JOINING THE CHOIR
By Aeiu
Milton C. Hardcastle strode forcibly toward the basketball court. His latest case which involved tracking down his ex-rehabilitation project, J. J. Beal, had left a sour taste in his mouth. It reminded him of the mistakes he'd made in the past. Mistakes he was determined not to make with his latest and last attempt, a twice convicted car thief named Mark McCormick. He had to admit the guy showed potential even if he was overly sensitive to comparisons between himself and the recently recaptured Beal.
"Beal," Hardcastle ruminated with disgust as he remembered all that had happened. It wasn't bad enough that the man had to break parole the first time and make a fool of him. But then he had to escape from the hoosegow and go on a personal vendetta to destroy Gull's Way. Hardcastle's hand gripped the basketball tighter with his hands as he tallied up the amount of money it would cost to repair the garage, the den, McCormick's car, and his beloved Corvette. He felt the need for a little down and dirty one-on-one guerrilla basketball.
"I'll probably have to roust McCormick out of bed," he thought.That was another difference between the two ex-cons; McCormick liked his sleep and Beal had been up at two in the morning to steal the Corvette the first time. As he entered the court, he was surprised to find the curly-haired parolee already awake, dressed and waiting for him.
"What are you doing here?" Hardcastle asked suspiciously.
"I thought you'd want to play some ball this morning," explained McCormick as he reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a crumbled twenty dollar bill. "Here," he said handing over the money.
"What's this? Are you giving up before we start?"
"No, that's what I owe Beal. County might not like an ex-con on parole sending money, so I figured I'd give it to you and you can send it over with your twenty."
"Why would I pay Beal twenty dollars?" exclaimed Hardcastle as his temper began to burn.
"For the pulse bet. He beat both of us so we owe him the money."
Hardcastle glared at McCormick as he thrust the twenty back to him. "Tell you what, why don't you hold on to it and we'll talk about it later."
"Okay," agreed McCormick as he stuck the money back into his shorts, "but we wouldn't want Beal thinking we're welchers."
"Don't worry; I'm not staying up at night worried what Beal thinks about us."
Hardcastle dribbled the ball towards McCormick who seemed reluctant to give up the conversation.
"I've been thinking and you were right. Beal is pretty smart. We were lucky to get the best of a man like him," said McCormick as he made an unsuccessful feint to take the ball. "I can't believe how well planned he had everything. And the stuff he did off-the-cuff, pure genius."
"Well planned! He didn't even come to the estate when I was home."
"How would he know that you'd round up a two man posse to track him down? But the jail break was well planned."
"No it wasn't. He conned some daffy warden's wife into helping him escape," Hardcastle said as he sunk a basket.
"See, he can get people to like him and that's smart. He got a minimum sentence after breaking parole and going on a crime spree. He made trustee in a few months. Donna liked him. Heck, you must have liked him to bring him out to the estate."
"Like had nothing to do with it, McCormick," Hardcastle explained as he roughly blocked Mark's attempt to make a point. "Beal met a list of conditions and I decided to take a chance on him. He disappointed me."
"I can understand why you picked him. He looks good on paper and he can be a real people pleaser. I'm just lucky, he couldn't keep it up or you'd be trouncing his butt on the court this morning instead of mine," McCormick said as his ball went through the hoop and brought the score to four to one, Hardcastle's favor.
"If this is the beginning of a pity party or you're fishing for compliments, you can stop right now."
"Just pointing out the facts," related McCormick as he changed the subject. "There'll be a lot to get done this morning. What do you want me to start on?"
"Are you volunteering for work?" Hardcastle asked incredulously.
"Hardly," Mark answered. "Just getting an idea of what I need to get done today."
As the game continued, Hardcastle began listing the things he wanted to have done around the estate which McCormick noted with uncharacteristic silence even as the judge began to deliberately increase the number of chores in an attempt to get a reaction.
McCormick mentally memorized the list as he began to dribble the ball past the judge. Hardcastle threw a hard elbow into the parolee's gut and grabbed the ball. As McCormick fell to the ground, the rouge basketball player took the stolen ball and sunk in another basket. "Hah, that makes it ten to five," crowed Hardcastle.
"I guess I didn't see your elbow, Judge," McCormick said as he slowly climbed to his feet.
"Okay, what's going on, McCormick?" Hardcastle growled as he stood with one hand holding the ball and the other planted on his hip. "That was a deliberate foul and you know it."
"Nothing," replied McCormick. "I've just realized that I'll do better if I change my attitude. You know, become more of a people pleaser."
"Does this have anything to do with what I said about Beal?" demanded Hardcastle as he threw the ball to McCormick.
