A Martimi Is A Man's Drink

by dcat8888

A long night of drinking leads to solving a case

A Martimi Is A Man's Drink

by dcat

The characters do not belong to me.

The horrendous spelling in the first part of the story (including the title) is done on purpose as you will see as you read.

OOOOO

It was well beyond midnight and Hardcastle had already been in bed and asleep for the better part of two hours. It was a clattering sound of things crashing coming from the first floor below that awoke him foggily. He didn't even bother to open his eyes at first, thinking maybe he'd simply been dreaming. When he heard another crash, his eyes shot open, eyebrows raised and he sat upright all in one fell swoop.

What the hell? He tried to see through the darkness of the familiar bedroom, still trying to uncloud his sleepy head.

Tossing back the covers and reaching for the robe near the foot of the bed, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, feeling momentarily for the slippers he knew were down there. Upon finding them, he slid his bare feet in and stood up, hastily put the bathrobe around his body, not bothering to gather up the wrap around cloth to cinch up the tie, he merely let the robe hang off his body. He was just about ready to exit the room when he heard another bang coming from below. He went back toward the nightstand and opened the drawer and pulled out Millie from the holster. Nobody's going to rob me and get away with it.

His finely tuned sense of hearing piqued as he descended the stairs. He heard some additional rumbling, but no further loud clanging or rattling. And the sounds were definitely coming from the kitchen. There was no way it could be McCormick, he was out on a date with Christy and besides he knew his way around the house blindfolded after nearly four and a half years and the house was dark. McCormick would have used a light.

When he hit the side door leading into the kitchen, he peered under the door and noticed that whoever or whatever was in there hadn't bothered to turn the light on. Idiots, he thought. Trying to rob someone's house and not bothering to use a light to do it, not even a flashlight. Must be some sort of amateur.

His plan was to push the door open, flick the light on, which he knew was right on the side of the door as he would open it and quickly scan and sweep the room with his eyes and have his gun trained.

The plan worked to perfection.

The only problem was that on the other side of the kitchen, sprawled out just to the side of the refrigerator on the floor, was indeed one Mark McCormick. And he appeared to be a disheveled mess. His dress shirt was untucked from his trousers, and the first few buttons were opened, the fancy new tie he had bought the day before was hanging straight from around his collar, his slacks appeared to be stained and his new suit jacket was over in the corner in a heap.

"I fell down," he said dopily, rubbing the side of his head and squinting from the bright light that now was shinning in his face.

"McCormick, what the hell is going on?" The Judge put the gun off to his side, and took one more quick glance around just to make sure no one else was in the house. "I almost put a slug in you. I thought you were robbing the place." He set the gun on the kitchen table. "How many times do I have to remind you not to go sneaking around here in the middle of the night?"

The response he got from McCormick was a silly, half-hearted laugh, followed by a very solemn sounding, "I was not sneaking."

Hardcastle made his way over toward where McCormick was slouched on the floor trying awkwardly to sit up straighter and failing miserably. Milt was content for now to keep on reprimanding him. "I thought you knew how to use a light switch at this point in your life. Did you hurt yourself or something? Get up!"

There was that strange laugh again.

"McCormick, quit being goofy, get up off the floor," the Judge finally demanded.

"I do not," he paused, closed his eyes purposefully and then opened them and squinted while trying to focus on the Judge, "Tttthink I cccan do that," he said, sounding silly and slurring, giving Milt an idea of just what the problem was.

"Are you drunk?" Hardcastle wasn't one to beat around the bush.

"Jugge, I am way beyond drunk, I am ib, ib, en, berated, I am plotzed," he finally spit out and laughed as lengthened out the 'p' in plotzed, sending a trail of airborne spittle through the air. And he followed it up with another silly laugh. "That is right my bestest friend in the world, I bet I am disappointing you right now. Wanna go for twenty?"

Hardcastle let out a sigh and shook his head. "No, I don't want to go for twenty that would be a stupid bet McCormick. It's pretty obvious you're drunk. Why'd you go and do a stupid thing like this for?"

"I think 'cause I messed pretty much everything up, but I am not really remembering it all too well right now, maybe later 'kay? I will tell you then. I would like anudder drink right now." He sort of rolled over to his side and tried to open up the nearby refrigerator. "But we do not have any 'cohol in this house, it is a dry house, because you do not drink and this is your house. 'Mmm hungry too," he stated.

"What happened to Christy? Where is she?" Milt remembered he was supposed to be meeting his long-distance girlfriend at the bar and grill. He began to wonder if something happened between the two of them. Leave it to McCormick to tie one on after a big fight with his girlfriend.

"Hmph," he sort of chuckled, still trying to pry open the refrigerator door from his nearly prone position on the floor. "She leff' me."

"Who can blame her?" Milt mumbled under his breath.

"I am drunk Juggge, not deaf," Mark said, pausing to turn and attempt to eye up the Judge. "She leff' me because I am not a smart man and I am drunk, that is definitely a leave able combination."

"Just how many beers did you have anyway?"

"Not beer, martimi's." He stretched out the word, martimi and jutted out his jaw as he said it proudly. "A martimi," he mispronounced the word again, "Is a man's drink. A martimi is what a man should get drunk on, if a man has to get drunk and I have to get drunk."

"Yeah, I've heard that before. So how many of them did you have?"

"I do not know, I lost count."

"I can see how that might happen," the Judge said. "Tell you what, why don't you get up off the floor."

McCormick shook his head no, "I 'tole ya, I am hungry. I came in here to get somethin' 'ta eat and that is what I am going to do." He shook his finger wildly into the air trying to make a point. He went back to opening the refrigerator and this time he managed to pry it open, but the door hit him square in the face as he proceeded to look inside. "It's really cold in here," he said, ignoring the fact that he'd just gotten clobbered in the face by the refrigerator door.

Milt cringed when he saw the door hit the kid flush in the forehead, it was going to leave a bruise. Right now it was no use to try to stop him, McCormick was on a one-way trip to drunken oblivion. Hardcastle had seen plenty of buddies as well as himself going through a night like this and the only thing a friend could do was to make sure the inebriated friend didn't do any further harm to themselves or anyone else. Hardcastle decided to sit down in a chair at the kitchen table and take a moment to figure out some sort of plan to make sure that that happened. He glanced over at McCormick who suddenly was enchanted with the cold air of the refrigerator blowing out on him. Man, was he trashed. "It usually is, that's why it's called a refrigerator." Hardcastle already resigned himself to not getting anymore sleep tonight. He rubbed his face with his hands, waking himself up and went back to watching McCormick pick through the shelves he could reach from where he sat.

"Do we still have some leftover pizza?"

"Nope, I had to toss it this morning, it was growing a beard."

"Damn," McCormick said, scooting ever so slightly toward the inside of the fridge. "Can I catch pneumonia from sitting in here?"

"With the hangover you're gonna have I don't think it'll matter."

"What about the fried chicken?" He changed the subject back to his grumbling stomach.

"Yeah, it's in there, top shelf, want me to get it for you?" He knew the kid couldn't reach it from where he was at on the floor.

McCormick glanced up and spied the Tupperware container. "Nah," he turned his head to Hardcastle, "Just give me a second, I will get it myself. I am drunk, not helpless."

"Are you going to tell me about you and Christy?"

"Juggge," he slurred with several tons of drunken sincerity, "This ain't jus' about me and Sissy," he giggled and corrected himself, "I mean Christy. She is jus' a part of this rotten day. She got me a cab ride home though, and I know she was not happy. I think she said she was stayin' at a hotel tonight." He tried to reach up and grab the Tupperware from where he sat, but he couldn't snag it. "Maybe she said a few nights, I can not remember right now." He gave up trying to get it for the moment.

