A/N: This story originally appeared in House Blend 2, published by Agent With Style. If you're not familiar with their work, check them out; they have a lot of good stuff to offer. And, many thanks to Susan Z., who many moons ago contributed a lot of time and effort to help me get this thing done.

Mark McCormick awoke slowly, surprised to see the brightly lit room rather than the dull gray of the jail cell. Oh, yeah. It came back to him as his mind cleared. Hardcase had sprung him last night and brought him back to Gull's Way. The Coyote had not been sitting in the driveway, so he had quickly used the gatehouse to shower and grab some clean clothes, and then the judge had put him up in a spare bedroom in the main house. He hadn’t been thrilled with the idea of the cop staying in ‘his’ house another night, but what was he supposed to do-boot him out and stick him in a cab in the middle of the night? Not likely. Besides, he had been snuggled into the guest bed and sound asleep before Wilde had ever returned to the estate, so it wasn’t like it made a difference, really.

Glancing over at the clock, he was surprised to see that it was almost noon. He swung out of bed quickly, grabbed his stuff, and headed for the bathroom. Hardcastle would kick his butt if he didn’t get moving soon. He smiled at the thought, knowing it wasn’t really true…not today, anyway…but that wouldn’t keep the judge from going on a full-fledged rant. He’d like to avoid that, if at all possible.

After an invigorating shower and a fresh set of clothes, McCormick decided he should’ve stayed in bed. He still looked like hell-to use Harper’s eloquent description-and he thought he would feel a lot better after about twenty more hours of sleep. Still, after being locked in the same room for a week, he didn’t intend to spend his first day of freedom indoors and asleep. Even his chores would be a welcome change of pace today.

He bounded down the stairs, but Hardcastle wasn’t in the den, so he went immediately to the kitchen. He slapped together a ham sandwich, added a pile of chips to the plate, grabbed a can of soda from the refrigerator, and then headed out the back door toward the pool.

As he approached the deck area, he was reminded of his outburst toward the judge last weekend. That had been stupid, and he vowed he was going to try harder to control his temper…before it landed him in real trouble.

“Mornin’, Judge,” McCormick called as he rounded the corner, then faltered for a moment when he saw the second figure seated at the table.

“It’s afternoon, McCormick,” Hardcastle corrected. “I was beginning to think you were never gonna get up.”

“I still need my beauty rest,” McCormick returned with a grin, as he hesitantly resumed his movement toward the pool. “Too bad a little sleep couldn’t do anything for you, though.”

“How’re you feeling, Mark?” Frank Harper asked, interrupting Hardcastle’s reply.

“I’m okay, Frank,” McCormick answered slowly. He saw Hardcastle roll his eyes at his use of the detective’s given name, but that was the last thing on his mind at the moment. “Mind if I join you guys, Judge?”

Hardcastle recognized the fear lurking behind the simple question. “'Course not, kid, it’s your home, ya know.”

The young man glanced at the judge sharply. If the words had been meant to reassure, he would need to give the guy some lessons. He set his plate and drink on the table and continued with the small talk. “Did you guys want anything from the kitchen? I hate to eat in front of you.”

“Since when?” Hardcastle barked.

McCormick grinned; the familiar tone was much more comforting. “Not you, Hardcase. I meant Frank." He seated himself at the table and bit into his sandwich with obvious pleasure, though he found himself continually glancing up at the two men sitting with him at the table. Was it possible this was nothing more than a visit between two old friends? Not likely, but he’d had bigger surprises lately. He looked around curiously. “Where’s Wilde?”

“Took him home this morning,” Hardcastle answered. “He said to tell you he liked the car.”

“I’ll bet,” McCormick huffed. As he ate, he saw the others exchange a look that seemed remarkably like they were having fun at his expense again. “What?” he demanded.

“You’re still awfully suspicious, Mark,” Harper told him.

McCormick met his eyes. “I’m still the same guy.”

Harper grinned maliciously. “Yeah, I remember; we met. King of the melodrama, wasn’t it?”

McCormick struggled to conjure up a comeback that wouldn’t betray too many of his true feelings.

Seeing the uncertainty written across the young man’s face, Harper decided to let him off the hook. “I just dropped by for an update, Mark. You snuck out without even saying good-bye, you know.”

“Oh, don’t go pampering him, Frank,” Hardcastle complained. “He’ll start expecting it from everyone.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that, Judge,” McCormick assured him. “There’s not too much that would surprise me these days, but you makin’ a fuss over me would definitely make the list.”

“Glad you understand that, kiddo.”

McCormick shook his head with a grin. “Definitely something else,” he muttered, as he popped the last bite of his lunch into his mouth. After a moment, he sobered. “I’m gonna start with the pool, Judge, if we’re gonna be here a while?”

“Where would we be going, McCormick?” the judge growled.

“I dunno,” McCormick answered with a shrug, “just checking." He pushed back from the table and headed to the pump house.

The other men watched him drag the pool supplies out of the small shed to begin vacuuming the pool, and both could see the tension carved in his body.

“I think I’m making him nervous,” Harper commented softly to the judge.

“Probably,” Hardcastle agreed with a smile, “but it won’t kill him.”

Harper grinned. “You really should think about cutting him a little slack for a while, Milt.”

Hardcastle shifted to face the detective. “Why?” he demanded. “Just because he’s a little tired and cranky?”

“No. Because he wants to trust you even though you just put him in jail for a week for something he didn’t do. You could make that easier on him, and you know it.”

“I really shoulda warned you,” Hardcastle muttered, “for my sake. The last thing I need is another convert to the McCormick way of thinking.”

“Don’t worry about that too much,” Harper replied. “He’s a good kid, but I don’t know about his way of thinking…it’s a little out there." He grinned and rose from the table. “But I’m gonna go. Maybe you’ll both relax a little." The lieutenant raised his voice. “Mark, I’ll see you later.”

McCormick looked up from the pool and waved, the relief obvious in his face. “See ya, Frank.”

“Call me if you need any more help, Milt,” Harper said, and disappeared.

Hardcastle sat in silence for a few moments, then picked up his daily newspaper. He had read it this morning, of course, but now it was time for research. If his mysterious caller thought McCormick was out and about last night, then it seemed reasonable he would probably hear more today. He’d search the paper for any likely crimes, and maybe he would be more prepared when they called again.

He had made it through most of one section by the time McCormick was packing up the last of the chemicals. “I’m gonna do some mowing now, Judge,” the young man called.

“Hold on, McCormick,” Hardcastle stopped him. “Come over here a minute.”

McCormick approached the table slowly, doing his best to appear nonchalant. “What’s up?”

Hardcastle waved him into a chair before continuing. “You seem kind of…I don’t know…tense, or something. You okay?”
Dammit. Hardcastle immediately kicked himself mentally. He had intended to offer reassurance, not make the kid admit his fears. Why had it not come out that way?

“I’m still kinda tired, Judge,” McCormick answered, not quite meeting Hardcastle’s gaze. “Nothing to worry about.”

“What I meant to say,” Hardcastle clarified, “is that you don’t need to be worried. Things are fine here. We’re fine." He paused a moment, then added, “Unless there’s something you want to talk about?”

McCormick did meet the judge’s eyes then, though he wasn’t certain what he’d find there. “Um, I’m not sure what you mean, Judge. Is there something you need me to talk about? More questions for me?”

Hardcastle rubbed his hand across his mouth, frustrated, and beginning to regret having started the conversation. “No, McCormick, I don’t have questions. You’ve missed the point entirely. It’s just that you’re acting a little strange today. Stranger than usual, I mean. You look like a quarter would bounce off of you, you’re so tight, and it seemed like Harper made you uncomfortable." He examined McCormick closely. “You don’t think I’m convinced, do you?”

“No,” McCormick said simply.

“McCor-”

McCormick held up his hand to stop the rebuttal. “Judge, you don’t have to explain. I appreciate you giving me a chance; that’s more than most people would’ve done. It’s just…well, just that…I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know how to act around you; don’t know what to say. If things were weird before, they have just become eerily bizarre.”

Hardcastle laughed briefly. “McCormick, you do have a flair for turning an interesting phrase. But listen to me, kiddo." His suddenly serious tone grabbed McCormick’s attention. He saw the jaws clench on the young face, and was hit with a wave of guilt. He had to find a way to get past this, for both their sakes.

“Listen,” he repeated. “Getting you paroled in my custody, that was giving you a chance. Letting you have the gatehouse instead of the gardener’s trailer, that was giving you a chance. Hell, even your original sentence when you were in my court was lenient, and that was giving you a chance. But bringing you home last night…that had nothing to do with giving you a chance; that was getting someone out of jail who had no business being there in the first place.

“Now, I’m not gonna apologize for puttin’ you there, because I had to know. But I do know now, and you need to know that. I’m ready to move past this, McCormick. Are you?”

The young, blue eyes shone with emotion as McCormick stared disbelievingly at Hardcastle. He wanted-almost desperately-to respond to each and every word he had just heard, but something had tightened around his heart like a vise, and whatever it was seemed to also be freezing his tongue. He settled for answering the question that had been posed.

“Yeah, Judge,” he managed a hoarse reply, “I’m ready. Let’s forget it ever happened.”

“No, McCormick,” the judge contradicted, “we don’t ever forget. We remember, and we learn.”

McCormick nodded as he rose from his seat. Determined to lighten the mood, he found a smile. “It’s a deal, Kemosabe. But what I have learned so far is how cranky you get when the lawn doesn’t look just right, so I’m gonna do some mowing." He paused for a moment, and then grinned. There was still one other comment that couldn’t go unanswered.

