“Milt!” Gerald waved a flashlight in their general direction. “Milt! Where are ya?”

“Over here. Wait! Go back inside and call a doctor. And turn on the porch light.” He turned back to McCormick. “Just stay still. Everything's gonna be okay.”

Mark closed his eyes against the pain in his ribs. “Yeah, everything's gonna be just peachy.” He grabbed at the judge's arm. “You gotta call Mr. Hawkins. They could be headed over there next.”

“I will, I will. And I'll call the cops. You just take it easy there.”

After a few more minutes, McCormick was able to stand, with help, and slowly walk to the house. Gerald and Milt each supported an elbow and as they got closer to the porch, the judge noticed the abrasions and bruises on Mark's face. The aunts were waiting just inside the door with a first aid kit and serious expressions.

“Put him in the parlor, on the divan,” Zora was holding the parlor door open.

“No,” gritted McCormick. “I want to go upstairs.”

The judge shook his head. “You're the one that calls me a donkey. You shoulda stayed out there on the ground until the doctor got here. Now, go lie down in the parlor, will ya?”

McCormick tried to shake off his assistants, breath hissing between his teeth. “I'm not a donkey, I'm intransigent and I am goingupstairs.”

“Okay, okay.” Gerald shot a look at Milt and the aunts. “Let's get him upstairs, then.”

Slowly, carefully, Mark was helped up the stairs to the room he shared with the judge. Once there, Aunt May cleaned the scrapes on his face, while Aunt Zora called the Hawkins family to check on them. Gerald was taking off Mark's shoes and socks when Zora came in to reassure them the Hawkinses had been warned.

Judge Hardcastle was frowning out the window. “You think you could swear to who they were?” He turned to the bed. “Not an assumption, an eye-witness I.D.”

“You've got to be kidding, Milt! We know who they were!” Gerald stood up and faced his brother angrily. “And we know what we're going to do about it, too! As soon as the doctor's been here, we're gonna find those punks and pound them into the dirt.”

“No,” said the judge quietly. “As soon as the doctor gets here, we're calling the sheriff and turning the whole thing over to him.”

“Not the sheriff, dear,” Aunt May had finished with Mark's face. She turned to the Hardcastle brothers. “They expanded the town limits last year to include us, so it would be the police chief. But I agree with Gerald. Those boys have to be taught a lesson and getting a fine paid by their parents won't do it.”

“Certainly not,” chimed in Zora from the doorway. “I say, it's time to fight fire with fire!”

“Do I get a vote?” said a quiet voice from the bed. “I vote that everybody calms down and we let the judge handle it. Okay?” Mark winced and added, “If we don't do this right, the charge won't stick and instead we'll be in trouble.”

“There,” said Hardcastle. “The kid's right. Now you two,” he pointed at his aunts, “go make some coffee and keep a watch out for the doctor, while Gerry and I get the kid's clothes off.”

“It's not right. It's just not right.” May and Zora grumbled down the hallway. “No, it certainly isn't. It's not fair and we'll just see what the police do and if it's not enough . . .”

As the judge started easing Mark's t-shirt over his head, Mark looked at him seriously and said, “First Arizona and now Arkansas. I swear to you, Judge, I am never setting foot in Alabama.”

“Huh . . . how 'bout Alaska?” asked Hardcastle.

“Nope. And you can forget about Africa and Asia and . . . and Amsterdam, too!” Mark was nearly undressed by now, and clearly in a great deal of pain.

The judge thought for a minute. “The Arctic?”

McCormick stifled a tiny laugh and grimaced instead. “Don't do that!”

“Sorry.”

Gerald answered the knock at the door. Zora told him, “Doctor Brent's parking his car. How's Mark doing?”

“They're naming countries to each other. It's probably some kind of joke.” Gerald came out into the hallway to join her. “Don't say anymore to Milt until he's talked to the police. I'm not going to let those little bas . . .uh, brats get away with this.”

“Us, neither,” she said ungrammatically. “Oh, good, Doctor Brent, thank you so much for coming.”

A short, slightly-built man in a track suit and bifocals appeared at the top of the stairs. “So where's this patient I've been hearing about?”

“Right in here.” Zora tapped on the door again. “Milt? Mark? The doctor's here.”

Hardcastle opened the door and ushered in the doctor. “Doctor? I'm Milt Hardcastle and this is Mark McCormick. Is there anything we can get for you? Anything you need?”

Doctor Brent set his medical bag on the floor, looked at Mark, and replied, “No. The patient seems, to my trained medical eye, to be conscious and capable of dealing with me in person.” He turned to the judge. “So, scram.” He turned back to Mark and sat carefully beside him on the bed. Looking up to find a startled Hardcastle staring at him uncertainly, he added, “Go on. Shoo. Scat. My patient and I want to be alone together.”

Hardcastle looked at McCormick, saw he was weakly enjoying the doctor's bedside manner and scrammed.

“All right,” said Doctor Brent, “where do you hurt and why are you here instead of wherever it happened?”

“Everywhere, and I'm here because I'm intransigent,” answered Mark honestly.

“Good answer. I'll work on your face in a minute, but first I want to check your abdomen and ribs. If you're not too banged up, you can sit up for the rest of the exam. That would make things a lot easier for me, and that's what this is all about, right?” The doctor looked McCormick seriously and said, “This is probably going to hurt. You tell me when it really gets excruciating by screaming, okay?”

“Deal,” said Mark faintly.

Twenty minutes later, Doctor Brent came lightly down the stairs, whistling 'Smoke Gets in Your Eyes'.

“Folks,” he said to the group waiting anxiously in the foyer, “Things ain't as bad as they seem. A couple of cracked ribs, some scrapes, a few bruises, what the hey. You take him over to the clinic tomorrow for some x-rays and get these prescriptions filled; keep him quiet, make him cough three times every two hours, feed him up a little, and spray for Japanese beetles. You got 'em in your rose bushes out front.”

“You know, you're a real comedian, doc, huh?” said Hardcastle angrily. “Why can't we take him for x-rays tonight, maybe get him checked into the hospital?”

“Why?” The doctor came right up to the judge and looked up at the older man. “Sonny, I'll tell you why. Because the x-ray tech's not here until tomorrow and all they're going to find is two cracked ribs that I've got strapped tighter than a tick on a dog. As for being a comedian, you try telling people they've got cancer, or that you don't know why their baby died, or that their mother has a few weeks to live, and we'll see how you deal with it. Now get upstairs and check on that boy; he should be feeling pretty loopy right now from the pain pill. But he's going to be fine. I should know; I'm a doctor.”

Doctor Brent paused, then said, as if to himself, “Now who's the responsible adult here?” Turning suddenly to Aunt May, he held out two prescriptions and a bottle of pills. “One every four hours 'til after breakfast. Then every six 'til Tuesday morning. Make sure he takes them, too!”

