Cycle of Death

by dcat8888

Milt and Mark load up the bikes and go out to Indian Dunes...then all heck breaks loose

Cycle of Death

by dcat

Lot's of notes on this little ditty. First off, the idea comes from Cheryl who suggested a story about the motorcycles and a little bit of challenge between the two of them and who the better rider might be. I'm not sure it's exactly what she was looking for, but I want to thank her for supplying the initial idea and hope that she likes how this turned out.

Next, this title reminds me more of a 'Streets of San Francisco' episode, you know where the announcer says, 'Tonight's episode, Cycle of Death,' a little dramatic I know, but my alternative titles were, 'Don't look under the helmet,' 'Frank Harper has a lot of lines,' or 'Ouch, that must have really hurt bad.'

There's a whole lot of angst, a little mush and probably a bunch of typos and grammatical type errors since I alone beta'd it. If you notice something really bad, let me know and I will attempt to edit it.

As always, the characters do not belong to me.

OOOOOO

"We'll take the bikes up to Indian Dunes, you know kiddo, throw them in the back of the pick-up and spend the rest of the day out in the dirt, how's that sound?" Hardcastle said clapping his hands together as he walked into the den. His enthusiasm for both the thought and the eventual deed were evident in his voice and body language. He prepared himself for McCormick's usual first mode of response, which always was a smart-aleck, balloon-popping, almost always negative comment.

The kid did not disappoint. "It sounds cold and dusty, that's how it sounds. You do know it's January don't you?" Mark said cozily in one of the leather den chairs wearing a hooded sweatshirt, watching the morning news. "It's like 40 degree's out there."

"It's California, it's never cold out here, besides racing around will get your blood flowing, warm you right up," Hardcastle was trying to sell Mark on the idea. "Come on kiddo!"

"If I say no, I'll never hear the end of it will I?"

"Probably not, 'sides you're the one who's been doting on your driving prowess since you got here," the Judge added. "It's about time you put your money where your mouth is when it comes to racing around. Don't you want to take out that new bike and see what it's really made of?" The clearest and most effective way to turn around McCormick's dour mood was to offer up a challenge or bet of some sort, at least that's what Milt had come to conclude over the past year or so.

"I know what it's made of Hardcase. And I'm used to racing cars Judge, not motorcycles, but don't worry, I'm sure I can out run you on a bike too. Besides the one you got me for Christmas will out gun that old thing you bum around on." He added a simple one syllable 'hmm' type laugh after he spoke.

"See, that's what I mean, you like to talk a good game. You've hardly been on that bike and you think you can beat me on a dirt course that I know like the back of my hand?" For good measure he threw in another comment when he got no rise out of McCormick, "You know you're like the old lady who only drives it to church on Sunday. You need to get it out and get some mud on it. Taking it up the coast for a couple of hours doesn't count as anything, that's girly stuff. I got twenty that says I will cross the line first out in the Dunes wise guy."

"Judge, I just don't think it's fair if I just show you up, I mean it's not really a true race. I'm a professional," Mark said cockily.

"Listen wise guy, I'll up the ante to $50, I've been riding bikes since before you hoped on your baby tricycle, and you're right about cars being different from bikes. I'm thinking maybe you can't handle that Christmas present after all. Maybe I should take it back, give it to someone who isn't afraid to use it."

"Ha!" McCormick laughed, this time more animated. "$50 bucks huh?" Hardcastle nodded and tipped his head to the side. Mark showed the beginnings of a mischievous smile, "You're on, let's get the bikes loaded up."

The drive over to Indian Dunes was nothing short of informative. McCormick began a long-winded, but entertaining diatribe on his illustrious racing career, no doubt all meant to play mind games on the Judge's head once they got out on the bikes. They both knew what McCormick's intent was, and Hardcastle admitted to himself that this was what made the kid an excellent race car driver. He could easily get into the heads of his opponents long before the real race even begun. The Judge realized that this talent of Mark's probably allowed him to win quite a share of races. The Judge relaxed as he drove down the familiar highway, enjoying the stories that McCormick was trying to psych him out with.

"So, this one time, I'm up in Whittier. It's a small purse, I think it paid out $5,000 to the winner and maybe $2,500 to 2nd place. Everyone else would get zip. About twenty of us guys entered it, heck none of us had much to lose right? And it rained all day long, the track was dirt, well mud really, but you get the idea, right?" Mark paused long enough to look over to Milt who nodded that he was listening. "The race was supposed to start at noon, but the storm was crazy and no one was out there to watch in the rain. It didn't lighten up till, oh maybe 4 in the afternoon or so. The track manager comes over to the group of us drivers and says they're putting up portable lights and that we'd be starting the race at 8pm. And I'm thinking great, this gives me about four hours to win this race. My biggest competition that day was a guy by the name of Stain Weaver."

Hardcastle interrupted him. "Stain Weaver? What the hell kind of a name is Stain Weaver?"

"Stain Weaver, I think his first name is like Lenny or Louie, heck I don't even remember, Stain, that was his nickname, like mine is Skid, you know?"

"Yeah, but yours makes some sense." Hardcastle was quick to point out.

"Well, so did his, he used to leave this great stain trail of oil at the starting line. He said he didn't know why his car did it, or so he claimed, but every time out, there it was. And you never wanted to start behind him because of it, 'cause, well, you'd get stained. One of the other guys just started calling him Stain after a couple of times of getting blasted."

Hardcastle stone-faced his reaction, "Alright then, so what happened in Whittier?"

"Yeah, that was a long day. We'd all been there since about eight in the morning. The track brought us in some sandwiches at about 2pm and then sent over some pizza's at about five. I mean they tried to keep us happy, but the guys, they were getting surlier by the minute. You know when you're ready to race, you're ready. Anything else makes you crazy. I think rain delay's in baseball is probably the same sort of thing. The trick is to look like it doesn't bother you while you know it's bothering everyone else," Mark explained.

"So what did you do?"

Mark waited a few extra seconds before he continued and the corners of his mouth turned upward with a hint of mischievousness, "If you're good at it, you don't have to do anything, you just sort of sit back and watch the rest of them make fools of themselves. They started to play cards, really dumb move."

"You didn't play with them?" Hardcastle asked.

"Heck no, playing cards is the worst thing you can do. You only win if you're lucky in a game like that, not a good thing to do right before a race. So, I slept, the track had this big old furnished room. The guys, they all huddled around this dinky table playing poker and me, I stretched out on the sofa in the corner, set my watch for 6:45pm and got in a nice long nap. When I woke up, old Stain was about two steps from clocking some punk kid from Modesto in the chops. He claimed the kid was dealing from the bottom of the deck. Anyway, Stain was so messed up that when we got to the line, all he was thinking of was being in front of the kid so he could 'stain' him at the start. He didn't care if he won or lost, as long as he gave that kid a stain. After that, the race, mud and all was no contest. And I walked away with the five grand."

"Was there a point to any of this?" Milt asked with an aggravated tone in his voice.

"Nope, I think I'm just gonna catch a nap while you drive though. Wake me up when we get there okay Kemosabe?" He hunched over against the window and passenger door acting as if he was going to fall asleep.

"Why? So you can stain me? Very funny McCormick. You know your head games might work at an old, muddy car track with a bunch of bozo's with stupid nicknames, but riding a dirt bike out at Indian Dunes is a little more than putting the pedal to the medal if you know what I mean?"

McCormick knew this was just Milt's feeble attempt at trying to rile him up. "Judge, we can compare mind games till we're both exhausted you know? You might be older and more experienced at riding the 'dunes' as you like to put it, but face it, I'm a racing pro. I did this for a living. You're out of your league. I mean I don't tell you how many years to sentence someone in jail."

"Ha, yes you do! And don't be giving me the old line about you being a pro. We'll just see what happens out there in the dirt. Don't be surprised if you're the one getting stained."

McCormick laughed at seeing how worked up the Judge was getting. One thing was for sure, the Judge relished competition. "We'll just see what happens on the course, I just don't want you to hurt yourself or anything Judge. You know you're getting up there in age now."

"Leave my age out of sport. And don't worry about me McCormick, I know those Dunes like the back of my hand. I own those dunes."

"Own 'em huh? What about when you wiped out when we were out there getting Cadillac's kid?"

"I told you, I lost my traction. You know you really have a short memory."

Now it was Mark's turn to laugh. "Judge, don't get all riled up, it's not good right before you put 400 lbs. of metal underneath you. You need a calm, relaxed mind."

"McCormick, you do whatever you want and I'll prepare how I want to prepare."

Mark leaned back and smiled, to him he'd already mastered the 'stain.'

OOOOO

Just to be fair, they both agreed to ride over the course for a while so they could both get familiar with the layout of the land. After a while of driving around they both noticed that off in the distance there were a couple of teenaged boys who were also out on the course, other than that the dunes were pretty much there's to own for the afternoon.

After some time passed they both came to a stop and decided to take a break before their big race was about to take place.

"Okay sport, this is your last chance to back out, and don't worry, I won't hold it against you if you choose not to go through with this race," Hardcastle began.

McCormick slid the helmet off his head and chuckled, "I'm not backing out of anything Judge. Not only will I beat you, I will be back at Gull's Way eating dinner while you're still out here eating my dust."

"Cute McCormick. This isn't just about speed though, there's finesse involved too."

"Finesse? You're going to talk to me about finesse? Look at you, you're the king of wearing plaids with stripes and you want to talk finesse? Can you even spell finesse?" McCormick shook his head and laughed.

How 'bout we make this even more interesting?" Hardcastle asked.

"You mean besides the fifty?"

"Yes, I mean besides the fifty, what else would it mean? Sheesh, let's bet dinner tonight at the winner's choosing?" Hardcastle tossed out.

"Anywhere?"

"Yes, anywhere, do you need to clean out your ears?"

Mark chuckled, "Okay, you're on, I know I can afford dinner at Barney's Beanery."

"Ha, see you know you're about to get beat."

"No, it just means I want to know that I can cover a bet, you never want to eat anywhere else," Mark grinned and started to put his helmet back on. "You want to lay down the course now Kemosabe and let's get this thing started?"

"The course is the one we've been riding on, but skip that first section that was full of rocks, you know where I'm talking about? I wouldn't want you to fall down and go boom," Hardcastle added to add another insult.

"Speak for yourself," Mark chuckled and nodded, "Yep, we go left by that cactus, instead of right?"

"Right, then exactly the way we've been riding. You got it?" Hardcastle asked.