"Alright, so if it wasn't just about you and Christy, then it must have had something to do with school? Am I right? What happened?"

Mark slid back around so that he was sitting, albeit in a slouched position, with his backside up against the inside of the fridge. "You are not a cop anymore Juggge, in fact, you are not really a Juggge anymore, Juggge, you are just a guy, who still gets on my case about everything." He began to laugh, amused with himself and the comment he'd just made. "This cold air feels very good. Is it hot in here? I am really hot. I would like anudder martimi."

Hardcastle cleared his throat. The kid was going to have a monster headache when he did finally dry out. He couldn't help but wonder if the kid was going to pass out here pretty soon. He didn't think it for very long because McCormick started talking again.

"I am sorry I woke you up, I did not mean to do that, look at the mess I made in here." He glanced around and saw some containers that had been drying out on the counter were scattered about on the floor, along with the giant weaving wall hanging that also was on the floor and several of the chairs were tipped over. He rolled away from the refrigerator and tried grabbing onto the nearby handle of the kitchen cupboard nearest to where he sat. "I better get up and clean it up, 'sss my job, cleanin' up. Gotta get used to doing it for the rest of my life, do not want to mess it up. It's all I got." He managed to pull himself up to an almost standing position, leaning heavily on the counter. "Did that a little to fast, I think," he laughed again as he swayed back and forth trying to steady himself.

"Yeah, why don't you sit down over here, I'll make you some coffee."

He stood up as straight as he possibly could manage and pointed his finger at the Judge and shook it at him, "I would much rather have a martimi." He began to realize he was saying the word wrong and he tried repeating it a few times out loud, but still managed to mispronounce it. "Martimi, no, martimi, MARTIMI. Why can't I say martimi Juggge?"

"That's what happens when you drink too many of them," Milt stood up to attempt to give him a hand. "Here grab on."

"I lost count of all the martimi's I had tonight. I do not think I should drink all by myself." McCormick refused the Judge's offer to help and tried to push his arm aside but he failed miserably and was fortunate that he slouched backwards against the counter so he wouldn't fall down.

"So why'd you do it? This really isn't like you at all kiddo," the Judge said, coming up beside him again, trying to steady him.

"You know why, you always know why." He playfully reached out and tapped Hardcastle's face. "Silly Juggge. I cannot keep any secrets from Darhastle, I mean Har, hiccup, Dddd castle. You already know why."

"Alright, so my money is on Professor Haynes and your criminal law class."

"Ha, very good, see, you know. And do not forget about Scott LaRouche, soon to be esquire, the progidy of all progidy's. The human law book, knower of all precedents. Roach is right, that's for sure," he laughed again, "I gotta 'member that one, Scockroach instead of Scott Roach." McCormick leaned back against the counter once again trying to steady his leeing. "You can laugh at that Jugge, it's funny, do you not get it?"

"Yeah, I get it. Why do you let that guy get to you?" The Judge was more than familiar with McCormick's endless stories of Scott LaRouche. He was damn near a child prodigy, managing to get into law school at seventeen. Now two years later at age nineteen, he was at the top of his class and he did have a brilliant, almost robotic mind when it came to the law, quoting precedents like they were the ABC's. Scott LaRouche knew about the most obscure cases and there seemed to be no one who could trip him up. He and McCormick were polar opposites. LaRouche's parents were more than rich, they were obnoxious blue bloods who did nothing but spare the rod and spoil the child. And that made it all the worse, because LaRouche loved nothing better than to flaunt his wealth and knowledge. Up until tonight, McCormick never let LaRouche bother him. Hardcastle could only speculate on what might have happened.

"He bought me my first martimi tonight," he shook his head up and down. "Old cockroach just had to rub it in. I do not think he is old enough to drink himself, he had a Coca-cola. Can you toast someone using a Coca-cola?"

"The guy's nothing but a brass spoon McCormick, you pegged him months ago. I thought you liked to play with his head, that's what you told me you did."

"Maybe he's been right all along Jugge, he is smarter than me and he knows it. And there is a reason why they call him the brass 'poon, he gets all the breaks, always has and always will. Nuthin' ever changes Jugge. Do you not know that I am right?"

"That's sour grapes McCormick, you're better than this, getting this drunk over one mock trial case in one lousy class? If he beat you fair and square, then what's your beef? There'll be other cases. And letting a fellow student get to you? How many times do I have to tell you, quit worrying about that kid and concentrate on yourself, you should know by now that you're going to run into people with other skills than your own. Don't you think I ever ran into other judges who used their talents to make a better judgment on something or other cops who used their smarts to catch a crook? That's just how it is. It doesn't mean you don't have your own skill set, it's just different, that's all. And not to burst your bubble kiddo, but you're not going to win every case, you might as well learn that right now," the Judge put his hand out to steady his friend and this time he wasn't taking no for an answer. Hardcastle and McCormick had had this discussion so many times that it was becoming a broken record for Milt to keep repeating the same thing over and over. "Come on now, sit down before you fall over again. My kitchen can't take the abuse."

McCormick grabbed onto the Judge's steady arm and still managed to stumble as he tried to take the few steps toward the table. "I wanted the chicken." He turned back toward the refrigerator.

"I'll get it, along with that coffee, you just sit down." He pulled out the chair and deposited the inebriated McCormick into it. "You really need to work on thickening up your skin McCormick, if you want to be a lawyer. You can't take every case personally."

"I really wanted to win this one Jugge, you know I did," he put his head down on the table and felt the cool table top on his already sore forehead. "This is not as cold as the refrigerator."

"What did Haynes say?"

He picked his head up and smiled. "Haynes bought me my second martimi and a few other martimi's too I think, I do not remember anymore, but I had more than two. That surprised me at first too, that my professor would buy me a drink after I lost. I know he did not feel sorry for me and then it all began to make sense."

"I'm glad you understand it," Milt said. Hardcastle put the pot of coffee under the tap to run water into it. Boy these guys were pretty heartless buying McCormick enough drinks to do this to him after they beat him in a mock court trial, especially the professor. Even worse was to let him get stinking drunk like this in front of his girlfriend, who he knew was meeting Mark at the Bar and Grill after she finished up at the jobsite she was at. Law school sure had changed since Hardcastle's day. "I mean, what did Haynes say about your defense?"

This time McCormick laughed, "He said what you have been saying all along, that I am entirely too personally involved in this case and that is why I lost and then he bought me another martimi."

So the martini count was up to three. Hardcastle went to the refrigerator and grabbed the Tupperware that contained the chicken and set it in front of McCormick. "Try eating something, it might help."

"I really wanted the pizza."

"McCormick, I'm not calling a pizza joint at 2:10 am. Eat the chicken."

Reluctantly he slid his hand across the table to the container, missing it completely the first time, as well as the second. On his third try he used both hands to figure out where exactly the container was and then he plucked a chicken leg from it. Getting it to his mouth was going to be another story.

Hardcastle waited momentarily at the table as this comedy of errors played itself out. He put his hand over his mouth to cover up a grin. McCormick actually saw it and had to comment. "You can laugh at me Jugge, I know I am pathetic right now, remember I am drunk, not blind." He paused and added, "I would like to be blind drunk though. I do not want to remember any of this. Do we have any beer in the cold refrigerator? I think a beer would be a big help right now, not as good as a martimi, but good enough."