Aunt May took the bottle and shared a meaningful look with Aunt Zora.

“Doctor, before you go,” Zora put a hand on his arm and escorted toward the front door, “we need to discuss ah . . . excuse us, Milt. Gerald.” She pointed at the front room.

Shamelessly listening at the door, the two men heard a murmur of female voices, then the doctor's brisk tones saying “Certainly not. It's on the house. Don't you think I know what's happened? Besides, I get to meet the most fascinating people in this job.” He raised his voice a little. “Especially those two old coots listening at the door.”

The two old coots looked at each other abashedly. As soon as the screen door slammed, the judge went for the stairs, calling back to Aunt May to bring the bottle of pills up when she had a chance.

At the door to his and Mark's room, he paused, then cautiously opened the door and tiptoed in.

“Judge! Heya!” called McCormick.

“Hey yourself, sport,” replied Hardcastle. McCormick was definitely feeling more comfortable. He was slightly propped up against pillows and wearing a goofy grin that made the judge smile right back at him. “You're doing a little better, huh? But you're still going to be hors de combat for the next few days, ya know.”

“Judge!” McCormick was shocked. “Language!”

The older man laughed a little and spelled “H-O-R-S, idiot.”

“Yeah, just like it sounds!” Mark grinned some more. “The doctor gave me a pill, you know,” he said confidingly.

“Actually, I could probably have figured that one out.” Hardcastle leaned against the dresser. “I gotta go call the cops, but I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. You think you'll be able to talk to them tonight?”

“Nope,” Mark said happily. His eyes were definitely starting to stay closed. He jerked them open again. “Snice.”

Hardcastle frowned. “Say what?”

“Snice.” McCormick yawned and snuggled a little deeper into the pillows supporting his back. “Havin' people worry 'bout me.” He sighed contentedly.

Judge Hardcastle waited until Mark had started snoring lightly, then muttered, “Well, I worry about you, too, you know.”

As he gently closed the door, he could swear he saw a tiny smile on the sleeping man's face. Nah, he's sound asleep; just a trick of the light.

“Milt, I tell ya we can handle this ourselves. In fact, I bet there are plenty of other folks in town who'd want to be in on this.” Gerald was pacing, too agitated to sit. The aunts were together on the sofa, nodding agreement as he talked.

The judge rubbed his forehead wearily. “So, let me get this straight, Gerry. You want to basically form up a lynch mob here, is that it?”

“No,” said his brother patiently. “I just want to do what you and Mark always do. You go after the bad guys, right?” He spread his hands and assumed an overdone expression of reasonability. “So, we go after the bad guys. And if they happen to get a little roughed up on the way to the station, well . . . that would be a shame, wouldn't it?”

“No, it wouldn't!” shouted Hardcastle. “It would be against the law!” He made an obvious attempt to retrieve his temper. “And that's not what we do. We track down the bad guys and then let the police do their jobs. Sometimes we have to take people into custody because there's no cop around, but--”

“Then what's the difference?” Gerry interrupted. “You go out and get the bad guys and take them to the cops. That's all I want to do, Milt.”

“No, it isn't. You want to take their bruised and bleeding bodies to the cops.” Hardcastle sat down tiredly. “We don't do that.”

Aunt May decided to intervene. “Milton, suppose you and Gerald and a few of our neighbors just go find the boys? With you along, they wouldn't be too badly 'roughed up'.”

“That's right, dear.” Aunt Zora smiled at him. “You could ride herd on the posse and see that things don't get too out of hand.” She looked pleased with her Western analogies.

The judge did not look pleased. He sighed and said, “Look. I'm gonna go call the police now and we're not going to have any more talk of posses or taking the law into our own hands, okay?” He sighed again. “I know you're mad about what happened to Mark; so am I. But we're gonna deal with this legally. That's what I've been trying to get through to him all this time and you're not helping by trying to take an end-run around the law.”

He got up slowly and went to the hall. “What's the number for the police?”

“It's on a sticker on the side of the phone,” answered Zora, beckoning to her sister and Gerald. “We'll talk later, in the kitchen,” she whispered. They nodded and then leaned back to listen to the one-sided phone conversation.

After Milt had gone to bed, the three conspirators met in the kitchen over cups of cocoa. It wasn't Gerald's usual late-night drink, but he was pleased to have remembered to bring a bottle of scotch with him. It was carefully hidden in his bedroom and the aunts carefully checked the level every morning with knowing winks to each other.

“Now,” said Zora, “here's my plan. While Milt and Mark are at the clinic and the police station tomorrow, we can call some of the others who've had trouble with these malicious little hoodlums. I think we'll find plenty of help in tracking them down and making them pay for what they've done over the last few weeks.” She nodded definitively. “We've let this go on for far too long.”

May curled her hands around her mug protectively. “I don't know. Milton was pretty upset with us just for talking about going after them. It is sort of his field of expertise.”

Gerald snorted derisively. “Expertise, hah! It doesn't take a lot of expertise to catch some punks and teach them a little lesson!”

Zora nodded again. “If we let the police handle this, May, they'll get a talking-to and their parents will have to pay a fine, but that's about it.” She patted her sister's shoulder. “I know it's not pleasant, dear, but it's a question of responsibility. We have to be responsible for the safety of our neighbors and they have to be responsible for the things they've done.”

“But they are just children, Zora. At least most of them.” May frowned at her cocoa. “You know Sam Pickett's only seventeen and Willy's a year younger. That's why they'll be treated as juveniles. Because they are juveniles.”

“Juvenile delinquents,” snarled Gerald.

“That's true, but the other two aren't,” Zora argued. “That Aaron Jordan's at least eighteen and he's the ringleader. If we don't do something about them now, then they'll just go on hurting and scaring people. You know their parents aren't going to put a stop to anything. They just don't care what their children do.” She looked down at the tabletop briefly, then back at her sister. “Besides, it almost broke my heart to see Mark like that. Surely, we have the right to protect our own, May?”

May let out a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, I think we do. And I'm so furious that he got hurt here, because of my birthday. They just can't be allowed to get away with it. All right then. First, we should make a list of the people who've had trouble with that bunch.”

“And don't forget to ask them for information about the gang when you call,” Gerald suggested.

“Right. Now we're getting organized!” said Zora.

Somewhat to Hardcastle's surprise, Doctor Brent stopped by the x-ray room to discuss the results with him and Mark.

“Just cracked, like I said. Here,” he handed the x-rays to the judge. “You,” he said to Mark, “hold still.” He then proceeded to carefully take off the tape he'd put in place the night before.

“I don't need this now?” Mark was pleased, but surprised.

“Nah. This was just in case I was wrong and they were displaced fractures. But I'm never wrong. Just ask any of my patients.” Brent was looking for a place to dispose of the tape. He finally decided to hand that to the judge, too. “How are you doing on those pills?”