"I got it. You better clean off your helmet visor now, because you're going to get a face full of my dirt Hardcase. See you when you get here okay? If it gets dark out, I'll start a campfire, or maybe I'll just send out the National Guard to find you." McCormick fired up his bike and kicked up some dirt in Milt's direction just to add a little fuel to the fire.

"That's not funny, McCormick," Hardcastle aggressively put his helmet on and started up his bike and rode it up to where McCormick waited. "Just watch out for those kids, I haven't spotted them lately, but they still could be around," he shouted over the roar of the engines.

"Yeah, I know, I was thinking the same thing," Mark paused. "You drop the flag when you're ready to go Lone Ranger."

Milt lifted his arm and let it fall indicating that the race was underway and he took a brief lead over McCormick.

It was nip and tuck for the first five minutes or so, till Mark zoomed past him and then decided to have a little fun, just to aggravate the Judge even more. McCormick played a little cat and mouse with the Milt, slowing down, letting Milt catch up and get ahead, then revving up and passing him. The Judge was annoyed by McCormick's smart aleck prowess, so the next chance he had over the straight away, he sped past and kept his lead.

They came up on the first hairpin turn of the course and McCormick slid past the Judge as they came into the straightaway. Mark glanced backward and grinned as he kicked up some dirt back at the Judge, who skidded away from the dust cloud and accelerated to catch up to the kid. McCormick rode that fine line between danger and safety in everything he did and most of the time that's what made Milt so crazy.

Mark turned his focus back toward the upcoming course and saw one of the boys up ahead, so he decided to slow up a bit, knowing that he'd catch up to the boy if he continued pushing ahead like he had been. The Judge noticed it right away too and slowed down as well, the two of them now riding nearly side by side, just toying with each other as they waited for the boy to clear the course so that they could continue.

Finally he disappeared off the course and neither boy was in sight so the two of them cranked up their engines and started their 'friendly' competition all over again. Mark gave the Judge another grin and shouted, "See you at the finish line." McCormick started hard and took the lead once again, but this time the Judge came forward, pushing hard and overtaking the former Can-Am pro. They came up to another hairpin curve when suddenly all hell broke loose. As the Judge came out of the blind spot, he suddenly appeared to lose control of his vehicle, sending both himself and the bike he was on careening first into a boulder, then bouncing off and skidding off into the hard dirt about 50 yards from where his demise started.

As McCormick came out of the hair pin turn, he saw the Judge go flying off his bike and he began to slow up, knowing that the Judge was going to be hurt badly after a wipeout like that. His mind began to race with fear. All of a sudden one of the boys who had disappeared from their view came jumping off the small cliff above where Mark was finishing the hairpin. McCormick caught the boy flying over top of him out of the corner of his eye and tried to accelerate out of the way, yet trying to avoid running into the same spot that had apparently caused the Judge to spill. Where in the hell had the kid come from? That was all that Mark thought for a brief moment. His mind was overwhelmed with Hardcastle, the kid and controlling his own destiny on the bike he was on. It was too late though, the boy and his bike were coming down and he clipped the back of Mark's bike, sending he and the boy in opposite directions, both losing control of their machines. McCormick felt the impact immediately on his left side as he collided with the ground and tried to brace for it and think of what his next plan of action would be. Mark slid off his bike and managed to push away from the motorized death machine and as he did he felt his body go rolling, tumbling and turning over on the hard dirt.

The teenage boy wasn't quite so lucky. After he collided into the back of Mark's bike, he completely lost control of his bike, and went smashing into a nearby man-made mound of dirt with the merciless machine he rode crashing and seemingly exploding in flames right on top of him.

When McCormick stopped skidding, he lay motionless on the ground as his own battered body tried to tell his mind if anything was broken or out of place. He moved a little and felt like his whole body was on pins and needles with a deep ache resonating throughout. He closed his eyes and took some deep breaths, but the pain still radiated. He slowly tried out his arms and legs and everything seemed to be working, though somewhat painfully. He thought he was more bruised than broken. He turned his head ever so slightly and as he did, he could see the boy's bike explode and the blast knocked him even further away on the ground, then he felt the intense heat of the burning fuel that followed. He turned his head away, trying to protect himself and felt himself slipping into semi-consciousness from the entire ordeal before him. McCormick didn't know how long he lay there, but when he turned his head to look around again, the burning motorcycle was still off to his right and then he remembered that the Judge had wiped out too. "Judge!" he called out and he got no answer. "JUDGE?" He rolled over slowly and painfully tried to sit up, as he did, he felt groggy and dizzy but a sharp pain in his side caused him to hunch over and let out a moan. He went to remove his helmet and another jagged pain shot through his left wrist as he pushed it off his curly head of hair. He finished removing the helmet with his right hand and tossed it off to the ground and still sitting glanced around and tried to spot where he remembered that the Judge was.

In the opposite direction of the burning motorcycle he spotted the Judge on the ground, with his bike about 50 feet away from him. The Judge didn't appear to be moving. "Oh God, no, not Hardcastle," Mark said seeing Hardcastle lying in a heap. He closed his eyes briefly hoping that by blinking this nightmare would somehow be over. When he opened his eyes and lifted up his head, he saw the same horrific scene engulf him. He swallowed hard and tried to get to his feet. He felt a wave of dizziness overtake him, so he paused and waited for his head to catch up to the movements his body wanted to make. As much as he wanted to run over to check on and see the Judge's condition, he knew he first somehow had to try to get to the boy, before he burned to death, if he hadn't already done so. He couldn't let that happen, no matter how badly he wanted to get to Hardcastle. He pushed himself up to his feet and managed to hobble and limp his way over toward the burning wreckage. The boy's body, also unmoving was just beyond the gasoline-burning motorcycle. Maybe he wasn't dead. Mark stumbled around the flames and grabbed the boy's body and began to drag it to a safe area away from the twisted metal. McCormick, weak and fatigued himself, fell on to the hard ground any number of times as he pulled the boy to a safer area. "God, help me!" he called out loud as he felt himself nearly passing out from the strain. "I gotta do this and get to Hardcastle." While he regained a bit of strength, he tried to notice if the boy was still alive, but in his own weary condition, his senses weren't able to pick up on any signs. He managed to get to his knees and he pulled the boy about twenty more feet to safety, groaning all the way from the own pain his body was in. The boy had a helmet on with a dark black visor covering his entire face. Once McCormick got the boy away from the bike, he looked over the teenager's body more closely and he didn't think the kid was breathing. "Oh, no, no God, no please," he cried out loud, looking skyward and then back to the young man. His body was charred from head to toe, parts of his clothing burned into his very skin. The smell alone was enough to make Mark want to be sick. He cautiously turned up the visor on the helmet and tried to brace himself for what he'd see. The boys face was a mixture of blood, brain fluid and charred skin. The bile built up rapidly in McCormick's gut. Mark physically dropped back on the dirt from shock and fear of what he saw. He knew right then and there that the boy was dead. No sign of life was evident on his body. He turned his head away and got sick.

Sucking in as deep a breath as he could, feeling the sharp pain pierce his side once again, he started to keel over as he wiped his sleeve across his face and started first to crawl, then slowly up to his feet, he made his way toward the Judge. Please let the Judge be all right. "Judge?" he called out again, hoping beyond anything that he'd hear a response, but none came. He could feel hot tears starting to form behind his eyelids and he blinked hard, trying to forget the teen's bloody, charred face and to try to concentrate on what he had to do at this moment, which was to get to Hardcastle and make sure he was okay.

As he got near, he collapsed to his knees and saw that the Judge was lying face down, so he carefully turned him over. "Please be okay Judge, please, don't be hurt." As he got him onto his back he saw his chest rise and fall with a fairly deep breath so he knew that Hardcastle was still alive. "Oh thank God, thank God," he said. "Judge?" Mark's voice cracked as he spoke, trying to rouse him. "Judge, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" His fingers now trembling with fear as he gently worked to get the helmet off of his head. Once he did, he threw it off to the side and called out to the Judge again, "Judge, say something, anything, please?" He grabbed and held one of the Judge's hands in his own as he scanned over the scene that lay before him. He tried to replay what exactly had happened, but nothing he saw in his head was making much sense. Using his free hand, he rubbed his own head again and wiped away a burgeoning tear or two. "You gotta talk to me Hardcase, come on, just let me know you're okay, please." He could tell he was still breathing and as he talked to him, the Judge seemed to be trying to come to, but he hadn't opened his eyes at all. "I know I gotta try to get us some help. I'll go back for the pickup. I don't know where that kid came from Judge, I don't know what went wrong. You must have seen him and skidded out of the way. I wish you'd just wake up and let me know that you're all right? You gotta be all right?" He left it there as a question. Mark started to get to his feet when he heard Hardcastle start to moan a little and roll his head from side to side. "Judge, it's me McCormick, can you hear me? I'm going to go get us some help, don't move, I'm going to get the pickup.

Hardcastle still seemed unconsciously agitated and without opening his eyes he said, "Gunshots."

Mark stopped dead in his tracks and then fell to his knees beside Milt, "Wwwhat?" He stuttered. "What gunshots? What, what did you just say?"

The Judge groaned again and then said, "get truck, kiddo, go, be okay, go on now." Milt closed his eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I'm going, just don't move, hear me, don't move." His eyes scanned the horizon in every possible direction, there was nothing moving. He didn't know what Hardcastle meant and he couldn't afford the time to try to figure it out. He needed to get help. With that he turned and headed back over the motocross dune course to get the pickup. He gave one last look around the near vicinity and there was nothing in sight as far as he could see. What was Hardcastle talking about gunshots for? What did he mean by that? McCormick tried to remember.

What had only taken the two of them about twenty minutes to ride over was now taking a dazed and confused Mark McCormick well over an hour to trek by foot. At times he didn't even know if he was heading in the right direction or not. He fell hard at least two times, and stumbled a few more as he trudged along, hoping maybe someone would come along and give him a hand, but he wasn't going to be that lucky. The back of his head stung like something he'd never felt before. Fortunately when he got back to where the truck was parked, another man was just pulling up with a truck and a bike in the back.

The man saw Mark approaching and walked out into the dunes to meet him.

"Looks like we need to get you to a hospital, hey there young fella?" the middle-aged man said with a friendly smile, not realizing the extent of the accident. "Had a little spill out there huh? Why don't you sit down for a few minutes and let me have a look at ya?"

Mark interrupted him by grasping onto him and leaning on him for support. "You need to get an ambulance and the coroner, there's been a bad accident."