"Sorry sport, the alcohol intake is over for the night." McCormick shrugged and nodded. At least McCormick was a relatively lucid and altogether non-aggressive drunk, it was his formal attempt at speech and obvious lack of motor skill that seemed to be his downfall, not to mention his even more pronounced blurting out of whatever was coming into his mind, even if a lot of it didn't make any sense to Milt. Still, Hardcastle had never seen him this drunk in the four plus years he'd been at Gull's Way. He came fairly close when they got back from seeing Sonny in Atlantic City. But Hardcastle had sent him off to the gatehouse to sleep it off before things got this far.

He took a few bites of the chicken and set it off to the side. "I do not think I am hungry after all."

"I bet you want another martini," Hardcastle couldn't resist commenting.

"That is very good Jugge," he shook his finger at the Judge again. "I would like anudder martimi, would you make me one?"

"You know there's no gin in this house. Tell you what, let me help get you situated into one of the bedrooms, 'cause you should be sleeping this off."

"No, no, no, he flailed his arms around on the table. I do not wanna sleep. I wanna forget."

"Trust me McCormick, you're not gonna remember any of this."

"Alright, alright, I will go to the gatehouse and get out of your hair," he looked around the kitchen, "right after I clean up the mess I made."

"Would you forget about the mess McCormick? And you can also forget about the gatehouse, you're not going out there, I think I need to keep an eye on you tonight."

"Jugge, really, I jus' wanna be alone, in my own misery."

"Too bad McCormick, I don't want you to pass out all alone out there." The Judge stood up and went to the cupboard to grab two cups and the freshly made coffee. "Coffee's ready anyway, and you're gonna drink some."

"You know that is a fal, sal," he gave up on saying fallacy, "You know it is a lie that coffee will make a drunk person sober do you not know that? And I do not like coffee when I am not drunk, why would you think I would like it now?"

"This isn't about liking it McCormick, this is about pouring it down your gut to soak up some of the gin."

"Jugge, I would have to drink about twelve pots of it in order for it to put a dent in my liver right now. I tole' ya, I do not remember how mamy martimi's I have even had."

"So then I'll make thirteen pots of coffee."

"Your coffee and uncountable martimi's are not going to get Seth Cullin out of San Quentin."

"McCormick, even when you're drunk you can't ever give up on something can you?"

"'Ssss a character flaw Jugge," he gave him a half-hearted smile. "I have a ton of them."

That was true enough and it was certainly behind the reason the Judge considered McCormick for his rehabilitation project to begin with years before. One thing that had indeed 'sealed' the deal was when Milt heard that McCormick had stuck around long enough to save a cop from his burning squad car as Mark was racing away after having stolen the Coyote. Caring about people wasn't really a flaw though, not in Hardcastle's book.

Seth Cullen however didn't mean the same thing to Hardcastle as he did to McCormick. But the Judge didn't know enough about Seth Cullen or his case to know exactly why McCormick was so attached. When it came to law school, Hardcastle came to realize he had to give the kid his own space with his studying, even though he wanted to help him out as much as possible. It had been a real challenge for both of them early on, but they soon began to find the boundaries they both needed to give.

And right now, Hardcastle only knew very little about the case. McCormick only knew Seth briefly when he was inside San Quentin, or so he had let on. Cullen was a good 'ole boy from deep in the heart of Alabama. In 1968 he had hitched out to Los Angeles to 'see what life was like on the coast.' He never managed to hold a regular job and he began to drift up and down the coast, getting himself deeper and deeper into the drug scene. From 1968 until 1978, Seth was in and out of trouble with the law, always minor drug or traffic raps. On one fateful day in 1978, a young woman in Hollywood was accosted, raped and killed. The man the police arrested was Seth Cullen. The evidence they had on him was from a disreputable eye witness, who was out to get Cullen for selling him some bad drugs. The so-called eye-witness, a guy named Mason Bailey only identified Cullen by his southern drawl, a scrap of paper that was found on the woman with his first name on it and a piece of her ripped blouse attached to the bottom of Seth's shoe when he was arrested. Mason Bailey had now been dead for two years. Cullen, on the other hand claimed he was in Newport Beach at the time of the assault and murder, but the only person who could identify him was someone Seth only knew as Barney. The police couldn't find 'Barney' and by the time the case went to trial, Seth's story of drug abuse along with the girls lily white pedigree had been splattered across the LA Times so many times that the jury convicting Seth to Quentin was merely a foregone conclusion.

In the criminal law class that McCormick was taking, Professor Haynes had challenged his soon to be lawyers to find an old case and see if they could re-try it and in essence convince an unbiased 'jury of students' with new arguments that would 'overturn' the original conviction. They would be matched against a classmate and McCormick had drawn Scott LaRouche.

McCormick agonized over finding a case, in fact, if he hadn't picked one out when he finally did, the class would have come to an end without him ever even selecting one. It was while rummaging through some of the Judge's old files that he had come up with it. He came across the name of Seth Cullen in a different file of the Judge's and he recalled the name. He knew Seth Cullen when he was inside himself and that was probably what ultimately drew him to his case. Doing some additional leg work through court records, he decided he would try to overturn Cullen's murder conviction. It was by far the most ambitious case that one of Haynes' students took on. Most were content to work on overturning a petty robbery or a simply drug conviction. Only one other time had a student of Haynes tried a murder case and that student had lost as well.

Hardcastle thought it was a bad idea from the get go, he agreed that Mark should try something with a little less notoriety but McCormick wouldn't hear of it. His mind was already revving from taking the case from mock court to real court in order to get Seth out once and for all.

"You were right Jugge, it was a bad idea. Me being a lawyer is a bad idea too. I am jus' a screw up and I will always be. I would think by now I would listen to you. You are suppose ta' influence me."

"I tried to warn you about taking on a murder case kiddo, but you wouldn't hear it. I can only lead you to water, I can't make you drink you know? But you're wrong about being a lawyer. I'm behind you all the way on that one."

"How 'bout leading me to a martimi?"

"Drink your coffee McCormick." The Judge gave him a smile and sipped on his own cup. "What exactly happened anyway?"

"I loss' Jugge, that's what happened. You were right, Haynes was right and Scock Roach was right. I tried to find this Barney guy and I thought I did, but he disappeared on me jus' like before to Seth. I know he can clear Seth, I jus' do not know why he will not. I was very so close. No witness, no chance right?"

"So the Roach didn't beat you? He just re-used what was in the original trial?"

McCormick picked his head up and eyed up the Judge trying to understand the question. He looked confused for a few moments and then said, "Yeah, suppose so. I can not remember anymore. I think it's the martimi's. I lost count after the first ten."

Hardcastle put his own head down when he heard that and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Good God, the kid put away at least ten martini's. It was a wonder he was still upright, let alone talking.

"We have found a lot of people who did not want to be found Jugge, I thought I could do it by myself. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I did not do it. I think he knew I was trying to find him or someone tipped him off." McCormick's speech was very methodical sounding, but it was merely a result of the gin. "I guess maybe I should have asked for your help. That was my downfall. Even Perry Mason had that guy right, to do all the leg work? What was his name? Daul Prake?"

"Paul Drake." Hardcastle stifled a smile. He'd been offering the kid all sorts of help during his law school years, and most of the time McCormick rejected it because he wanted to 'make it on his own.' "How close did you come to finding him?"

"I tracked him down to a little bungalow in Newport, but when I got there, they said he had gone, moved out that very day and no one knew where. It was obvious that someone had tipped him off that I was coming to find him. I did not have time to track back through all the people I talked with to find him to see who the informant was. I had to get back for the trial. Jus' ran out of time. You know it is not like I could ask for a continuance for a mock trial, this is a class, not the real thing. I have to call Seth."

"No you don't, not right now anyway."

"Then I really have to call Christy."