Mark grinned at him. “I'm doing just fine on those pills. Can I have some more to take home with me?”

“Certainly not. You're goofy enough as it is.”

“Hah!” said Hardcastle. “You're right, but how'd you know?”

“He hangs around with you, doesn't he?” The doctor turned his back on the judge's irritated expression. “Now, keep taking them,” he said to Mark sternly. “They won't have quite the effect on you that they did last night; that was partly tiredness and partly relief from pain and partly chemical. But take it easy, don't do anything that hurts and be sensible. If everyone was just sensible, we'd have world peace. Now go away. I have sick people to tend to.”

The judge glowered as Mark thanked Doctor Brent profusely and nearly dragged the younger man out the door. “Come on already. We're gonna be late getting to the station.”

They were, in fact, punctual almost to the minute, as Mark pointed out. He was pointing it out for the third time when the police chief opened his door to usher them inside.

Chief Sheridan sat behind his desk and looked at the two as they seated themselves. “I understand from my sergeant that you're ready to help us with a certain little problem.” He looked at Mark in particular then. “From your appearance, I'm assuming the charge will be assault and battery, but I'd appreciate it if you'd start by telling me exactly what happened. As much information as you can give me.”

“Well,” Mark glanced at the judge, then back at Sheridan. “About eight o'clock last night I went for a walk down Klein Road from the Harrison residence, heading east. I walked for about five minutes, then came back the same way. I was on the south side of the road, nearly opposite the house when someone grabbed me from behind. At almost the same time someone else hit me in the stomach.”

“Which is why you didn't yell for help,” Hardcastle murmured.

“After that, I was hit a few more times, knocked down and kicked in the ribs.” Mark stopped, then asked, “What else do you need to know?”

“Well, first, can you identify your attackers?” Chief Sheridan looked hopeful.

“You bet.”

“Then, next, can you tell me why they did it?”

Mark shrugged, then winced. “Gotta remember not to do that. I have reason to believe it was because I interfered with some of their fun yesterday.”

“We've heard about that from Ben Hawkins. I got in touch with him first thing this morning and he and Martha told us all about it.” Sheridan pursed his lips. “It would help if you remember something they said that made you believe that was the reason for their attack on you. Do you remember anything specific being said? Any explanation or threats?”

The judge noticed that McCormick was putting on his 'prison face'. Probably no one else would have noticed the wall going up, but Hardcastle was familiar with it from earlier days and was unhappy to see it re-appear. What's going on? Is it just 'cause this guy's a cop?

“Yes, I remember they said to stay away from certain people who live here. Black women.” Mark was unemotional, contained.

“Anything else? Did they threaten retaliation if you didn't?”

“Yes. They threatened to attack me again. Sexually.”

The judge almost heard the click in his brain, putting the threat together with McCormick's withdrawal from the outside.

“Oh.” Sheridan whistled soundlessly. “And did you take that threat seriously?”

Mark thought for a moment. “From one of them, maybe another. The other two sounded a little shocked.”

Chief Sheridan stared at the blotter on his desk and scratched his cheek. Raising his head again, he said, “I'm going to tell you what those boys have been up to so far. In the last three and a half weeks, they've harassed every black family in Worden and in a three-mile radius of the town limits. They've turned on outside faucets and left them to run overnight. They've thrown tomatoes at houses and even broken one window. They've made offensive and derogatory remarks and insinuations. They've disturbed and angered people, but most folks around here have been willing to deal with them by ignoring them and keeping a watch out for any more 'pranks'.”

The chief shook his head. “I suppose not getting involved in formal charges is understandable, up to a point. But that point's way behind us now. The attack on you was the first reported incident of physical harm and I'll ask you to make a formal report of that to Sergeant Denton. While you're doing that, I think I'll just find out where those boys are and how much their parents are aware of.” He stood up and so did the judge and McCormick.

“You'll let me know what you find out.” Hardcastle didn't make it a question.

“I will. And, Mr. McCormick, thank you for coming in. I know you probably just want to get home, but if you could make that statement now, it might make things a lot easier for me.” The chief offered a hand to each of the two men on the other side of the desk.

It only took a short time for Mark's statement to be repeated, typed and signed. Then he and Hardcastle headed for the truck.

The judge watched McCormick ease himself up onto the seat and then helped him close the passenger side door. Then Hardcastle circled to the driver's side and got in.

“Steps are hard, huh?” He started the engine and checked to see there was no traffic before pulling away from the curb. “I noticed you having some trouble coming down the stairs this morning.” After waiting for a response, he continued, “Going upstairs when we get back won't be easy. You sure you don't want us to make you up a bed in the parlor?”

That forced an answer, so McCormick gave him one. “Up's not the problem. It's down that really hurts.”

They drove on another half-mile, then Hardcastle pulled into an empty church parking lot and turned off the engine.

Mark looked at him. “I don't need to go in, I went yesterday.”

Hardcastle looked back. Then he looked at the steering wheel. “I don't know how to do this,” he said plaintively. He took off his Yankee cap, scratched his head then replaced the cap. “Look, I don't want you to think you have to tell me, but . . . you got a look on you back there when the rape threat came up that made me think maybe . . .back when you were in prison . . . something might have happened. Now, I'm not asking if it did. I'm just saying if you ever wanted to talk about it, if something did happen, which I'm not saying it did, if you wanted to talk about it, that . . . well, I'd be happy to . . .no, not happy . . . oh, hell!”

“You're right, Judge,” McCormick said, not looking at him.

The judge felt sickened. “Oh, no. Oh, damn.”

“You're absolutely right. You don't know how to do this.” Mark looked at him sideways.

Hardcastle blinked, then sagged in relief, then scowled. “So, this is funny, is it?”

“No, it's not. But let me ask you, Hardcase. If I didn't want you to know something happened, I'd say nothing happened. And if nothing ever did happen, I'd say the same thing. So, would you believe me if I told you nothing happened?” Mark leaned his head against the seat back then looked the judge straight in the face. “No, it never happened,” he said flatly. He took a deep breath, then grimaced in pain. “But it almost did, twice. I was lucky both times.”

The judge was trying hard to hide his relief, to appear unemotional. “Okay. That's good.”

“Yeah.” McCormick looked out the window at the cows in the field next to the church. “But you don't ever forget what it feels like to be that helpless. So afraid, but so helpless.” He looked back at Hardcastle who was now feeling both relief and unhappiness and trying to hide both. “But that all happened years ago. Can we go home now? I'm hungry.”

It was Judge Hardcastle's turn to sigh. “Yeah. And it's probably time for another pill.”

Back at the house, the aunts had made numerous phone calls and Gerald had strolled down to the hardware store for some cup hooks. He was able to gather a great deal of information while selecting just the right size hooks.