"No!" denied Mark as he caught the ball with ease and slowly began to bounce it in place. "Not really. It's just that Beal got me thinking about Mortie Glibberton."
"Who's Mortie Gliberton?"
"He's a big race promoter in Florida. When I was a lot younger and tearing up the track, he wanted to sign me up," said McCormick reminisced.
"What happened?"
"He didn't just sign up racers, he packaged them. You know, wear the right clothes, go to the right places, be with the right people, and say the right things. He told me if I could learn to just show people what they wanted to see; I'd be sitting pretty."
"Couldn't do it, huh?" asked Hardcastle knowingly.
"Nah, I was young, hotheaded and arrogant. I wasn't going to pretend to be anybody but myself. I told him to pound sand. Look where it got me?"
"What does a guy asking you to sell out in Florida have to do with Beal?"
"Mortie would've liked Beal and Beal would've been able to play the game. I'll bet Mortie would've had Beal as a national star by now," McCormick said as he stopped bouncing the ball and stared into space. "I think that's Beal's true genius. The way he can show people exactly what they want to see. He gets them to believe in him."
"But it's all fake. There's nothing real about him."
McCormick shrugged. "Does it matter? It gets him what he wants."
"What? A one-way bus ticket back to the slammer."
"I'm not saying he didn't make mistakes. He couldn't keep up the façade but, even then he still ends up with admiration, and respect."
"So this is about me praising Beal?"
McCormick shrugged again. "It wasn't just you. Everybody thinks he's great and everybody can't be wrong. I'm just saying back when you had Beal acting as your Tonto; if he handed you back your lost wallet, I'll bet you wouldn't have checked it."
"Yeah, and I'd have an empty wallet and he'd have my money in his pocket."
"But you still wouldn't have checked it," McCormick pointed out. "Unearned has to be better than none."
"So you're saying you want to be like Beal?"
"Not be like Beal but to learn from him. Mortie said no one gets rewarded for being real, only for being what others want. You gotta play the game. I'm beginning to see he and Beal are right about that."
Hardcastle stared at him while McCormick contemplated a lifetime of missed opportunities. "Great," thought Hardcastle, "that's all I need is McCormick choosing Beal as a role model."
Hardcastle recalled the events of the past couple of days. Things had moved pretty fast and McCormick was with him every step of the way. The man had done some half-way decent detective work even if it did involve his light-fingered evidence gathering method. He had taken some big risks and walked into several dangerous situations; all the while being unfavorable compared to an escaped, armed and dangerous felon.
He hadn't missed McCormick's look of disappointment when he checked the returned wallet. He hadn't really thought the guy would steal from him but he didn't want McCormick to know that. Experience had taught him not to get too close to the men he brought onto the estate. Best to keep them off balance, and never let them get too sure of themselves. That's why he seldom gave praise and always reminded them the consequences of failing to live up to their side of the bargain.
Hardcastle had to admit after the experience with the overly confident Beal, maybe he had come down a little hard on the new guy but he wasn't about to change his ways. It had almost been physically painful to dole out the few compliments that he had already given. He didn't want McCormick to think his efforts weren't recognized but there had to be another way to do it. Some impersonal way that wouldn't force him to admit any personal feelings. Reaching a decision, he turned towards the house and shouted back, "Follow me, McCormick."
Hardcastle marched into the house while Mark followed meekly behind. He led the parolee into the den and motioned for him to sit in the chair while he pulled his wallet out from the desk drawer. He looked in disgust at the contents; a couple of fives and his emergency hundred dollar bill. He regretted giving his last few twenties to Sarah to buy groceries but it was too late now. He reluctantly pulled out the C-note and handed it to McCormick who stared at it with wide eyes.
"Did you need me to buy something?" asked McCormick in a confused voice.
"No, it's a bonus for all the stuff you've been doing around here lately and helping me bring Beal in."
"You mean you're giving me a hundred dollar bonus?" McCormick asked in amazement.
"No, I'm giving you an eighty dollar bonus. Twenty of that is for having the low pulse yesterday."
"But Beal won that."
"Beal," Hardcastle snorted. "I wouldn't trust him if he had Dr. Spock taking his pulse."
Understanding flickered in Mark's eyes, "You don't have to do this because you feel bad about what you said about Beal. I understand why you were impressed by him."
"There's nothing impressive about him. He's a three-time loser and he's going where he belongs and I don't feel bad about anything. You earned that money so I want you to take it."
McCormick flashed a full dimpled smile as he slipped the money into his pocket. "Thanks, judge. If I start now maybe I can get things done in enough time to take Rebecca out."
