What would have happened if "Hardcastle & McCormick" had gone into a 4th season on ABC-TV? ...
HARDCASTLE & McCORMICK
"Those Thrilling Days of Yesteryear"
by Kirk Hastings
Based on characters created by Patrick Hasburgh and Stephen J. Cannell
(This story takes place about 3 months after the last episode of the TV series -- "A Chip Off The Old Milt")
# # #
"McCormick!"
Hardcastle's gruff voice echoed like rolling thunder over the grounds of Gull's Way. It was shortly after 8 AM in the morning, and he was dressed only in a worn bathrobe and old slippers. He had just stepped out of the front door of the main house to pick up the morning newspaper. Looking around before going back inside he had noticed that none of the hedges in the front yard had been trimmed. And his trash cans, out of their usual place back by the garage, were instead sitting nearby, turned over on their sides, probably because of the windstorm overnight. Their grimy contents were lying all over the driveway.
Where is that kid? Hardcastle thought angrily to himself, as he stomped down the front steps and strode over to the overturned cans. He took one look at the smelly mess spread all over the pavement and decided that he wasn't going to touch it.
"McCormick!" he yelled again at the top of his lungs.
No answer. He turned and plodded down the driveway toward the gatehouse.
Wait'll I get my hands on that kid! he mumbled to himself as he went. Here I am paying through the nose so he can go to law school, and how does he repay me? By not doing his chores!
Hardcastle went up to the front door of the gatehouse and started to pound on it.
"McCormick! Wake up!" he yelled.
There was no answer.
"McCormick!"
Still no answer.
Hardcastle knew he must be in there – the Coyote was still parked in the driveway. He opened the door and resolutely strode into the gatehouse's entryway.
He looked around. The gatehouse was a royal mess! There were books, papers, dirty laundry, and half-eaten food strewn everywhere.
Now he was beginning to get a little worried. Had something happened to the kid during the night? It almost looked as if a struggle had taken place here.
He slowly ascended the stairs up to the second floor loft. Had somebody broken into the gatehouse during the night and kidnapped the kid? He tried to think of what case they might have worked on where someone might want revenge against McCormick for whatever.
When he got to the top of the stairs he found the exact same scenario as downstairs: books, papers and laundry strewn everywhere. The bed was unmade, and the covers were jumbled up in a pile in the middle of it.
Hardcastle tip-toed toward the bed. Once he was next to it he reached out his hand toward the covers. Slowly he pulled them down from the headboard.
There were a couple of feet clad in dark socks lying underneath.
Oh, geez! Hardcastle thought to himself. Somebody got in here last night and murdered the kid!
Frantic at the thought, he whipped the covers completely off the bed.
Mark was lying there on his stomach, clad only in a t-shirt and shorts, his head down at the foot of the bed and his feet resting up on the pillow. His arms hung limply over the sides of the mattress, and he didn't move.
Oh God! thought Hardcastle. The kid IS dead!
He reached down and shook Mark's shoulders.
"McCormick! McCormick!"
Just then Mark started to stir. Slowly he lifted his head up a couple of inches off the mattress.
"Leave me alone," he mumbled to no one in particular. "Let me sleep."
His head plopped back down onto the mattress.
Hardcastle's blood began to boil when he realized he had been had.
"McCORMICK!" he shouted, loud enough to wake the dead. "GET OUT OF THAT BED!"
At this Mark suddenly sprung up to an upright position on his knees, his eyes popping open. Still groggy and unable to keep his balance in that position he then toppled over the side of the bed away from Hardcastle onto the floor, a jumble of flailing arms and legs, hitting his head against the wall in the process.
A moment later a curly-haired head slowly appeared up from behind the mattress. Mark was rubbing it where he had hit the wall. He looked up at the judge with a disgusted look on his face.
"Judge, what are you doing here? What time is it?" he moaned.
"It's after 8 AM, that's what time it is!" Hardcastle roared. "What are you still doing in bed? Your chores aren't done, and the gatehouse looks like World War II just took place in here!"
Mark slowly pulled himself up onto his feet, still rubbing his head.
"Aw, judge, whatta you want from me?" he bawled. "I was up half the night studying, and I have a big test in class this afternoon. How can I keep up with my studies and get things done around here at the same time? This school work is killing me!"