“Seems the Jordan kid never went home last night.” He tossed the cup hooks onto the kitchen table and leaned against the side of the refrigerator. “The other three are all home with their folks, waiting for the cops to show up. Then they'll say 'oh, kids will be kids' and make excuses and that'll be it,” he sneered.

“Oh, dear, we really don't need these.” May put the hooks in a drawer and then gently moved Gerald aside. “Sorry, Gerald, but the sugar's in that cabinet.”

Zora lifted another batch of doughnuts out of the kettle and set them on paper towels to dry. “Well, we've done a good morning's work. We must've called at least fifteen people and they all agree that something must be done about those horrible boys. Thank you, May. Use that bowl.” She wiped her hands on a towel and ticked off names on her fingers. “Bill Thompson's keeping an eye on the Picketts; you know he lives just down the road from them. Nathan's watching the Arlens place. J.D. and Gary are taking turns at the turn-off to the Jordan place. Shirley's keeping tabs on the police since she works at the county attorney's office. Who else?”

“Joyce,” murmured May, testing the temperature of the doughnuts with a finger.

Zora clapped her hands together, “Right. Joyce is getting together a list of all the damages that the boys have done and anyone that they've bothered.” She dusted a little flour from her sleeve and took a deep breath. “There. We're all set for the meeting this afternoon.”

Gerald stood up straight at the sound of the front door closing. “I'll go see how things went this morning and what kind of mood Milt's in.” He winked conspiratorially. “What he doesn't know. . . “

“Won't hurt us.” May started dusting powdered sugar over the cooled doughnuts. “Lunch in twenty minutes.”

“The judge told you, didn't he?” said McCormick, with a powdery smile. He nudged the Hardcastle sitting next to him. “Thanks, Judge.”

Zora and May shrugged, smiled, nodded and passed him extra paper napkins.

“There are plenty more in the kitchen, so eat up. You're just too skinny, Mark.” Zora poured herself another half-cup of coffee. “Gerald, that's your third, dear. Don't you think that's enough?”

Gerald wrinkled his nose at her and took an enormous bite of his doughnut.

Judge Hardcastle stretched and said, “Another terrific meal. Thanks, Aunt May, Aunt Zora.” He glanced at McCormick, still a little powdery. “Time for your nap, kiddo.”

“Yeah.” Mark's voice was a little muffled by napkins. He cleared his throat and finished dusting his face. “I might lie down for just a little. I think those pills make me sleepy.” He got up carefully. “I've never had home-made doughnuts before. You two are the best aunts a guy could have. Thanks.” He smiled affectionately at Zora and May, then followed the judge out of the room.

Gerald held up a warning hand as he heard Milt offering to help McCormick up the stairs. “Milt's told me he's going to run down to the Hawkins place,” he whispered. “You gals clean up and we'll meet back here. I'll just keep an eye on him to make sure he's really gone.”

Upstairs, Mark was gingerly stretching out on the bed he'd claimed as his in the guest room. “You know, I just remembered something. I thought you had a gun last night. I could've sworn I heard you say something about lead flying . . . oooh.” He was finally recumbent.

Hardcastle looked at his bruised face and shook his head. “You okay? Need another pillow?” When McCormick nodded, he added, “I used my trusty .22 on 'em. See?” He pantomimed aiming at a target, then grabbed a pillow from his own bed.

“You faked them out? Oh, man. Now that's what I call an air rifle!”

May and Zora joined Gerald in the parlor as soon as Milt drove off in the truck. They settled on the sofa to face Gerald in the arm chair.

“Now,” started May, “everything's all arranged at the church. Dave's gotten the key from Pastor Busby and is going to set up a couple dozen folding chairs.”

Zora chimed in, “And Vera's getting there early to start the coffee urn going.”

Gerry held up a hand. “Wait. I'm sure you've got this all organized, but what we need to have ready is a plan of attack.” He settled himself in his chair. “I think we ought to suggest that everybody forms into four groups and each group makes itself responsible for one of the punks. We can draw names out of a hat, or pick the people who live closest or something. Then we pick a time that suits everybody and we all take care of our particular 'little problem' at the same time, just to reinforce the message. What do you think?” He leaned back and looked self-satisfied.

Zora and May looked at each other. May seemed troubled and Zora patted her hand.

“It's got to be stopped, May. You know we can't just let this go on any longer. The police have known about this for three weeks now and haven't done a thing to stop it. And last night, poor Mark was attacked just because he tried to do something about a problem that our town has ignored for far too long. Now, are we going to put up with this situation any longer or are we going to stand up for our neighbors and do what's right?”

May sighed. “Oh, I know. It's got to be done, but Gerald, are you really going to beat those boys up or just scare them?”

“Hah!” Gerry snorted. “Scaring them won't do anything. We're going to teach them a lesson the only way it'll make a difference. Show them that they can't get away with assaulting and harassing people in this town. Show them what it's like to get stomped on!”

“Show them the lynch mob isn't a thing of the past,” said Mark from the doorway.

May and Zora gasped in surprise and Gerald looked taken aback.

Mark shook his head sadly and leaned against the doorframe. “You can't really mean to do this.”

May got up and went to him. “Are you all right, dear? We thought you were napping.” She led him to a chair next to Gerry. “How in the world did you get down those stairs without help?”

McCormick sat carefully and looked up at her. “Slid down the banister.” He took her hand in his. “Aunt May, you don't want to hurt anyone, do you?” He looked at Zora and added, “You either, Aunt Zora. Come on. That's not like you. And Gerry,” he turned cautiously to face Gerald to his left, “you don't even live here, so don't give me that stuff about protecting the town and your neighbors.” Mark faced the aunts again. “There's a way to do this, but rounding up a bunch of vigilantes isn't it. We filed a report with the police and they're going to handle it.”

Gerry harrumphed and rubbed at his nose. “They may arrest those animals, Mark, but they're all juveniles. They'll get a talking-to, their parents will pay a fine and they'll be up to their rotten little tricks again in a week. There are some people you have to deal with in a different way.”

Zora took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Mark, dear.” She hesitated, then said, “I don't want to hurt anyone, not even those nasty boys, but if they're not stopped, then sooner or later they'll hurt someone else. And it could be much worse next time. Each outbreak has been worse than the one before. They just get bolder and bolder. It all started with little pranks, then they said horrible things to people, then it was threats, and now they've attacked you. What else can we do, dear?”

McCormick put his arm around May's waist and she rested her head on top of his. “You can leave it to the law to protect people,” he said. “That's what it's for.”

May lifted her head and sighed. “But when the law doesn't work . . .?”

“You've got a meeting to go to, don't you?” he asked. When Zora and Gerald nodded, he stood up slowly and said, “Then let's go. I've been looking forward to a ride in that Studebaker.”

Judge Hardcastle had refused coffee but was enjoying a small snifter of brandy with Ben Hawkins.

