Deal of a Lifetime- cheride
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators.
Rating: K+
Author's Notes: If you'll indulge me in just a moment of reminiscence, I'll tell you the tale of a story. Way back in the day, long before I'd even heard the term fanfiction, I began writing this story. At the time, I just sort of thought I was a little bit crazy, and I'd put it away for months at a time until I just had to drag it out again and write a few more pages, and then I'd stick it back in a closet somewhere until it called to me again. Seriously, we're talking a period of years here, folks. Then, in early 2004, I found the H&M Yahoo group, and started reading some of the old fic, and decided to finally finish my own little contribution to the lore. This is the piece that was finally completed. I posted it to the group site in February of that year, and it stayed there—and on a companion archive site—for a few months. Then, I was approached to have it included in an upcoming print 'zine, but in order to do that, it had to be pulled from the net. Well, it turns out that print publishing can be a long and arduous endeavor, so it was February of 2006 before it was finally released, long after I'd gotten myself firmly and happily ensconced in this world of fandom. In the intervening years, several people have offered notes for improvement: Mysti, the editor at Agent with Style, where it was eventually published; I think Susan Z. had a whack at it; and even L.M. Lewis offered a few comments many, many months ago. (Even she probably doesn't recall words I'll probably never forget: "It's a fight, for goodness sake. Tersify it." Who wouldn't love a beta like that?)
So, anyway, this one's been around a while. The folks who have helped me since I wrote it have made me a better writer (I hope!), and there are things I'd do differently if I were to write this story today. But it still holds a place in my heart as my first, and especially for opening doors to a world that's made me a lot of friends and brought me a lot of joy. So thanks for listening to its tale, but I'll be a dear and shut up now.
Chapter 1
"Hold it right there, McCormick!"
Mark McCormick stopped mid-stride as he heard the bellow of his name. He recognized the tone and knew immediately that he was on shaky ground. He turned casually to face the voice. "Morning, Judge," he began, "sleep well?"
Retired Superior Court Judge Milton C. Hardcastle ignored the question. "Where are you off to so early?"
"I have to run some errands. Remember, we talked about it yesterday…fertilizer for the roses, new leaf net for the pool, more popcorn for the nightly John Wayne film festival?" McCormick grinned slightly, but he had the feeling the judge wasn't buying the routine.
"At 7:30 in the morning?" Hardcastle asked. "I didn't think you even knew there was a 7:30 in the morning."
McCormick felt his grin fading. Since being paroled into Hardcastle's custody over a year ago, he had learned a few things, most importantly, how to recognize the many moods of his custodian. Not that it had been easy. The man was constantly yelling and complaining about something—usually McCormick—and the insults could fly a mile a minute. Still, Mark had learned to understand that the judge simply handled his emotions a little differently than most people and didn't take much of it too seriously. Besides, he could certainly give as well as he got, and he had actually started to sort of enjoy the constant battles.
However, on occasion, there had been real anger lurking beneath the all too common outbursts, and learning to tell the difference had been a necessity. With smart mouth comments being almost his trademark, McCormick had unintentionally made a few touchy situations much worse. He still counted his blessings that Hardcastle hadn't shipped him right back to San Quentin. But that had been in the early days, before he'd learned how to recognize the tone, and when to keep his mouth shut. Right now seemed to be a perfect example of such a time.
"Actually, McCormick," Hardcastle continued, "about the only time I've ever known you to be so eager to get to your chores is when you had something to hide. Feeling guilty about something, kid?"
McCormick shook his head slowly, wondering why it hadn't occurred to him that Hardcastle had also spent the last year and a half learning how to read him. A guilty conscience was the only thing that made him do his chores willingly. And, after so many months in Hardcastle's custody, it was also the only thing that could make him worry about being sent back to prison. But aloud, he said, "Of course not, Judge. What would I have to feel guilty about?"
"I don't know, but why don't we go inside and talk about it?"