“And maybe later you can find a way to explain the legal definition of ‘lenient’ for me, Judge, 'cause I’m pretty sure we’ve got some different ideas." He ducked quickly out of Hardcastle’s reach, and laughed as he jogged from the patio to continue his chores.

Hardcastle grinned, too, suddenly very glad he had started the conversation.

McCormick flipped on the stereo and collapsed onto his bed. It had been a long day, and he was glad to be settled back into familiar surroundings. He had worked all afternoon in the yard, never once complaining about his status as a ‘slave,’ and the exertion had only added to his exhaustion. But he hadn’t complained because anything was better than being locked up, and today did not seem like the right time to imply otherwise-even jokingly.

When Sarah had returned from the weekly shopping trip in the late afternoon, she had been delighted to see for herself that McCormick had returned home, and he had been touched by her reaction. And, after taking one look at him, she had immediately put a stop to the yard work, saying she could use some help in the kitchen instead. Even Hardcastle seemed to know better than to argue with her at that point, so McCormick had a shower and a change of clothes, then reported for kitchen duty.

But Sarah had pushed him into a chair out of the way-saying she’d been successfully cooking dinner since before his parents had been born-and proceeded to move about the kitchen, keeping up a steady stream of conversation all the while. McCormick appreciated her subtle approach, and he certainly appreciated her saving him from a few more hours of demanding chores. He might not be comfortable standing up to Hardcase today, but he was glad someone was.

The three of them had dined together on a delicious meal of baked chicken, steamed vegetables and fresh baked bread, and the dinner conversation had been entertaining and comfortable. McCormick was still a little surprised at the way the other two accepted him into their home, but he was more surprised by how grateful he was for that acceptance, and how badly he hoped he would never lose it.

After dinner, he had helped Sarah with the dishes-really helped, not just hidden out from the judge-then he had joined Hardcastle in the den to see what was on television for the evening. They had argued over the current action film or the black and white western, but-of course-Hardcastle had won the argument, and McCormick had resigned himself to enduring yet another saloon brawl and high noon showdown.

Now, as the music washed over him, he smiled as he thought the judge was kind of lost in time; the old donkey would’ve been a better match back in the days of the original white hats. But if he was forced to admit the truth, McCormick was grateful to have him in the here and now. He was still astounded by the speech the judge had made this afternoon, still couldn’t believe the old guy really trusted him in this situation. Again his heart was gripped with that indefinable feeling that seemed to cause his breath to catch in his throat.

As he drifted off to sleep, McCormick knew that he would give almost anything to keep that feeling alive within himself.

“I appreciate the call, Frank,” McCormick heard Hardcastle say into the phone.

McCormick dropped into an easy chair for a short break from yard work with his glass of tea and watched Hardcastle quizzically. It wasn’t bad enough that he was living with a judge; the judge had to have friends who were cops. The whole situation was enough to make a guy crazy.

Hardcastle finished his conversation. “I think we’re okay here for now, but keep me posted on any new developments, would you?” He listened a moment. “Yeah, of course I will. Talk to you soon." He returned the receiver to its cradle and looked across the room.

“What’s up with Frank?” McCormick inquired. When Hardcastle didn’t answer right away, the young man began to feel self-conscious. “I mean, if it’s okay that I ask,” he stammered. “I’m not trying to butt in or anything.”

Hardcastle smiled slightly, immediately reminded that they still had some adjusting to do. “I’ll make you a deal, McCormick. You feel free to ask anything you want, and I’ll feel free to tell you if it’s none of your damn business.”

“Deal,” McCormick grinned. “So, what’s up with Frank?”

“One of his officers got a call today, an anonymous tip.”

McCormick groaned. “Don’t tell me.”

“Sorry, kiddo. I guess he got tired of waiting for me to lock you up.”

“Yeah, just because he doesn’t know we did that already." He tried not to sound bitter, but he’d only been home a few days; he sure wasn’t ready to go back inside again. “So what do they want to do now?”

“Well, it’s not like it was a surprise to Frank, you know. For right now, it’s under control. He’s explained the situation to his officers. Without any physical evidence, or even any real circumstantial evidence, they’re willing to accept our take on it for the moment.”

“Thank God for that,” McCormick said with relief, “because I am not ready to spend any more time as one of L.A. county’s guests." He thought for a moment.

“But if this guy is true to form, he’s not gonna stop with that one call. How long do you think they’ll be willing to accept ‘our take’?”

“I don’t know, McCormick,” the judge growled, “but quit being so pessimistic about everything. I told ya, they don’t have any real evidence to go on. Nothing’s gonna change that." He paused. “Is it?”

“No, Hardcase,” McCormick answered with an easy grin, “nothing’s gonna change that.”

“Okay, then. In that case, get out of here and get back to work on the hedges.”

McCormick leapt to his feet, plastered a severe expression onto his face, and snapped to attention. “Aye, aye, sir. Mark McCormick, sir. Reporting back to yard duty.”

Hardcastle waved him out the door without comment, working hard to hide his amusement behind a stern glare.

Hardcastle hung up the phone and glanced across the table at McCormick. “We were right; it was the house in Santa Monica,” he said as he returned his attention to the file folder in front of him.

McCormick pushed aside the breakfast that had been occupying his attention and stared at the judge. “C’mon, Hardcase, this is getting annoying. When are we gonna do something about this?”

“We’ve had this discussion, McCormick,” Hardcastle replied without looking up.

“And we’re gonna keep having it until you get some sense,” McCormick said forcefully. He ignored the warning glare from Hardcastle and continued his comments. “Judge, I’ve been back home over a week now, and these damn calls just keep coming-what is this, the fourth burglary already? -and you don’t even wanna look into it?”

“Not that I owe you any explanations, kiddo, but I told you why.”

“Yeah, let’s see. First, it was because I wasn’t ‘physically ready’ for another case of any sort after my little stint inside…though you sure didn’t have any problems with me busting my ass out here in the yard. Then, you said there just wasn’t enough information to go on, so there wasn’t any point ‘spinning our wheels’ on the case. And now, you’ve suddenly decided we need to go after this Walters character, even though he’s been sitting around collecting dust in your files for who knows how long, and this creep is out there right now trying to get me put back in prison. I’ll tell you the truth, Judge: I just don’t get it. What is wrong with you?”

Ice-cold eyes stared back at McCormick. “Are you planning on disagreeing with everything I do, McCormick, or do you think I might catch a break every now and then?”

McCormick didn’t like the tone, but he liked the current situation even less. “I’m sorry, Judge, but I need help understanding this one. Why are you avoiding this? Why isn’t it important to you? You know, I believed you when you said we were gonna move past the suspicion, but if there’s something you need to tell me, then say it. Otherwise, why can’t we spend some time figuring out what’s going on and who the hell is out to get me?

"If you don’t want to work the case, I’ll do it myself, but, Judge, I need this to be over. And I’d really like to understand why you’re content to just let it go on. You know, if nothing else, you should be worried about losing your cheap labor over here. If I go back inside, who’s gonna do the yard work for you?”

Hardcastle smiled grimly. “I’ve managed a long time without you, you know, hotshot.”

McCormick rose from the table. “And I’ve managed without you, believe it or not. I’m going to find out what’s going on, with or without your help. I’ll let you know what I dig up." He turned from the table and started toward his parked car, not daring to breathe. For a moment, he almost believed he would make it.

“It’ll be the last mistake you make on the outside, kiddo." Hardcastle spoke calmly, but the simple words had the desired effect. McCormick froze instantly.

But he didn’t turn back. “Judge, I need-”

“What you need,” Hardcastle interrupted, “is to remember who makes the decisions around here.”

Slowly, McCormick turned to face the judge. “I haven’t forgotten anything, Hardcastle, and I said I’d tell you what was going on. It’s my ass on the line here, Judge, and I want to do something about it. Why can’t you-”

Hardcastle interrupted again. “Get back over here, McCormick, and sit down. Let’s talk this through.”

“Talking isn’t gonna help,” McCormick answered, as he turned back toward the driveway. “You do what you need to do." He was only steps away from the Coyote when he felt the grip on his arm. Jeez, he had been expecting it and he still hadn’t been prepared for the firm hold the old guy had on him! He jerked away and turned to face Hardcastle. “I’m not gonna go back to jail for something I didn’t do, Judge! Up until the last few days, I would’ve thought you understood that.”

“Is it gonna feel any different than going back to jail for violating your parole?” Hardcastle asked reasonably.

McCormick opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again. After a moment, he spoke.

“You brought me here to help you catch the bad guys, Judge. Why can’t we try to catch this one? It’s important to me."

Hardcastle studied him intently. “We’re too close to this one, kid,” he finally said softly. “It would be better if we let the cops handle it.”

“Too close?” McCormick was confused. Then he understood the real reason Hardcastle had been avoiding the case. “You don’t think I can handle it. Maybe it’ll turn out to be someone I don’t want to see go down. Or someone who might make me an offer I can’t refuse.”

“I think this isn’t a case you should be working,” the judge admitted. “Lots of potential for problems.”

McCormick didn’t answer right away. Standing with his hands jammed into his jean pockets, he studied his feet as he kicked at the ground. So, Hardcastle might be ready to believe he was innocent, but he didn’t trust him to handle himself. All in all, that wasn’t a whole lot better.

“He’s already called the cops,” McCormick finally reminded Hardcastle. “How long do you think they’re gonna let you keep vouching for me? We need to put the pieces together before I run out of time.”