"No, nope, you're definitely not doing that right now, you'll just make a bad situation worse, would you trust me this one time?" The Judge nearly pleaded, he was curious to know what occurred between the two of them as well. "What exactly happened with her anyway, besides the obvious?"

McCormick started to giggle, "Jugge, you would not believe it even if I was soper," he laughed, "I mean sober." He picked up his coffee cup and spilled it all over the table. "Oppsee, more mess to cleam up."

The Judge got up quickly and grabbed the wash rag from the sink and started to wipe up the hot liquid. "Don't worry about it." He grabbed the cup and took it to pour some more of the liquid into it.

"That little Scock Roach tried to pick her up, my girlfriend, can you believe that?" he blurted out. "He even kisst' her right there in the bar, right in front of me and everyone else in the bar. My girlfriend," he repeated. "And she jus' let him have his way with her."

"Oh come on, he's just a kid. Christy would see right through that. How much did you have to drink by this time?"

"Jugge," he said in earnest intensity, "'Ssss the brass 'poon thing, he's got the charm and the cash and the cheesy smile that makes women swoon."

Hardcastle set the coffee on the table and purposefully took McCormick's hands and set them on the cup. "McCormick, Christy wouldn't fall for that. Did you ever think it was the martini's you were seeing and not your girlfriend?"

McCormick shook his head violently, "She kist him, but you are right, I was drunk by then," he blurted out, "So she got mad and I got mad and it was not pretty. I got to call her and tell her I 'polagize." He took one more sip of coffee and loudly set the cup on the table. "I can not drink this anymore, I gotta sit down."

"You are sitting down."

He looked down at the chair, "I neam a soft chair. This is not good, it is too hard." He stood up way too fast and instantly crumbled to the floor in a heap. He began to laugh again. "I need a hand Jugge," he finally admitted. "I did this to the taxi man too."

Hardcastle stood up and towered over him as he reached down and offered him a hand. "Come on, let's go into the den."

Mark teetered back and forth till he found some sort of balance. He ended up relying heavily on the Judge to keep him upright. "Jugge, I am really sorry 'bout all of this. I will owe you big time for all of this. I bet you twenty right now that I will be weeding and cuttin' grass for the res' of my life, am I not right?"

Hardcastle had to turn his head away from the caustic breath of McCormick, as he tightened up his grip around McCormick's waist. Mark's legs were made of rubber as his knees kept giving way and he'd stumble along as the Judge tried to get him to the den. Milt hoped by getting him to the den, and specifically one of the couches, that the kid would just fall to sleep and allow his body to sober up. "This is no time to bet McCormick."

"You are right, but I know I will be cutting the grass tomorrow." There was that silly giggle again, "I know you are very angry with me right now Jugge, you will not even bet me a sure twenty. When have you ever passed up a sure twenty? It would be the easiest money you will ever make. Tell you what, I will jus' give you the twenty if you will not be mad at me." He stopped walking altogether and reached into his back trouser pocket for his wallet and pulled out two twenty dollar bills and stuffed them into the pocket of the Judge's robe. "There, I always pay up."

"McCormick, I don't want your money."

"I know, you want my eternal slav, swerve, servitude, 'sokay, I am your best friend Kemosabe." He kept up the incessant chatter, "I really messed everything up Jugge. I think I should mebbee jus' move to annudder place and start over. Whatta ya think 'bout that? I would still weed and garden for you, but I do not think I should live here anymore."

"I think you can't run away from your problems kiddo," they had made it into the den and even managed to sort of slide down the couple of stairs and Hardcastle was depositing him on the nearby leather couch.

"In my car, I can run away from all of it, the Coyote is very fast. I use' to race cars Jugge. You know that? I was pretty good, ol' SkidMark. I could run away." He clasped his hands together and slid one off the other to indicate just how speedy he was.

"How about racing off to sleep on it for what's left of tonight and seeing how you feel about it tomorrow?"

"I tole ya, I do not wanna sleep. Haynes is right, I should reconsider anudder career."

"When did Haynes say that to you?" Hardcastle took the seat across from the couch. He was surprised that a professor would say that to a student. McCormick had been a model student, pulling down mostly 'A's' in his classwork, with an occasional B here or there. So it was a shock to hear that one of his teachers would say that to him. Maybe he was hearing the 'martini' again.

"It was either martimi munber three or four."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure I had at least three or four martimi's."

Milt let out an exasperated breath and wondered for a second why he was even talking to McCormick in this state. "McCormick, are you sure he said you should consider another career? Maybe it was that LaRouche character who told you that."

"Nope, Scock Roach said he was glad I would be a lawyer, he's looking forward to beating me in real court."

"Well, Haynes couldn't have been serious about that," Milt scoffed at the thought.

"Haynes does not like you either, Jugge," McCormick stated, shaking his finger at him.

"I don't even know that clown, why would he say something like that?"

"I think he said he was working in the DA's office when you were on the bench, some old case about ethnic's, I mean ethics, or 'membezlement or some other nimcrimal activity that I can not recall right now, something with an 'E,'" McCormick tried to explain. "Maybe he was just an aide to the first chair. Please do not make me think right now."

"I'll look him up in my files, but his name isn't ringing a bell," the Judge wanted to match the name with a face.

"I told him you would do that too, you and your files are the stuff legends are made of. You are a gregular Rone Langer, my Kemosabe."

The kid was getting downright silly now. "You told him about my files?" Hardcastle ignored the kid's attempt at drunken flattery.

"Jugge, trust me, everyone in greater LA knows 'bout your files, since you have one on damned near everyone, 'sss not a secret. You are on the news once a week buss'ing the bad guys."

"McCormick, you have a big mouth, do you know that? You don't have to tell the whole world about my files or what I do on my own time."

Mark couldn't help but laugh, "I do not do that, you are bacable of that all on your own." He paused and got serious, "I need your help with Seth though. I should call him and tell him I los' the case."

"McCormick, it's coming up on 3am, you can't just call San Quentin and get him out of his cell."

"Mebee not me, but you could, you are Batman, right?"

"Well I'm not calling him either, it can wait. Maybe I'd rather give you a hand finding this Barney guy."

"He's gone Jugge, disappeared all over again. And honestly Jugge, I do not think I could go out and play KaTonto right now. Personally I think Barney is a jamician, presto, he is gone, you know? That is twice now, he disappears."

"McCormick, it's magician, not whatever you just tried to say, why don't you just lay down and close your eyes and get some sleep. We won't chase after him tonight."

"I am not tired," and he quickly changed the subject, "Do you know Chrissy, Sissty, Christy," he cleared his throat after the third attempt, "took my car tonight? That is stealing Jugge, the oycote is my car and it is in mine name and she stole it from me, grabbed the keys right out of my hand. Can I have her 'ressted for that?"

"She did you a favor McCormick, you want her arrested for potentially saving your life?"

"Why is it 'sstealin' when I took my Porsche then? If you take someone's car it is stealing. Both of them are my cars."

"McCormick, we are not getting into this tonight, you don't even get it when you're sober, you sure wouldn't understand it now."

"I want to have her 'rested. Do you think she will bring my car back to me? I never got my Porsche back."

"Of course she will bring your car back, that is, unless you did something else to her that I don't know about."

"Did I tell you that I spilled a martimi all over her?"

The Judge was getting tired from the endless conversation, but everything McCormick said was an added revelation to what had transpired over the painfully long evening. "I'm sure that she'll get over it and still bring your car back."

"Did I tell you that I pushed her out of my way?" McCormick swallowed hard as he tried to curtail a hiccup to no avail. "She fell down."

"You pushed her?" Hardcastle couldn't wait to hear how this one went down.