McCormick cast a longing look at the Coyote, his red sports car, sitting in the drive. He had been so close to avoiding this conversation! He made one attempt to forestall the inevitable. "Okay, but couldn't it wait until..." He faded off as he saw Hardcastle's eyes harden. He sighed deeply. "You're the boss, Judge."
"I'm glad you remember that, McCormick," Hardcastle replied, as he motioned the other man forward into the house.
As they walked, McCormick reflected quickly on the fear rising within him. In the past eighteen months, he and Hardcastle had been in more tough spots than he liked to remember; they had relied on one another out of necessity, and had grown to trust one another more quickly than he would have imagined possible. They had also shared good times, and that was certainly more than he had ever imagined would happen.
He could still remember the words as the judge explained his idea for this unorthodox arrangement: I'm not looking for us to be buddies. And yet, somehow, that's exactly what they had become, though neither would readily admit to that. For the most part, McCormick had settled into a comfortable routine, surprisingly grateful for the stability and friendship that had come into his life, even if it had come from the most unexpected of sources. But through it all, he had never lost sight of the fact that it could come crashing to a halt at any moment; the power in this relationship rested with Hardcastle, and the quiet words of let's talk about it inside didn't come close to hiding the fact that the jurist might seriously be considering exercising that power now.
Mark swallowed tightly as he led the way into the den. He jumped slightly as he heard the door slam behind Hardcastle; that was not a good sign. He turned slowly to face the older man, carefully keeping his expression neutral.
Hardcastle leaned against the desk, facing his young charge…searching his face, but there was nothing there. That was not a good sign. "I notice you had company last night, McCormick."
"Didn't know that was against the rules now, Hardcase." McCormick tried for his normal tone of banter, but he knew it fell far short.
"Anything you want to talk about, kid?"
McCormick shook his head. "This is your tea party, Judge."
Hardcastle tried again. "You know there are rules for your parole, kid; there are rules at this house."
"And except for the times you have me careening around the residential areas at about a hundred miles an hour chasing the bad guys, I think I've done a pretty good job sticking to them."
Hardcastle had to admit that was true. "Mostly," he agreed gruffly. "So what about last night?"
McCormick warred with himself internally. On the one hand, he really just wanted to get this over with; on the other, he wasn't sure how 'over' that would be, so... "I had a friend over, Judge. What's the problem?"
"I recognized him, McCormick."
McCormick laughed in spite of himself. "Give me a break, Hardcase, you think you know everyone. I mean, honestly, Judge, you should get over yourself just a little bit—"
"Ricky Lattimer," Hardcastle interrupted bluntly. He watched his…friend…closely; saw McCormick's mouth snap shut, his eyes close briefly. And when the eyes reopened, the judge saw only fear. He steeled himself against his own fear, suddenly afraid that he had been more right about this situation than he wanted to admit. Then, after just a moment, he watched as McCormick took a deep breath and deliberately banished the fear. The young man calmed himself and sank into the nearest chair. When he finally looked up at Hardcastle, the only thing remaining in the crystal blue eyes was the unspoken trust that had carried them through the past year and a half.
"Honest to God, Judge, there's nothing going on. He's just a friend of mine. I only kept it from you because I didn't want you wiggin' out on me. I know he shouldn't have been here, and I know I should have told you the truth from the beginning. And I'm sorry." After his rush of words, McCormick sat silently, waiting for Hardcastle's response.
The judge examined the young man closely again, alert for any sign of deceit, and was relieved when he found none. Feeling back on more familiar ground now, Hardcastle's temper finally fully exploded. "What in the hell were you thinking, McCormick?" he yelled. "I know you don't believe it, but I try to be as lenient as I possibly can, but, dammit, there has to be a line somewhere, and you just blew right past it!"
"I know, Judge, I just—"
"You what?" Hardcastle demanded, breaking off whatever explanation McCormick had been about to offer.
"Wasn't thinking," McCormick finished lamely, his volume a stark contrast to the judge's.
Hardcastle snorted. "That's an understatement."
"Judge," McCormick began again, "he's just a friend. He—"
"No," Hardcastle contradicted angrily, "he is not just a friend. 'Known felon' is the term you're searching for, McCormick. That's the phrase that could get you sent back to the house of many doors. What was he doing here, anyway?"