“McCormick-”

“Okay,” McCormick interrupted, “you think I’m too close to it. That I can’t be trusted to hold up my end of the bargain on this one. I disagree, but that’s not the point right now." He paused for a moment, then continued, “Then you do it. I’ll stay out of it, if that’s what you want, but, Judge…I can’t just leave it to the cops. I need someone that-“ McCormick hesitated again, took a breath, and plunged ahead. “Someone that I trust,” he finished.

Hardcastle stared at him, momentarily speechless. Damn. Just how many ways could this kid find to tug at his heart?

“Harper’s a good cop,” he finally replied, “and he’s got some good men working on the case.”

“I’m not denying that, Judge. I’m just saying that you and I have more of a vested interest in this situation. That’s gotta count for something.”

Damn again. Hardcastle knew already he was always going to hate it when the kid was right. He exhaled loudly. “So where you huffing off to?”

McCormick shook his head with a rueful grin. “I’m not huffing, Judge. And I’ll stay put. I let my temper get the better of me for a second, but I’m not stupid. I told you before: your house, your rules.”

“Where were you gonna go?” Hardcastle clarified.

“The track. I don’t want to think that any of my friends are involved in this, but the truth is, most of the people I know are in racing.”

“Or crime,” the judge interjected.

McCormick laughed good-naturedly. “Hey, you’re the one that widened my circle of friends, Judge, so don’t be trying to blame that on me. But I was also wondering if we could get a list of guys who’ve gotten out of Quentin in the last few weeks. It’s possible there’s someone there who’d like to put me back inside.”

“Been giving this a lot of thought, have you, kid?”

“It’s my ass, remember?”

“Yeah,” Hardcastle answered with a grin, “I remember. But like you pointed out, it’s my cheap labor. How about I ride with you out to the track, and we’ll see what we can find out?”

McCormick’s face lit up. “Really? That would be great, Judge! You ready to go now?”

“Give me a few minutes, McCormick,” Hardcastle said as he started toward the house, “I’ll be right back.”

McCormick was sitting in the Coyote with his goofy grin still plastered to his face when the judge returned. “All set, Kemosabe?” he asked as Hardcastle settled into the passenger seat.

Hardcastle grinned back at him. “Hi-yo, Silver.”

McCormick laughed, and floored the accelerator, unbelievably content as he flew down the drive and out on to the highway.

McCormick maneuvered the Coyote past the main gates of the track and circled around to the back. The last gate on this side of the track was staffed, but he simply flashed his crew badge at the attendant and drove into the parking lot. He followed the beat-up road over to a side lot, found an empty spot, and parked.

He felt Hardcastle watching him, and turned to find a strange expression on the judge’s face. “What?”

“Why’d you park way over here?”

“Because it’s the closest lot to where I want to be,” McCormick answered slowly, clearly humoring the jurist. “Did you have a different preference?”

“No,” Hardcastle replied, offering no further comment.

“Judge…what?” McCormick was hit with a sudden fear. “Please don’t tell me this is the lot where they found that first car.”

Hardcastle merely shrugged.

“I don’t suppose you’re a big believer in coincidence?”

“Not really, no,” Hardcastle replied as he climbed out of the car.

“Unbelievable,” McCormick muttered under his breath, and pulled himself out from behind the wheel. As he perched on the window, he saw that Hardcastle hadn’t completely exited the car, but was sitting on his window, waiting for the curly head to show itself.

“I’ll tell you what I do believe, though,” the judge offered across the top of the car.

McCormick pursed his lips and pondered the comment. “Do tell,” he finally replied with exaggerated interest, though he wasn’t really certain he wanted to hear the answer.

“If this is the closest lot to where your friends are, then it stands to reason this is the lot most of them use, too. That might make it a bit more likely that we find one of them behind all of this.”

McCormick felt the gratitude flood his emotions, and he smiled across the roof. That certainly was not the answer he had been expecting; you just never knew when the donkey was going to say something kind of decent. “Maybe. I guess we’ll see how it works out. Either way, you won’t be sorry we’re doing this.”

Both men pulled themselves out of the car, and they started toward the track. “So, how do you want to play this, Masked Man?” McCormick asked.

“Do your friends know about our arrangement?” Hardcastle asked.

McCormick looked at him in surprise. “Sarah said you had already talked to some people out here. I figured you would’ve mentioned it if they didn’t.”

“I did talk to a couple of folks,” the judge confirmed. “But that’s not my secret to tell to these people.”

Again a wave of gratitude swept over McCormick, and again he realized he never knew what to expect from the judge. Maybe-if he was lucky-he’d be around long enough not to be surprised.

“Yeah, Judge,” he answered the question, “they know. I had to explain why I dropped out of sight again. They weren’t likely to believe I just gave up on racing, and I don’t lie to my friends, so…”

Hardcastle nodded. “Okay, then I think we stick pretty close to the truth here. Let me talk to them about some of the jobs, see what kind of feel I get from them. I’ll let them think I’m leaning toward putting you back inside, and maybe someone will say something stupid.”

“So you basically just want me to stand around and look either worried or pissed off?” McCormick asked with a grin.

“Like I said, kid, we’re sticking pretty close to the truth.”

McCormick laughed. “That’s good, Judge; touché. I promise I’ll be more charming when I don’t have a prison sentence hanging over me.”

“And do you think that’ll be anytime soon?” Hardcastle inquired innocently. “Or will I be waiting ‘indefinitely’?”

“Hah!” McCormick made a face. “That’s up to you. Tonto will ride range until Masked Man loses all marbles and throws him in hoosegow, so if Kemosabe wants to keep nice lawn and sparkling pool, he should stay off back and let Tonto be good little sidekick.”

“That’s a cute routine, hotshot, but you might wanna tone it down a bit unless you’re planning on showing it to the warden at the C block holiday party.”

McCormick shot a glare toward the judge, and made an elaborate show of buttoning his lips together, but the grin still pulled at the corners of his mouth, and the laughter never left his eyes as he stomped a few feet ahead in a mock fury.

Hardcastle just chuckled as he followed after McCormick, noticing that the young man had already slowed his pace, making it simple to catch up with him. As they walked side by side, it occurred to Hardcastle that he had laughed more in the last month than he had in a very, very long time.

McCormick was making introductions. “Ronnie, Les, Timmy…this is Judge Hardcastle." He did a pretty good imitation of someone trying-and failing-to hide his dislike. “He’d like to talk to you guys for a minute, if that’s okay.”

Les Martin spoke for the group. “This is the guy who put you away, Skid?”

“And the guy who kept him from going away again,” Hardcastle interrupted.

McCormick grimaced and ignored the judge. “Yeah, Les, that’s him. Just try to forget about the things I’ve said before and answer his questions, would you?”

“If you say so,” Martin replied skeptically.

“So, gentleman,” Hardcastle began in a falsely cheerful voice, “just how long have you known ol’ Skid?” Behind him, McCormick rolled his eyes.

“Mark and I raced together back in Florida,” Martin answered, “and eventually we both ended up here. Timmy over there is my brother, and he’s been my crew chief forever, so he met Mark in Florida, too.”

Ronnie Bozinski spoke up. “I met him earlier this year when he started taking some laps out here. The guys told me he’d been in prison, but most of them seemed glad when he showed up.”

“Only most of them?” Hardcastle asked. “Anyone in particular not glad to see him?”

“Nah,” Bozinski shook his head, “not really. Sometimes the drivers just get a little freaked by new competition." He grinned over at his friend. “Sorry, Les, no offense.”

“So you don’t drive?” the judge clarified with Bozinski.

“Nope, strictly crew for me. I love the cars and the track, but I’m happy letting someone else do the drivin’.”

“And how often do you guys see McCormick?”

“We used to see him a lot,” Martin answered, “but ever since Flip Johnson died…well, I guess that’s when he ran into you again, and now we don’t see him anymore.”

Hardcastle didn’t miss the anger in the tone. “So when’s the last time you saw him, then?”

Martin shrugged. “I don’t know, a month or two. I saw him at Flip’s funeral, and I think maybe once right after that.”

McCormick started an explanation, “Les wasn’t-”, but the judge held up a hand to silence him. McCormick glared at him, but he shut up.

“Why are you asking this stuff, anyway?” Martin demanded.

“Well, here’s the thing, fellas…I’ve got reason to believe he might’ve been misbehavin’ just a little bit, and I’m trying to figure out what’s going on.”

Timmy Martin spoke for the first time. “And just what do you think he’s done this time? Driving his own car again? Living in his own house, or maybe spending his own money?”

McCormick snickered and grinned at Martin, but he knew better than to actually speak.

“Actually,” Hardcastle said firmly, “it’s other people’s cars and money I’m worried about right now. There have been some burglaries.”

“And you think Skid did it?” Timmy asked. “Then you’re crazier than he said."

McCormick was tempted to let Hardcastle just deal with the attitude of his friends, but when he considered that the donkey didn’t even have to be here, he thought maybe he should make things a bit easier on him. He crossed over to be closer to where his friends stood, and motioned them to gather round. He kept his back to the judge, but he didn’t lower his voice.

“Okay, guys, here’s the thing. I appreciate your feelings here, and to tell you the truth, I’d get a pretty big kick out of watching you run this old guy into the ground, but that’s not gonna help me right now. He’s got some bee in his bonnet about these burglaries, and he seems to think he needs to come down here and play Dick Tracy. I don’t know what he wants to know, but I’d appreciate it if you’d just answer his questions. If he gets all pissed off, it’s just gonna be that much harder on me.”