"Don't give me any ideas!" Hardcastle shouted back.
Mark flopped back down onto the bed.
"Judge, I can't keep this up!" he grumbled. "All I ever do any more is study, do chores, study, sleep a little, study, eat a little, and study!"
"Well, whatta you want from me?" Hardcastle snapped back. "You're the one who wanted to go to law school, and sit behind a fancy desk and have your own rolodex! It takes hard work and lots of blood and sweat if you wanna be a hot-shot lawyer someday!"
In response Mark just buried his face in the sheets and moaned again.
Hardcastle snorted. "Get up and get dressed!" he said back over his shoulder as he turned and headed downstairs. "There's chores to be done before you go to class! Just because I'm paying your way through law school don't mean you can take advantage of me by letting the property go to hell!"
Mark shook his head back and forth in frustration.
Maybe he wasn't cut out for law school after all.
# # #
Mark had just enough time to get the mess cleaned up from the driveway and grab something to eat before he had to race off to class. When he got back to Gull's Way early that evening he found Hardcastle in his den, studying some papers on his desk.
"Hey, Hardcase – what's up?" Mark greeted him cheerily.
Hardcastle just grunted in reply, not looking up from his desk.
Mark nonchalantly strolled over to Hardcastle's desk.
"Whatcha working on?" he asked, in the process trying to peek at the papers in Hardcastle's hands.
"Nothing!" Hardcastle snapped, scrunching the papers he was holding into a ball, so that Mark couldn't see what was on them. "Did you pass your test?"
Mark's face fell. "Yeah," he replied gloomily. "Barely."
"Well, you better get yourself something to eat and get your nose back into those books," Hardcastle growled. "'Barely' isn't good enough in law school."
Mark shrugged. He turned and shambled toward the kitchen.
Hardcastle had been acting awful secretive lately, Mark thought as he went. He was beginning to wonder what Hardcastle had been working on lately that he wouldn't talk about.
As soon as Mark had disappeared into the kitchen Hardcastle unfolded the papers he was holding and took one last look at them. Then he opened one of the drawers of his desk and put them inside. Then he got up and left the room, headed upstairs.
Just then Mark's face peeked out from behind the kitchen door. Carefully pushing the swinging door all the way open he slipped through and tip-toed across the den to Hardcastle's desk. Looking around first to make sure Hardcastle wasn't around he slowly inched the drawer open that Hardcastle had put his mysterious papers in. He retrieved the papers, then spread them out on the desk.
"Aha!" Hardcastle suddenly yelled from the doorway.
Mark jumped back from the desk, startled.
"Don't do that!" Mark objected, trying to calm his shattered nerves, as Hardcastle strode back into the room. "You know how I hate it when you do that!"
"Well maybe I wouldn't need to surprise you all the time if you didn't keep snooping into my private business without my permission!" Hardcastle snapped. He grabbed the papers Mark had retrieved away from the desk.
Mark suddenly looked sheepish. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that you don't usually keep stuff from me, and I've been really wondering what's been monopolizing your attention lately. I feel like you've been shutting me out."
Hardcastle's expression softened. He couldn't decide whether McCormick really meant what he was saying, or whether he was just using the old "I'm-sorry-have-pity-on-me" routine to extract sympathy from him.
"It's just a case I've been working on lately," he mumbled. He pushed by Mark and sat down in his chair.
"What case?" Mark pressed.
"It's nothing. It's not important. You've got your studies to worry about!"
"Hang the studies!" Mark suddenly shot back. "You're working on something important, and I want to know what it is!"
"All right! All right!" Hardcastle exclaimed, exasperated. "It's about those missing armored cars!"
Mark looked bewildered.
"There! Are you satisfied now?" Hardcastle growled at him.
"Armored cars? What armored cars?"
"Haven't you been reading the papers?"
"Papers?" Mark smirked. "With my constant mountain of homework, I don't have time to read the papers anymore!"
Hardcastle picked up a newspaper from the corner of his desk and threw it at Mark. Mark caught it, then opened it to look at the front page. It was today's paper.
SECOND ARMORED CAR DISAPPEARS the headline blared.
Mark scanned the article.
"Okay, so some armored cars have mysteriously disappeared recently without a trace. What's that to you?" he said to Hardcastle.
Hardcastle snatched the newspaper back. "It's important to me because I think I might know who's behind the disappearances!"