"Coroner? You're still alive boy," the man said to him, still not understanding the severity.

"No, not me," Mark shook his head and pushed the man away, "It's out on the course, one man is hurt pretty bad, and I um, hit a kid, we collided, I think that he's dead, I think we collided, I hit him," Mark repeated and tried to explain. "I wasn't out there alone. My friend is out there too and he needs to get to a hospital, please can you help us?" As Mark said it, his legs gave way underneath him and he collapsed onto the ground momentarily, but he tried to get back to his feet and the man reached down to help him.

"Yeah, I can help ya," The man now listened intently to Mark, "I'm thinking I should get you to town, you're bleeding something awful there." The man went to check the back of McCormick's head.

McCormick didn't realize he had a gash on the back of his head. He pushed away the man's hand. "Not me, listen can you just do like I asked, I need to get back to my friend, he's hurt very badly, please can you just help us?"

The man nodded what else could he do but help, "Sure, I can do that, if that's what you want, but I really think I should take you with me, you got a bad head wound there yourself."

"Don't worry about me," Mark reiterated. The man led Mark toward his truck where McCormick could lean against it for support.

"What's your name son?" the man asked him, "I'm Bob Werner," he introduced himself.

"Uh, um," Mark wavered and tumbled once again on to the ground, as Bob had let go of him momentarily.

This time Bob knelt down on one knee next to McCormick and said, "Just sit tight for a few minutes, you're probably in shock yourself, can't even remember your own name," he murmured as he put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Must have been a doozy of an accident out there?"

Mark tried to focus on Bob's face, but his brain was swimming inside his skull. "What?" he asked, trying to remember what Bob had even asked him, he leaned forward and nearly collapsed again in Bob's arms. "Accident?" he asked.

"Yeah, you had a bad accident and you're in bad shape yourself," Bob said, leaning him back against the truck again. "Just hang tight son, I'm going to get you some help."

Mark nodded his understanding, "Name's Mark," he finally said. "Thank you," his voice started to trail off, "gotta get help," he said, slumping over into unconsciousness.

It was only a minute or two that Mark had blacked out and when he came to again, Bob was holding out a thermos of water for him.

"Take some of this Mark," Bob said to him.

Mark nodded and drank down some of the cool water, "What happened?"

"You passed out, I think I should take you with me, then we'll bring the paramedics back," Bob explained.

Mark nodded his disagreement, "No, I gotta get back to the Judge. I can't leave him out there alone. Or the kid." He started to get to his feet, seemingly reinvigorated.

Bob shook his head and put out his hand to help him get back to his feet. "All right, where about's are you on the course? I'll lead them in." He went into his pickup and pulled out a balled up t-shirt, and handed it to Mark, "I don't have any compresses, but here, this is clean, put on the back of your head to try to stop the bleeding."

"Thanks," Mark said, taking the shirt and pressing it against the back of his head. "We're just past the second hairpin," Mark described. "Please hurry."

The man hesitated for just a split second, torn between wanting to help Mark, who clearly was injured himself, and honoring the distraught man's wishes. The curly-headed fellow was conscious and talking, so the man didn't think he was hurt too bad. But it did sound like there were bigger problems out on the course. He nodded and got into his pickup and went for help.

McCormick watched the man drive off in his own pickup and dropped back into the dirt warily for a few more minutes of rest. He was so dizzy and fatigued, but was fighting hard to rally against the pain in his own body. He sat for a few minutes and pressed the t-shirt that the man had given to him to the back of his head. He cringed as he got back to his feet and then made his way slowly over to the Judge's truck and pulled out the spare set of keys he had in the pocket of his jeans. He climbed in gingerly and started off back toward where the accident occurred. It was a lot harder to get a truck through the crags and crevices of the dirt track, but he cautiously made his way, not wanting to damage himself or the Judge's truck either. He reached back and felt the wet spot on the back of his head where he obviously had an open wound of some sort. His left wrist still throbbed as he tried to hold onto the steering wheel and there still was that ache in his side that kept jagging at him, causing him to wince and double over. He was more focused on the Judge though and the face of the dead boy. Those damn tears came flooding back as he drove the ragged dunes. I hit a kid and now he's dead.

Mark quickly exited the truck once he got back to the spot where Hardcastle was. He didn't bother to look at how crazily he had 'parked' it and actually even left the driver's side door wide open, engine running, in his effort to reach Milt.

"Judge, I'm back," Mark slid down on his knees and took a quick look at Hardcastle. He noticed right away that he was still breathing and the Judge actually opened his eyes when he called out to him.

"Gunshots kiddo," Milt repeated what he had said earlier.

Mark's face registered with some skepticism as he glanced over the area and then back over Hardcastle's body. There was nothing to indicate any gun's had been fired and Mark didn't remember hearing anything prior to the accident. The Judge had a big bruise and lump forming on his forehead, but there was no blood to imply a wound from a bullet. "Judge I don't see anything, are you sure? You probably have a head injury."

"What happened?" he groggily asked McCormick.

"We both wiped out on the bikes, I think I killed that kid, I hit him or we collided, I can't remember it all," Mark rubbed his own head in despair, wishing beyond anything that this was all a nightmare and that a dead kid wasn't just a hundred yards away. He tried to breath deeply to keep from getting worked up and emotional about everything that lay before him. "Help is coming though, there was a man coming in and he went to town to get help. You just need to hang on a little bit longer, we'll get you to the hospital," Mark explained.

"You okay?" Milt tilted his head as he saw some blood dripping down from the back of Mark's head.

"Me, yeah, I'm fine, I think the helmet just caught the back of my head when I wiped out," he said, taking the balled up t-shirt that he'd gotten from the man and blotting the wound and bringing it to a stop.

"I'm really tired kiddo," the Judge said, closing his eyes.

Mark nodded, "No Judge, you got to try to stay awake here, please, just try, we'll have help real soon. Judge? You probably have a head injury and you need to try to stay with me here," Mark called out and saw that the Judge had slipped back into unconsciousness. He sat back and waited in the late afternoon sun. You can't die on me Hardcase, not you, I killed a kid, did you hear me tell you? I hit him, I just didn't see him up there. I should have known. You can't die too, I'm gonna need your help with this one. I can't do this on my own. I killed a kid. Before long Mark began to hear the sirens of the ambulance, a police squad car and the black station wagon that belonged to the coroner. He leaned down and told Milt that the 'cavalry' had arrived.

OOOOO

The paramedics began their assessment of Milt while the coroner and the police officers began to investigate the scene, look over the charred remains of the teen-age boy and question Mark. Bob Werner stood off with one of the policemen and gave them his account of what had transpired, including Mark's omission that he had hit the kid. The police were quick to make note of that. Initially the police asked Mark's name, the Judge's identity and name, who the boy was and the basics of the accident. Mark politely answered as much as he could. He'd never seen the kid before. Bob Werner noted that McCormick seemed more orientated than he had been in the parking area. After the initial round of questions, the police began to look over the scene and went over to the remains of the dead boy. McCormick waited patiently near the Judge and shrugged off the assistance the paramedics offered to him, repeating that he was ok. He stuck close to the paramedics though, glancing over occasionally to watch the police and coroner as they loaded up the boy's body into the station wagon.

The paramedics were also getting ready to put Milt in the ambulance when one of the police officers came up to Mark and began to speak to him again.

"Mr. McCormick, is it?" A new plain clothes officer had arrived on the scene.

Mark nodded.

"I'm Detective Coughlin, I'm going to need to ask you some questions and get a statement."

"Um, I already told the other officers everything I could. I thought I could go to the hospital with my friend here, you know, make sure he's all right," Mark posed.

"I'll drive you there," Coughlin said, "We'll need to ask the Judge some questions too."

"Okay," Mark said shakily, "Maybe I could follow you? I need to pick up these bikes and get them into our pick-up."

"Mr. McCormick, our department will take care of that for you. Right now we need to leave everything in place as evidence, we'll make sure you get the bikes and the truck."

Mark showed a bit of hesitation, but agreed to drive along in the police car. He bargained with the officer for a moment asking if he could once again go check on Judge Hardcastle. Coughlin agreed and so Mark went over to the ambulance and leaned over and said to Milt, "I'll be right behind you Judge. The police are giving me a ride. I'll see you at the hospital."

The Judge moaned some sort of an unintelligible answer and Mark stood holding his left arm as they loaded Hardcastle into the back of the ambulance.

"How's he doing?" Mark reached out to touch one of the paramedic's arms.

"He's been bounced around a lot, we need to get him to the ER pronto. You want to ride with us and we'll check you out on the way?"

"Nah, I'm going with the cops. I'm okay. Just take good care of him please?"

"Mr. McCormick, please, this way," Coughlin was saying, motioning Mark to the squad car. Mark stood for another second, as the ambulance pulled away. Coughlin finally came over and physically had to lead McCormick over to the car. "Mr. McCormick, We can have you checked out by a doctor at the hospital too, is your arm all right? He noticed Mark holding his arm.

"Nah, no, I'm fine," Mark said, he dropped his arm to his side. "I guess I'm just shaken up by the whole thing." He slid into the back seat of the squad car.

"That's to be expected whenever someone is killed," Coughlin said.

The word 'killed' stuck in Mark's head, 'Um, yeah," he said not really understanding what Coughlin had just insinuated, seeing that there was another officer in the front seat with Coughlin.

"This is Officer Reid," Coughlin said, introducing the two of them. They both nodded.

"Do you want to tell us what happened out here?" Coughlin began.

Mark cleared his throat and began to describe the incident as he remembered it, stopping and pausing as he tried to tell them what he recalled. Their questions continuing to interrupt his thoughts and memories, he was getting more confused and disorientated as they drove along.

"How fast were you going?" Coughlin asked.

"Um, Probably 60, maybe 65 on the straight-aways, on the hairpin, maybe half that," Mark explained.

"When did you see the teenager?"

"Well, uh, we both saw him before we started racing, but he was quite a ways ahead of us on the course. I'm not sure how he got where he was, 'cause it was off the course anyway," Mark tried to explain. "He came off this little incline, flying overhead of me, I guess."

"We're not interested in speculation Mr. McCormick. Did you see him before you hit him?"

Mark looked at them with a confused look. "Um, uh, it was an accident, right? I didn't know he was up there," he said. "He came zipping over top of us, or over me anyway, Hardcastle was already out of the turn. Maybe he saw him over top and that's what caused him to spin out."

Coughlin busily wrote down notes and continued to ask Mark question after question, leaving Mark's head reeling from the interrogation.