Again, Les Martin spoke for the group. “All right, Skid, you made your point. We’ll play nice." The racer leaned closer to McCormick and whispered, “Is there anything in particular we should tell him?”

McCormick smiled and shook his head. “Nah, Les, just the truth. I didn’t do these things, so whatever he’s digging for, he’s not gonna find it." He clapped Martin on the back and moved away from the group. While they refocused their attention on the judge, McCormick spent some time examining their car.

“All right, Hardcastle,” Martin said, “obviously, we don’t think Skid did whatever you’re talking about, so if we can help prove that to you, we’ll be glad to answer your questions.”

“Great,” Hardcastle replied with a false grin. “First, Mr. Bozinski, maybe you could tell me the last time you saw McCormick?”

“A couple of weeks ago,” Boz replied in an off-hand manner. “It was a Friday afternoon; he stopped by for a while and we all had some laughs.”

“Anything out of the ordinary happen that day?”

“Out of the ordinary? You mean, like was he flashing wads of cash, or telling us all about the latest robbery techniques?”

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” the judge answered dryly, “but was he?”

Bozinski shook his head. “Hardly. It was a joke, Judge. He looked over some of the cars; watched a couple of qualifying laps; we talked a little bit…we were just hanging out. I’ll tell you, the strangest thing I know of that happened was Skid turning down that job offer-“

“Boz, don’t…” McCormick’s sudden attempt to interrupt was too late, but it still earned him a near lethal glare from Hardcastle.

“Let the man talk, McCormick." He turned his attention back to Bozinski. “What job offer?”

With an apologetic look toward his friend, Boz continued. “I don’t know a lot of the details, but one of the teams needed a stand-in for a couple of weeks. Skid was here, and they asked him. Seemed like a great chance, but he said no.”

Hardcastle glanced quickly over at McCormick, but the younger man was deliberately keeping his gaze anywhere but the judge. “Anything else happen I should know about, Mr. Bozinski?”

Boz shook his head. “Nah. He wasn’t here all that long. When he left, we got him a crew badge and a key, and he said he’d be back when he could. There wasn’t anything that happened that makes me think he was hiding something…not then, and not now.”

“All right, then,” Hardcastle said with a nod, “I think we’re gonna go talk to some of the other folks. If you guys remember anything more, will you give me a call?”

Les Martin resumed his role as spokesman. “Yes, Judge, we’ll be glad to do that." He turned to face McCormick. “Mark, let us know if there’s anything we can do. And get your butt back out here and take some laps with us someday, you hear?”

McCormick grinned. “You got it. I’ll be back to see you guys…” He hesitated, and shot a dark look at Hardcastle. “Well…as soon as I can,” he finally finished.

After leaving his friends, McCormick led the way through the pits at a brisk pace. “Still a few other people here we can talk to, Judge,” he said casually.

“Hold it a minute, McCormick,” Hardcastle called after him.

McCormick considered ignoring the request, but knew immediately that tactic wouldn’t go over well with the judge. He paused, and turned with an innocent expression. “What’s up?”

“That’s what I was gonna ask you,” Hardcastle replied. “What was that all about?”

“Sorry about that, Judge,” McCormick answered, pretending to misunderstand. “I had forgotten the Martins weren’t here when I stopped by. I’ll get you to some of the other people I saw that day." He turned and started to move toward the next trailer.

“It’s not that easy, kiddo.”

McCormick turned back slowly to face the judge. “What?”

“I want to know about the job, McCormick,” Hardcastle said plainly.

“It’s no big deal,” McCormick said with a slight shake of his head, “not even a real job. Now, I think maybe Walt is here today, and we-”

“Has it escaped your attention that this is not the time to be keeping things from me?”

McCormick sighed. “No, Hardcase, it has not escaped my attention for even a minute." He paused before continuing. He wasn’t completely sure why he hadn’t told Hardcastle about the offer to begin with, but now-of course-the judge felt like he’d been lied to. He would have to fix that. “It really isn’t a big deal, Judge,” he finally said. “One of the drivers got hurt, bad burn or something. Ended up with his hand and arm all bandaged up like a mummy, no way he was gonna be driving for a while. Anyway, the team didn’t have a backup handy, and they really wanted to make the race. They offered me the ride for that weekend and the following. I said thanks, but no thanks. End of story.”

Hardcastle examined the younger man closely. What was it he wasn’t saying? “Why’d you say no?”

“It wasn’t really that great a ride,” McCormick said lightly. “The team’s a little second rate. I mean, think about it, they didn’t even have a backup driver.”

“This also isn’t the time to start lying to me, kiddo,” Hardcastle told him firmly.

“That wasn’t a lie, Judge,” McCormick objected quickly, but he withered under Hardcastle’s continued stare. “Well…maybe it’s not the entire truth." He took a breath. “The rest of truth is that they wanted an answer right then. Not in an hour or even five minutes, but right then. They needed a commitment for the entire weekend, and right after the final flag on Sunday, they were packing up and heading to Georgia for the next week’s race. It was a package deal, Judge, and there wasn’t even time to make a phone call, much less have a long drawn out conversation about it. They needed an answer. I said no.”

Hardcastle stared at him for a long moment. “How bad did you want it?” he finally asked.

“Bad,” McCormick admitted softly. “I would’ve done just about anything for it…except go back to prison.”

Hardcastle felt a wave of guilt as he heard McCormick try to hide the bitterness in his tone. “I wouldn’t have put you back in prison!” he blustered.

McCormick simply stared, allowing his wide eyes and gently mocking smile to speak his disbelief.

“Well, okay,” the judge relented after a moment, “I wouldn’t have been too happy if you hadn’t checked with me first.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the understatement of the year, Judge. Besides, I guess it’s all for the best. Think about it…the day I was here was the same day the phone calls started. Just imagine what would’ve happened if I’d stayed here to race and was late coming home that day. I think it would’ve been a very different cell you threw me in that weekend, and you sure as hell wouldn’t have come back for me.”

Hardcastle had to admit that McCormick was probably right, but he didn’t like the nagging feeling that he was somehow responsible for costing the kid a dream. Plus, he hated that McCormick had apparently been too afraid to ask, or even mention it before now. Hardcastle could not explain his feelings in a million years, but that didn’t make the stab of guilt any less real.

McCormick recognized the emotion glowing in the pale blue eyes, and felt his own wave of guilt. He hadn’t been trying to blame the judge, not really. Deep down, he thought maybe that’s why he had kept the secret in the first place, just to avoid this very scene.

He found a small grin. “Hey, for what it’s worth, Hardcase, I thought you might’ve said yes eventually, which is more than that P.O. Dalem would’ve ever done." He didn’t add that he also thought ‘eventually’ might mean after days of pleading and badgering, or that the judge’s permission would certainly have come too late to matter. He was trying to make the old guy feel better, after all. McCormick shrugged. “There’ll be other chances.”

Hardcastle returned the grin, surprised by the young man’s ability to ease his feelings. Hell, truth be told, the judge wasn’t expecting to be having these feelings. He certainly didn’t expect that McCormick would know how to handle them…or how to handle him. “Sure there will,” he agreed. “So next time, just say yes." He fixed McCormick with a pointed glare. “And then ask me.”

McCormick laughed, pleased that his words seemed to have had the desired effect. “You got a deal, Kemosabe. Now, do you wanna stand here talking about my career plans, or do you wanna talk to some people?”

Hardcastle swung his arm expansively, indicating the continuing walkway. “I’m following you, kiddo.”

The judge was shaking hands with Walt King. McCormick had introduced him as one of the drivers, though Hardcastle wasn’t sure how he managed to fold himself into a racecar. The man looked more like a linebacker for the Rams. “Good to meet you, Mr. King.”

“Most of my friends just call me Kong,” the man advised in a deep and pleasant voice, “and any friend of Skid’s is a friend of mine.”

“He’s not exactly a friend, Kong,” McCormick muttered under his breath, then immediately realized he had spoken too loudly when he felt Hardcastle punch him in the arm.

“Ow!” He rubbed at his shoulder. “Isn’t there some kind of law against judicial abuse?” he complained.

“Completely justifiable,” Hardcastle responded dismissively. He turned his attention back to the large racer, who was simply watching the exchange, confused. “So, Kong, what can you tell me about good old Skid Mark?”

“Tell you about what?” Kong asked with what seemed to be a shrug, though the massive shoulders barely moved. “He’s a good driver, a good guy.”

“A good guy?” Hardcastle leaned closer and spoke conspiratorially. “He’s done time, you know.”

Again, the would-be shrug. “So? He caught some bad breaks. Including you.”

The judge ignored the insult. “So how often do you see McCormick these days?”

“Hardly ever. He was out here a couple of weeks ago one afternoon, but it had been a while before that. I heard he got arrested again, and I was afraid he’d gone back to prison. I was glad to see him out here. Then he told me about you.”

“I’ll bet,” Hardcastle snorted. “Listen,” he continued, “did it surprise you when you heard he had been arrested again?”

“Not once I heard what car he had taken. He was really close with Flip Johnson.”

“I guess being able to hotwire a car isn’t all that surprising, given all the time he’s spent working on cars and all. But do you think McCormick has any other criminal skills?” Hardcastle paused for a moment, then added, “Like, do you think he knows how to crack a safe?”

Kong narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

“I’m looking into a few robberies that have happened recently. Seems McCormick might be the logical suspect.”

“Why?” Kong asked again. “Just because he’s got a record? A lot of that record is your fault, you know, so it doesn’t seem fair you hold it against him.”