"Okay, who?"
"I'd rather not say right now. Not until I'm sure."
Mark continued to stare at Hardcastle with a skeptical smirk on his face. This just served to annoy the judge.
"Now get back to your studies, and just leave this matter to me to figure out!" Hardcastle barked, putting the newspaper back onto his desk.
Without another word Mark turned and headed back toward the kitchen. He knew that when Hardcase got into this kind of mood, there was no reasoning with him.
But he was determined to find out what was going on. He wasn't going to be left out of this.
# # #
It was close to 8 PM when Mark heard a noise coming from somewhere outside.
He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, law books and papers spread out around him. He had deliberately left his window open, so that he could listen for anything going on outside. The sound he just heard sounded like the squeak of the screen door of the main house opening and closing. He leaned over and looked out of his bedroom window.
Hardcastle was heading toward his pickup truck, which was parked in the driveway near Mark's Coyote. Hardcastle was walking carefully, and looked as if he was trying to not make any noise. He was also dressed in some kind of strange uniform which Mark did not recognize. It looked kind of like a policeman's uniform.
Okay, something is definitely up Mark thought to himself. And I'm going to find out what.
He jumped off his bed and threw his shoes on. Then he raced down the stairs and out the front door of the gatehouse.
He reached the Coyote just as Hardcastle's truck disappeared down the driveway. He jumped into the sports car, started the ignition, and headed off after the judge.
# # #
Mark followed Hardcastle all the way downtown to police headquarters. He stopped the Coyote down the block and watched as Hardcastle parked his truck, got out, and headed inside the building.
Mark waited. A few minutes later the judge came out again and got back into his truck. When he pulled away from the curb Mark again followed him, careful to maintain a discreet distance.
This time Hardcastle headed to a bank in downtown LA. He pulled into the rear parking lot and got out of his truck. Mark pulled up nearby, in an alley between two buildings where Hardcastle couldn't see him, and watched as the judge entered the back entrance of the bank.
Mark sat there for some time. The thought crossed his mind that he probably should be home studying for tomorrow's law class. But he pushed that thought aside. Whatever was going on with Hardcastle right now was more important. And besides, Hardcastle might end up needing his help.
Momentarily an armored car pulled up behind the bank. The driver got out and entered the building. Within minutes he came back out again. He was carrying two sacks of money, and he was accompanied by Hardcastle, who was also carrying two sacks. Both men threw the sacks into the back of the truck, locked the rear doors, and then climbed up into the truck's cab.
Everything became clear to Mark now. Obviously Hardcastle was impersonating a bank guard, probably in cahoots with Frank Harper at the police station, in an attempt to find out what was happening to those missing armored cars. For some reason they probably thought that this particular truck might be the next one that would end up on the "missing" list.
Mark was suddenly annoyed at Hardcastle because the judge hadn't included him in this risky job. But now he knew what was going on. And he was going to be included, whether the judge liked it or not.
And hang tomorrow's law class. This wasn't legal theory on paper; this was the real thing.
The armored car pulled away. Mark let it get out onto the main street in front of the bank before he pulled out of the alley and started after it.
Keeping out of Hardcastle's sight wasn't hard in city traffic. But soon the armored car reached the outskirts of the city, and the landscape was becoming more suburban. The traffic was thinning too. Mark had to stay farther behind the truck so that Hardcastle wouldn't spot him. But it was dark now. At least that helped.
The more Mark thought about the situation the angrier he became that Hardcastle hadn't told him about what he had planned to do. He determined that they were going to have a long talk after this was over.
Mark noticed that the armored car had just pulled off the main road onto a small side street. When Mark came to the same corner he turned also.
There were few houses here, and before long the street turned into barely more than a single lane dirt road. There were no houses along it here at all; just tangled woods on either side. Mark continued to follow the road, such as it was, even though he had lost sight of the truck in the darkness.
Suddenly he hit his brakes as hard as he could, almost sending himself right through the windshield. His headlights showed Hardcastle lying right in the middle of the road!
Mark flipped up the gull wing door of the Coyote and jumped out. He rushed over to the prone man. "Judge!" he shouted, shaking Hardcastle's shoulder. "Are you all right?"
Hardcastle suddenly came to life, waving Mark away as he struggled to sit up.