OOOOO

They finally arrived at the small, local hospital and Mark quickly exited to the nurse's station in the emergency room to find out how Hardcastle was doing. Coughlin and Reid waited off in the distance, writing and comparing notes and whispering under their breath. The nurses directed Mark to the waiting area, as Judge Hardcastle had just arrived and was still being accessed. He went to the space as directed and sat down in one of the chairs and leaned his head back and began to wait.

Reid came over about twenty minutes later and asked if there was someone they could call for him.

McCormick thought about it a second and gave them the name of Frank Harper of the LAPD. Reid wrote down the name and went off to find a phone to call this police officer, and wondering what the connection between him and McCormick was. McCormick had indicated to them during questioning in the car that he had no real job or occupation, other than to say he worked for the Judge as a handyman. He still wanted to know why he was hanging around with a Judge too, but so far they couldn't get in to see Hardcastle. When Reid got off the phone he told Coughlin and suggested that they run McCormick through their computer to see what they would come up with on him. Coughlin agreed and told Reid to go and see what he could find out.

Reid and Coughlin got their answers from their computers faster than Frank Harper could get out to the County Hospital to check on the condition of his friends. By that time, the two local cops had secured a private conference room from the hospital and they took McCormick into it where they proceeded to ask him more questions about what had happened out at Indian Dunes.

Frank practically flew in the door of the Emergency room and asked about Milt's condition, which was now listed as stable, though the doctors were still inside working on him. Then he asked where Mark was and the nurse directed him toward the private conference room. Harper asked what he was doing in there, and the nurse told him that two police officers were holding him and questioning him. Harper was a bit befuddled and thanked her and went to the room. Frank knocked on the door and Reid opened it. Frank flashed his badge and they let him come in. He saw Mark sitting at the end of the table, holding his head in his hands. He slowly looked up when Frank came in.

"Mark?" Frank said, now really beginning to wonder just what had transpired. "I heard you and Milt were in an accident huh?"

"Hi Frank, thanks for coming to pick me up," he said, showing the beginnings of a smile. "I hope you don't mind, I didn't know who else to call. Can you take me home?"

"Sure Mark, I can drive you home, no problem. How are you?" He asked him, now getting a strange feeling that something was wrong, McCormick seemed a bit off, just from the minute or two he'd seen him in the conference room. He knew that from past experience that McCormick would be babbling about Hardcastle and what his condition was. Something was definitely not right.

"Me, I'm fine, I just want to go home and see how Hardcastle is, have you heard? He had an accident on the motorcycle," he strangely asked Frank.

"He's stable, but the doc's are still working on him. We'll be able to see him a little while, are you feeling okay Mark?"

"Is he in the hospital?" McCormick asked.

"Yeah Mark, so are you right now," Frank glanced over to the other two cops who shrugged.

"Oh yeah," he said, shaking his head, acting now as if he realized it, McCormick sat back in the chair he was sitting in. "That's good that he's okay, I was pretty worried about him when he wiped out."

Frank noted to himself that Mark didn't answer him on how he felt. Harper looked over to the two county police officers. "I'm Frank Harper, LAPD, I'm a friend of Mark's and Milt's." He held out his hand and they both shook it and introduced themselves. "Can I talk to you gentlemen outside?" He turned back to Mark, "We'll be right back Mark, you just hang tight all right?" They somewhat reluctantly agreed to step out of the room.

"I thought this was an accident, that's what you told me on the phone." They both nodded the affirmative. "Then why the blazes are you holding him?" Frank said, once outside the room, knowing exactly what they doing with McCormick.

"We ran him through the computer, and found out he was an ex-con, we're being thorough, that's what we're doing," Reid explained, copping an attitude.

"Like I said, it was an accident, you have no cause to hold him like that," Frank continued, turning his attention to Coughlin, because Reid was annoying him.

"Maybe it was an accident, we don't have all the facts yet, but there's a dead 18 year old boy in the morgue right now. We're trying to look at every angle, and to figure out what happened there," Coughlin said.

Frank laughed, "You think McCormick killed him on purpose? You're kidding me right?"

"It's one of the things we're working on. His statement and account of what happened are a little sketchy at best," Coughlin replied.

"I know this guy, he's not a cold-blooded murderer, you guys are way off base here," Harper said in defense of Mark. "What's the name of the kid?" Harper asked.

"We haven't identified him yet," Coughlin said.

"So you have no connection between McCormick and this kid, yet you feel it necessary to question him and think of him as some murderer?" Frank raised his voice. "McCormick was out there with a Judge for crying out loud. They were riding, that's all. Accidents happen." He paused and added,

"Can I see what you have?" Frank asked.

Coughlin gave over his notes, "We've got nothing to hide Harper, we just want the truth. The boy's family has a right to that too."

"I can tell you right now that McCormick didn't kill anyone. You know he served time for stealing a car, he did his time, there's a big jump from that to murder." Frank began to read through Mark's statement and answers to the questions that Mark had given them. "Can I talk to him alone for a few minutes? It says here that this Bob Werner guy noted that McCormick was injured."

"He refused medical treatment at the scene and here at the hospital, we can't make someone see a doctor," Reid said. Still Harper was not convinced. "I want to talk with him privately." Frank could tell that Reid was opposed to the idea but Coughlin relented and allowed Frank to go into the room.

"Mark, you want a soda or something, my treat?" Frank said entering the conference room.

"Frank, I'm glad you're here, how's Hardcastle? I haven't been able to see him" McCormick began, looking surprised to see Frank again.

"He's stable Mark, remember I told you?"

Mark nodded and said, "Oh yeah. I remember. Do you think we can we see him pretty soon?"

"Just as soon as the doctors lets us Mark. Listen, did you see a doctor when you got here? Do you remember hitting your head?"

"Me? No, I'm okay, I just slid off my bike. I was really lucky. Hardcastle really slammed his head though, I saw him skid off, I still can't believe it," he paused, "And that kid was killed, I guess I hit him," Mark rubbed his forehead. "I don't know where he came from, he should have been way beyond us. Not anywhere near where we were," he stopped and added, "I guess I hit him. What should I do Frank?"

Frank shook his head, "You guess? Mark, you gave those guys outside a statement, do you remember doing that?"

"They asked me some questions, that's all," he answered.

"Did they read you your rights?" Frank wanted to know.

Mark scratched at the back of his head. "No, I don't think so, I can't remember. They just said they had questions to ask me, it was an accident, wasn't it Frank? I mean even if I hit the kid, I didn't do it on purpose right?" He continued to scratch at the back of his head.

Frank came closer to him. "Mark, you know better than that, do you remember what you told them? Some of the stuff they wrote down is incriminating Mark," he looked directly at McCormick and saw that Mark was not focused. "What is it with you? You're not acting like yourself. And what's with the back of your head?" He walked around behind him and pushed his hand away from the curly head of hair to reveal a scabbed-over cut. "I thought you said you didn't hit your head? What's this?"

"I don't know Frank, I can't see it back there, why don't you tell me what it is?"

Harper took a step back, "That's the first McCormick-like thing you've said since I got here. And this is a pretty deep gash, you must have split your head wide open. Didn't you know you were bleeding?"

"Frank, I killed a kid, Hardcastle's in the hospital, I'm not really focused on myself."

"I'm telling you didn't kill anyone, quit saying you did, and you better focus on yourself, you're the prime suspect right now, those two guys outside think you're acting like you did something wrong out there," Frank spun around and paced a little and thought about what he needed to do next. "First thing is you need to get checked out by a doctor. Then if you have a concussion like I think you probably do, Coughlin and Reid will have to throw away all their notes and start all over. I can't believe they didn't have you checked out."

"Frank, I'm okay, look at me, I'm conscious and alert and awake and all that stuff," Mark justified, "I don't even have a headache."

"You're not okay, trust me on this one," Frank began as he walked toward the door, "don't move, and don't say anything to anyone, I'll be right back." He waited to see McCormick give him an affirmative nod.

Frank stepped out of the room and Coughlin and Reid jumped up from the chairs they were sitting in. Before they could say anything, Frank blocked the door and spoke calmly. "He needs a doctor."

"What is this? You're going to cover for him now?" Reid said, attempting to push past Harper. "What kind of a cop are you anyway?"

"He doesn't need me to cover for him because whatever happened out at Indian Dunes was an accident. And he needs a doctor because if the two of you would have bothered to do your job, instead of trying to connect lines where there were no dots, you'd would have realized that he's got a four-inch cut on the back of his head," Frank said. "If that's not a head injury, I don't know what is."

"He wasn't bleeding," Coughlin said.

"Maybe not, but how long was it between the accident and when you guys got out to the scene?" Frank continued.

"We're estimating about a couple of hours," Coughlin replied.

"Last time I checked, blood can clot in that amount of time fellas," Frank shook his head, "Look, I told you I know him, he's altered right now, he's not thinking clearly and I want him checked out by a doctor."

"I think it's a scam," Reid said, "he's in the hot seat for killing an 18-year-old and suddenly he feigns an injury. I've been a cop long enough to see this sort of thing. He told Werner that he collided with the kid, that he hit him" Reid added. "Maybe it wasn't pre-meditated, but something happened out there and it's our job to find out."

"Werner also said that McCormick was injured when he first spotted him. You should know that his testimony is here say at best, it'll be tossed out. So, what will it hurt if a doctor confirms that McCormick has a concussion? It's something that can be diagnosed you know," Frank reasoned.

"Okay Harper, if you're gonna vouch for him, we'll let him get checked out," Coughlin, the senior officer, nodded.

Frank extended his hand and gave Coughlin a smile and went back into the room to take Mark to see a doctor.

"Come on Mark, we're gonna have a doctor take a look at the cut on the back of your head, you might need some stitches." Mark stood up quickly and felt the twinge of pain in his side and sat back down and reached to hold on to the table. Harper was also quick to notice. "What's that Mark? Something else bothering you?"

"I just got this pain in my side, he ran his arm over his left ribcage area. Probably a bruise or something, but I can't figure out how I might have gotten it," Mark described.

Frank stopped in mid-step. "You and Milt were in a motor-bike accident out at the dunes Mark, remember?"

McCormick's blue eyes looked empty as he turned his head to look at Frank. "The Judge? Is he okay?"

"Yep, he's fine Mark, now let's get you checked out."

McCormick stood up cautiously, overcompensating for the pain in his left side and took a few steps toward Frank, "Frank….." he started to call out, when suddenly, his legs gave way and he passed out on the hard floor.