From the corner of his eye, Hardcastle could see McCormick’s cocky smirk, but he was glad the kid had sense enough to keep his mouth shut.

“Like it or not, McCormick’s past does have some bearing on his present. That’s why I’d like to know what other talents he might be hidin’ away. What can you tell me about that?”

Surprisingly, Kong grinned. “Judge, I think you got the wrong idea about what goes on out here. Lots of guys on the circuit got some kind of past they’d just as soon put behind them. You learn real quick not to ask for more than is given, let people have their privacy. So if you’re asking me if Skid ever confessed some dark secret about all the crimes he’s ever committed, the answer is no. I don’t think he runs around giving out some kind of criminal resume. And if you’re asking me if I think he did the robberies you’re talking about, that answer is also no.”

“And what if all I’m asking is if you, personally, think he would be able to break into a house, open a safe, then leave the scene in a stolen car? Could he do that, if he wanted to?”

McCormick held his breath when he heard the phrasing of the question. He would never ask any of his friends to lie for him, but some of them could do more damage than others. Kong was one of them, and the judge had presented a question that would be difficult to evade truthfully.

Kong stared at the judge for a moment, suddenly remembering the time he’d been at the track late in the night with McCormick, and they had realized their job would be a lot easier with a couple of tools that were locked in one of the maintenance closets. McCormick had picked the lock on the door without thought, then opened the lock on the tool crib with equal ease. But nothing had really been stolen, just borrowed, and he didn’t believe McCormick would just sneak into a stranger’s home and rob them blind. He finally answered Hardcastle’s question.

“I don’t know. Seems to me that kind of work requires a lot of coordination and patience, and Skid’s a little short on both. Have you ever noticed how clumsy he can be? It’s amazing to me he can drive as well as he does.”

Hardcastle chuckled, thinking that the kid did seem to always be tripping over or bumping into something, but he sobered when he saw the look of relief that flashed briefly over McCormick’s features. Apparently, Kong had information the ex-con would prefer to stay hidden, and Hardcastle didn’t like that one little bit.

“Mr. King,” the judge said, his voice suddenly ice cold, “do you know the penalty for withholding information in an on-going police investigation? I’d hate for your career to end up taking the same kind of vacation as McCormick’s.”

Kong gaped at the judge, taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor. “What are you talking about? I’m not withholding anything. You asked me for an opinion and I gave it. What else do you want?” For all his size, Kong suddenly seemed much smaller as he fought off the fear of Hardcastle’s threat.

McCormick interrupted. “Don’t worry about it, Kong, you did great." He grabbed Hardcastle’s arm to pull him away. “Can I talk to you privately, Judge?”

But Hardcastle wasn’t budging. “I think I have more questions for Mr. King,” he said roughly, “and I don’t need you interfering." He attempted to pull away, but McCormick’s grip was surprisingly firm.

“Come back and talk to him later if you want,” McCormick hissed through clenched teeth, “but right now, talk to me." He turned the judge to walk away. “Thanks, Kong,” he threw back over his shoulder as they left the bay. “Don’t worry about Hardcase here. I’ll talk to you later.”

Hardcastle allowed himself to be steered away and managed to hold his tongue until they seemed safely out of earshot of anyone else. Then his temper exploded. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

“That’s exactly what I was going to say to you,” McCormick yelled back. “Just where in the hell do you get off, anyway? You want to treat me like some second-class citizen, like some kinda low-life common crook, well…I figure I signed on for it and I’ll take it. But you’ve got no right, no right, to treat my friends like shit, too. Unless there’s some law against being friends with Mark McCormick, they haven’t done anything wrong. I won’t have you threatening them and making them feel as worthless as you do me. So you just better back the hell off and leave them alone!” McCormick felt his hands clenched at his sides and fought the impulse to pummel the stony old face in front of him. He was pissed, but he sure as hell wasn’t mad enough to go to jail.

Under other circumstances, Hardcastle might have responded to the words that so clearly betrayed some of McCormick’s inner feelings. But at the moment, he had gone from mildly suspicious to highly angry in a very short amount of time, and that could be a deadly combination in Milton C. Hardcastle.

“If you’re so worried about your friends, McCormick,” Hardcastle bellowed, red-faced, “then they shouldn’t be lying for you!”

“I know that!”

Realizing McCormick’s answer wasn’t a denial, the judge bit back the angry responses running through his head. He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “Then would you like to tell me what your buddy Kong was hiding?”

McCormick visibly deflated as he willed the anger to leave his body. He didn’t allow his eyes to meet Hardcastle’s as he answered softly, “It’s not about these robberies, Judge."

“So?”

McCormick glanced up. “You know, Hardcase, you never asked me if I could’ve done it, you only asked me if I had.”

“Consider yourself asked, kiddo. Do you have that kind of talent in your bag of tricks?”

“Well, I hate to brag…” McCormick replied with a slight grin. He saw Hardcastle’s gaze begin to harden, so he rushed on. “Yeah, Judge, I coulda done it. Is that what you want to hear? If the other houses are anything like yours, for instance, it would’ve been a piece of cake. I’ll be happy to give you a demonstration someday, if you want." McCormick had a sudden idea. “Is that why it was easy for you to accept my innocence before, Hardcastle? Not because you thought I wouldn’t do it, but because you thought I couldn’t?”

“Don’t be dense, McCormick,” Hardcastle barked at him. “Personally, I doubt if there’s any type of crime you’d be incapable of pulling off, but I thought my special fondness for you might make me give you too much credit.”

McCormick laughed briefly. “You kill me, Judge. I don’t even know if that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment.”

Hardcastle shrugged. “Whichever you prefer, kid. But, listen, where’d you learn how to crack a safe? There’s nothing like that in your file.”

“It only ends up in your file if you get caught,” McCormick replied dryly.

“I’ll have to remember that,” the judge answered in a tone that was suddenly strangely subdued.

McCormick looked at him sharply, and was surprised by the disappointment in the judge’s expression. When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?

“Sheesh, Hardcase, lighten up. You don’t really have public enemy number one living with you, you know. Listen, you spend as much time as I have on the streets and in the joint, you learn a lot of things you wouldn’t pick up at the local vocational school. You learn ‘em and you file ‘em away, because you just never know when something might come in handy. Opening safes is on my list of filed away information.

“But, Judge, I was joking before. It’s not in my record because I’ve never dug it out of my files; there was nothing to get caught at. I’ll be the first to tell you I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, but those things don’t include trying to make a living stealing from others." He looked sincerely into the judge’s eyes. “It was a joke, Hardcase, I swear." He risked a slight grin. “Trust your files, Judge. I’m bettin’ they haven’t let you down yet.”

“No,” Hardcastle answered slowly, “not yet." Like virtually everything else McCormick had ever said to him, the judge found himself accepting this answer at face value. He thought it was possible that approach would get him into trouble someday, but he felt strongly that today would not be that day.

“So,” he finally continued, “did you and Kong do some of those stupid things together? Is that what you were afraid he’d spill the beans about?”

“Hardly, Judge. Where do you even come up with some of these ideas? I told you, he hasn’t done anything wrong. Besides, who said I was afraid he’d spill the beans about anything?”

Hardcastle chuckled, but he wasn’t about to tell McCormick that his face could be an open book. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing you don’t want to lie to me, kiddo, 'cause I don’t think you’d be all that successful at it.”

Privately, McCormick disagreed with the assessment, though that certainly was not an argument he would make. But he gave in gracefully to the inquiring eyes that simply stared at him, waiting for an answer.

“Okay, Judge. He saw me pick a couple of locks one time. No big deal…we were here and needed some tools from a locked closet, so I got ‘em. Kong was either impressed or shocked; I’m not sure even he knows which. But he had a lot of questions, and it was kinda strange for a while. I’m pretty sure he has the impression I could get into more than a rinky-dink tool crib, if I were so inclined.”

“And there’s nothing else?”

“No, Hardcase, nothing else. If you promise you won’t make any more threats, you can go back and ask him yourself.”

“Maybe later,” Hardcastle grinned, amused by McCormick’s protective demeanor. “Right now, why don’t you introduce me to some more of your friends?”

McCormick hesitated. “You know, Judge, I don’t think this is really working out all that well. We should just go.”

“Aw, you’re just mad because your little secrets are coming out, McCormick. C’mon, I promise to be nice to the rest of ‘em.”

“Seriously, Judge,” McCormick argued, “this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“You really are worried about your secrets!” Hardcastle was surprised by the idea.

“Maybe a little,” McCormick replied with a slight shrug, surprising Hardcastle even further. He went on quickly. “But not because of anything that’s going on right now. I swear, if anyone out here knows anything about these burglaries, it won’t have anything to do with me. But as for anything else…I don’t know, Judge. There’s certainly things in my past I don’t figure you’d be too pleased with, so why would I want you finding out all the gory details? I think this might have been a bad idea.”

Hardcastle looked at him skeptically. “Surely you don’t think I’ve fallen for that innocent routine of yours, McCormick?”

McCormick snorted. “I think my first group shower in Q pretty much convinced me you weren’t my biggest believer, Judge.”

“Then what’s the problem? I know you’re not a saint, kid.”

“I know, Hardcase,” McCormick sighed. He shook his head. “I don’t know what the problem is. Never mind. There isn’t a problem. Talk to whoever you want." He started to lead the way toward the next trailer, and mumbled one final comment. “Don’t suppose you could really think less of me, anyway.”