"I'm fine! Stop slobbering all over me!" Hardcastle grumbled, obviously more irritated than hurt. "We've got to keep that truck in sight!" he added quickly, clambering to his feet.
Mark helped the judge back to the Coyote. When they had both gotten in Mark hit the gas pedal, and the Coyote jumped forward.
"Where the hell did you come from?" Hardcastle demanded. "You're supposed to be home doing your studies!"
"Never mind that now!" Mark replied. "What's going on with that armored car? How did you end up in the middle of the road?"
"The jerk driving the truck tried to clobber me with the butt of a pistol!" Hardcastle explained. "I saw it coming and ducked out of the way. But then while I was off balance he pushed me out of the cab! Obviously the armored car drivers are crooked! They drive the trucks to a secluded area like this, and then they knock out the guards supplied by the banks and steal the trucks! But we've got to find out what they do with them!"
The Coyote sped forward into the darkness. After a minute Mark spotted a light up ahead around a bend in the road. He slowed the Coyote down. When he approached the bend he turned his headlights off, easing the Coyote slowly up to where they could just barely see around the trunk of a large tree.
There was a small clearing up ahead, and a large tractor trailer sat in the middle of it. The armored car had stopped just behind the bigger truck. Spotlights mounted onto the rear of the big rig were lighting up the clearing. Two men had just opened the rear doors of the tractor trailer, and they were pulling two thick wooden planks out of the back of the truck.
Once the planks were in place, the driver of the armored car slowly drove his vehicle up the planks into the back of the tractor trailer. Once the smaller truck was inside the bigger one, the two men pushed the planks back up into the tractor trailer and closed its rear doors. Then they ran around to the front of the big truck and climbed up into the cab. The spotlights went off, and the tractor trailer started to pull away.
"So that's how they do it!" Mark exclaimed. "They hide the smaller truck inside a bigger one, and then they can safely transport the armored car to anyplace they want, without anyone being the wiser!"
"Right!" Hardcastle agreed. "Now follow that truck. We have to find out where they go!"
# # #
Mark followed the tractor trailer as it followed the dirt road they were on to where it ended at another highway. Once there the big truck turned off to the right and headed back toward downtown. Mark kept after it at a discreet distance.
"Pretty clever!" Mark commented. "This way they can take the armored car right back through town without anybody knowing it."
Soon the tractor trailer was in a rundown section of the city, where it turned down a side street. From there it pulled into an alley adjacent to a large two-story building that looked like it had seen better days. A sizeable "For Sale" sign that had "Sold" roughly painted over it in hand-painted letters hung over the building's locked front entrance. All its windows were boarded up, as was an apparently long-unused garage door that at one time had opened directly onto the street. The only light in the area was a couple of streetlamps, one of which periodically kept blinking on and off.
Mark parked the Coyote a distance away down the street.
"I think we better leave the Coyote here," he told Hardcastle, as he climbed out. "I just hope my rims are still here when we get back!"
The pair started down the street toward the alley where the tractor trailer had disappeared.
"Oh – you might need this," Mark said as they walked. He pulled a .45 automatic pistol out of his pants pocket and threw it to the judge, who deftly caught it.
"Bless you, my son," Hardcastle replied, cocking the firearm.
Mark now also had a pistol in his hand. The two came up to the entrance of the alley, and cautiously proceeded into it.
The alley was as black as a coal mine. When they finally came to the other end they stopped, peering around the corner of the building.
The tractor trailer was now backed up to the rear of the two-story building, where there was a concrete loading dock, with a small overhead lamp illuminating it. The rear doors of the truck had been opened, and the armored car was being carefully driven out of the larger truck onto the loading dock. From here the armored car entered the building through an open garage door. After it had disappeared inside the men who had been driving the tractor trailer pulled down the overhead garage door, locked it, and got back into the cab of the big rig. The big truck's engine started up, and it pulled away, using another alley across the lot to exit the property.
When it was gone Mark and Hardcastle left their hiding place and headed over to the loading dock. They both hopped up onto the raised deck. Although the garage door had been locked, there was a regular-size door situated next to it. Mark tried the handle of this door.
It was locked also.
Hardcastle grimaced, but Mark smiled. He reached into another pocket and produced a lock pick.
"Never leave home without it!" Mark whispered. Hardcastle grinned.
