What's In A Name?
"Hey Skid." The voice seemed to echo throughout the eatery. Instinctively Mark McCormack stiffened. He quickly pasted a smile on his face, hoping that his lunch companions hadn't noticed his reaction.
"I should probably see who it is," Mark remarked as he stood up.
Pale blue eyes studied the curly haired man as he walked away. "There goes the afternoon," Milton C. Hardcastle muttered. He hadn't missed the younger man's reaction to hearing his nickname.
Frank Harper shook his head. "Give the kid some credit, Milt." He too had noticed Mark's momentary response.
The retired judge met his friend's eyes. "I have some experience with this, you know. The kid will be quiet and withdrawn all afternoon. Don't think that the Dodgers game will pull him out of it."
Frank took a bite of his burger before responding. "I think Mark has done a good job of putting the past in the past and leaving it there."
Mark walked quickly towards where he had heard his nickname. It was a name from the past, one that could bring up either very good memories or memories from the worst days of his life. Most likely it was someone from the latter times.
He hadn't consciously decided to be called Skid while in prison, it had just sort of happened. One of the other inmates had recognized him from his racing days upon his arrival and soon that was how people knew him. It actually worked for him, that way people felt like they knew him, but Mark could keep his real self away from the nightmare.
Mark recognized the man standing just inside the entrance. He hadn't known him well, just had taken a couple of bets for him. "Hey Carl, how is it going? How long have you been out?"
Carl shrugged his shoulders. "Just a few months," he replied. "It's tough, almost impossible to find someone willing to hire me. My PO is busting my butt about getting a job, but I'm having no luck. How are you doing, Skid?"
McCormack smiled sympathetically. "I'm doing ok. Yeah, getting hired can be tough. Have you tried any warehouses or garages? Teddy is working as a bus boy."
The recent ex-con sighed. "I'll keep those ideas in mind. What about you, what are you doing, racing cars again?"
Mark shook his head sadly. "Nope, though I have gotten a couple of races. Mostly I have been working as a gardner/ handyman, it doesn't leave much time for fun."
"Your boss hiring?"
"Nope, and you wouldn't want to work for him, he's quite the hard ass." Mark wondered what the response would be if he told him that he was working for retired Judge Hardcastle, and that besides doing the yard work, he helped the Judge in his quest for justice. "Do you need some cash?"
"Nah," Carl replied. "Think what I really needed was a friendly face. People treat you different when they find out you've been inside."
Mark nodded. He totally understood what Carl was saying and had experienced it many, many times. "It does get easier. There are people out there that can look past it, though they are hard to find."
"Well, I better let you get back to your lunch."
"Good luck, Carl. I hope things work out."
"Thanks Skid."
Mark quickly made his way back to the table. He could feel the Judge's eyes on him. "Sorry for the interruption."
"Everything ok?" Hardcastle queried. He studied the younger man, trying to judge how this meeting had gone.
"Yeah, just someone who needed a friendly face," Mark said before taking a large bite of his burger. After inhaling the burger in four bites. "We probably need to get going if we are going to get to the game on time.
Frank smiled as he ate the last of his fries.
