The Real Lone Ranger
Mark McCormick, ex-race driver, ex-con, and indentured servant to a donkey, took a minute to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and looked around the plush estate he currently called home. Although he would never admit it, he rather enjoyed his new life. Though he was on parole, he was living on a nice Malibu estate with his own house, and a rather unusual new family.
Judge Milton Hardcastle, retired, owned the estate and had invited, okay, blackmailed, Mark to live with him in exchange for yardwork and help in his new hobby, rounding up criminals who had escaped the law through technicalities in the judicial system. After working with the judge for a few months, Mark could appreciate why the judge felt like criminals had to pay for their crimes. He simply couldn't figure out why he was so adamant about it. Sarah, the resident housekeeper who had been with the judge and his family for over thirty years, refused to answer any questions about the judge's former life. All Mark knew was that the judge had been married but had lost both wife and son years before. No one was willing to enlighten Mark as to the manner of their deaths. In fact, Mark had never heard either of their names.
Deciding that the lawn looked good, Mark picked up the hedge trimmers he had been using and sauntered back to the tool shed to return them. Hardcastle insisted that everything be put back exactly into place and his young charge had easily picked up on the habit. Having things orderly gave Mark a feeling of security, something that his life had been woefully short on up till now. Replacing the trimmers, he looked around and made a mental note to take the lawn mower in for servicing, buy more oil for the weed eater, and pick up more mulch for the flower beds. He also checked to see if he had enough mortar mix to patch up the faint lines in the base of the fountain that he had noticed last week. Whistling a bit off-key, Mark locked up the tool shed and made his way back to the kitchen entrance to the main house.
Sarah looked up from her dusting to see Mark making his way around to the back of the house. She smiled to herself as she put down her dust rag and made for the kitchen herself. Mark would be needing a snack about now that would last him until dinnertime. Mark ate more than a growing teenager and she found herself mothering the young man in a way that she hadn't had a chance to do for a very long time. By the time Mark made it through the door, Sarah had put out a plate of brownies and some cold milk. Carefully, she erased the smile from her face and replaced it with a slight scowl as she pointed Mark to an empty chair.
"Did you finish those hedges, young man?" she asked, striving to sound disapproving.
Mark grinned up at her with a mouth full of brownie. "Yes, Sarah. I got the hedges in back, along the cliff, and trimmed the flower bed on the far side of the gatehouse. This afternoon I need to go buy some more mortar mix so I can patch up the fountain before it cracks too badly." He reached for a second brownie, knowing that Sarah's attitude was a sham.
"Oh good, I wondered if that fountain needed repairing. Mrs. Hardcastle had that put in just a month before..." Abruptly, she stopped talking and turned away.
Mark picked up on her hesitation. "Before what?" Now he lowered his voice, "Before she died?"
Sarah nodded sadly. "She loved that fountain. She and her son would play in it for hours. The Judge almost decided to rip it out when he lost them, but he changed his mind."
It's now or never, Mark thought to himself as he gathered up his courage. "Could you tell me what happened?" he asked timidly. "I mean you don't have to or anything. It's just that I've never heard anything about his son and only a few things about his wife. I know the judge really misses them and I don't want to invade his privacy or anything." The last part was said in a rush.
Unseen by either of them, Hardcastle stood just outside the kitchen door. His face wore an impassive mask, a mask that he had created to keep people at bay. The young man sitting in the kitchen would never know that he was the first person that the mask hadn't intimidated. As a matter of fact, his solid refusal to be put off by the judge's manner and his tendency to run his mouth were a source of endless amusement to the retired judge.
Making up his mind, Hardcastle stepped into the kitchen before Sarah had to answer. Nodding briefly to the housekeeper, Hardcastle grabbed a couple of brownies as he fixed a steely glare at McCormick. In a curt voice he said, "Outside, McCormick." Without looking to see if Mark was following him, Hardcastle walked out the door and made for the short wall that bordered the cliff on the ocean side of the property.