"Yes, but I did not mean to."

"Did she get hurt?"

"I do not think so, she said she was okay and Scock Roach was right there to give her a hand to her feet. Neither of them would let me help. I think Scock Roach shoved me aside."

The whole evening was rather sketchy for Milt, but until he could get McCormick to sober up or talk with Christy, he was going to remain in the dark about a lot of things. "How exactly did you end up pushing her?"

"I tole' ya, she took my car keys."

"So you got mad and pushed her?"

"No, I did not mean to push her. I tried to get them back, nicely," he smiled as he recalled the exact incident, "But she gave me a kiss, right here on my lips," he attempted to touch his finger to his lips, but missed badly, "Instead and told me to relax and for a minute I did. That was about the best thing that happened to me all night. She tasted like a martimi! I reached and took my keys back and she tried to grab them back from me. And then that Scock Roach tried to get in between the two us and I wanted to push him out of the way and I think I slipped on the spilt martimi and I ended up pushing Sissy, I mean Christy and she fell to the floor instead of Scock Roach."

Milt shook his head, "I sure hope you learned something from all this kiddo."

"I think I will really learn something when I do not feel the way I do right now. For some reason it is too hard to think. All I want right now is anudder martimi." Even though he was on the sofa, he sat with his feet on the ground, but he finally tilted his head back and rested it on the sofa back and closed his eyes. "Why is the room still moving even when my eyes are closed?"

Hardcastle chuckled to himself. "It's the martimi's kiddo." Even Hardcastle would never be able to correctly pronounce the word martini ever again.

"I like martimi's." McCormick lifted up his head and looked over to the Judge. "We could go find anudder bar Jugge, you could drive the truck and we can go have some more martimi's."

"There's nothing open anymore."

"Well, how about a liquor store Jugge? All we need to do is get a couple of bottles. Shaken, never stirred you know? Or is it stirred, never shaken?"

"I don't know kiddo, I like John Wayne, not James Bond. Right now, McCormick, you should pick up your feet and lay down, close your eyes and get some sleep."

He attempted to follow the direct order of the Judge, but he nearly fell over on to the floor as he went to lift his feet by bending over to reach them. "Sleeping will not make me forget Juggge." He tried to pick up his feet again and this time he did tumble off the couch onto the floor with a thud.

Hardcastle cringed when he saw him and got up quickly to give him a hand to get him back on the couch.

"Nah, no, I can do this myself," McCormick mildly tried to push away the Judge's powerful arms.

The Judge backed away from him to allow him one more opportunity to get up on his own, but stepped in again when he saw that McCormick was unable to get to his feet and clearly unable to even get himself back on the couch. "Alright, let's get you situated on this sofa once and for all." He reached down and heaved McCormick up underneath his arms and all but deposited him on the comfy leather sofa. Then he lifted his legs and stretched him out on the length of the couch. "Now listen to me, you're staying put, do you understand me?"

Mark gave him a corny salute and let out one of his silly giggles, "Jugge, I always follow your orders and even if I did not, right now, I do not think I could take one step on my own. You have been very helpful to have around tonight. What would I do without you?"

"That's an easy one to answer, you'd still be on the floor in the kitchen." Milt went out in the hallway and grabbed an afghan from the nearby closet. He was just about to go back into the den, but he stopped and turned back and went into the bathroom first. Stepping back into the den he put the afghan on the end of the sofa and then set down a plastic wastebasket near McCormick's head, on the floor. "Just in case you get sick and can't make it to the bathroom sport. You want me to cover you up?"

McCormick turned his head and spied the bucket. "Jugge, I do not think I will puke up that much. Besides I already threw up in the cab, the taxi man was not happy. He used my new suit coat to wipe up the mess." Hardcastle cringed at the thought of seeing his new coat crumpled up in the corner of the kitchen filled with vomit. He was going to have to take care of that right away. "This is an industrial strength bucket," McCormick was saying as he turned his head and leaned over it, making his voice sound muffled.

"Yeah, and the carpet in here is only six months old, and I want to keep it looking good, so what's your point? If you get sick, use the bucket, understand? Do you want the blanket on or not?"

Mark shook his head no. "I am still hot."

"Then close your eyes and try to get some sleep."

McCormick did as he was told and closed his eyes, but not without one final comment, "Mebee anudder martimi can make the room stop spinning around?"

OOOOO

Around eight in the morning, Christy pulled up to the house, driving the Coyote. She headed over to the gatehouse first and as she walked over down the path, the Judge must have spotted her and came out of the house to call out to her.

"Christy, he's over here, in the house." Milt said, walking outside to meet up with her. He saw her take a deep breath and start heading back over to towards him. When she finally reached him, he opened up his arms and she let herself fall into his embrace. "I was going to give you a call in about another half hour, I didn't want to wake you up," he said. "Figured you probably needed some rest."

"I really didn't get much sleep last night," she whispered into his ear.

"Me either," he groused.

She pulled back, "I can't believe he's awake already?" She gestured toward the house.

"He's not, he didn't fall asleep until about five. I made him sleep over here though. He wasn't in very good shape and I didn't want him out there alone in the gatehouse. He made enough of a mess inside my house and I didn't want him destroying anything out there, including himself."

Christy looked at him shockingly. "What did he do?"

"Oh nothing too bad, just tipping things over, no real destruction. I think he just wanted to talk more than anything else, even though it took a lot to get him spit it out. Once he started though, he didn't want to stop. I'm not sure I have all the pieces though."

"He actually talked? He could barely stand," she shook her head.

"Trust me, I wish he would have slept." They turned to walk in the house. "I thought he was robbing the place at first when he came in. Crashing into stuff, making all kinds of noise. He was sprawled out on the kitchen floor, made a real mess in there."

"Milt, I'm so sorry. I guess I should have come here with him in the cab and made sure he got settled into the gatehouse. The cab driver said he'd give him a hand inside."

"Nah, you did the right thing, there was no reason for you to hang around and deal with any more of that. 'Sides, he made quite a mess in the cab," Milt cleared his throat, "I think the driver was just glad to deposit him anywhere. And from what he did tell me, he put you through enough last night, there was no reason you should have had to deal with the aftermath."

"You must have been furious with him?"

Milt showed the hint of a smile, "It's kinda hard to be mad at a guy when you know he's really gonna be in bad shape when he realizes what a complete goof ball he was," and he added a shrug and a tilt of his head. "We've all been there at one time or another."

"He doesn't deserve a friend quite like you Milt."

"Sure he does, he'd do the same for me."

She exhaled, "He knows I'm mad at him, but it's not why he thinks I'm mad."

The Judge nodded and chuckled. "Yeah, he mentioned a few things like a spilled martini and a push and then something about you being under the 'charms' of Scott LaRouche. The two of you were kissing? I met that clown about two months ago. He's still a teenager with a bad case of acne. He's not really your type."

"Well the sober Mark wouldn't have cared, he probably would agree with you and in fact the sober Mark would have enjoyed putting that little so and so in his place. I've never seen him like this before Milt."

"I think he got a little carried away on this mock trial he was working on. He thought if he could win the case in the classroom that he could maybe get Cullen's sentence overturned for real. I think him being an ex-con really affected him on this particular assignment. You know, he might have gotten caught up in trying to redeem 'one of his own,' so to speak. I tried to warn him, but you know McCormick, once he gets his mind going a certain way, there's no way to detour it."

"He kept mumbling about something about someone named Seth the whole time I was trying to get him from the bar to the taxi. Most of the time I couldn't understand what he was trying to say."

"That's the guy whose case he was trying to win." Milt looked at her and questioned. "Where were the professor and the classmate at the time? Couldn't they have given you a hand getting him into a cab?"