Hardcastle rolled his eyes at the remark. Add that to the kid’s earlier comments about the treatment he received, and you definitely had the makings of a McCormick meltdown. In the six short weeks McCormick had been in residence, the judge had already learned a couple of things about the young man’s personality. First, the kid could slip into a funk quicker than anyone he ever knew. And second, he was no damn fun when he did.

He reached out and grabbed McCormick’s arm to keep him in their relative privacy. “I heard that, kiddo.”

“Sorry,” McCormick snapped.

“Don’t apologize, McCormick, just tell me what the hell is going on.”

McCormick shook his head again. “Nothing, Judge." How did you tell someone that their disapproval was easier to deal with in the general form, rather than in the specific? Especially when their approval wasn’t supposed to matter in the first place. He jerked his arm from Hardcastle’s grip. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“McCormick.”

The ex-con stopped after a single step, suddenly hating the amount of control he had given over to this man. “You said you wanted to talk to my friends, Hardcastle, so let’s do it." He had no intention of discussing his discomfort.

“Would it be easier for you if I talked to them alone?” Hardcastle offered. “That way you won’t have to be embarrassed by anything we might talk about. Not that you should be embarrassed, anyway, but I guess I can understand your concerns. I’ll tell you about our conversations if it seems to be pertinent.”

McCormick glanced at him suspiciously. “What? And just let you have all sorts of God-knows-what kind of information to use against me whenever you see fit? That doesn’t sound a whole lot better.”

Hardcastle refused to let himself get angry at the implication. “Tell me now if I might run across anything that would jeopardize your parole,” he instructed firmly.

“Not unless you just decide I’m not the kind of sterling character you want to be associating with.”

“You know what, kiddo? Maybe you should consider the fact that you can end this arrangement anytime you want. You don’t have to work so hard at finding a way to make me push you aside. Just say the word and I can have you sent back with no fuss and no muss.”

“You think that’s what I want?” McCormick demanded. “Then you’re crazier than even I thought! I don’t ever want to go back, Hardcase, and I’m sure as hell not gonna be doing anything to try and force you into cuttin’ me loose. Unless,” he added hopefully, “you want to release me back into a more traditional parole arrangement. Then we might be able to talk.”

Hardcastle shook his head. “No dice, hotshot. It’s the gatehouse or the big house, and I’m not talking about my house, either. Your choice.”

McCormick laughed in spite of himself. “If those are my only choices, Judge, then the gatehouse wins hands down." He sobered immediately. “And how long does it stay my choice?”

“As long as you behave yourself, kiddo,” Hardcastle answered without hesitation. “I figure the past is the past; I’m more concerned about the present and the future. As long as you keep your nose clean and stay straight with me, I won’t need to make the choice for you. But…” He let the thought go unfinished for a moment, wanting to make sure he had McCormick’s attention.

“I almost hate to ask, Judge. ‘But’ what?”

“You gotta stop coming unglued on me, kiddo. It’s makin’ me a little crazy. Trust me, if all I wanted was you behind bars, there’s easier ways to go about it.”

McCormick felt an embarrassed smile on his face. “Sorry about that, Judge. Of course you’re right. I’m probably not going to say that too often, so enjoy it while you can. I’ll try to keep the ‘coming unglued’ to a minimum." He didn’t add that Hardcastle could do his part to make the whole situation a lot easier by keeping the yelling and the insults to a minimum, too. McCormick figured the old donkey knew that already, even if the only time he ever seemed to back down was when he had pushed his favorite ex-con further into a corner than he had probably intended. Oh, well, at least the judge kept him on his toes.

“So,” Hardcastle broke into his thoughts, “what’s it gonna be? You coming with me to talk to your friends, or do you want me to go alone?”

McCormick considered the question for a long moment. “Nah, Judge, you go ahead and have your fun. I’ll just hang out with Kong for a while or something. I think you were on to something before. It won’t be quite so strange if I don’t have to know what you find out." He grinned fractionally. “Just promise me you won’t be throwing the stuff in my face indefinitely.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Hardcastle assured him, though the twinkle in his eyes was more mischievous than usual.

“I’m not gonna tell you again to forget about it,” McCormick yelled from his position underneath the 1981 Camaro. He snugged up the jam nut on the suspension link and rolled himself back into the light. “That oughta fix your alignment problem, Kong,” he said, as he climbed up off the creeper. He grabbed a towel and wiped his hands clean. “But you need to get it back out there and make sure. You still have a whole day of practice before qualifiers.”

“I will, Skid,” Kong promised, “and I appreciate your help. But you’re avoiding my questions. If I made things bad for you with that judge, I want to try and make it better.”

“You didn’t make anything bad,” McCormick assured him for at least the tenth time. “Hardcastle gets a little worked up over things sometimes, and his mouth kicks into gear before his brain. It’s nothing to be concerned about. He might come back and talk to you later, I don’t know. If he does, just tell him the truth and everything will be fine.”

“Does that advice apply to everyone, Skid?” interrupted a new voice.

McCormick and Kong both turned to face the speaker, and McCormick smiled in recognition. He held out his hand as he approached the newcomer. “Lenny, it’s been a long time.”

Leonard Archer, another driver McCormick had known for many years, grasped McCormick’s hand and shook it warmly. “Yeah,” he agreed, “long time. How’ve you been? I was sorry I missed your last visit. I’m glad you made it back. Good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Lenny. I didn’t even know you had moved back here now.”

“Not too long ago, actually. But, hey, I wanted to talk about you. What’s up with this judge wandering around today? He’s asking a lot of questions.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s with me; sorry if he’s being a pain in the butt.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Mark,” Kong interjected as he turned to head back to his car.

“He’s right,” Archer agreed. “I just wondered what was going on.”

“It’s a long story, Lenny,” McCormick answered with a sigh. “Basically, I’m paroled in the judge’s custody, working for him, and now he’s starting to think I’ve been out burglarizing some houses. He’s talking to a lot of my friends, trying to get some information and figure out what he really believes. I told him I didn’t have anything to hide, so he decided to go alone.”

“What do you think will happen?”

Remembering Hardcastle’s instructions, McCormick answered with what he hoped was a lie. “Well, I’m pretty sure it starts with ‘do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars’ and ends with me sleeping with my eyes open for the next five to ten years.”

“You seem to be taking it well,” Archer observed.

McCormick leaned closer. “I don’t plan on being around long enough for it to be a problem,” he whispered. “Though just between you and me, I’d rather it didn’t come to that.”

“You’d rather stay with him than run?” Archer seemed genuinely confused.

“Running isn’t a way to live, Lenny, take my word for that. Besides, it hasn’t been all that bad with him. Hardcastle’s crazy, but he’s okay, too. Trust me, when it comes down to life in prison, life on the run, or life with a lunatic judge, I’ll take the judge any day. He is definitely the lesser of the evils." McCormick grinned suddenly. “Of course, he can’t ever know that. I just tell him he’s the biggest donkey to ever walk the earth. But that’s enough about Hardcase and me. What’s up with you? Got yourself a sponsor?”

“Nah, not right now,” Archer answered. “Ran a couple of weeks for the Dawson group when their driver got hurt, but that was just a temp thing.”

McCormick pushed back the wave of jealousy that hit him. “Oh, yeah, I heard they needed someone. Local run and then a weekend out in Georgia, right? How’d it work out?”

Archer grinned. “Got my butt kicked here, but I managed to place out there. Not bad, I guess. Maybe they’ll remember me.”

“Hope so, Lenny. Life’s always easier with a sponsor."

McCormick’s eyes drifted down the walkway to the lone outline approaching them. Sheer determination was written in every inch of the figure, from the Yankees ball cap down to the well-worn tennis shoes. “And speaking of sponsors,” he muttered, “looks like mine is back." He began to unzip the overalls he had slipped on for working on the car. “Guess it’s time to go.”

Archer looked behind him to see Hardcastle nearing the bay. “Hey, Skid, no offense, but I think I’ve seen enough of him for one day.”

“Yeah, me, too. At least you can leave." He stepped out of the jumpsuit.

“Let me take that for you, Skid, and I’m getting out of here.”

McCormick handed over the clothing to Archer with a grin. “Thanks, Lenny. Go ahead and beat it outta here. He won’t care; I’m sure he’s done with you.”

Archer bundled up the jumpsuit and hurried out in the opposite direction.

McCormick grinned as he watched him go. Hardcastle clearly had a way with people. He called out a greeting as the judge approached. “Hey, Hardcase. You all done here?”

“Maybe,” Hardcastle answered. “Is there any point in talking to Mr. King again?”

“What do you mean by that?” McCormick demanded.

The judge shrugged. “I just mean if he’s been coached, there might not be much to be gained by asking him questions.”

McCormick glared at him. “Listen, Hardcase…” but he broke off his reply when Kong walked up to join them.

“The only coaching that was going on, Judge Hardcastle,” the large driver said firmly, “was when Skid told me just to tell you the truth about anything you asked. If you have more questions for me, I’ll be glad to do just that.”

“Actually, I just want to clarify the question I asked earlier. McCormick seems to think that your answer is that you really do believe he could pull off the robberies I’m looking into. Is that correct?”

Kong glanced over at McCormick, still not comfortable with actually voicing the words that seemed so damning. McCormick just shrugged, and indicated that he should continue.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Kong finally replied. “I watched him go into a locked tool crib one time, and it kinda worried me. We talked about it some, and we talked about some of the trouble Mark had gotten into earlier. I was left with the impression that his natural talents extended beyond racing. But,” Kong continued pointedly, “I absolutely do not believe that he did the things you’re talking about. I told you before, he’s a good guy.”