Mark wolfed down the last of his second brownie and followed the judge out the door, mentally berating himself for his questions. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the man who had done so much for him. Though he seemed to make friends easily, trust didn't come easily to Mark. Hardcastle was the exception to that rule. From the beginning of their unorthodox relationship, Judge Hardcastle had put his trust in the young ex-con and Mark felt that he could trust Hardcastle implicitly. Now McCormick felt that he had violated that trust by prying into the judge's private life.
Hardcastle heard Mark following him. He knew the kid didn't mean any harm, he was simply curious. He had certainly earned the trust that he had been shown and maybe, just maybe, he had earned the right to know the whole story.
Stopping at the cliff wall, the older man crossed over it and sat down gingerly. Without turning around, he waved for McCormick to join him. The two men sat in silence for several minutes, the older man considering his next words and the younger man kicking himself for his earlier ones.
"Her name was Nancy." Hardcastle spoke softly. "Her parents owned this place. They didn't like me much, just back from the army and going into police work. Those were hard years, but she stood by me, believed in what I was doing. Eventually, they gave up trying to get rid of me and we got along real good, especially after Tommy was born. He was named after Nancy's dad, took after him too, always cranky." He paused, looking over the ocean.
Mark kept silent, knowing that the judge was reliving memories. He knew how painful that was, his own memories were something that nightmares were made of. Mark stole a look at the jurist's face and realized that the older man had his share of nightmares as well.
"When Tommy was only a year old, his grandfather died of a heart attack. Two years later Nancy's mom died of a stroke. Since my parents were both dead, that left just the three of us."
"I'm sorry. I know how hard that must have been for you," Mark said quietly.
Hardcastle looked out over the ocean. "It was, but we made it. Nancy got this place in her mother's will, her sisters got everything else. I was practicing law by then and made judge two years later. Things went pretty well after that. Tommy was growing like a weed. He was on the honor roll at school, played sports, finally joined the army." He stopped and ran his hands down his cheeks, a gesture that Mark knew very well. He knew the judge was thinking hard and making a hard decision.
Mark laid a hand on his shoulder. "What happened?" he asked softly.
Taking a deep breath, the older man went on. "Tommy was killed in the war. He had just gotten his notice of discharge and Nancy went downtown to open a checking account for him. When she got out of the car, two men came out of the bank with guns and ..." He stopped and Mark could hear the slight hitch in his voice that the judge tried very hard to control.
Mark felt his own heart stop. "She was killed, wasn't she?"
Hardcastle nodded. "Hank Byers and Nick Sowls. Byers had walked out of my courtroom three weeks earlier on a technicality. He was charged for possession of a firearm after he was stopped for speeding. The search was illegal so I had to let him walk."
Mark's head was pounding. Suddenly everything was crystal clear. "That's why then. That's why you want these guys. So this can't happen again. Did you get Byers and Sowls?"
"They were killed when they tried to shoot it out with the cops during their getaway. Nancy never had a chance. Tommy was killed a week later. I never got to tell him about his mother's death."
Hardcastle lapsed back into silence. Mark sat quietly beside him, vowing to help chase down everyone of those two hundred criminals who had walked out of the judge's courtroom. Hardcastle's so called hobby had just become a serious calling for justice, justice that Mark would be proud to help serve.
Feeling that he needed to match such a gift of trust, Mark talked quietly of losing his mother at the age of twelve. He had never told anyone else, even his racing mentor Flip Johnson, about the emptiness he had worked so hard to fill.
"I think Mom would like you," Mark admitted. "You're the only person besides Flip who ever gave me a chance at anything real. Maybe I can do this, maybe I can't, but I want to try." He looked down at the ground. "I want to help you. The system doesn't always work, but we have to give it try, right?" Now he glanced sideways at his friend.
He was rewarded by a slight smile on the judge's face. "Now yer cookin.'"