Frank turned back to see him as he hit the deck and he called out to Coughlin and Reid. "Get a doctor and a gurney in here now!"

OOOOOO

After an examination and x-ray's, Mark rested quietly in the emergency room cubicle and Frank came back in and took up residence in a nearby chair. They had started an IV as a precaution upon cleaning up and stitching up the head wound.

"No word from the doctor's yet?" Harper asked Mark, sitting down beside his bed.

"Nothing, but that one nurse keeps stopping by asking me if my head hurts. She's making me crazy. I told them a thousand times already, it doesn't hurt. I just got shaken up. All I want is to go home."

"She's just doing her job Mark."

"Did you see Hardcastle yet?"

"I tried to, he's out of it. They already got him up in a regular room. He for sure has a real bad concussion, they think he may have fractured his skull, so they're keeping a close watch on him."

Mark closed his eyes and shook his head, "That's bad for an older guy. What was I thinking racing him like that?"

"Hey, it happened and now it's over okay, no need to beat yourself up over it. They said he's doing just fine, there's nothing to worry about, he's getting the best possible care," he paused, "maybe the two of you can even room together," Frank joked.

"Oh that's all I need Frank," Mark went into Hardcastle voice-mode, "hey kiddo, how do you work this nurse button, hey kiddo, get me another blanket, hey kiddo, isn't there a John Wayne movie on, hey kiddo, why did you almost kill me out there?" then he slipped back into his own voice, "no thanks, I'll take a room with a screaming baby over that."

"Careful what you wish for," Frank said, just as a doctor entered the cubicle.

"Hi Mark, sorry it's taken so long with your x-rays and lab results, we had a little backup."

"That's okay," Mark said, "so what's it all say? Can I get out of here now?"

"Uh, no. I'm sorry. The bad news is that you're going to stay overnight, the good news is you'll be fine, everything will heal up," the doctor said. "Good thing your friend here recognized that you weren't acting like yourself, you do have a concussion. Anytime you hit your head like you did there's a good chance of that happening. The best thing for that is just to rest and take it easy. If he hadn't recognized that you were altered, things could have been much worse."

Mark glanced over toward Frank and gave him a nod and a smile.

The doctor continued, "You also cracked a rib, that's what's causing the pain on your left side. So the nurse is going to come in and help me get you taped up. We also did the x-ray on your wrist. No broken bones there, it's just a sprain, so we'll wrap it up and you'll get to ice it down for the next 24 hours or so, after that, the pain will tell you how much you can do with it. Everything else checks out fine."

"Do I really need to stay overnight?" McCormick asked him.

"I'd rather you would, we'd like to keep an eye on you," he answered. "Do you recall if you lost consciousness or not?"

"I can't remember, it all happened so fast, I just don't know. I'm having a hard time thinking straight about anything."

"That's okay, you just get some rest, you'll probably feel better tomorrow and maybe even remember more details," the doctor said. "I'll be back with the nurse in a few minutes to tape up that rib, then we'll move you to a room."

McCormick let out a yawn as the doctor left the room.

"Tired huh?" Frank asked.

"Maybe a little," he paused. "I wish I could remember more," he was suddenly quiet, then asked, "Did I really kill a kid Frank?"

"No you didn't kill a kid. It was all an accident okay. You'll remember more tomorrow after you get a good night's rest," Harper said.

"Can you just take me home now? Hardcastle's probably worried to death, even though he'd never admit it," Mark said.

"You and Milt are both staying here in the hospital overnight, maybe longer if you don't start making some sense," Frank said. "I'll go make sure you get your own room just in case they decide to put you in with Milt. I think that'd be disastrous right now."

"Thanks Frank, sorry to be so much trouble," Mark mumbled as Frank got up and headed into the hallway.

He nearly ran into Coughlin and Reid as he walked out.

"How's McCormick?" Coughlin asked.

"He's not gonna be answering anymore questions tonight, I can tell you that," Frank said with a smile.

"You got the doctor to confirm a concussion?" Reid suggested.

Rather than answer Reid, Frank directed his comment to Coughlin, "You better train your pup here a little better Coughlin, I'm tired of his disrespect."

Coughlin tossed a look over at Reid, who zipped his mouth up for a moment. "What did the doctor say?"

"Concussion, broken rib, sprained hand and some stitches to the back of his head. He'll live but he's going to be sore. I still can't believe the two of you didn't insist he get checked out. I mean, isn't it a little odd if he did intentionally kill this kid like Reid is trying to suggest, why would he stick around?" Harper asked them.

Reid was about to step into it again. "Maybe he didn't plan on getting a concussion."

Frank shook his head in anger. "You know what Reid, I'm going to personally call your Chief and tell him what an asshole you are. Consider yourself on report." He turned his attention to Coughlin. "McCormick can probably give you an official statement in the morning, if the doctor and I okay him. In the meantime, you better file your unofficial report under G for garbage, 'cause if I find out that any of it gets put in the official document, you can bet you this will be the last time you see me being this polite. Are we clear?"

Reid looked away and Coughlin gave the tiniest hint of a nod. "What about Hardcastle, when can we question him?"

"Maybe tomorrow, more likely the day after. He's pretty busted up," Frank said. "Any word on who the kid is?"

"Yeah, his name is Ryan Orth, lives in LA. We have a unit going over to his house now, to talk with his parents," Coughlin said.

"Let me know if you get anything all right?" Frank asked.

"Sure," Coughlin said, "Let's go, we'll be back tomorrow."

OOOOO

Harper hung around the hospital for a few more hours, hoping he'd get to talk to Milt, but Hardcastle was most likely going to sleep the rest of the day and night away. He decided to wait until Mark got settled into a regular room. Frank hoofed over to the Burger Barn across the street from the hospital. He'd get a couple of burger for McCormick, since he'd probably hadn't eaten since they left the estate and he'd no doubt be complaining about the hospital food.

It was about 7:30pm when he pushed open the door to Room 234, Mark was trying to get comfortable on his right side, but didn't seem to be having much luck.

"You need some help there Mark?" he asked, stepping into the room with the bag of hamburgers and seeing McCormick struggle to get to spot he could relax in. "I brought you some dinner, I thought you'd be hungry. You want me to give you a hand?" Harper asked again, seeing Mark wince.

"No, I'm good just trying to find an unbruised spot," McCormick recognized Frank's voice and turned onto his back stiffly and sat up a little. "Hi again Frank. They brought me something before that I couldn't recognize and it was cold, I could use a burger now. I'm kinda hungry."

"I figured you would be," Frank smiled. "You feeling any better yet?"

"Yes and no, I think I'm starting to remember what happened a little better, but the bumps and bruises are catching up to me."

"I think you got a little more than bumps and bruises, you guys were in a helluva accident. But the doc said you'd start to feel better, but he also said you'd heal up."

"How's the Judge? Did you talk to him yet?"

"No, but I just came from his room. He'll be sleeping for awhile, we can probably see him in the morning."

"But he's gonna be okay right?" He opened up one of the wrapped hamburgers and began to eat it.

"Yep he is, you are feeling better aren't you?" Noting the voracity with which he ate.

"There's nothing like a Burger Barn burger to make me feel like a man again," McCormick joked. "Thanks for helping me out with those cops. I wasn't thinking straight."

"I'm just glad you thought to have them give me a call."

"They really think I killed that kid?" McCormick questioned.

"It was an accident," Frank reinforced.

"Yeah, but if I hit the kid…." He set the hamburger down on the nearby tray and rubbed his forehead.

"What's this but? You still don't remember?" Harper asked.

McCormick shook his head no. "I'm trying to see it Frank, but I just can't."

"Look, forget about it for now, finish your dinner, get some sleep, it'll all come back to you in the morning, like the doctor said. I think the Laker game is on tonight, you want to watch that for awhile?"

Mark nodded and Frank turned on the TV and they enjoyed the game for awhile.

OOOOOO

After Frank left for the night, Mark McCormick tried to find a comfortable position to try to sleep in. That was proving to be easier said than done. By now, his left wrist had begun to throb, and the pain shot from his fingertips to his elbow. He tried flexing it, slowly and carefully, trying to get work the ache out, but it wasn't providing relief. Next he tried to just let it lie flat, without any movement whatsoever, but then the relentless pulsating pain gnawed at him. He closed his eyes in the semi-darkened room and tried to fall asleep, but discovered the way he shifted in the hospital bed had now jogged the sharp pain of his cracked rib. He felt his facial muscles tighten up, as if that would lessen the aching he was feeling, but it was all to no avail.

He pushed himself up and tried to relax in more of a reclining position rather than lying flat, but then the stitches on the back of his head started to aggravate him.

His next solution was to try to lay on his right side, of course the nurse had put the IV for precautionary fluids into his right arm and so he had to adjust himself to avoid lying on that, while carefully finding a comfortable spot for his wrist, side and head.

In a few minutes he seemed to settle in to some sort of a comfort zone, so he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. This time his mind wouldn't let him. His thoughts raced back and forth over all that had happened during the day and one image he couldn't seem to shake was the 18-year-old's bloody, burned face. What possessed him to turn up the boy's visor? He'd now have to see that image etched forever in his mind. Well he wanted the kid to be alive, he wanted to help him, but he wasn't prepared for what he was about to see when he lifted it up. He once again fought to keep the contents of his own stomach where they were, but the thought of the dead boy gnawed at him. He recalled the explosion and the heat from the flames, trying to shield himself from being burned. He re-lived seeing Hardcastle go careening off his bike and slamming into the ground. He still hadn't seen him for himself. Frank told him that he was going to be okay, but part of him now began to wonder if they were withholding some bad news from him. He knew the kid was dead, but had the same thing befallen Milt and they weren't telling him? He tried to keep what he was thinking in check, but it wasn't working. In a short bit of time one of the night nurses came in and asked if everything was okay, since his blood pressure indicator had gone off at the nurse's station.

"I'm wondering if you could tell me how my friend is doing, or maybe if I could see him? I just want to make sure he's all right," Mark began, now attempting to sit up in the hospital bed.

"I can check his condition for you, what's his name?" she asked.

"Milt Hardcastle. I'd really like to see him if that could be arranged, for me to see him I mean?"

"Let's work on one thing at a time, Mr. McCormick," she said, exiting the room.

Mark leaned back against the pillows and waited for her to come back with some news.

When she came back in, he was trying to sleep, but the moment he heard the door creak, his eyes flew open and he waited for news about Milt.

"Judge Hardcastle is doing just fine, he is sleeping right now though. The on-call doctor would like you both to wait until the morning to see each other."