Hardcastle nodded his head. “Okay, Mr. King, thank you. If any other questions come up, I’ll be in touch." He turned his attention to McCormick. “All right, McCormick, we’re done here.”

“Okay." McCormick extended his hand to King. “Thanks, Walt; the laps were fun. I’ll talk to you soon.”

King grinned. “Don’t thank me, you’re the one that did all the work today. Come back anytime.”

As they walked toward the parking lot, McCormick kept glancing over at Hardcastle, who clearly had something on his mind. They had reached the car before he got up the courage to ask what was going on.

“Find out anything interesting, Hardcase?”

“Not particularly. Most of these guys think you’re probably innocent.”

McCormick pretended to be hurt. “Only most of them think I’m probably innocent?” He grinned. “Which of them think I’m probably not?”

“It’s not important,” Hardcastle replied shortly as he rounded the Coyote to the passenger side.

“Wait a minute, Judge,” McCormick stopped him from getting in the car. “It’s not important, like it’s really not important and we’re going home? Or, it’s not important like it really is and we’re stopping at the police station on the way?”

“Don’t be stupid, McCormick,” the judge barked. “The station isn’t anywhere near on the way home.”

“Juuuuudge…”

Hardcastle almost smiled at the whine. He did so enjoy keeping the kid guessing, though this really wasn’t a time for games. He settled for simply repeating his original statement. “I said it wasn’t important, now let’s go.”

McCormick stared as Hardcastle climbed into the car, finished with the discussion. “Not important,” he muttered disgustedly. The judge’s attitude clearly said differently, but McCormick was prepared to let it go for the time being. He’d had more than enough soul-baring conversations for one day. He slid into the driver’s seat and pointed the car toward home.

As they drove, Hardcastle stared silently out the window, lost in thought, and McCormick stared straight ahead at the road, trying to out-wait the judge.

McCormick finally relented. “You wanna stop for a pizza?”

“Not really.”

McCormick sighed silently and continued his driving. After a few more miles, he tried again, though he wasn’t sure this was a discussion he wanted to have. “You know I’d tell you anything you need to know, Judge.”

Hardcastle glanced over quickly and saw the sincerity in the blue eyes. “I know you would, kiddo,” was all he said as he turned back to the window.

McCormick shook his head and gave up, deciding he would just concentrate on the driving. Another fifteen minutes passed before the silence threatened to make him completely bonkers. He reached for the radio, but changed his mind at the last minute and pushed in the tape waiting in the cassette deck. He turned the volume to what the judge would consider a tolerable level and tried to develop an appreciation for the Cab Calloway that was coming through the speakers.

"The Scat Song" was over and "Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" was well under way when Hardcastle finally spoke. “McCormick, have you done anything in the last six months that I really should know about?”

McCormick concentrated on not becoming defensive. “You mean since I’ve been on parole, Judge? Something that would put me back inside?”

“Yeah, something like that." Hardcastle still didn’t turn from the window, but McCormick was just glad he was talking, even if he was fairly certain he had already answered this question about a zillion times before.

“Well,” McCormick answered with a slight grin, “I almost missed a parole appointment once, and then there was this proto-type racecar I took one time…”

“I’m serious, McCormick.”

“So am I, Hardcase. You’ve had a front row seat to the mistakes I’ve made since I’ve been out, Judge, so you don’t have to ask.”

Hardcastle turned slowly to look at the ex-con. “And there’s been nothing else?”

“Judge, what is it you want to know? Just ask me and I’ll tell you.”

“I did ask, kiddo. There’s been nothing else?”

McCormick sighed again, more loudly this time. “No, Judge, nothing else. What are you looking for? What did you hear?”

“I told you, what I heard isn’t important. I’m more concerned about what I hear from you.”

“I’ll remember that,” McCormick answered with a slight smile. “But, honestly, Judge, taking the Coyote is it. I told you, I don’t ever want to go back inside, and I’ve known that for a long time. I’ve been behaving myself since I got out.”

“Not even any close calls? Misunderstandings? Something that might’ve scared the hell out of you until you got it worked out?”

“Hardcastle!” McCormick all but shouted. “Just tell me what you’re talking about!”

But the judge was stubbornly silent as he sat staring at the driver, waiting. Whenever McCormick was holding something back, there was always a flicker of guilt in his eyes and a shadow of remorse that crossed his face. The signs were brief, but their presence seemed almost guaranteed. So Hardcastle waited. But each time McCormick chanced a glance away from traffic and looked his direction, the eyes were steady and the face as open as ever.

“Okay,” Hardcastle finally said, and turned back to the window.

McCormick rubbed at his eyes, suddenly unbelievably weary. “Judge….” He realized he had no idea what it was he wanted to say, so he just kept his eyes focused on the road and tried to ignore the sounds of jazz that still played on the stereo.

About the time McCormick passed the Welcome to Malibu sign, Hardcastle spoke again. “You want to pick up a pizza to take home, kid?”

McCormick glanced over and saw that most of the tension seemed to have left Hardcastle’s body, and he felt himself relax as well. “Can I pick the toppings?”

Hardcastle grinned. “Sure, kiddo. I guess you’ve earned it. You’ve been pretty good today.”

McCormick chuckled and pulled off the PCH toward the pizzeria. Whatever was bugging Hardcastle, he was glad it wasn’t going to interfere with dinner.

Hardcastle looked across the room at the youthful figure sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, balancing a plate of pizza and garlic bread on his knees, a beer bottle in his left hand and the television remote in his right. McCormick’s attention was fixed on the television screen, waiting for the next pitch. When the Dodgers pulled off the double play to retire the Phillies, he cheered wildly and had to drop the remote to save the pizza from the floor. The judge laughed aloud at the sight, thinking that the kid was more entertaining than anything on television.

“What?” McCormick demanded in the wake of the laughter, glaring across the room. “I’m just enjoying the game.”

“Me, too,” the judge grinned. He paused a moment, then said, “Hey, kiddo, you ever spent any time down in San Diego.”

“Not in quite a while,” McCormick answered without thought, then looked at the judge with suddenly suspicious eyes. “Why?”

“Just curious,” Hardcastle said vaguely. “What’s a while?”

“A long time ago, Hardcase,” McCormick answered harshly. “Before you and me ever met.”

“Before I brought you here?” Hardcastle clarified. “Or before I sentenced you to prison?”

McCormick stuffed a slice of pizza in his mouth and glared at the judge. He chewed slowly, then tried to swallow his anger along with the assorted toppings. He wasn’t altogether successful.

“Before you sent me to prison, Judge,” he finally answered. “And just for the record, I don’t know why you wouldn’t just ask me this stuff earlier when I was ready to talk about it instead of trying to make all nice with the pizza pie and lulling me into a false sense of security. What is with you, anyway? I musta told you ten times I’d tell you anything you wanted to know.”

“You through?” Hardcastle asked blandly.

“Pretty damn close,” McCormick spat out, rising from the sofa.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the judge demanded.

McCormick paused briefly from his quest to retrieve the dropped television remote. He jerked his head around to glare pointedly at Hardcastle, deliberately aimed the gadget and turned off the ballgame before reclaiming his seat.

Hardcastle grimaced as he realized that he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. The kid was right; he should’ve just asked him about this earlier.

“I was kinda mad earlier,” he offered by way of explanation. “Well, not exactly mad,” he corrected quickly, seeing McCormick’s raised eyebrow, “but I was kinda upset, wanted to think some things through. I thought it might make the conversation go a little smoother.”

A brief, harsh laugh escaped McCormick’s lips. “I guess it was a good thought, Judge, even if it didn’t work out too well." He gave a genuine grin. “What do you say we try again?” He paused briefly, pasted an overly genial smile on his face, and spoke in a tone that dripped exaggerated patience and consideration. “I spent a short amount of time in San Diego one time, Judge Hardcastle, perhaps in 1979 or ’80. I have not returned to the fair city since that time, though I did enjoy my stay. Why ever on earth do you ask?”

Hardcastle stared at the twinkling blue eyes and put forth a mighty effort to maintain his stern expression. He managed to contain the full-fledged laugh that threatened to erupt, and settled for a small chuckle and a grin. “Another cute bit, hotshot. Don’t know how you keep up.”

“Hey, no worries, Hardcase, I’m full of ‘em.”

“You’re full of something,” the judge agreed.

He smiled as he watched McCormick lean back into the corner of the sofa, stretch his legs to their full length, and gather his plate and bottle back to him to finish his meal. He was amused by the attitude. The kid could definitely get into a snit in nothing flat, but he usually snapped out of it just as quickly, and nothing got in the way of mealtime. You could almost admire someone who could keep his priorities in order like that.

“So you ready?”

With his mouth full of pizza, McCormick couldn’t quite grin-and certainly couldn’t speak-but he bobbed his head up and down and motioned the judge to continue.

“So what were you doing in San Diego in ’79 or ’80?”

“Went for a race,” McCormick answered thickly, trying to talk around the food. He swallowed, then grinned over at the judge. “Stayed for a girl.”

Hardcastle shook his head wonderingly. “How long?”

“Oh, a couple of months, I guess. We crashed and burned pretty quickly, and I came back here.”

“Is that the only time you were there?”

“No, I’d been there a couple of times before, but it’s the only time I spent any real time there." McCormick continued to take small bites between his answers, avoiding the impulse to demand to know why the questions were coming at all.

“And that’s the last time you were there?”

“Yep.”

“Haven’t been back even for a weekend visit, another race, anything?”

