Chapter 1 The Knife

Mark saw the knife out of the corner of his eye just before he felt the blade hit his abdomen with full force. He doubled over and grunted as his attacker pulled the blade out and ran. He reached for the nearby wall to steady himself.

"Go" he called to Hardcastle and motioned with his hand toward the door, "get im."

"Are you?" the judge's tone was uncertain.

"Go now, I'm alright!" Mark shouted as he straightened up.

Milton Hardcastle stared at his partner for few seconds before he started for the doorway. He'd seen the man push the 3 inch long knife blade into McCormick's abdomen and had rushed toward him, too late to prevent the injury. He'd kept his hands on Mark's shoulders as he stood up, but the kid hadn't needed help. His hand covered the wound, but that was just about the only clue that he'd just been stabbed.

Now, Milt paused at the doorway, and looked back at McCormick. In truth, he still didn't look too bad. He was on his feet, and the bleeding from the wound had stopped.

"Go… he's getting away!" Mark yelled again, urgency in his voice. Then, in the time it took for one heartbeat, Hardcastle's shoulders relaxed and drooped and he starting walking toward his friend.

"You need to lay down," he said as he put a hand on Mark's shoulder, and forced him to sit down on an overturned crate.

Mark's jaw dropped open in surprise. This was the man who had set him up as the bait in too many sting operations to remember. "You're letting him get away!"

Milt kept his hand on Mark's shoulder as the silence stretched on between them, until it was broken by sirens and the screech of brakes.

"Milt, are you two okay?" Frank Harper's voice came from outside the window high on the basement wall.

"We need an ambulance, McCormick was stabbed."

"I don't need an ambulance, judge I'm fine, and you're letting him get away!" Mark repeated loudly.

"There's one on the way," Frank called from outside.

"He already got away," Hardcastle told his friend and Mark started to rise again. "Hey, I said you should be laying down, at least sitting."

Mark shook his head in disbelief. "Judge, I know I got stabbed, I understand that, but can you understand that I'm fine… and you let him get away?"

Frank entered the basement room and glanced around as Milt replied, "I know that, just relax until you get checked out."

Mark looked at Frank in disgust and shook his head, "do you believe this? For a month we've been trying to nail him, and we had him just now!"

"If you think I'm getting in the middle of this, you're nuts," Frank answered in a tone that let Mark know the subject was closed as far as he was concerned.

"We'll get him eventually," Hardcastle told him.

"You wanted to get him today! What's wrong with you!" Mark yelled.

Hardcastle sat down beside him on the crate, his arm across the ex cons back, his hand resting on his opposite shoulder. "We'll get him," he repeated softly.

McCormick shook his head in disbelief. The world suddenly seemed upside down.

A moment later, the ambulance arrived, and Mark eased himself from the crate onto the gurney without help, keeping his hand clamped tightly over his abdomen. "This ambulance is gonna cost a lot of money judge, and it's not necessary."

"Don't you ever give that mouth a rest?" Hardcastle answered.

"And Barton got away!" Mark shouted again, and then leaned back on the stretcher and closed his eyes for a second. The pain in his abdomen had been increasing, and it suddenly seemed worse than it had been. He groaned as the gurney bumped into the side of the narrow stairway as they exited the basement.

Hardcastle followed the gurney outside and stopped next to Mark as the medics opened the ambulance doors. He touched Mark's shoulder and whispered, "You lay still, ya hear? I'll see ya at the hospital."

Mark lay back and stared at the ceiling of the ambulance as it sped through the city streets. As the adrenaline rush wore off, he felt a bit dizzy, and the pain in his abdomen was continuing to get worse. It probably was a good idea to just lie still, like Hardcastle had told him. He couldn't believe the old donkey hadn't gone after Barton. They had spent the last two weeks laying this trap and they had him, they'd been close enough for their fists to connect and unfortunately, the knife, but the knife shouldn't have mattered. Hardcase could've caught him if he'd tried. This case should be over. After all, that was what the Lone Ranger did, wasn't it? Why hadn't he? Mark couldn't seem to reconcile that with everything he knew about the man. It couldn't have been because Mark had been stabbed, could it? The wound hadn't bled that much and he hadn't even felt that bad right afterward, though he had to admit he didn't much feel like standing up at the moment. But, right after he'd gotten stabbed, it hadn't been too bad. The judge really should have left him to go after Barton.

As the pain worsened, his mind focused on the ambulance ride. It seemed to be taking a very long time to get to the hospital, and he now realized that he was looking forward to having a doctor look at the wound and fix him up. He didn't feel well at all.