"As I recall, the two of them were laughing at the time, they weren't nearly as drunk as Mark, but they were both pretty happy, like they took real pleasure in seeing him as a bumbling mess. And honestly, if this is what life will be like when he becomes a lawyer, I'm not so sure I want to be a part of it. He's going to need to learn how to control his emotions better. Do they have a class that can teach him that?"

"Ah, now, don't let your anger get the better of you right now. Believe me, I think when he wakes up with the headache he's going to have, it will definitely be the last time he does something this stupid," the Judge explained.

"Maybe part of it was my fault. I was late getting over there and by the time I did arrive, he was already in bad shape. I can't believe they let him drink that much. He was so argumentative though, he wouldn't let me get him out of there."

"It's not your fault at all Christy. He's an adult, but I do have to agree with you about his so called 'friends' allowing him to get that way in the first place. According to McCormick, they were buying him the drinks."

"He could have said no," Christy said.

They entered the house by way of the kitchen and Hardcastle held the door open for her. "There's something bothering me about this whole thing. I wasn't going to go digging into the files, but I think I'm going to now, want to give me a hand?"

Christy looked puzzled, "What exactly will we be looking for?"

The Judge shrugged, "I don't know exactly, but we'll know when we find it I think."

OOOOO

Their first order of business was cleaning up the mess that was in the kitchen. The only thing the Judge had quickly disposed of was the brand new, yet putrid smelling suit coat. The rest of the mess could wait until morning. After Mark had finally drifted off, Milt snoozed on and off in the nearby leather chair and had left the mess until he could get to it.

Now that morning had arrived, he had started picking up the mess and Christy graciously offered to help.

After the cleaning, the Judge went into the basement and hauled up a stack of files and they both sat down at the kitchen table and began to read through each one by one. All the while McCormick continued to sleep in the nearby den.

While Milt was downstairs culling his files, Christy went into the den and check on Mark. She noticed the bruise on his forehead right away and wondered where it had come from.

"Judge, do you know how he got the bruise on his forehead?" she asked coming back into the kitchen.

Milt nodded, "From the refrigerator door, last night, his motor skills were way off and whammo, he got plunked."

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry that I just dumped him on you, can you ever forgive me?"

"Christy, there's nothing to forgive, it happened and now it's over."

They took turns poking their head in the doorway to check on him throughout the morning and into the afternoon and he hadn't moved a muscle since he'd fallen to sleep. And if his hangover wasn't going to kill him, the odd angle he slept in was sure to at least give him a nasty kink in his neck and back.

The Judge had pulled up all the files he had on embezzlement and ethic trials he had ruled on, to see if he could figure out what Robert Haynes could possibly be holding against him. And he also dug out what he had on Seth Cullen. He let Christy read through that information, while he dove into the other ones.

OOOOO

They spent the better part of the day reading and re-reading through all the files that Hardcastle had brought up, but neither of them could come up with anything that might even remotely help Mark out

"Judge, I think this is just a dead end," Christy began, "Don't get me wrong, I'd love to find something, but we've been through all these files backwards and forwards and nothing is sticking out at us. Maybe Mark needs to take off the rose colored glasses on this one and see it for how it really is."

Hardcastle wasn't quite so ready to give up. "I think there's something here, we're just not seeing it. This case isn't as airtight as everyone is making it out to be. I think the kid is on to something."

She watched him closely and shook her head. "You know I don't know if he's wearing off on you or vice versa anymore. Neither one of you can ever let go of something like this can you?"

"Maybe after all these years our sense of right and wrong is merely just heightened more than the average person's," Milt explained.

"I don't know what it is, except to say that it can be infuriating, but my Dad was like that too, so I must be drawn to that quality."

"I think I'll give Frank a call and see if I can get my hands on Seth Cullen's police file," he stood up to go over to the phone and as he did, Mark came and stood in the doorway. He didn't say anything at first, choosing instead to glance at the floor below, as he realized both sets of eyes were on him. His curly head of hair was a mass of unkemptness and the dress clothes he still wore were a wrinkled and stained mess.

After a few painfully quiet moments, he let out a tiny exhale of air, part scoff and a woeful shake of his head, which he then lifted up to face them both. He simply said, "Morning."

"You better try that one again kiddo, it's after three in the afternoon," Hardcastle said, taking his hand off the handset of the phone he was about to use.

McCormick pursed his lips. It wasn't that he was at a loss for words, he couldn't remember a time he was ever at a loss for words, rather he knew whatever he said was going to be the wrong thing. And here he was standing in the kitchen doorway with the two people he cared the most about in the entire world, knowing he'd hurt them both the night before, but at the moment, not recalling exactly how. He was silent again. And he found his eyes cast downward one more time. He cleared his throat and softly said, "I'm sorry about last night," and he lifted his head to make sure he eyed each of them up as he said it.

Christy and Milt each looked over to each other. Christy wasn't about to say anything just yet. So the duty fell to Milt instead.

"How ya feeling?" He asked.

"Not so good," he paused and added, "I'm gonna use the bathroom, excuse me." And with that he exited the doorway and down the hall he went.

Milt turned back to Christy and said, "Well, this should be an interesting afternoon, what's left of it anyway."

"I think I should go. I'm not ready to do this just yet. The two of us both have a lot of thinking to do and I think if I stay, I'll just say the wrong thing."

"It's up to you Christy. But neither one of you should be running away from this."

She considered what he said and replied. "You're right, I'll go down to the beach for awhile to do some thinking." She stood up from the table. "It looks like a beautiful day out there, I might as well enjoy some California sun while I'm here."

OOOOO

The Judge went back to his phone call to Frank and after he finished with his request, he received the complimentary jibe from Frank, he hung up the handset and leaned back against the counter. Yeah, this was some afternoon all right.

McCormick finally made his way back into the kitchen. He had stripped off his evening wear, and now had on a pair of navy blue sweats and a white t-shirt. Hardcastle looked over at him as this time he actually entered the room. The Judge obviously was looking at his wardrobe.

"What? The sweats were on the floor in the bathroom. They're not exactly clean, but they sure smell a lot better than what I had on," McCormick explained. Milt gave a little nod of understanding. "Where's Christy?"

"She took a walk out on the beach."

McCormick went over to the cupboard, knowing right where the extra strength pain reliever was kept and plucked the bottle off the shelf. He didn't miss a beat with his comment, "Good, I didn't know what else to say to her."

"She'll be back," Hardcastle mentioned it not so much as only something to say, but to let Mark know he ought to think of something to say by the time she came back.

"Maybe I'll come up with something by then." McCormick had received the indirect message. "Or maybe I'll just let her talk at me. I'm sure she has a lot more to say than I do."

"I see your sense of humor must have gotten left in the den," Hardcastle said.

By now, Mark had gone into another cupboard for a glass and was moving toward the sink for some water. "Judge, please, don't start with me." He turned on the faucet and ran the glass under the tap for some cold water.

Milt laughed incredulously. "Believe me kiddo, you'll know when I start."

McCormick half turned his body toward the feisty old friend just to let him know he understood that some sort of discussion was going to happen between the two of them, but right now wasn't the time and Hardcastle was respecting that for the moment. He opened the bottle of pain reliever and dropped about four pills into his hand and then into his mouth, and then swallowed them with a water chaser. "At least the room isn't spinning around anymore." He took his free hand and wiped his brow. "Maybe I'll grab a shower."

"Yeah, you should do that," the Judge was unusually agreeable. "You hungry or something?" he added the offer.

McCormick gave him a look of suspicion. "No thanks, I'm neither hungry nor thirsty."