“Nope. I’d say I was back in L.A. about a year when I met this crazy judge and ended up in San Quentin for driving my own car. My time has been pretty well spoken for since then.”

Hardcastle ignored the jab. “You didn’t ever visit once you were on parole?”

“Gimme a break. My P.O. woulda had my ass for leaving the county without permission, and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna give permission. No, I’ve pretty much been a homebody lately, Judge.”

“What about that trip to Tahoe?” Hardcastle asked suddenly.

McCormick looked over at him sharply, remembering the beautiful and all too brief escape to the lake with Melinda Randall, his parole officer’s lovely secretary. “Just how close were you actually watching me, Hardcase?”

“Closer than your P.O., apparently,” the judge replied dryly.

McCormick took a long drink from the bottle in his hand, his thoughts fixated on a new topic. “How come you didn’t report me for being out of jurisdiction?” He was stunned at the idea.

Hardcastle shrugged. “Seemed pretty obvious you were just trying to impress the girl, which is hard to do if you end up thrown in a slammer somewhere. I figured you’d behave as long as she was with you, and I figured you’d be back. Turns out I was right.”

“Yeah, Judge, you were right,” McCormick answered as he lowered his head to examine the food on his plate. He certainly didn’t want the judge seeing the sudden gratitude or the new glimmer of respect he felt sure was painted on his face.

“Any other excursions where you didn’t belong, kiddo?”

McCormick started to shake his head, then looked across the room at the pale blue eyes that seemed to expect nothing other than the truth. “Just a quick trip up to Frisco once, Hardcase. Drove up one night and back the next day. No big thing.”

“That’s a long drive for an overnight trip. What were you doing?”

There was a moment of silence while McCormick debated the wisdom of the complete truth. “Went to see a friend, Judge,” he said, hoping the partial truth would suffice. When Hardcastle simply continued to stare without comment, it became clear that wasn’t really an acceptable approach.

“One of my friends made parole and needed a ride home. I picked him up.”

“So, after less than six months of freedom, you violated the terms of your parole and left Los Angeles without permission to drive back to San Quentin and pick up another convicted felon who probably shouldn’t have been with you any more than you should’ve been with him? That about sum it up?”

McCormick grinned sheepishly. “Sounds kinda dumb when you put it that way, Judge.”

“It was kinda dumb, hotshot. It’s really kind of a miracle you made it long enough to take the Coyote. Is this the kind of decision-making I have to look forward to?” Hardcastle wasn’t particularly surprised when McCormick didn’t answer the facetious question, but he was surprised to see the young face flush and the laughing eyes cloud with apprehension. He wondered briefly if McCormick’s fear would stay so close to the surface for the duration of his parole, or if he would someday accept the fact that he had been offered a safe haven at Gull's Way.

“McCormick,” he growled, “if I didn’t turn you in back then, what the hell do you think I’m gonna try and do now? I told you: the past is the past.”

McCormick nodded his head and tried to accept the truth of the statement, though trusting any member of law enforcement was difficult for him, especially now, when he could feel the cold and soulless concrete walls of prison closing in around him with each passing day. He dragged his thoughts away from his deepest fear and back to the conversation.

“That’s the extent of my travel adventures, Judge. You wanna tell me what it is you think I was doing down in San Diego?”

“Thinking about sticking up a convenience store,” Hardcastle said simply.

McCormick almost choked on the final piece of crust he had just tossed into his mouth. “What! First of all, that’s insane. And second of all, even if it weren’t, how does someone get in trouble for ‘thinking’ about something?”

“Well, the story is that you were in the store buying something, and the cashier managed to see that you had a gun under your jacket. You didn’t do anything at the time, but you went outside and sat on the curb, which is where you still were when the cops picked you up. Their idea was that you were just casing the place, then waiting for the other customers to clear out so you could go back in and make your move.”

“And all this was supposed to have taken place since I’ve been on parole?”

“So the story goes.”

“And is there an explanation for why I didn’t end up right back in Quentin after I was arrested?”

“The story gets a little weaker at that point,” Hardcastle admitted. “Something about managing to talk your way out of the jam. Gun wasn’t loaded; you had taken it from someone earlier in the night while trying to keep them from doing something stupid, and you were sitting on the curb waiting for a friend who was supposed to meet up with you there.”

“And you think all this actually happened?” McCormick demanded.

“Don’t know, kiddo. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Well, you know, me being in San Diego-I can see that. Sitting outside a convenience store at night waiting on someone-I could see that, too. But, Judge, when it gets to the point where I’m carrying a gun and planning an armed robbery…well, I just don’t see that. That’s really not my style, Hardcase, and I’m a little bit disappointed you think it might be.”

The judge felt strangely chastened by the comment, mostly because he really didn’t believe the story, and yet still couldn’t quite bring himself to dismiss it entirely. He hated the uncertainty in this entire situation. Before he could offer any kind of response, however, McCormick was speaking again.

“Besides, Judge, let’s be realistic about this. I get picked up while on parole, a hundred miles from where I’m supposed to be, and I’m armed? What are the odds I talk myself out of that? I mean, I’m good, Judge, but even I’m not that good. No cop in their right mind is gonna let me walk. You know as well as I do my parole would’ve ended right there on the spot.”

“Probably,” Hardcastle agreed, though he found himself thinking that if anyone could talk himself out of that particular dilemma, it would be McCormick. “The story does seem a little strange, which is why I’ve got a call in to the cops down there.”

McCormick stared across at him. “You’ve already called them? Before you even asked me?”

“You would prefer I call them after I ask you?”

“I’d prefer you not call them at all, Judge. I told you I would give you all the information you needed. Why even ask me at all, then?”

“I asked you because I wanted to hear your answer. Judges always want all sides of the story, you know, kiddo.”

The response was too reasonable to argue with. “Okay." McCormick paused a moment, then asked, “So who is it that fed you this line of crap story, anyway?”

Hardcastle shook his head firmly. “Don’t worry about that, McCormick.”

“Don’t worry about it? Judge, how am I supposed to help you figure this out if you won’t tell me what’s going on?”

Hardcastle shrugged. “Maybe you’re not gonna help me.”

McCormick closed his eyes briefly. “Are we back to that again, Judge?” He opened his eyes and looked over at the solemn features staring back at him. “I thought we settled that this morning?”

Another shrug. “Hard to know in a case like this, kid. We’ll play it by ear and see how it goes.”

“But if I know who it was,” McCormick protested, “maybe I’ll know why he’s lying to you and what he hopes to accomplish by making me look bad.”

“Maybe you could just tell me if there’s anyone out there who has a reason to lie to me or who would accomplish anything by making you look bad,” Hardcastle suggested.

It was McCormick’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know, Hardcase. I thought they were my friends. I mean, sure, I’m closer to some of them than others, but I wouldn’t have thought any of them would want me to go back to prison. If I had to tell you someone off the top of my head who I thought would do this, I’d say none of them.”

“First of all, kiddo, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’re assuming that the person who told me about San Diego and the person behind all these robberies are one and the same.”

“Well, yeah. Or at least connected. I think it’s too big of a coincidence that two different people are suddenly out to get me in trouble with you for completely unrelated reasons. Don’t you?”

“Probably. But we can’t be rushing to these kinds of decisions. Let’s wait and see what happens next, okay? But, just to clarify, there’s no one out at the track that you would characterize as unfriendly? No one with a bad history or a running grudge?”

McCormick shook his head. “Not really, Judge. I mean, when I was younger, there were a couple of guys that I didn’t get along with so well-usually because of a girl-but that was a long time ago. And none of them are still traveling in the same circles anymore, anyway, so I know you didn’t meet them today.”

“It’s a pretty competitive environment, McCormick. I can’t believe it’s all wine and roses out there. Are you sure you’re telling me everything?”

“I’m sure, Judge,” McCormick answered, with no trace of the resentment Hardcastle had somehow expected the question to generate. “The competition pretty much stays on the track where it belongs. If it didn’t, people would go crazy, and crazy people make dangerous drivers. No one is looking to make the track any more dangerous than it already is. Besides, you can spend a lot of time with these guys, and you can really get to know ‘em. They become your friends, and even though friends fight sometimes, they usually make up before it’s all said and done. Honestly, Hardcastle, whoever it is that turns out to be behind this…it’s gonna surprise the hell out of me.”

Hardcastle found himself impressed with the simple sincerity of the answer, and realized suddenly that if McCormick turned out to be anything other than one hundred percent innocent in this whole mess, it was gonna surprise the hell out of him.

“What else do you want to know, Judge?” McCormick asked, still without anger, wanting only to see trust finally return to the blue eyes that watched him so closely.

The judge smiled slightly. “Well, kiddo, unless you have anything else you’re just itchin’ to tell me…I’d really like to know who’s winning the ballgame.”

McCormick grinned as he reached for the forgotten remote control. “Fifty bucks says the Phillies pull it out.”

“Against the Dodgers? Besides, I thought you were rooting for L.A.?”

“Doesn’t mean I think they’re gonna make it,” McCormick answered.

“McCormick, I don’t wanna take your money.”

“Does that mean we’re on?”

Hardcastle laughed. “Yeah, kiddo, we’re on. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re broke.”

McCormick rose from the sofa and tossed the remote over to Hardcastle. “I’ll grab us a couple of beers, Hardcase. You go ahead and start watching my fifty dollar bonus come to life.”

The judge caught the remote, clicked on the television, and settled back comfortably into his favorite chair, all the while thinking that Mark McCormick had been a very good choice.

CONCLUSION

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