For a long moment, Mark couldn't answer. Even though he had managed to fight down the near panic that had been brewing inside of him, he hadn't managed to shake the lingering idea—however guilt-induced it may have been—that this conversation was going to end with him cuffed and in the back seat of a squad car. Hardcastle had certainly made that threat before; and while he had mostly learned to chalk it all up to the typical Hardcastle bluster, sometimes McCormick thought the old man took some kind of perverse pleasure in tapping into his deepest fear. But, as with so many things with the judge, it wasn't what he said that mattered, it was how he said it. And this reference to his return to prison was positively benign. He almost laughed with relief when he realized that he was still on fairly solid ground and the judge didn't intend to send him away just yet. Of course, he hadn't answered the last question yet, either.
As if reading his mind, Hardcastle repeated, "What was he doing here? And how long have you guys been hanging out?"
McCormick chose to answer in reverse order. "We don't 'hang out,' Judge. This is the first time I've seen him in years. He was released about a year before my parole; I haven't seen him since he walked out the gates."
"So why last night?"
McCormick shook his head slightly. Could the man not let anything go? He took a deep breath. "He needed a favor."
Based on the expression on Hardcastle's face, Mark immediately thought he might have relaxed too soon over the whole prison idea. "What kind of favor, McCormick?"
"Don't worry about it, Judge. I told him no."
"You let me decide what to worry about. What kind of favor?" Hardcastle insisted.
McCormick relented. "He wanted me to…" he chose his words carefully, "retrieve some property for him." He saw the judge's eyebrows arch suspiciously and hurried on, "But like I said, I told him no. We had a few drinks and he left. It's over."
Hardcastle wasn't buying it. "Don't you find it a little strange that he would just show up out of the blue and make this request? I mean, there are countless numbers of people who could 'retrieve property' for him."
"That's what I told him. Apparently, there's some kind of power play going on. Someone's trying to push him out and it's making him paranoid. He said he needed someone out of the game, someone uninvolved. But he understood when I told him I wasn't interested."
"Did he really?" Hardcastle growled, not completely convinced.
"Yes, Judge, he did," McCormick replied, exasperated. Feeling more confident that the judge wasn't angry enough to resort to incarceration, his own temper was threatening to get the better of him. "What is your problem, anyway? I wasn't doing anything wrong!"
When Hardcastle didn't answer immediately, McCormick felt his face flush as he realized what he had said. "Okay," he amended quickly, "so it was sort of wrong—"
"Illegal," Hardcastle interrupted coldly.
"Right. Illegal—"
"Parole violation," he interrupted again.
"Right," McCormick agreed. "But—"
"I can't take care of you forever, you know, McCormick."
"I don't need you to take care of me!" McCormick finally yelled. "I just need you to trust me!"
Again it took a moment for the ring of his words to sink in. "Judge…. I'm sorry." His tone was immediately as contrite as his words. "I didn't mean to say that. I appreciate what you've done for me, you know that. I just…"
"Forget it, McCormick. I was just a little worried about you, that's all."
Mark closed his eyes briefly. God, now he had hurt Hardcastle's feelings. Damn his big mouth, anyway. He opened his eyes and flashed a huge grin at the judge. "But at least you're never bored with me around, right?" When all else failed, resort to the comedy.
Hardcastle stared at him for a moment, then laughed slightly, letting his friend know he was off the hook. "Right, kiddo, it's never boring."
When the judge rounded his desk and started going through the mail, McCormick finally relaxed for the first time that morning. He sank back into his chair and closed his eyes again. After several moments, he spoke again, almost shyly, eyes still closed. "Judge?"
"Mm?" Hardcase was already engrossed in something else.
"Thanks."