“He's gonna be fine. He's taking a nap right now, be fit as a fiddle in no time.” Hardcastle took another small sip.

Hawkins looked somber. “But you understand how I can feel a certain responsibility for what happened?” He looked down at his glass. “If we'd reported the incidents earlier, pressed charges, it might have prevented their attack on Mr. McCormick.”

“Well, I did want to ask you about that.” The judge set his snifter on the little table at his side. “It seems these kids have been kicking up quite a fuss the last few weeks, but nobody wanted to make a formal report or file a complaint or do anything about them. Is there something I don't know about going on here?”

“As to that,” Hawkins placed his snifter on the coffee table between the two of them, “let me see if I can explain.” He leaned back and looked into the distance for a moment.

“Can you picture two men standing on opposite ends of a board?” When the judge nodded, he continued, “Now picture the board they're standing on balanced across a rock. They can continue to stand if they maintain a perfect balance. If either one of them loses his balance, they both fall off the board.” He snorted softly. “It's not a very good analogy, but maybe it'll serve. Our community has managed to achieve a balance. When the boys started targeting the black portion of the town, we were reluctant to confront them because we were afraid of upsetting that balance. Our white neighbors and friends were equally reluctant, I believe. We all of us hoped the trouble would resolve itself, in time, without either of the two men on the board having to move. Apparently, our optimism was ill-founded.”

“But,” the judge was frowning, “if nobody--”

“There was another reason,” Hawkins interrupted. “We felt sorry for the boys.”

“Sorry for them?” Hardcastle scratched the side of his neck. “Okay, you're gonna have to spell that out for me.”

“Aaron Jordan moved here with his family almost two years ago. He was in high school at the time, a difficult time for a young man to start over making friends and finding his own place in school society.” Hawkins picked up his glass and took a sip. “Apparently, Aaron didn't do well. He was combative and arrogant, possibly to hide a feeling of insecurity, who knows? But the one sure way to feel included is to form your own clan, your own tribe, make everyone else the 'outsiders'. So, he did. The Picketts are, hmmm . . . how to say this? Well-known as scholastic under-achievers is perhaps the kindest way. Marty Arlens was another loner with no real friends . All three of them were eager to be included in the new Jordan group. The only real problem with this was the propaganda that Aaron hears from his father.” He replaced the glass on the coffee table and looked up at the judge expectantly. “Apparently, Mr. Jordan lost his job in West Virginia to a black man.”

“Ah-hah.” Hardcastle looked thoughtful. “So, the kid hears all this racial stuff at home and brings it to his friends as a basis for their group, is that it?”

“Exactly. At first, they kept it pretty much to themselves, but they've gained in confidence over the last year and started to make themselves obnoxious enough that their parents were informed by school authorities that it would have to stop. Aaron managed to graduate this year but, deprived of the forum of school in which to produce his venom, he turned to the rest of society.”

“With the rest of the group trailing along behind.” The judge finished up the last few drops of brandy, then waved a hand when Hawkins motioned to the decanter.

“Okay. Maybe they are kinda pathetic and I can see why you might not jump right in with formal charges first thing, but you're a lawyer. You know what 'equal protection under the law' means. And you're a black lawyer. You have to know how important precedent is and that everybody else is looking to you to make the first move. When things started getting worse, what held you back? The upsetting-the-balance thing?”

Ben nodded. “Especially given that Aaron's father is known for his temper. I was afraid of two things, particularly.” He smiled wryly. “One, that Mr. Jordan would not only upset the balance, but set fire to the board and throw the rock into the river. Or two, that he would take it out on Aaron. Either way, I didn't want the responsibility. Is that moral cowardice?”

Hardcastle shrugged. “That's not for me to say. If you want my opinion on the balance in this town, I'll tell you I think you're underestimating the guy at the other end of the board. I know my aunts were pretty bent out of shape about what's been going on even before McCormick got knocked around. I think everybody's just been waiting for the other guy to handle it.”

“And the other guy should've been one of the early victims.” Hawkins compressed his lips, then shook his head ruefully. “You're right about that. My father used to say 'it's hard to know when to stand up and when to stay sat'. But if people don't stand up for their rights, for the law, then they will cease to exist. Of course, it's easy to see that now, but I suppose standing up is never a bad idea. The only way a bad idea or a bad man can succeed is if no one stands in opposition.” He smiled. “Well, we're standing now. And it seems the man at the other end is standing just as steadily.”

In the basement of the Baptist church, Mark was making a somewhat similar speech.

“I know how you all feel about what's been going on. But you have to let the police handle it. If you take away those kids' rights to proper legal procedure, then what happens when someone tries to take away your rights? Who's going to come to your defense? If you start being vigilantes, then it's only a matter of time 'til one of your friends or a member of your family is a victim of other vigilantes; other people who're convinced they can do a better job of enforcing what's right than the law can.” He looked around at the eighteen people in attendance.

“You're the people the law is for. You're the people the law was written to protect. You're farmers and ranchers and bankers and . . . and --”

“Hardware store owners!” came a shout from the back.

McCormick laughed along with the rest. “Okay, hardware store owners. But you're the ones who have to uphold the law and keep it safe, just the way it keeps you safe. If you start going around or behind the law, it's not going to be there when you need it.”

“It sure didn't keep you safe,” said a woman in the first row of chairs.

“No, it didn't.” Mark recognized her as the one who'd been first in line for the doughnuts the aunts had brought and smiled at her. “But it's going to make sure that what happened to me doesn't happen to anybody else. That's the way it works. That's the way it's supposed to work, but it can't if you break the law yourself trying to enforce it.”

“Mark's right.” May stood suddenly and joined him in front of the small crowd. “We can't tell ourselves we're doing the right thing if it means breaking the law.”

Zora joined them. “I'm afraid we've been very wrong-headed. We were all taught that 'two wrongs don't make a right', weren't we? But we seem to have forgotten that acting illegally is no way to demonstrate to criminals that what they're doing is wrong. We've let our emotions get in the way of our reason.”

The woman in the front row huffed indignantly. “So what do we do then? We can't just let those awful boys keep on like they've been doing.”

McCormick put his arms around his aunts and smiled at them gently. “We let the law handle it,” he said.

“And that sounds like my cue,” came a voice from the stairway. Police Chief Sheridan made his way to the front. “Folks, I'd like to thank you all for coming to this community meeting to discuss the current problem and I can assure you the people involved will face the most stringent charges we can bring against them. In fact, we have two of them in custody already and we're in the process of arresting the other two.”

He turned to Mark. “Mr. McCormick, I could use you at the station for identification if now's a good time.”

“Now's a great time.” Mark grinned at the aunts and then at Gerry. “To the Studebaker, Batman!”

Mark and Gerry were still arguing in the back seat when they pulled into the driveway.