This kid may be a lousy lawyer Hardcastle thought to himself, but he's one helluva cat burglar!
Mark worked on the door's lock for a moment. Finally there was a click, and the door popped open.
The pair quietly stepped within. They saw a light coming from somewhere in front of them, so they immediately ducked behind some boxes and crates that were piled nearby.
"Judge, look!" Mark whispered, pointing.
They appeared to be inside an old warehouse. In the middle of the room were parked the three missing armored cars. The most recent acquisition was in the process of being unloaded by three men, one of which was the phony armored car driver. The bags of cash were being hauled over to a small office area in the corner of the room, which was partitioned off from the main space by two walls, the upper half of which were glass, and the lower half wood. Mark and Hardcastle could see through the glass panels that the bags were being loaded into a big metal safe.
After putting his bags into the safe, the uniformed armored car driver picked up the receiver of the telephone located on top of the office's lone desk. He dialed a number.
"Hello, boss?" he said. "Yeah, it's done. Everything went off without a hitch."
He listened to the person on the other end for a moment, then hung the phone up.
"The boss'll be here in a couple of minutes to inspect the latest haul," he announced to the others. At this news the other two men sat down on a couple of rickety chairs and proceeded to light cigarettes.
"Did you hear that?" Mark whispered to Hardcastle. "The boss of the operation is on his way here!"
"Great!" the judge replied. "Then we'll wait."
The two settled down behind the crates they were hiding behind to wait for their mystery thief.
# # #
The minutes stretched on. Presently there was some commotion over near the office. Someone had come into the building by another entrance, probably off the street.
"Can you see who it is?" Mark whispered.
"Not yet," Hardcastle whispered back.
The man in question eventually came out of the office and walked over to one of the armored cars. He was of medium height and wore a dark suit.
"I know that guy!" Mark suddenly blurted. "Isn't that ..."
"Yep," Hardcastle replied. "It's your old buddy and mine, 'Jersey' Joe Bieber!"
For a moment Mark remembered nearly being killed by Bieber over Tina Grey, the woman called 'The Black Widow', in an early case that he and Hardcastle had gotten involved in. Apparently, since then, Bieber had pulled some strings and gotten out of prison, and was up to his old tricks again.
"Shall we take 'em?" Mark said.
"This is as good a time as any!" Hardcastle responded. He started to stand up.
"Wait!" Mark said. "Let me get over on the other side first," he suggested. "That way they'll think they're surrounded!"
Mark scuttled off to the other side of the warehouse, being careful to keep in the shadows as he did so. When he had once again situated himself behind some crates, he waved to Hardcastle.
Hardcastle stood up, holding his pistol straight out with both hands. "Police! Freeze!" he announced in a loud voice.
Instead of freezing the hoods immediately pulled out pistols and dropped to their knees, looking around for the source of the voice.
Mark took the opportunity to shoot one of the crooks, who dropped over onto the pavement. Hardcastle fired and dropped a second one. The third, the one dressed in the phony guard outfit, dropped his gun and stood up, his hands waving above his head.
"I give up! Don't shoot!" he bleated.
Both Mark and Hardcastle started to cautiously walk toward him, their weapons still held high.
"Where's Bieber?" Mark asked as Hardcastle came up alongside him.
"I don't know," Hardcastle responded.
Suddenly, in answer, the engine of one of the armored cars roared to life. The truck shot forward, straight toward the warehouse's garage door that opened onto the street outside.
Mark and the judge ducked momentarily in surprise as the truck smashed through the wooden door with a loud crash, sending wood splinters flying in every direction. Once on the street its tires squealed as it lurched to the right and sped off.
Recovering himself Mark sprinted over to another of the armored cars. He opened the cab door and jumped in.
The keys were in it.
He engaged the ignition and put the truck into gear. Then he too roared out of the smashed garage door, in pursuit of the first truck.
Hardcastle just stood there, his gun still trained on the remaining hood, shaking his head.
Soon Mark was racing at high speed just behind Bieber through the semi-deserted streets. Bieber tried to lose his tail by turning into a small side street at the last moment (knocking over a mailbox on the corner as he did so), but Mark kept with him, screeching around the corner as well. They did this a few times, one tight turn causing the hub cabs on one side of Bieber's truck to fly off.