McCormick wasn't satisfied with her answer. "What's exactly wrong with him?" he asked.

"He's got a skull fracture, a concussion, a possible broken elbow and some swelling in his right leg, plus various cuts and abrasions."

"Nothing else?" Mark asked.

"That's what his chart says."

Mark thought for a second then asked again, "Could you please ask the doctor once more, I really need to see him, just for a few minutes?"

She let out an exasperated breath and took a closer look at his pleading face, "Let me see what I can do."

About a half hour later she came back to his room with a wheel chair and helped him out of the bed and into the chair and then she wheeled him up to the floor above and then to the Judge's room. "The doctor really doesn't think this is the best plan for either one of you, but I was able to persuade him. I'm only going to give you five minutes," she said, "then I'm coming back in and taking you back to your own room for some rest. Understand?"

He nodded and tried to give her a smile. She pushed him into the dark room and turned on a small wall light that gave McCormick enough light to see that it was Hardcastle. She pushed him right up alongside Milt's bed, and then she patted Mark's shoulder and exited the room.

"Hi ya Judge," Mark began. "Sorry that it's so late, I don't mean to wake you up or cause anyone trouble, but I guess I just had to see that you were all right yourself. The doc says we're both gonna mend up just fine," he paused, "but that kid died. And I'm having a hard time remembering everything right now. We both have concussions. I just keep seeing you in my head, flying off that bike, and then that kid, the explosion and his bloody face. I can't get it out of my mind Judge," he said, dropping his head down and practically whispering to the Judge. "I wish you could talk to me, and tell me what you remember, what you saw."

Milt stirred in the hospital bed.

"Judge?" Mark saw him move and called out.

"Gunshots, kiddo, 'member that," Hardcastle murmured.

Mark looked at his face, and it had already softened and the Judge had slipped back into sleep.

"Judge, I didn't hear any gunshots, I don't remember that. I don't even know if you're thinking of this accident or of something else."

Hardcastle wasn't saying anymore, as Mark waited for any sort of communication. The nurse came back in and told him it was time to take him back to his room. McCormick relented after seeing a sleeping Judge. He wasn't ready to have a long talk.

Once she got him settled back in his own room, Mark picked up the phone and dialed up Frank Harper at home.

A groggy sounding Frank answered, "'lo?"

"Frank, it's Mark, I'm really sorry to bother you at home so late, but I just talked with Hardcastle."

"Mark? What? Are you crazy, you both have head injuries? You should both be sleeping."

"I know Frank, but please listen, Hardcastle remembers hearing gunshots. I remember he told me that when I got out to him after he wiped out. I must have blacked it out tonight. I wonder if someone was shooting at us, or at him."

"Mark, it's 12:30 in the morning, you need to get some sleep, you both will remember more in the morning all right?" Frank was about to hang up.

"Please Frank, please listen, can you just run the kid and see if you come up with anything shady?"

Harper heard the concern in Mark's voice. "Okay Mark, I'll run the kid and see what we get and let you know in the morning. Now would you get some sleep and leave Hardcastle alone too, so he can sleep too?"

"I will, I promise. Thanks Frank."

Harper hung up the phone and knew that McCormick was going to be up all night long trying to piece the whole thing together for himself. He got up out of his own bed, seeing that Claudia was still sleeping herself and decided to go to the station and run the kid and see what he could come up with.

In the meantime, Mark sat up in the hospital bed and replayed the whole day over and over again, recalling bits and pieces as the darkness of the night soon became dawn.

OOOOOOOO

It was approaching 9:30am when Frank came to the hospital to check on Mark and Milt. He decided to stop in by Mark first, who he knew would be up and awake.

Mark was trying to put his belt on his jeans when Frank walked in. "Great, you're here, they checked me out and guess what I remember?" McCormick's mouth was going fast.

"Morning Mark. Feeling better huh?"

Mark ignored the questions, "There was another kid out there Frank, there were two of them. Where'd the other one go?" He asked as if Frank would be able to answer.

"Are you sure?"

"Frank, I'm like 110 better today, I remember."

"Did you get any sleep at all Mark?" Frank checked.

"I think so, maybe a couple of hours, but that doesn't matter, I told you I remember it all much better now."

"Well, what about the gunshots?" Frank said.

Mark stopped gathering up his things. "Okay, I don't remember that. But Hardcastle was in front of me. And he remembers it. Have you ever tried to hear anything over the sound of a motorcycle engine while wearing a helmet?" He began to put some of his possessions in a plastic bag the hospital provided.

"I'm just asking because the kid that died is clean, no record, no nothing, just a normal, kid with a B average at Indian Dunes High School."

Mark stopped dead in his tracks once again and sat back on the unkempt hospital bed. "Nothing?" he said sadly.

"Nope, nothing, not even an overdue library book."

"We don't know about his friend though," Mark suggested.

"Mark you don't even know if the other person was his friend and…" Frank trailed off.

"And what Frank? I told you I remember this morning. I didn't hit that kid either, he hit me, he clipped the back of my bike and that's what sent the two of us spinning out of control. But maybe the gunshots had something to do with Hardcastle wiping out. Maybe the other kid was taking pot shots and didn't realize the consequences, or maybe someone knew Hardcastle was out there. You know plenty of people who have an axe to grind with him for one reason or another. And I bet that a good traffic investigator can look at the bikes and see that I was the one hit, not the one doing the hitting."

Harper grinned at him, "We'll get it all checked out Mark, relax, slow down, I promise."

Mark was back at packing up the things he came in with. "We need to check on Hardcastle. I haven't seen him yet this morning, but I heard he was awake and grumpy."

"So he's back to normal too?" Harper joked.

"Seems so," Mark gave him a grin of his own.

OOOOOOO

"Yeah Frank, gunshots, how many times do I need to tell you, I'm not making it up. Concussion or not, I know what a gunshot sounds like," Hardcastle said. "McCormick grab that jacket I had on yesterday, I bet there's a hole in the shoulder area. I could have sworn it passed between my arm and the material."

Mark went into Milt's closet and pulled out the jacket. "Which shoulder Judge?" Mark asked.

"Left," the Judge answered.

Mark scoured over the jacket and sure enough, he spotted what appeared to be a gun shot hole. "Here it is," he pointed it out to Frank, who took the jacket from McCormick's hand.

"You sure this wasn't already in this jacket?"

Milt rolled his eyes, "Believe me Frank, if someone puts a gunshot hole in my clothes, I don't keep them around."

"I'll have our lab guys check it out," Frank said. "You two amaze me, both of you with concussions and you're still solving the case and I'm just along for the ride. I might as well go home now."

"Good thing you weren't riding with us yesterday," the Judge added. Neither one of them noticed Mark's head drop down on his shoulders.

"We're trying to track down the friends of Ryan Orth and see what we can come up with," Frank started.

"Well someone out there was shooting at me or us, maybe they though they were just shooting at some wild animal or something and he took off scared," Hardcastle said. "Heck, they both looked like a couple of kids, right McCormick?"

Mark rose up his head, "Yeah, teenagers I guess."

"I'll give you guys a lift back to the estate, then I want to stop and talk with Coughlin and Reid," Frank offered. "The doctor cleared you both right?"

"Yeah, but he needs to take it easy at home," Mark said, then added, "But, I'd like to go with you Frank."

The Judge chimed in after seeing Frank's face harden up, "Listen kiddo, we're both going to take it easy at home for today. Let Frank do his job, he doesn't need either one of us slowing him down. And concussions aren't something to mess around with."

"Judge, I'm telling you that I'm okay," McCormick said.

"Well, that's good, then you can wake me up at home every hour on the hour, because I'm not," the Judge replied.

McCormick took one look at the Judge's tired face and couldn't argue. "All right, all right, we'll both go home."

Frank Harper breathed a sigh of relief.

OOOOOO

Frank spent the better part of the day at Indian Dunes High School tracking down and talking with anyone who knew Ryan Orth. They all told him the same story. The kid was Howdy Doody. He never caused trouble and was a friend to everyone. Harper finally thought he might be onto a lead when he was questioning Kyle Durner. Durner explained that Ryan had started hanging around with a new kid, named Paul Masters. Harper asked Kyle why that was unusual and he explained to him that what he knew about Paul was that he was trouble. His whole family had been in and out of jail time and time again and Paul was heading down the same road. Kyle said the class had heard that Paul's older brother Darryl was serving 25 to life up in San Quentin. Ryan, in his role as class president, reached out to Masters and Orth thought he could help Paul get on the right road, that's how Kyle had explained it to Frank. Harper thanked Kyle for the information and released him back to class and called the principal to send in Paul Masters. When the principal returned, he told Frank that Paul Masters was not at school.

OOOOO

Things were rather quiet around Gull's Way. The Judge napped on and off for the better part of the day while McCormick wandered around waking him up every couple of hours in somewhat of a funk of his own, only his funk wasn't caused by a medical condition, his was seeing that kid's battered face no matter how hard he tried not to.

The aroma of food and the clatter of some pots and pans from the kitchen woke up Hardcastle from his nap and he got up carefully and went into the kitchen to see what McCormick was up to.

"Hey Judge," he said happily enough seeing Milt come strolling in, "I'm just making up some sloppy Joe's for supper, I hope that's okay with you. I'll whip up a salad too."

"Yeah, that's fine kiddo, don't go to a lot of trouble, I'm not sure how hungry I am anyway," the Judge said.

"I feel kinda the same way, maybe 'cause we haven't done anything to build up an appetite today huh?" McCormick said with a shrug.

"Could be, or it could be we're both thinking way too much," he studied McCormick for some sort of a reaction which never came. He knew the kid had something to say. "Any word from Frank yet?"

McCormick shook his head no. "I thought maybe he'd have called us by now, maybe he doesn't have anything new yet."

"Or maybe he's letting us recuperate a bit?" Hardcastle said, rubbing his own head. "I think I need an aspirin, this head of mine is killing me. How are you feeling? Did you get any rest yourself?"

McCormick walked over toward another kitchen cabinet and brought over a bottle of aspirin and handed it to the Judge, who had now sat down at the table. "I feel okay. You know, nothing that won't heal up." He turned away from the Judge and went to get him a glass of water.

"Nothing huh?" The Judge left the silence there for a moment and then asked Mark, "What did the doctor say about you?" Hardcastle asked.

Mark brought the glass and set it on the table and went back to lean against the counter. "Concussion, broken rib, sprained wrist," he held up his left arm, like I said, everything will mend.