“No, see,” McCormick was being patient. “A watch patrol keeps an eye on the property of the people who belong to it. They don't spy on people.” He glanced at the front porch as Zora turned off the engine. “Whoops. There he is. Okay, everybody remember; we were just taking some refreshments to a meeting at the church. There's no need for him to know anything else that happened.”

The judge was standing, arms folded, right in front of the screen door. He ostentatiously checked his watch and then sighed in a long-suffering fashion. “Well, well . . . there you are.”

“Milton, you're probably hungry, aren't you?” May tried to step around him to get inside.

“Nope. Not hungry, not thirsty, not tired, not anything but curious.”

“Milton, dear,” Zora tried, “You probably don't realize that you're blocking the door.”

“What I realize,” said the judge sententiously, “Is that McCormick was supposed to be taking a nap instead of gallivanting all over town while the police were rounding up the suspects and leaving phone messages asking for him to come down to the station,” his voice was rising now, “to identify said suspects, and nobody but me got those messages because they were running all over creation, so I had to flag down a deputy to find out where my own family was!”

Gerald patted the air calmingly. “Milt, Milt. There's no cause to get upset. We met up with the police chief and Mark took care of the identification, so let's all just go inside and have some tea . . . or something.”

McCormick figured he'd better get this taken care of. “Judge, I know you feel left out, he said soothingly, “but really, we didn't expect to see Chief Sheridan and they've only got two of the kids in custody. We're gonna check back with them later to see if they got the others, and you can go down with me,” he had the door open and was easing the judge through it, “and check to make sure everybody's doing things the way they should.” He had Hardcastle in the house by this point, but knew better than to stop talking just yet.

“I made sure the Miranda was read off a card, and the county's going to provide legal assistance to the kids, so you don't need to worry about a thing. Okay? Now, what we need to do--”

“What you need to do, is shut up for a minute.” Hardcastle noticed the aunts and Gerald had disappeared. “Now, where . . .” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Am I really that terrifying?”

“Terrifying, you? Ol' gruff, tough, hunt 'em, hear 'em, and hang 'em Hardcastle? Ol' Hardcase, scourge of the Pacific Palisades? Scary, you?”

“Did I ever tell you you talk too much when you're nervous?” The judge looked around again. “Aunt May! Aunt Zora!”

“They're in the kitchen, Judge.” Mark put a hand on Hardcastle's shoulder. “Okay. You want the truth? They're a little nervous right now because they're afraid you're going to find something out and be upset at them.”

Zora, peeking around the kitchen door, gasped loudly and retreated.

“Come on. There's no point in trying to hide it any longer.” He pulled the judge into the kitchen and confronted the three runaways with a rueful expression. “We have to tell him; he would've found out sooner or later anyway.”

Hardcastle looked at the alarmed faces of his family. “Well, what already?”

“Judge, try to stay calm.” McCormick took a deep breath and plunged into confession. “We took the doughnuts to the meeting at the church and they're all gone.”

The aunts turned away suddenly and busied themselves with dishcloths, while Gerald stepped into the pantry.

“I know it's disappointing, but it's really nobody's fault. There was this one lady who must've eaten six of them all by herself--”

“Will you knock it off, McCormick!” Judge Hardcastle sent a glare toward the aunts, and then realized Gerry was missing. “Gerald, get back out here!”

A sheepish Gerry reappeared, trying to hide a smile by grooming his mustache.

The judge rubbed his forehead and tried to speak in a rational tone. “I don't care about the damn doughnuts--”

“Milton!”

“But I wish someone had left me a note about where you were! I thought maybe you'd gone back to the hospital with some kinda problem,” he said, addressing McCormick directly. “I didn't know if I should call over there or what.” Hardcastle stopped talking and rubbed his forehead again as though it ached.

“Judge, I'm sorry. Really. We should've left you a note.” Mark glanced at his co-conspirators. “But I guess we didn't think we'd be gone that long.”

May had a glass of water and two aspirins ready by now and Zora'd started some coffee.

“Come on into the parlor, Milt,” Gerald patted him on the back. “We'll get that photo album out again and relive some good times.”

Zora nodded enthusiastically. “We'll take some cinnamon rolls out of the freezer and heat them up to go with the coffee. You two go ahead and Mark can help us.”

Hardcastle let himself be persuaded, and was heard muttering querously “Why doesn't anybody tell me anything?” as he and Gerry entered the parlor.

“Because he's terrifying,” said Aunt May.

The whole family made another trip to the police station, right before dinnertime. Marty Arlens had been taken into custody, but the Jordan boy was still at large.

While McCormick and the judge were occupied with the formalities, Zora and May sought out Shirley Janzen, secretary to the county attorney. The aunts were waiting excitedly in the hallway with Gerald when Mark and the judge came out of the police chief's office.

“Oh, Milton, we've got a clue!” May was flushed and smiling.

Zora was nodding agreement, every bit as excited and pleased. “A real clue! Now we know where to look for Aaron!”

The judge looked resignedly at his brother. “I leave you with 'em for ten minutes and look what happens.”

Gerald held up a hand. “Now wait a minute, Milt. I think they have something here. You know the police caught sight of the kid near the park, but lost him behind the ball-field?”

“Yeah, yeah, they're staking out all the likely places he'd go.”

“But, Milton, that's just it. He's in an unlikely place.” May couldn't stay still. She bounced a little on her toes, clenching her fists. “The police found a leaf, right where he'd been hiding in the park and Shirley showed it to us.”

“And no one realized what it was or what it meant! No one, but us,” added Zora smugly.

Hardcastle sighed and said, “I think my headache's coming back.”

“Wait a minute, Judge. They did help you solve one mystery already. Maybe they really do have some knowledge about plants that the police don't.” Mark cocked his head at the aunts. “Have you told anyone else about this?”

“No, we wanted to handle it ourselves,” admitted May. “But then we remembered how much trouble we were to you before, and . . . we decided to let you help.”

Gerald chuckled at the look on his brother's face. “And I'll help, too,” he said generously, then chuckled some more as Milt scowled even harder.

“Can we see this leaf? Where is it?” Mark got between the Hardcastle brothers. “Is it a piece of evidence?”

“Oh, no.” Zora pulled a small plastic bag from her purse. “They didn't think it meant anything, so they gave it to us.”

“Look at it,” said May proudly. “It's definitive, all right.”

The judge looked at the leaf in the bag and said, “It's a fern.”

“No, it's a mimosa leaf,” May said. She held Zora's purse while Zora removed the leaf from the bag. “And it's closed already, which means it was still on the tree when it started getting dark.”

“So? There are mimosas all over town.” Hardcastle was trying hard to be patient and it showed.

“But this is a Summer Chocolate mimosa, and there's only one person in this whole town that's been able to get one to grow here.” Zora held the leaf up defiantly. “This is proof that Aaron's been standing under Maud Hawkins' mimosa tree. You see what that means, don't you?”

