Author's note: Another in the series—this is season three, part two.
Epilogophilia—Hardcastle for Mayor
J. J. Norcross, wealthy and influential business man, asks the judge to enter the mayoral race against incumbent Gilmore and his opponent, Councilman Mann. Hardcastle, at first surprised and reluctant, soon agrees to run as a 'man of the people'. Quickly hooked up with a campaign manager and a media consultant, the judge enters the fray. His handlers try to shunt McCormick off to the side, as a campaign liability. Hardcastle is asked the tough question in a press conference—How can a law and order candidate hang out with an ex-con? He says Mark's paid his debt and is his friend.
Meanwhile, Mann locks horns with another member of the council, Herb Austin, over a bill to construct new parks. When a bomb explodes in Austin's office, killing him, Hardcastle is distracted from his new political ambitions.
Mark goes on an after-hours unauthorized evidence-gathering expedition to Austin's now-shuttered office. He provides the judge with a map of proposed park sites that includes an area that was under contention. When the two guys investigate, they discover it is being used as an illegal toxic-waste dumping site.
Pushing his campaign to the side, Hardcastle uncovers the connection between the dump, Norcross, and Mann. He turns the tables on Norcross' plot to take him out.
On election night it's down to a two-horse race. As Hardcastle is trounced by the incumbent, we hear from his managers that he wouldn't allow his role in the arrests of Mann and Norcross to be made public. As he makes his concession speech, he says some heartfelt words about how he believes one man can make a difference, and that everyone should give something back to the democratic process.
Epilogue—by L. M. Lewis
On the way home from City Hall they stopped for hotdogs at a place by the pier and sat there, at one of the benches, surveying the waves. Mark had loosened his tie and Hardcastle had his stuffed in his jacket pocket. He looked up and down the boardwalk and beach—not a reporter in sight. He sighed; he smiled.
"You coulda had it, you know."
He looked at McCormick abruptly. The younger man was staring out at the sun-touched waves, looking very contemplative.
"Nah," the judge replied. "You heard 'em, a twenty-point gap. The people have spoken and they said 'Gilmore'." He smiled; there was nothing forced about it.
"Yeah," Mark gave this a nod, "but you practically threw in the towel this past week or so. You didn't need to spend all that time going over the evidence against Norcross and Mann after they were arrested. It didn't need a damn bow on it," he added mildly. "And then you wouldn't even let Sykes put out a press release about how you nailed 'em."
"Well, didn't seem like such a hot idea." Hardcastle looked up at the sky, gulls circling; the sun was still well behind them. They'd been up late the night before but, somehow, he felt less tired that he had for the past few weeks. "You know," he finally said, "the reporters and all. They would've dug into this even deeper if they knew it involved us."
"'Us'?"
"Yeah, 'who, what, when, where, why'—like they teach 'em in journalism school. You're one of the 'who's'; they woulda figured that out pretty quick, and then they would've been all over the 'what'—which is the map of the sites that you got from Herb's office."
Mark said nothing. It took the judge, lost in his own thoughts, a moment to notice the tension. He glanced to the side.
"What? You think I mind?"
Still nothing, then finally a hesitant, "Yeah, well, you're saying I went and hashed your shot at being mayor, yeah."
The judge grimaced. "Listen, kiddo, when I said I didn't want you going around doing black bag jobs on City Hall, I meant it, but there's no way I woulda traded off catching Herb's murderers for a shot at the mayor's office.
"Anyway, think about it, if you hadn't found the map, and we hadn't caught Mann, it would have been a three-way race and I still couldn'ta won, and Norcross woulda had his man in office and all the toxic dump sites he wanted."
McCormick looked like he was working that one through. He finally said, "So, you're saying it was a good thing I got that map?"
The growl was an almost subsonic rumble. "Don't push your luck, hotshot," the judge said through gritted teeth.
"I was just trying to help."
The tone was almost—but not quite—apologetic, and Hardcastle suddenly thought he saw it quite clearly. It's a quid pro quo, if you use it, he shouldn't have to apologize . . . But then he thinks it was justified.
He shook his head. It wouldn't do. He had tried damn near every other threat and line of reasoning except maybe one. He took a breath and started out, slow and even.
"Try and look at it this way, kiddo; when you go out there and do your procurement routine, and then bring the stuff home to me, that makes me accessory after the fact—some people would even guess maybe there'd be grounds for conspiracy—seeing as I practically have you in my back pocket."
It wasn't a variation he had used before, mostly because it was nowhere near the top of the list when he thought about the potential consequences of McCormick's actions. Now it had come out sounding even harsher than he'd thought, and the man next to him had gone rigid and silent. He cautioned a look to the side. McCormick's face was pale, and he finally seemed to be considering the consequences of failure.
The wrong consequences, but at least he's considering.
"No," the younger man said suddenly, "they wouldn't think that, not the conspiracy part. I'd make sure they knew that—"
"Wouldn't matter," Hardcastle interrupted firmly. "There's still the external elements—receiving stolen property, concealing the commission of a crime, falsifying official documents."
Despite his increasingly grim expression, Mark cast one eyebrow up in question at this last part.
"Sure, kiddo, whaddaya think all those reports to the parole board say—'The client's skills continue to show improvement.'? I've had to do some pretty heavy-handed editing for content."
Mark cringed visibly. The judge suppressed his own twinge of guilt; they had just busted two murderers and stopped who knows how much future destruction from the toxic waste.
"Listen, how many times does this make it?"
There was no immediate answer; the younger man might have been delving into his conscience, and possibly trying to separate out those incidents which had thus far gone undetected.
Hardcastle finally sighed. "Well, it's five, at least, and I'd kinda like to hear it from you that maybe this'll be the last."
There was still no answer. In a way, the judge was relieved; if he'd heard quick and ready agreement, he would have doubted its sincerity. Instead, Mark shook his head slowly, looking back out at the sea again.
"I'll try," he finally said. "Honest. From now on. Last resort only."
"But—"
"And I wish I could tell you beforehand, but that really would make you an accessory . . . the conspiracy thing, too. At least by the time I involve you, I'm usually pretty sure I've gotten away with it." There was a quick lateral flash of his eyes and an equally quick grin, though he otherwise appeared perfectly serious. "You'll just have to trust me on that."
Hardcastle's jaw went slack. The whole thing had backfired that completely. He tried to figure out how to salvage his argument and drew a blank, except for the hard truth. All of last week's weariness was back with him.
"Look," he finally said, "when you finally trip, when there's finally a time you don't get away with it, I'm the guy who's gonna have to watch you take the fall. Won't matter if I'm not sitting next to you in the lock-up." That last part had gotten him a quick and nervous smile.
"I meant every bit of what I said to those reporters last week, about how you'd paid your debt and I was proud of you—"
Mark started to open his mouth, maybe a protest, maybe thanks.
"Hush up. I'm not done." He saw Mark subside, looking uncomfortable. He forged on, "—and I won't tell you it's never gonna be necessary, because that would be just plain hypocritical—" The younger man's smile was back, now closer to a grin. Hardcastle tried to ignore it. "—but if you could at least consider what a pain in the butt it would be after all this time—"
It was a full-bore grin now. "Even longer from where I'm sittin', Judge."
"—to have 'em throw you back in the pokey—"
"And have to break in a whole new Tonto, and maybe one who's not as good at evidence gathering as me."
Hardcastle threw his hands up, one still holding a hotdog. "Just be careful, will ya?" he growled.
Mark's grin had retreated and in its place was a smile. "Okay," he said quietly, all the boisterousness gone now. "Like I said, I'll try. Honest."
The judge shook his head. Honest, that much is true.