"Uh huh, did you get any sleep this afternoon?" McCormick shook his head no. "Why don't you sit down and relax for a while?" Hardcastle added. "You're making me nervous."

Mark showed the makings of a smile. "It actually feels better if I stand Judge, less pressure on the rib, I think I picked the worst one to fracture. It's just sitting in a sore spot. And stop looking me like that, I don't need you worry either, because I'm okay. In case you haven't realized it yet, you're the one who has a skull fracture."

"And I'll heal up from that too. If I have to get hurt, that's the hardest spot on my body, hard as a rock up there you know?" He tried to joke. The kid wasn't laughing, in fact he'd let his head fall between his shoulders. Finally Hardcastle broached the subject, "Listen, you wanted to talk last night, about the kid right?"

McCormick lifted his head in surprise, "You remember me coming into your hospital room?"

"I wasn't dead you know, of course I remember," Milt answered. "I just couldn't talk back."

"That's a first," the kid said sarcastically, even bringing a smile to the Judge's face.

"You know it was an accident?" Milt asked him.

"I know, I remember it all now," Mark started quietly and nodded, "That kid is still dead though," he paused, "and I had something to do with it, accident or not. I have to live with knowing that."

"You're being a little too hard on yourself, besides, we don't know what those kids were up to out there anyway," the Judge suggested.

"It doesn't matter what they were up to Milt, one of them is dead and," he shook his head and paused before he spun around to look out the window to avoid looking at the Judge, "and I have to see his tortured face every time I close my eyes. I can't forget it. I just can't. I can't just make it disappear and go away like it never happened."

"No, you can't just yet, I understand that, believe me I do, the accidents victims I saw when I was a cop, it's rough, real rough, but it's not always gonna be like you're feeling today, you gotta believe me on this kiddo, I've been there. Whatever it is you're seeing right now isn't always going to be with you. I've been exactly where you are"

Mark turned back around and stared at Hardcastle for a long moment. "How? I don't know how to stop seeing it. His face, it's just right there," he tapped his fingers on his forehead and closed his eyes. "You can't just forget it, can you?"

"No, you don't forget, but you'll stop seeing it, if that makes any sort of sense," Milt tried to explain.

McCormick walked over and gingerly sat down across from the Judge. "I don't see how, that's just it," he wanted the Judge to help him understand it.

"McCormick, it's gonna take more than a day, you've been through a trauma yourself, there's no timetable on that kind of healing, but it will get better. You gotta trust me on this."

"I don't know why I lifted up that helmet visor on the kid, I knew he was dead, he wasn't breathing, the explosion and the accident, there was just no way he could survive that and when I pushed up the visor, God, what I saw," his voice trailed off and he ran his right hand over his face.

Hardcastle knew the kid needed to let it out, in order for him to start get past it. When Milt was a cop, he had his partner to talk with, so he understood exactly what the kid was thinking and feeling. "I could trade stories with you kiddo about the accident scenes I've been at, but it's not going to change your own experience. You have to realize it for yourself, believe it for yourself and know that one day down the road, it'll be better. I know it's hard to believe that right now from where you're sitting, 'cause I used to think that way too," he sighed and paused, "They're right about time healing all wounds."

"And now, in the meantime, now what? It's eating away at me."

"Just take it one day at a time," the Judge started, "and anytime you want to talk about it, I'll be glad to listen."

OOOOO

In the midst of their dinner, they got a call from Frank Harper. He phoned over first to make sure they would be up for a visit. If they were, he wanted to stop by and update them on what he'd been able to find out. They both told him to come over right away.

About a half hour later, Mark met Frank at the door and led him into the den where Hardcastle as usual sat behind his desk.

"Do you guys ever take a break from the crime-fighting?" Harper cracked as he saw the Judge looking over a file. "I mean come on, you both have head injuries, you're supposed to be resting. I don't even know if I should be here."

"We're quick healers," Hardcastle said as a matter of fact, "besides we've been 'resting' all day, we're ready to go now, so what have you got?"

Harper shook his head in disbelief and glanced over to McCormick, "I suppose you feel the same way."

"Yep, let's hear what you found out," Mark answered.

"Can I at least sit down?" Frank asked as Hardcastle motioned toward a chair. "Milt, do you remember a guy named Darryl Masters?" Frank asked.

Milt set the file down and searched his own internal computer for the data. "Yeah, I sent him up for first degree murder, about two years ago, right before I retired, he's doing twenty five to life up in San Quentin," he explained to the two of them. "What's he got to do with this?"

"I'm still trying to connect all the pieces," Frank began as McCormick sat up and interrupted.

"If he's up in the joint, how's he tied to yesterday?" Mark asked.

"For starters, he's got a 17 year old brother by the name of Paul," Frank said turning to look at Mark.

"That whole family was bad news. I think I sent up the father one time too," Milt began to recall.

"You did! That's Charles Masters. You sent him up in '74 for armed robbery. He did a nickel in Strykersville and since then he's been in and out for all sorts of wonderful things. The mother, Doreen, spent two years in Chino for embezzlement. Another brother, Richard, spent some time with his brother for assault and battery. Heck, I'm still waiting for all the rap sheets on this family to quit printing," Frank detailed.

"Well, how is this all tied in Frank?" Mark asked, "Is this Paul kid a friend of Ryan Orth?"

"Yeah, Darryl is still in San Quentin," Milt added. "He sure wasn't out at Indian Dunes yesterday."

"Not exactly," Harper started.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The Judge asked. "He escaped?"

Harper nodded no, "He was found dead in his cell about ten days ago. Suicide."

"So you're thinking this Paul came after me for some sort of revenge for his brother's suicide?" Hardcastle suggested.

Frank nodded the affirmative. "That's exactly what we're thinking, the kid has a juvenile record about a mile and half long already, and we can tie him to Ryan Orth."

"But the paper says that Orth is this clean-cut All-American kid, what's he doing hanging out with a scum-bag kid like Masters for?" Mark wanted to know.

"Near as I can tell, Orth wanted to help him. That's what Ryan's friends at school all had to say about him, even the principal couldn't come up with enough adjectives to describe him. He just wanted to help him. He knew Masters was in and out of trouble and he wanted to help keep him out," Frank paused and added, "I was just about to go out to the Master's house, and thought I'd see if you wanted to ride along Mark? Maybe we can get to the bottom of this tonight. Are you up for it?"

"Absolutely," McCormick nodded and looked over to the Judge, "Will you be all right for a couple of hours on your own?"

"Yeah, yeah, you guys go ahead," Milt waved them off, "I'll pull up the files on the Masters family and see what I have there."

OOOOO

It took Frank and Mark about an hour to get back out to Indian Dunes area and to find the rural mobile home that the Masters were currently living in.

The drive was mostly quiet until Frank finally broke the ice, "You sure you're feeling up to this Mark, you seem pretty quiet."

Mark turned from staring out the window to look at Frank, "I'm okay, a lot better than yesterday at this time huh?"

"Yeah, you were a zombie."

McCormick managed a smile. "Frank, can I ask you something?"

"Sure Mark, anything," Frank shrugged.

"Do you like being a cop? I mean if you had to do it over again, would you pick another career?"

Frank let out a bit of a laugh, "Where the heck did that come from?" He glanced over to McCormick who was dead serious. "Yeah, I like it, and honestly, I never thought about doing anything else. My Dad was a cop too, I guess it's in the blood or something," he described. "Why, you thinking of joining the force?"

"Not me, no way Ray. This Hardcastle crime buster stuff isn't exactly my cup of tea. I think I just want to put in my time with Hardcase and move on to greener pastures, you know? Something simple like maybe a plumber, plumbers don't get shot at."

Harper was now playing the part of a psychic or something, "Every day isn't like yesterday Mark."

"Do you ever get used to it Frank, the stuff you see?"

"Not if you're human you don't Mark. Some guys seem to be able to put the gruesome stuff out of their heads, but they're also putting it out of their hearts then too. And those are the guys who don't stay cops for very long. It's okay to care, that's what being a good cop is all about. When you stop feeling anything, you might as well stop living."

Mark blew out an exhaustive breath. "It makes sense. Hardcastle said the same thing basically."

"Accident scene's and crime scenes are tough Mark, give it some time, you'll see what we're talking about."

Mark nodded his understanding and went back to staring out the window.

OOOOO

They knocked on the mobile home door and were met by Doreen Masters, who looked like she should be spending twenty five to life up in San Quentin herself. She held a broomstick in her hand which looked as if it could pass for a lethal weapon the way she wielded it. Half her teeth were missing and it appeared that she hadn't had a shower in the last decade.

"Whatta you want?" she greeted them angrily, shaking the broom at them.

Harper flashed his badge and replied, "We're looking for Paul Masters, we have this listed as his address."

"He's one of my boys, and he ain't here right now," she blasted.

"Do you know where he is ma'am?" Frank asked, "It's imperative we speak with him."

"That boy is 17 years old, already a man, where he comes and goes I don't give much mind to, he's like the rest of them, probably headed to the same place they all are at, but then you already probably know that, Mr. Policeman, don't you?"

"Mrs. Masters, do you know where he was yesterday?" Mark asked.

"He's was out with some boy from school, which surprised the blazes out of me, 'cause he never goes to school unless the truant officer tries to haul him in there. I think the two of them boys were out in the dunes on motor bikes," she pointed out back towards where the Dunes were. "The other boy had some fancy bikes. That's all I know, in fact that's the last I saw of either of them boys," she told them.

"Do you know where your son might be or where else he likes to hang out?" Harper persisted.

"Him? He could be just about anywhere, Lord only knows what that troublemaker has got up his sleeve. He did take Jake's rifle though, so if you find him, tell him Jake wants it back or there'll be hell to pay," she rambled.

"Your son has a rifle?" Mark asked in shock.

"He knows how to use it, sure, so why not?" she asked back.

"Ma'am, we think he might have used it to shoot at someone yesterday," Frank said. "We'd really like to talk with him."

"Well, get in line behind Jake, 'cause if that's true and Paul is shooting at people, Jake will likely beat him bloody for doing something like that. He didn't kill anyone did he?"

"Not exactly," Harper said.

"So you just want to give him a warning?"

"Yeah, something like that," Frank played along, he had a feeling Doreen Masters knew exactly where her latest prodigal son was and what he was up to.

She scratched her greasy head of hair, "He took Darryl's old Chevy and said he was heading to the coast, Malibu, I think he said. Didn't say why or where, but you can't miss the Chevy, it's bright yellow, both them boys got liquored up a few years back before Darryl got sent up and they painted it to look like a giant lemon," Doreen said. She laughed as she thought about the ugly car. "Never give your boys liquor and paint, you might end up with a lemon car."