Chief Sheridan put his head in his hands and laughed, which outraged the aunts and took the Hardcastles and McCormick aback.

“I might have known the Worden Super-Sleuths would figure it out,” he chuckled. “Yes, we're pretty sure Aaron was hiding in Ben Hawkins' tool shed. And Ben seemed to know all about it, too. Of course, he couldn't come right out and admit it to me, but I just got a call to expect both of them in here before too much later.”

The judge considered for a moment. “You're saying Hawkins got Aaron to turn himself in?”

“Yep.” Sheridan smiled. “He showed up at the Pickett's while Ben was there and Ben brought Aaron back with him. I bet you didn't know Ben's representing the Pickett boys.”

Hardcastle snorted softly. “Suppose I might've expected that. “

“Marty Arlens had the same offer from him, but turned it down. More fools they. Ben Hawkins is a damn good lawyer, excuse me ladies,” Sheridan nodded at the aunts in apology, “and the Picketts are paying him a half-hog, butchered and wrapped, for his services.”

“Has he mentioned yet how they'll plead?”

“Guilty to misdemeanor charges with a sincere show of remorse. Ben's hoping to get them community service.” The chief looked at Mark. “Aaron's not going to get off so easily, though. I think Judge Small's going to give him the choice of jail time or joining the army. My bet's on the army. It could be the best thing that ever happened to that young man.”

Judge Hardcastle nodded in agreement, then looked at his aunts, his brother, and his friend. “Well, let's get on back and have some supper.”

“What?” “Milton!” said the aunts. Even Gerald protested.

The judge looked at McCormick. “How you holding up?”

“I'm doing okay.” Mark tilted his head. “It would save a trip back if we waited.”

“Well, that makes sense. All right, Chief, is there a place where we can wait where we won't be in the way?”

Even the aunts' excitement waned a bit after the first hour. Gerald could be heard snoring intermittently and Mark had his head leaned against the back of the leather sofa in the waiting room.

“You still doing all right, kiddo?” Hardcastle spoke quietly. “You got your pain pills with you?”

“Nah, but that's okay. I got a half-hour before I should take one, anyway.” Mark looked pale, perhaps in contrast to the bruising on his face.

“Why don't you stretch out and try to rest a little?” The judge was concerned at how tired McCormick seemed. “I'm not gonna let you sleep through anything.”

McCormick shook his head slightly. “It's okay. I probably just overdid it a little today. No big deal.”

The fact that the kid could admit to overdoing it had to mean he was really tired. Judge Hardcastle had just stood up to go check with Sheridan again when he saw Ben Hawkins and a gangly blond teenager in the hallway outside the waiting room. As Hardcastle reached for the doorknob, he heard an angry male voice down the hall.

Hawkins threw the judge a quick look, then hurriedly ushered the teen into Sheridan's office and quickly re-closed the door. Throwing a glance behind him, he said “That's Jordan senior you hear. He's a little . . . perturbed at the situation. It might get ugly. If you want to take your aunts home, I'll see that Mr. McCormick isn't bothered.”

The judge turned back to his aunts and found they were standing right behind him. Even Gerald had been woken by the shouts and curses, coming closer now.

“Now, Milton. We'll be perfectly all right.” Zora patted his arm.

“You just do whatever it is you need to do and we'll be right here when you're ready to go,” said May.

Gerald looked at him. “Hey, I'm here. Don't worry about them.”

“It's up to you, Kemo Sabe. You can take them home and come back for me if you want.” Mark pushed himself slowly off the couch and stood, wincing.

It was too late. Around the corner leading to the small lobby, a stocky, red-faced man strode angrily toward the chief's office, swearing and threatening.

He came to a halt when he was abreast of the waiting room and looked disparagingly at Ben Hawkins. He spat an epithet which had Zora and May covering their ears, then turned to McCormick.

“You must be the n_____ lover my son told me about. You s__ of a b____, you. You're worse than the damned n_____. Best job of work Aaron ever did was to kick the f______ s___ out of you!”

Hardcastle hit him square in the nose and knocked him down.

“Good boy, Milton!” cried Aunt Zora.

Aunt May shouted, “Hit him again! Hit him again!”

Gerald slapped his brother solidly on the back and said, “Nice job, Milt. A little short-armed, but a good, flush hit.”

Hawkins opened the chief's door and beckoned to Sheridan to join the party. As Jordan got to his feet, blood gushing from his nose, Chief Sheridan took him by the arm and said, “ I think we need you in here right now, Mr. Jordan. If you're through introducing yourself?”

Hardcastle had turned slowly to face the one person who had not reacted at all. McCormick stood in amazement, looking like he'd just seen a chicken play a saxophone.

The judge turned back to the police chief. He cleared his throat and said, “I surrender myself into your custody. If there's no judge available tonight, then I'll plead guilty to battery tomorrow. Can my aunts go home now?”

Chief Sheridan looked amused. “You Hardcastles are something else again, aren't you?” He shook Jordan's arm briskly. “You want to press charges against the man, Fred? Or do you think maybe it's time to sit down and shut up?”

Jordan mumbled something about a man standing up for his son, and the aunts shot a look back into the waiting room. Mark was still watching the judge, like he was waiting to be told what to do.

“Maybe both sides are even now, Fred.” Sheridan shook Jordan's arm again. “You pressing charges or you going to come in here and try to get a lawyer for your boy?”

Without another word, Jordan grabbed a filthy handkerchief from the pocket of his overalls, shoved it against his nose, then wheeled and joined his son in the chief's office. Sheridan looked at Hawkins speculatively.

“Oh, no. I have enough clients already.” Hawkins winked at the judge. “Although I would've been willing to take on one more, if it had been necessary.”

“Much obliged to you,” muttered Hardcastle, “But if Jordan fails to bring charges under duress, then the prosecutor--”

“Milton!” said his three relatives.

“Come on, Judge,” Mark said quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Let's go home.”

Gerald had left the day before, promising to come back the next year for Aunt Zora's seventy-fifth birthday. “You and Mark keep an eye out for me,” he had punched his brother lightly in the stomach. “I may be visiting Santa Anita some time real soon.”

Ben Hawkins and his daughter had stopped in to say good-bye. Hawkins had said, “I think we've all stepped off the board and we're standing together on the ground.” This had puzzled everyone except the judge.

Now the truck was packed, gassed up and ready to go. The aunts were valiantly holding back tears, McCormick was a little misty, and the judge kept sniffing and clearing his throat.

“Now you call us as soon as you get home, so we know you're all right.” Aunt May was using the kitchen steps to hug Mark around the neck. She ruffled back the hair from his forehead and whispered something. Then one last kiss and she turned him over to her sister.