Hardcastle glanced up at the simple word, and saw the sleep settle onto McCormick's face. As he watched the even breathing, it occurred to him—with just a touch of guilt—that McCormick probably hadn't slept well the night before and that he had gotten up early simply to get away from the estate and avoid a scene. It seemed incomprehensible now that half an hour ago Hardcastle was prepared to believe his young friend was sneaking off to some type of extra-legal rendezvous. He shook his head and reminded himself that McCormick was a good kid. Impulsive and smart-mouthed to be sure, but still a good kid. He smiled gently and turned his attention back to the mail.
00000It had been almost an hour since McCormick had drifted off to sleep in the armchair. Hardcastle had briefly considered waking him to move to one of the spare rooms, but had ultimately decided it wasn't necessary. Honestly, the kid could sleep anywhere. Hardcastle had spent the time catching up on the mail, and was now reading leisurely through his morning paper. If nothing else, at least he was getting first dibs on that today. He hated it when McCormick read it first; it got the pages all messed up, not nice and crisp like he liked it. He was so involved in the uncharacteristically relaxed moment that he was completely unaware of anything out of the ordinary until the three armed men burst into the den.
Hardcastle immediately grabbed for his desk drawer, hoping to get to his .45 quickly enough, but one of the gunmen was already there. McCormick had jumped to his feet when he heard the doors burst open. His eyes fully focused just in time to see the assailant pulling Hardcastle roughly away from the desk and then the backhanded slap that told the judge to stay still.
McCormick lunged across the room, his only thought to get the guy off of Hardcastle, but a second gunman was close by to prevent just that action. McCormick felt the hard fist to his stomach before he even completely realized what was happening. As he doubled over and stumbled back toward his chair, he grabbed his assailant by the shirt and flung him aside. With that obstacle out of the way, at least momentarily, McCormick continued his path back to the judge, but his attacker grabbed him from behind before he took two steps. He collapsed to the floor, and saw that Hardcastle had been immobilized. The goon was rapidly tying the judge's hands behind his back. What in the hell was going on?
McCormick returned his full attention to his own attacker. His arm was being twisted into an unnatural position behind him. McCormick arched his back suddenly to throw his attacker off, rolled over to grab the guy before he could regain his balance, and then flipped the man over his head. There was a satisfying thud as the goon landed hard on his back on the wooden floor, but McCormick's thoughts immediately turned back to the judge. As he was pushing himself off the floor, a single gunshot rang out through the small room, stopping him completely. And stopping his heart. He glanced immediately across the room, relieved to see that Hardcastle was still alive.
"I think that's enough, Mark," said a voice from the doorway.
McCormick swiveled quickly to face the voice, then slowly leaned back on his heels as his brain finally registered. "Ricky! What in the hell are you doing?"
Lattimer unhurriedly walked down the two small steps into the room and motioned McCormick back toward his chair. "Sit down, Mark," he said congenially.
McCormick stood up carefully and seated himself as instructed. He glanced across the room again. "You okay, Judge?"
"I'm fine," Hardcastle responded bitterly. His attacker was standing beside him, hand resting on his prisoner's shoulder almost companionably. Only the gun barrel pressed against the judge's temple destroyed the image. "Lattimer, you want to tell me exactly what's going on here?"
Lattimer didn't respond until his second henchman had taken up a similar position behind McCormick, then he turned to face the judge. "I've come to make a business proposition to your friend," he said, jerking his head toward McCormick.
"I understood that you had concluded your business discussions last night," Hardcastle answered.
"Yes, I'm sure that was Mark's view of things. I, on the other hand, wasn't quite ready to give up on the partnership."
"Ricky," McCormick finally interrupted, "this is crazy. I told you last night I couldn't help you out. There's a million other guys who would be more than willing to do your job. Hell, I'll find you one myself."
"I can't trust a million other guys, Mark."
"Well, I hate to break it to you, but you can't trust me, either."
"Oh, but I think I can," Lattimer contradicted. "Last night I was unprepared to make you a reasonable offer for your services, but that's not true today."
"This isn't about money, Ricky," McCormick began.
"No, it isn't, at least not for you. You always seem to be able to stay above the fray, Mark, unburdened by the petty concerns of the crowd. It's one of the things I've always liked about you. It's why I came to you for help."