"I'm just asking 'cause I could make something up for you while you get cleaned up, if you'd like."

And that was about all it took for McCormick to inherently know that he must have really been in a bad way, Hardcastle was being far too friendly and understanding. He took a step toward the table and sat down. "Just how bad was I last night Judge?"

Milt remained leaning against the counter. "You were more drunk than I've ever seen you before and you quite possibly were the drunkest I've ever seen anyone. You're not remembering anything huh?"

Mark scrunched up his face and rubbed at his temples with his hands. "No, I don't remember much of anything and my head is telling me that I really went too far."

"Well, the martini's will catch up to you in a hurry, if you're not careful. You don't remember any of it?"

McCormick shook his head no. "I don't even remember ordering a martini. I told you I was drinking martini's huh?"

"You told me a lot of things kiddo."

"You mean like stuff you never heard before? Stuff I should never say out loud?" McCormick began to panic.

"Mostly stuff about last night, and nothing that is incriminating if that's what you're asking," Milt explained, keeping a lot of the specifics to himself, sensing that this wasn't the time or place.

"Is there more I should apologize for?"

"I wasn't at the bar with you, so I don't have all the facts about you and Christy, but if you're asking if you and I are okay, yeah, we're okay."

There was a long moment of silence between them. Mark lifted his head and looked right at the Judge and exhaled deeply. "Even so, I apologize again Judge. I don't know what got into me and I obviously went way over the line, so I'm sorry about whatever I said or did to you."

"Listen, go get yourself cleaned up, maybe you'll feel a little better."

McCormick gave the hint of a smile, finished drinking down the glass of water he had poured, got up slowly and headed over to the gatehouse to get cleaned up.

OOOOO

After the shower, the next step, hangover and all, was a walk down to the beach in an attempt to mend another fence. The feeling of dread filled his gut or maybe it was something else that filled his gut, he was having a hard time telling the difference right at the moment as he took the easy path on the way down, moving slowly. The air was still rather warm and a steady ocean breeze blew in from the west. The sun was still a few hours away from setting. He'd given himself nearly an hour to think about what he was going to say, and now as he stepped into the sandy beach from the path, the words still escaped him. He scanned north and south until he spotted her down on the rocks to the south. Man, what in the hell did I do to her last night? He stood still for a moment before continuing on toward where she sat. His hangover felt horrible, but he knew that it was nothing next to what was coming next.

As he approached the rocks, he knew she had seen him out of the corner of her eyes, but she didn't acknowledge him. She must be really mad and who could blame her. He climbed up a couple of rocks and then stepped over a few more to reach where she sat. Still standing just to the side of her he said, "I am really sorry about last night Chris, I don't have any excuses for my actions, but I know I hurt you and I never intended for that to happen." Then, without waiting to hear her reply, he sat down next to her and reached for her hand. She accepted it and grabbed onto it. That was a step in the right direction.

The canyon of silence between them was immense. "That might have more meaning if you knew what you were apologizing for," she finally said, turning her head to look at him directly. Make that one step backwards.

He couldn't contain the smile, she certainly was right about that, but as his lips curled upwards, he did he instantly regretted it because it brought a whole new sort of throbbing pain to his head. "Would it help if I promised that I would never do something that stupid again?"

"Maybe a little."

He looked straight out at the ocean, "Trust me, I won't," he rubbed his head with his free hand, but the new throbbing didn't stop. "Besides embarrassing myself and you, did I do something else that was really dumb?"

"Mark, I didn't make a list," she stated and then added, "Everything you did last night was dumb."

He closed his eyes and shuddered in despair. "That's what I was afraid of. I think I remember spilling all over you and then pushing you on the floor. I did that, didn't I, it wasn't just a bad dream."

Christy nodded the affirmative, "Yep, that happened."

He tried to lighten the mood, "I guess I shoulda' brought you some flowers and a box of chocolates before I came down here huh?" He glanced over to her to see if she was even remotely warming up to him and it didn't appear that she was. She sure looked good though.

"It wouldn't have helped," she replied dryly, not willing to give him an inch just yet.

He rolled his eyes without her seeing him do it. This was going to take a huge amount of effort and time to repair this bridge. He glanced down and saw that she was still holding onto his hand, that it wasn't just a one-sided thing. That had to be a good sign. "Christy, I apologize, I promise it won't ever happen again and I'm sorry that it happened in the first place. I wish you could start to forgive me or at least tell me what I can do to try to fix this."

"I'm not the only person you should be apologizing to. You made a mess out of Milt's house, you scared him half to death when you came home, he almost shot you because he thought you were a thief and then even after all that, he stayed up with you all night to make sure you didn't get into any more trouble or hurt yourself. I bet you don't know any of that do you?"

The Judge hadn't mentioned any of that and he was shocked when he heard her tell him that. He wondered what exactly he had done in the house. And what really bothered him at the present time was that he felt like he was sixteen years old and she was chastising him like his mother would have. If that didn't feel horrible, nothing did. He felt the flush rise up on his face as he realized that this embarrassment, with only the ocean, the beach, the rocks and Christy to see it, was probably much less than she or Milt had to go through with him the night before. He didn't say anything, what could he say that would even remotely begin to rectify the situation.

She took care of that for him. "Honestly Mark, what possessed you to drink so much, did someone in the bar say or do something that upset you that much or was it school or what exactly? I'd like to know."

He was trying to remember as much as he could, but even if his head didn't hurt quite so much, he didn't think he'd be able to recall it. Again, Christy kept talking and he was glad for that.

"I know you were upset about losing your mock trial case, but really, it's not as if you were really trying a case, and even if you were, you have to realize that you're not going to win every trial."

His head was pounding now, but he didn't have any sort of defense, and even if he did, he knew he'd be foolish to say anything. She was playing the role of defense attorney to a tee right now and felt helpless.

"So did your classmate say or do something to you?"

McCormick vaguely recalled that Scott LaRoche had been at the bar. "No," he said softly, "I did it to myself, I just let it all get to me, it was stupid. I, uh, I…" he stammered.

Little did he realize that his lack of a direct explanation, his quiet demeanor and his personal acceptance of what he had done had just won him major sympathy points with Christy. He was more than surprised when he she leaned against him and softly said, "You know you can tell me anything, I want us to have that kind of relationship, where we can tell each other what's on our mind." She even took her free hand and ran it up and down his arm.

This was an entirely different development than what he expected. And it actually kept him silent even longer because he really didn't know how to respond. She was actually being understanding and almost forgiving him for being a complete jerk. He wasn't prepared for her to do a 180 on him like this.

"I won't push you right now, I know you're trying to sort everything out," she was saying. That was an understatement. "When you're ready to talk, I just want you to know that I'll be here for you."

He cleared his throat and had to curtail his lips from turning into a smile. She actually was feeling sorry for him after what he had done, how could this be? And what'd he do to ever deserve this. He really did feel bad about last night, even though it was still pretty foggy to him. He knew he had blown things up badly last night, but there was no reason to do anything stupid at the present moment. Keep your mouth shut McCormick, for once in your life, just zip the lip. Maybe this was the meaning of the old saying, silence is golden. He gave himself a moment to think about what he could say to get out of the weird predicament he was in and came up with an even more perfect line for her that he realized after he spoke it would totally seal up the sympathy she had for him right now and perhaps even take to a higher level, if that was even possible. "I better go apologize to the Judge," he said in a low, repentant voice. Even though he was sincere in saying it, he didn't know just how 'perfect' it sounded to her. After he spoke, he turned his head ever so slightly to see her reaction. An understanding look spread over her face.