Soon they were on downtown streets that had more traffic on them. Bieber recklessly weaved in and out of the cars, barely slowing down. Mark followed him as best he could. As Bieber approached an intersection the light turned red, but Bieber ignored it. He raced through the intersection, barely missing the cross traffic that was just starting to accelerate. The cars all screeched to a halt, which luckily enabled Mark to get through the intersection as well.
Now there was the wail of a police siren noticeable in the distance
Great Mark thought. I love a parade!
Mark followed Bieber as he turned down another side street. At one point Mark was able to catch up with him, and pulled up alongside Bieber. Bieber tried to swerve and ram Mark, but Mark was able to avoid impact. He returned the favor by swerving into Bieber. The trucks clanged off of each other, throwing sparks in the process.
Suddenly Mark's eyes went wide. He yanked his wheel violently to the left.
Bieber didn't. He also didn't notice that the road ahead of him abruptly ended, until it was too late.
Mark's truck skidded to a stop in someone's front yard. Bieber's truck kept going. It ran right off the end of the pavement and, for a moment, sailed through empty air.
Then it came down, splashing nose first into the Los Angeles River.
Mark got out of his truck and ran over to the riverbank. He looked down.
Bieber's truck had already disappeared from view.
# # #
"You're what?" Hardcastle exclaimed, an astonished look on his face. It was the next afternoon, and he was sitting behind the desk in his den. Mark was sitting in the overstuffed chair across from him.
"I'm quitting law school," Mark repeated.
"But why?" Hardcastle asked. "I thought that's what you wanted! You know, your own desk and rolodex and all that!"
"I know, I know," Mark replied. "But I've changed my mind."
"You mind telling me why?"
"Judge, I can't keep up with all this paperwork just to get through law school! I don't have a life anymore! And I'm not even in a practice yet! And even if I do make it through school, then there'll be long hours sitting behind a desk, running dumb errands back and forth to deliver contracts, looking up boring stuff in law libraries ... I don't have the patience for that kind of crap! I'm an under-the-hood, out-on-the-street type of guy -- not a desk-bound paper-pusher!"
Hardcastle made no comment. He had an expression on his face that suggested that he had expected to hear this very speech from Mark eventually.
"... And I won't have time to play The Lone Ranger and Tonto with you anymore!" Mark added.
"Oh, I thought you were tired of all that!" Hardcastle snapped back sarcastically. "I thought you were done with being shot at, being chased by bent noses, and running around in a bright red 'toy' car all the time!"
Mark looked a little sheepish. "Well, I don't like being shot at," he replied. "But I have to admit, at least life out on the street with you is never boring!"
Mark shifted in his chair.
"And I also have to admit, my experience with Malcolm, Hughes and DeWitt kinda soured me on lawyers and law firms," he said. "... I'd rather stay with the firm of Hardcastle, Coyote, and McCormick!" he added with a grin.
Though he was trying hard not to, Hardcastle couldn't resist a smile himself at this comment.
"What about the Coyote?" Hardcastle commented. "Are you still thinking of selling it?"
"Nah," Mark replied. "Barbara gave that car to me. It's all I have left of Flip, and his original plans for me as a race car driver. That car is Flip's only remaining legacy. I can't get rid of it."
"I see. Well, what are you going to do for a living then? Now that your parole is up, you can't keep doing chores around here for the rest of your life!"
"I know that! Actually, I've been thinking about your original idea of me finding a nice repair shop in a decent area of town where I could do high-end repair work on cars like Ferraris, Maseratis, and BMWs. Instead of paying for law school, if you would just float me a loan to buy a place like that, I could pay you back in installments as the business makes money. And that way I could even fix my own bullet holes in the Coyote!" Mark grinned. "How does 'McCormick Motors' sound?"
Hardcastle gave a noncommittal nod of his head. "Could work," was all he said. "That'd certainly be cheaper than putting you through law school!"
"Then it's a deal?" Mark asked expectantly.
In answer Hardcastle opened a drawer in his desk and brought out a pile of papers. He plopped them all down on his desk top.
"Well, to tell you the truth, lately I've been going over the court records of one Johnny "The Snake" Pistone, a mobbed-up guy that walked out of my courtroom about 4 years ago on a charge of running a numbers racket. Now I know he was guilty as hell ..."
Mark smiled.
"Get 'em up, Scout!" he said.
THE END