"I'm flattered," McCormick drawled, "but I still can't help you." He never even saw the backhand that caught the left side of his face.
"That's the wrong answer, Mark," Lattimer sneered as he watched McCormick force the tension to leave his body and then settle back into his seat. They both knew that leaving that chair was not an option if McCormick wanted to keep breathing. "But, of course," he continued, regaining his genial attitude, "that's probably because you haven't heard my new offer yet."
"It doesn't matter what it is," Hardcastle shot from across the room, "he's not going to do it."
"So what's the deal?" McCormick asked as if Hardcastle had never spoken. He could feel the daggers from the judge's eyes, but he could deal with that later.
"Oh, it's the deal of a lifetime, Mark," Lattimer replied gregariously. "You're going to love it." He continued on, "You know, I really enjoyed our visit last night. Catching up on old times, reminiscing. It was great."
"Yeah, old home week. What's the point?"
"I think the thing I liked best, though, was the touching story about how Judge Hardcastle has really turned your life around; gave you opportunities you wouldn't have gotten otherwise."
McCormick kept his eyes steadfastly away from Hardcastle's. He wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed that Lattimer was revealing their conversation, or terrified because he was beginning to have a horrible feeling where this was leading. He decided it was actually possible to feel both. When he spoke, though, he willed his voice not to give away his feelings. "Like I said, Ricky, what's the point?"
Lattimer crossed the room quickly. Grabbing Hardcastle's hair and pulling his head back roughly, he had the gun buried under the judge's chin in less than two seconds. "The point, Mark, is that I think you would do anything to keep this man alive."
"He won't break the law," Hardcastle managed through gritted teeth, but his only reward for his effort was having the gun pushed harder against his chin, which only served to push his head further back. At this rate, he figured it was a toss up whether his jaw or his neck would break first.
"Stop it!" McCormick cried, straining more against himself than the arm that had coiled around his own neck. These were lousy odds, and he knew it; this was not the time to try to be a hero. He might actually manage to escape somehow, but Hardcastle would be a sitting duck. His mind raced through at least fifty different scenarios, but none of them ended well. He knew then that he had only one way out.
Lattimer watched the anguish play across the young man's face, and, after a moment, he knew that he had won. He released his hold on Hardcastle and returned to stand in front of McCormick's chair. "So you accept my offer?"
McCormick nodded wordlessly, still not meeting Hardcastle's eyes. "What do you need me to do?"
"I told you, Mark, there's a car—the munitions are already stashed inside—and there are files with my name on them. That's what I need. Here's the name, address and description of the car." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and stuffed it into McCormick's.
McCormick was vaguely aware that someone else was speaking to him. He focused his attention and realized it was the judge.
"McCormick, you cannot do this," Hardcastle was saying earnestly. "Listen, kid, you should know this drill almost as well as I do. Either this is a bluff and he's not going to kill me at all, or he's going to kill me either way. The point is, McCormick, what you do isn't going to change the outcome in either direction. I will not have you throw your life away for this."
McCormick did look at his friend then, and allowed himself a small smile. "Sorry, Judge, but for right now… you're not the boss anymore."
McCormick turned his attention back to Lattimer. "I need the details," he said dully.
"I need delivery by tomorrow, six o'clock. Not a lot of time, I know, but I have complete confidence in you. I'll call here tomorrow at 5:15 to arrange the meet. You get me what I need and you'll get your judge back safe and sound."
"I'm going to want to talk to him tonight," McCormick said, functioning almost on autopilot. "And tomorrow, when we arrange the meet."
"Fair enough," Lattimer agreed. "Same time tonight, then."
"If you hurt him, I'll kill you." The words were softly spoken, not a threat but simply a statement.
"Also fair enough," Lattimer replied. "I think you will find I am a man of my word." He motioned to his man across the room. "I think it's time we take our leave of Mr. McCormick."