McCormick helped her up the steps and they embraced for a moment, then Zora leaned close to murmur a few words. A kiss on the check and the aunts turned to Hardcastle.

“Ah, come on, Aunt May. Aunt Zora, it's not like we're going to the moon.” They were hugging him as hard as they could and he actually hugged back for just a few seconds. “We'll be okay and you know we'll be talking on my birthday. And maybe we'll come back next year . . . if Gerry cancels on ya.”

May and Zora each got one little peck from the judge and then stood back, waving as the two men climbed into the truck and then it backed out of the driveway.

Hardcastle stuck his arm out of the window to wave and Mark tooted the horn and they headed out of Worden.

Judge Hardcastle got the maps out of the glove compartment and spread Oklahoma over his knee. “Now once you're on the interstate, just head for Oklahoma City. We'll turn south from there to get to Norman. I got a friend there I want to look up.”

“I know, Judge. I know.”

A few minutes passed in silence, then Hardcastle re-folded the map and put it on the seat beside him. “I guess you're not gonna tell me what they were whispering about.”

“Huh?” Mark glanced at him, then back at the road. “When? Back there?” He checked his side mirror and flipped the turn signal to merge onto the interstate. He shrugged a little and said, “We had a little talk last night while we were doing the dishes. Aunt May was apologizing because she thought I'd had a lousy trip and the whole reason we were here was her birthday.”

“Well, you did, didn't you? Have a lousy trip?”

“Are you kidding?” McCormick grinned and shook his head amusedly. “I had a great trip. And that's what I told them.” He assumed a declamatory manner. “I got to see the country, I got to learn about my heritage.”

Back in his normal voice, Mark continued, “Really. I had a great time. Just spending time with your family was something special. Seeing the old photos, hearing the stories, it was really nice. And there was all that food.” He took a hand from the wheel briefly to pat his belly. “I must've gained two pounds.”

“Tchah!” Hardcastle waved a hand dismissively. “Gerry and I each put on about ten.” He brooded for a minute. “And, what, you're so used to getting beat up it doesn't matter anymore?”

“Well, it matters. But that wasn't the important part.” Mark paused, then said hesitantly, “It was the part after that. The way everybody was so upset about it, even Gerald. That was the great part.”

They were three miles closer to Fort Smith before McCormick spoke again. “So anyway, Aunt May told me she was glad we'd made it out here and she'd miss us.”

“Miss you is what she meant.”

“She said 'I'll miss you' and that can mean both of us. And Aunt Zora told me to take care of you.”

“Take care of me? Hah!” The Judge looked at McCormick quizzically. “They want you to take care of me.”

Mark nodded. “Yeah. They know being the Lone Ranger can get dangerous and they worry about you. So I told them Tonto keep eye on Masked Man and see he no put foot in bear trap.”

“There, see,” Hardcastle pointed ahead. “Just follow the signs for Oklahoma City.” He fidgeted with the map on the seat for a bit, then rearranged the contents of the glove compartment. Finally, he sat back and sighed. “Okay, let's get it over with. Go ahead. Let me have it.”

“What?” McCormick looked at him with a puzzled expression. “What are you looking for? The bag of food's behind the seat. But you can't be hungry already.”

“No, I'm not hungry,” said the judge gruffly, staring straight ahead. “You've been holding off for two days now on the smart remarks and the clever jokes, so let's have 'em now and then we can do the rest of the trip in peace.”

McCormick shot a glance at the judge, then spoke. “Are you talking about what happened with Jordan? That you punched him?”

“That I assaulted someone, that I broke the law, that I threw all my fine-sounding principles right out the window to pop a guy in a police station! Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. All those speeches about having respect for the law and being an example to other people, and I lost it completely.”

Mark kept quiet.

“So, let's hear it.” Hardcastle threw up his hands. “The Lone Ranger broke a guy's nose. The Champion of Law and Order can't practice what he preaches. What's the matter with you, McCormick?” He glared at the younger man fiercely. “You're the Fastest Lip in the West and you haven't said one word about it!”

The Fastest Lip in the West cast another glance at the Champion of Law and Order and replied quietly, “We all knew how bad you'd feel, so we decided not to talk about it in front of you.”

The judge was taken aback. “You didn't say anything because you knew I'd feel bad?”

“Yeah. We talked about it some when you weren't around.” Mark smiled. “I've never seen the aunts so proud of you.” The smile faded a bit. “But they couldn't tell you because you'd feel even worse than you already did.”

“But . . .” the judge was disturbed. “But, they shouldn't feel proud of what I did. I lost my temper and --”

“Acted like a human being,” finished McCormick. “It's not such a big deal, Judge, to climb down off the Pedestal of Justice once in a while and be a real person.”

He moved into the fast lane and continued, “Emotions aren't bad things. Sure, they can be dangerous because they can get you hurt. But if you bottle them up all the time, sooner or later you'll go nuts or your grip on them will slip and then you've got big trouble. I should know. I locked all my emotions up for two years and it almost made me crazy.”

Hardcastle bit down on a sarcastic remark and rubbed at his nose. “So you think it's okay for me to break the law once in a while, is that it?”

“No, that's not what I'm saying. I guess what I really mean is it's okay for you to be less than perfect. I'm not going to start smacking people around because I saw you punch a guy. God knows, I've seen you punch a lot of guys and I haven't turned into a Bruno yet.”

“Hmmm,” was the judge's response.

“Besides, you had a lot of provocation. A man would have to be a saint to let some of that go. I mean, the guy's using language like that in front of your aunts, he's just insulted Ben Hawkins in the worst possible way, he's making threats . . .Come on, the guy needed to be stopped and you stopped him.”

“Well, but I could've stopped him a different way. I dunno.” Hardcastle scratched his head under the baseball cap. “He just really got to me with that part about being proud of what his kid had done.”

Mark slowly moved back into the right lane. “You mean being proud of his son turning into a racist just like his old man?”

“No, he actually said he was proud of his son hurting you.” The judge sat without moving. “When he said that, I stopped thinking. Everything went kind of red and I don't even remember hitting the guy. The next thing I knew he was on the floor and my hand hurt.”

McCormick thought for a moment, then said, “I don't know if it helps any, but I would've done the same thing if he'd said it about you.”

“Yeah, well,” Hardcastle sighed, “It's not right, no matter who does it. But maybe you're right about nobody being perfect. I guess when your autonomic reponses take over, the question's nugatory.”

Mark laughed. “Now what? You trying to get off the subject by using words I don't understand?”

“No. I'm trying to get off the subject by using words I don't understand.” Judge Hardcastle gestured. “Look, there's a Stuckey's. What do you say to some coffee and a pecan log?”

“Hello, coffee. Nice to meet you, pecan log.” McCormick grinned over at the judge. “Are we cookin' now?”

“Damn straight,” Hardcastle grinned back.

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