"He's going after Hardcastle," Mark murmured to Frank.

"Yeah, you're probably right," Harper said back. "Mrs. Masters, if he comes back, please give me a call at this number, and thanks for the information," Frank said.

Mark and Frank hurried back to Frank's car. Doreen called out after them, "If you get that rifle, please bring it back for Jake, he wants to hunt jack rabbits this weekend."

Back on the road, "What a crazy, nut-job family," Mark began, "Why do you suppose they even bother to breed, nothing but a bunch of crazy lunatic criminals. And who's this Jake guy?" McCormick was talking a mile a minute just to try to keep his mind off the fact that a 17-year old lunatic driving an old lemon car, bent on killing the judge who sent up his older brother to prison for life for murder was out on the loose. "I mean, is it me Frank or are these people out and outright freaks?"

"Mark, if you keep doing this sort of work long enough, you start thinking that is normal," Harper replied.

"I guess what makes me shake my head is how does Hardcase send someone like me up the river, I mean, I'm like a boy scout next to that clan, heck, all I ever did was take my own car," he continued his ramble.

Even Frank had to smile, "I think that's why Milt went after you, he knew you could rise above where you were at."

"Well, looking at the options, it's not a difficult decision," McCormick paused and asked, "Did she really ask you to bring back the rifle?"

Frank nodded affirmatively.

"And if Darryl got sent up four years ago, that means Paul was 13 when he and his brother got liquored up and painted the lemon?" Mark continued.

"Yep, crazy isn't it?"

"What's really crazy is that he's driving over to finish the job he started yesterday to kill Hardcastle," Mark shook his head in despair. "We gotta get there quick Frank."

OOOOOO

Meanwhile back at Gull's Way, the Judge was settling back into one of the leather chairs with John Wayne on in the background in Flying Tigers, armed with several rather large manila folders on the Masters family.

The front door of the house got kicked in, "You in here Judge?" an unfamiliar voice called out.

Hardcastle let the files fall to the floor and went to his desk and grabbed Millie from her usual holding place, he put it in the pocket of his robe and kept his hand on the trigger.

It didn't take long for Paul Masters to find him in the den. "Are you Hardcastle?" Masters asked him.

"Maybe I am, who are you and what's the big idea of you busting into my house?" Milt figured he'd try to keep the kid talking for as long as he could. He noticed the shotgun in his hands right away and didn't want to provoke him any more than he already was.

"Cut the crap old man, I know who you are, I remember you from court," Paul said. "And I'm betting you know who I am already too."

"Paul Masters," Hardcastle said.

Paul nodded, "I figure you know why I'm here too."

"I figure you're here to get some help."

"Help? Me help? How are you gonna help me? Like you helped my brother or my dad, I know you put them both in jail. I don't want any more of your help," Paul shouted.

"I think you do, I think that's why you're here," Milt said.

"I'm here to kill you, you know, finish what I started yesterday. I've been following you around for the last week or so, after…." His voice trailed off.

"After your brother killed himself?"

"Yeah, that's right, and you came right out to my own doorstep, Indian Dunes. I couldn't believe it when I saw you pack up the bikes. I nearly killed you three times, down here on your beach, once at the hardware store and when you were driving, but I couldn't do it then, but yesterday, when you came to my territory, I knew I had to," Paul got defiant, "It's not like you care or anything. My brother, he wrote me a letter telling me that you were why he was gonna do it. Do you know what that feels like? Reading a letter from your brother telling you how and why he was gonna kill himself? And you're standing there telling me you care?"

"I do care Paul."

"That's a lie, if you woulda cared, you wouldn't have sent him up."

"Paul, he killed another man, that's the law. But you have a choice right now, to not go down the same road your brother did. Killing me isn't going to help you," the Judge said.

"I already killed Ryan, and he tried to help me," Paul was starting to break down. "I saw his motorcycle blow up. His parents will want me on death row."

"Ryan died in an accident Paul, that's all."

"He tried to stop me, but I rode off with this shotgun and he couldn't catch me, so he rode off the other way. He was trying to warn you. He couldn't stop me but he wanted to warn you. I saw him take that jump, he was crazy. He saved your life and he ended up dying. That's not how it was supposed to be. Why'd he do that for me? I ain't worth it."

"He cared about you too Paul, that's why he did it. Maybe you ought to start letting people help you, 'cause you don't want to wind up like Darryl do you?" Milt asked him.

"But I shot at you, I wanted to kill you, and all the stuff I did in my past, you'll probably sentence me to life too."

"Paul, I'm retired, I'm not a judge anymore, but if you'll let me I can help you, you haven't killed anyone yet, you need to just stop right now and make up your mind, which path are you going to take?"

"No, I'm not listening to you, you're just trying to save your own skin," Paul's hands tightened around the trigger of the rifle and he began to raise it.

"Paul, come on, you don't want to do this."

"I have to do this for Darryl, he's my brother, he'd do it for me," Paul said, still lifting the rifle up.

Outside the house, Frank pulled up and they both saw the lemon car sitting right by the front of the house, the door wide open.

"He's still in there," Mark said, jumping out of the car and up the stairs and then into the house.

BOOM, the rifle shot echoed throughout the house.

The Judge was drew out Millie and trained it on Paul, when Paul pulled the trigger as Mark raced inside and flew off the balcony onto Masters, taking him down to the floor. The shot winged Hardcastle in his good shoulder, sending him sprawling against the chair. McCormick kicked the gun away from Paul and Frank came running in behind and picked it up and got it out of the way once and for all.

"I had to kill him for Darryl," Paul evilly laughed, "Did I kill him? It was like watching him die twice," he laughed again, as Mark sat on his back, "seeing him crash yesterday, I couldn't believe he didn't die from that, but now I got him, didn't I? I killed him," he repeated over and over, breathing hard. Frank handed Mark some handcuffs and Mark slapped them on, while Harper walked over to the phone and called for back-up and an ambulance.

McCormick looked over to the Judge who was holding his shoulder. "You okay Judge?"

"Yep, just a flesh wound, it's clean through, he ruined my TV though," Milt said, seeing a spark emanate from where John Wayne had just been.

"The TV's easier to replace than you are," Mark said back to him, shaking his head.

Frank came back over and helped Mark heave Paul Masters to his feet. Harper directed him outside while McCormick went over to attend to Hardcastle.

OOOOO

Three days later, Mark McCormick drove the pick-up truck up the familiar drive and slowly got out and made his way into the house.

Milt heard the door and called out to him, "I'm in the kitchen kiddo."

McCormick followed the sound of his voice and the smell of food, "You're still supposed to be in bed you know? Do I need to hire a babysitter for you when I go out?"

"Ha, no, I feel fine, I told you that this morning before you left."

Mark noticed the food, "Why are you making dinner, I told you we could just order a pizza when I got home."

"Nonsense, you deserve more than some crummy pizza. I whipped up some spaghetti, it'll stick to your bones a little better."

"It's all Italian to me Judge," McCormick said, sitting down and loosening up the tie he was wearing. "It sounds good though, thank you."

Hardcastle sat down across from him, "It'll be about twenty minutes yet, till it's all ready, I just put some water on to boil," he paused, "How'd it go today?"

"The funeral was pretty hard. I mean it was nice, Ryan sure must have been a helluva kid, the church was packed. I just sat in the back, I couldn't bring myself to talk to his parents though. It just didn't feel right, not yet anyway."

"That's understandable, you did the right thing," the Judge said.

Mark nodded, "And this afternoon they arraigned Paul Masters. He goes to trial next month. I took the stand and backed up your written statement, asking for leniency, to send him to a mental health facility where he can get the kind of help he needs. The Judge said she'd take it under advisement."

"I talked to Frank, the arraignment ended two hours ago, where'd you go from there?"

"Just drove around," he paused, "and I filled up your gas tank, my dime."

Hardcastle smiled, "Still seeing the kid's face?"

Mark shook his head yes, "But I think you and Frank are right, it'll get better, it'll just take time." The Judge pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket and slid it over to Mark. He saw that it was a picture of a little girl. "Who's this?" he asked, staring at the face of the pig-tailed child.

"Her name was Amy Taylor. Cute little thing wasn't she?"

Mark agreed, refraining from asking too many questions.

"It was the first accident scene I was at. I got my shield about the week before it happened. My partner and I were out just running a simple traffic beat, he insisted I drive to get the feeling for the beat, me being a rookie and all. He spotted a guy who blew through a stop sign, so we put on the lights and sirens and went after him. He saw us and took off. So we're in pursuit and out of nowhere, comes this big blue Buick that swerves to avoid us but zips ahead and plows right into the guy who blew the stop sign. There's minimal damage to our car, and the guy we're chasing actually started to flee on foot and my partner starts chasing after him yelling at me to check the people in the Buick," Hardcastle paused and took a breath before he continued. "I look at the scene and see the car has flipped over and the passenger side is completely pushed in. I pull out the driver. It's a woman and she starts screaming about her little girl. Someone comes over and helps her while I go back to the car. That's when I saw her," he paused again, "little Amy Taylor, I can't even describe what I saw that day kiddo. But I see it up here," Milt tapped his head, "I blamed myself a long time for that accident, hell, I probably still do, but I know it was an accident. I was driving, you can't forget that, it's always gonna be with me."

"But you didn't hit the Buick," McCormick said.

"And you didn't hit Ryan Orth, he hit you remember?"

McCormick took a deep breath, "So why the picture? I mean if you trying to forget," Mark asked, studying the little girl's smiling face.

"This is how I want to remember her, so I pull it out every now and again and remember her this way. I bet she was a dickens don't you? Look at that grin on her, she's got something cookin' doesn't she?" Milt paused again, "It's just that I bet somewhere she looks just like that right now and that makes me happy, knowing that she's happy."

McCormick smiled. "That's a nice thought Judge," he paused, "real nice," he added softly.

The Judge slid the morning newspaper toward Mark. "There's a nice article on Ryan in here, page 16, it's got a real nice picture of him and everything, he was quite a kid, why don't you take a look and read it while I get supper ready."

Mark picked up the paper and opened it up to page 16. Ryan Orth's smiling face radiated back at him. For a split second he didn't see the bloodied and battered face of the youth, just the class president of Indian Dunes High School. The Judge had gone back to the stove to check the boiling water. "Can you grab me the scissors while you're up?"