McCormick watched as the goon pulled a roll of duct tape out of his jacket. The first strip went over the judge's mouth. McCormick didn't like the image, but he had to admit he also didn't want Hardcastle lecturing him again before they got him out of here. This was hard enough as it was. Then he watched as the tape was rolled around Hardcastle's wrists, serving as a much more efficient binding than the ropes alone. He could feel the tears of anger and frustration welling up in his eyes, but he couldn't look away. What if this was the last time he saw him? The thought was almost unbearable. Finally, the gunman pulled a long stretch of cloth from his pocket, clearly intended as a blindfold.
"Wait!" McCormick cried, almost bolting from his chair, but the arm tightened around his neck and brought him back down. He heard the hammer on the gun behind him pull back, but he ignored it. He forced his gaze away from Hardcastle and let his eyes meet Lattimer's. "Please, Ricky, just a couple of seconds."
Lattimer looked at him for a moment, realizing that he hadn't exactly been lying before; he really had always liked this kid. Finally he spoke. "You know I'll kill you both…him first?"
McCormick nodded silently.
"Okay, let him up."
McCormick was certain the attacker holding him didn't agree with the decision, but he did as he was told. McCormick rose from his chair and crossed the room, moving with deliberate and exaggerated slowness. First of all, it kept the trigger fingers relaxed when they knew he wasn't trying anything stupid. And secondly, the longer it took for him to cross this small room the longer he would be able to keep Hardcastle here with him, even if it only meant a few more seconds.
He reached the judge's chair by the desk and knelt on the floor to look directly into his eyes. He raised his hands—still slowly and deliberately—and squeezed his friend's arms. Again he could feel the tears burning his eyes, but he blinked them away.
"God, Judge, I am so sorry." He searched his friend's eyes, taking some small comfort from the forgiveness he had known he would find there. Never letting his eyes waver, he continued, "I'm going to get you out of this. I promise." He forced a small laugh when he saw the brief flash of anger. "What? Surely you didn't think I was a hundred percent rehabilitated, did you?" He didn't speak again until he saw the eyes answer with a tiny flicker of amusement. "Okay, look—"
Lattimer spoke finally. "Mark..."
McCormick tightened his grip on the other's arms. "They're going to take you now, Judge, but you'll be home tomorrow night."
Hardcastle just nodded.
McCormick saw the cloth lying on the desk. "They're going to blindfold you, too."
Hardcastle grunted, and jerked his head toward McCormick.
"What?"
Again the grunts and the jerk of the head. This time Mark understood. "Me?"
Hardcastle nodded.
Still never averting his eyes, McCormick spoke to the man behind him. "Ricky, he wants me..."
"Go ahead."
McCormick reached over and grabbed the blindfold. He really didn't want to do this, didn't want to have a part in removing any amount of freedom from this man, but he understood the request. He made sure that his face was filling Hardcastle's line of sight before he placed the cloth over his eyes. He smiled gently just as he tied the cloth in place. "Tomorrow night, Judge. I promise."
McCormick gripped the arms one last time, then raised his hands slightly as he got back on his feet and took one step away from Hardcastle.
"Back in your chair now, Mark," Lattimer directed, and McCormick did as he was told.
After McCormick was seated, Lattimer took up the position behind him, and the other two men led Hardcastle out of the house. Again Mark fought down the urge to try and stop them, and forced himself to watch calmly as the armed gunmen guided his best friend out of sight. After a few minutes, he heard their vehicle start up. That would mean they had gotten Hardcastle safely stashed in the trunk. He shivered at the sight in his mind's eye.
"Well, Mark," Lattimer said from behind him, "that's my cue. Oh, and by the way, I don't think I have to tell you..."
McCormick glanced behind him. "No, you don't have to tell me. I won't follow you, and no cops."
"Good." Lattimer pulled the hammer back on his gun as he slowly released McCormick and moved toward the doorway. He needn't have worried; McCormick wasn't going to risk the judge's life at this point. But as he climbed the steps and reached the double doors, McCormick called him back.
"Ricky?"
Lattimer paused momentarily. "What is it?"
"You promise you'll let him go?"
Such a simple question; he really did like this kid. "Yeah, Mark. That's the deal."
McCormick nodded and watched Lattimer disappear out the door.