"The fix-it guys are going to be here this afternoon, so you'll probably be more in the way than anything. Just do what you can this morning and you can take the afternoon off.
"The afternoon off? You sure you're not doing this out of guilt? Cause you don't have to."
"I told you, I don't do anything out of guilt. Now get out of here before I change my mind."
McCormick only hesitated briefly before he got up and exited the den, anxious to finish his chores. Hardcastle sighed as he watched him leave. It cost him more than he planned but it'd be worth it if McCormick could understand the value of his contribution to their arrangement without forcing Hardcastle to say it out loud.
The whistling parolee worked quickly through the morning and finished his few chores in record time. Hardcastle watched with bemused interest as McCormick packed various beach items into the red Coyote. He had overheard the Gull's Way Casanova excited call to his girlfriend of the month as he promised her an afternoon of fun at the beach followed by supper and dancing. After the downhearted introspective performance from the morning, it was good to see his cheerier disposition shining through. Hardcastle sighed as he reminisced on the beach dates he had shared with his late wife. Lost in thought, he wandered into the kitchen and pulled a can of beer from the refrigerator.
"Judge, I want you to talk to Mark," said Sarah Wicks, the housekeeper, as she vigorously beat the batter in the bowl.
"About what?" he asked.
"He wants to cut his hair," she said with concern as she placed the bowl on the counter and wiped the flour from her hands.
"What's wrong with that? It's getting kind of shabby. It could stand a good cutting."
"No, he wants to cut it all off and he was asking if there was a way he could get rid of his curls," she explained. "He came in here this morning, and pulled his hair down flat with his hands. He asked me how I thought he would look with short straight hair."
Hardcastle tried to imagine the picture in his mind. "Like an idiot."
"Well, I told him that I didn't think it would suit him, but I don't think he believed me. He said that's what people seem to like. Then he started talking about that awful Beal person and how he didn't have any trouble getting people to do anything he wanted."
"I don't think that had anything to do with his hair."
"Well that's what I told him, but it didn't seem to help," she picked up the bowl and returned to beating the batter. "He just went on and on about how easy it was for Beal and how he had to make changes to himself. If you ask me, it's that Glibberton person's fault."
"Who, Mortie?"
Sarah paused and looked at the judge strangely. "No, Mary. You know she just broke up with him.
"No," said Hardcastle as the dawn of understanding began to break. "I don't remember him saying anything about her."
"I didn't remember her either, but it must have been a bad break up. He told me that he had been upfront and honest with her. Then she went back to her old boyfriend who was always stealing her money. He asked her why and she said guys like Mark are too nice to make to amount to anything."
"You don't say," Hardcastle said as his hand tightened around his beer can.
"Next thing you know, Mark is talking about Beal and that awful McCabe woman and how Beal had the right idea about how to treat women. He said Beal was a people pleaser and he needed to try to be more like him. Can you believe he even accused me of liking Beal?"
"Oddly enough I can."
Nonsense," said Sarah as she added egg to the batter. "I set him straight. I told him that he has many fine qualities and any woman would be lucky to have him."
"What are you making?" Hardcastle asked as he eyed the oatmeal and raisins.
"Well, even after I talked to him, Mark seemed a little depressed so I thought I'd make some oatmeal cookies." Hardcastle nodded knowingly as she continued. "I thought as Mark isn't going to be here for supper tonight, we'd have the liver and onions tonight and tomorrow I can make that meatloaf he likes so much."
"I'm sure he'll enjoy that."
"I still want you to talk to him."
Hardcastle listened as the motor revved on the Coyote and his hundred dollar bill was driven off the estate. "Don't worry, we're going to have a long talk when he gets back," Hardcastle promised as he crushed the empty can in his hand.
"Mortie Glibberton," McCormick laughed to himself as he raced down the highway for an afternoon and evening of fun on old Scrooge McHardcastle's dime. He had been surprised the judge had actually fallen for the spiel, much less coughed up a hundred dollar bonus. "Must have decided it'd hurt less to give up some cash than say something nice to me," he thought.
Mark thought back to the twinge of guilt he had felt when Hardcastle had handed over the money. For a moment he had considered admitting to the scam but when he remembered the way the judge had taken every opportunity to point out Beal's superiority, he was able to suppress his better nature. He was sure by now, Hardcastle had compared noted with Sarah and realized he had been scammed. The unrepentant ex-con grinned and shook his head as he imagined the upcoming talk that would be waiting for him on his return. He had a few things to say to Hardcase, too. There might be hell to pay but maybe next time the Lone Ranger would think twice before he took Tonto for granted.
THE END