Mark McCormick was one truly lucky man at the moment and this time he knew he was.

OOOOO

They walked back up the beach and then up to the estate together. Milt had given Christy the keys to the Corvette, so she had decided to go run some errands to give Mark some time to apologize to the Judge. She gave him a hug and a kiss on his cheek and told him she'd see him later.

He watched her drive off and remained standing in front of the house trying to figure out if what just happened really happened or if he was still martini drunk. In his head he heard her voice telling him that Milt had really had an eventful night with him, something that the Judge had conveniently neglected to mention, not that McCormick gave him much of a chance to say anything. Now was the time to get to the bottom of what had transpired at the house.

Inside he finally went, detouring at first to the kitchen for another handful of pain reliever, washed down by a water chaser. What he'd taken just a short while ago was having no impact yet. He followed it up with a deep inhale of air and went of to the den in search of the Judge.

"You almost shot me?" McCormick questioned as he opened the door to the den and stood on the landing.

Hardcastle looked up immediately from the paperwork on his desk. "What the hell are you babbling about now McCormick?"

"Christy said that you told her you almost shot me last night, you thought I was robbing you."

"That girl needs to learn when to keep her mouth closed," the Judge commented as he went back to his files. "Where is she anyway?"

"She went to run some errands, which is code for 'you and I need to talk,'" McCormick said bounding down and over to the desk. "So, did you really almost shoot me or were you exaggerating?"

"Coming from a guy who can't remember last night at all, what do you think?" Hardcastle fired back. Mark plopped down and instantly regretted the plop as he sat in one of the leather chairs and Hardcastle saw the hangover strain sweep across his face. "Still feeling the effects too aren't you?" Mark gave him a tense nod of agreement. "You better just take it easy for the rest of the day. How'd it go with Christy?"

The stress left his face and he nearly smiled, "She actually was very understanding, which I still don't quite understand," he paused, "I'm still in the dark about most of it, including what happened here, so will you just tell me your version of last night to help me sort it out, because I can't stand knowing you've got something over me."

"McCormick, I'll always have something over you, so you can forget that sort of thinking. But to answer your question, yeah, I did almost shoot you. You were a wreck in here last night, you made a complete mess in the kitchen, knocking chairs over and the like, that I heard the commotion and thought someone was robbing the place. You would have done the same thing if you were me."

McCormick wasn't quite listening, he was more interested in knowing what other crazy things he had said or done, "What else did I do?"

"It's not so much what you did after I found you sprawled out on my floor, you were drunk and you did a lot of talking. Talked damn near rest of the night, you're like an old woman when you're drunk. All I wanted to do was sleep, but you kept up the incessant yammering."

Mark's gaze fell to the floor at first and then he closed his eyes wondering what he could have possibly said. "Judge, I'm really, really sorry."

"Oh, would you knock off the apologies, it's getting a little overdone right now. It happened, it's over, let's both move on." Milt stood up and picked up a file off the desk and tossed it in the lap of McCormick. "Take a look at that."

McCormick picked up the file and saw that it was the official police file on Seth Cullen. "How'd you get this?"

"Frank dropped it off while you were at the beach."

"Is there anything in here we can use?"

"See for yourself."

Mark opened it up and started to read and then stopped. "Wait a minute, what exactly did I say last night? What else aren't you telling me?"

"McCormick really, come on, how many times do I have to tell you?" the Judge said. He towered over Mark who still sat casually in the chair, but who was staring at the Judge waiting to hear the truth. And he wasn't backing down. Milt continued on, "You talked a lot about this Cullen case, so I thought I'd look into it myself." In case Mark hadn't realized that Milt and Christy truly cared about him, which he indeed did, it had been entirely and wholeheartedly reinforced throughout the night and subsequent day. "And I think you're right, we need to find this Barney guy."

For the first time since he'd woken up, Mark started to think about Seth and a few more dark places from the night before started to clear up. "Judge, I need to go see Seth."

"McCormick, it can wait until we get something more substantial."

"No it can't. I have to take care of this."

"Well, how about let's try to get him on the phone, let me contact the warden and you can talk with him that way?"

"Judge, this is something I need to do face to face. I owe him this. I can make the trip in one day, if I leave first thing in the morning, I'll be back tomorrow night."

"You don't need my permission any more kiddo. If it's that important to you, go ahead and do what you have to do."

Mark McCormick found himself without words once again.

OOOOO

The drive to San Quentin was only made longer by Mark remembering more and more of the night in the bar as well as everything that had led up to it. Why and how did he ever let things get so out of hand. And if getting drunk in a public bar wasn't bad enough, being a complete moron in front of your girlfriend and your best friend was completely suicidal. And on and on his thoughts raced along with his car as he sped along the highway. If it was possible to over think something, he was guilty of doing it.

A small bit of fortune was on his side as he walked in the visitor's entrance to San Quentin. Because he was a law student, he was afforded a visitor's pass to see whichever convict in particular, that was involved with the class work he was doing, it was an arrangement made between his law school and the prison. Because of that, he had registered Seth Cullen as his 'client' and therefore could present his paperwork at the visitors center and be allowed to visit.

The corrections officer approved his documents and buzzed him inside. As he made his way down the hall to the visiting room, another officer came up to him.

"Mr. McCormick?"

"Yes?" Mark replied.

"You're here to see Seth Cullen?" Mark nodded, "Come with me please."

"What is it? What's happened?" McCormick said as his heart sank.

"He's in the infirmary, follow me."

McCormick picked up his pace. He knew this scenario was a possibility, but he just hadn't thought it would happen so soon. The guard opened up the door to the infirmary and Mark was next greeted by a nurse. "I'm here to see Seth Cullen," he stated.

The nurse nodded. "He's been in and out of a coma for the last several days, but when he is conscious, he's been lucid. Are you Mark McCormick?"

"Yes I am."

"Oh good, he's been talking about you. He said you've been working on his case for a law school class?"

"Yes ma'am, I have."

"Oh, then he'll be so excited to see you. He's been asking if you had called."

Mark didn't comment as they had arrived at a private cubicle. He waited outside momentarily as the nurse went in to check on Seth. When she stepped back out she said, "He's awake, you can go right in Mark."

Mark swallowed hard and went inside the semi-private area. It looked more like a temporary shelter for first aid, than an ICU area of a hospital. But Seth had an IV hooked up and what appeared to be a couple of different monitors of some sort, so it had the look of a medical facility to it.

"Hi Seth," Mark began.

Seth interrupted him right away, not allowing him to comment on his health, "Mark, hey there buddy, did you drive that fancy car of yours up here all by yourself?" He lifted up his tired hand and Mark grabbed onto it and gave it a friendly shake.

He couldn't help but smile, he didn't really feel like it, but he did, Seth always was able to manage to coax one out of him, even inside this miserable prison. "You bet I did, I even took the training wheels off of it. It goes a little faster that way."

"So you've come to get me out of here right?"

Mark hung his head and shook it negatively. "No man, I wish, but not quite. I'm still working on it though."

"I know, it was just your class, but you won right? I thought I'd hear from you yesterday," Seth said. "I want to hear all about it, give me your closing statement and all that, I bet you poured it on thick."

McCormick wasn't ready to go there yet, so he changed the subject. "What happened to you Seth? You were doing okay last week when I saw you."

"More bad days than good ones, my friend. Doctor's are saying that it's almost over now though."

Mark cleared his throat softly and said, "Seth, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, no need for any of that buddy, everyone dies eventually, it's just gonna happen to me a whole lot sooner and maybe that's a good thing. And I only told ya upfront about it 'cause I knew this was a possibility. I don't need no sympathy here, I know what I've done in my life and it ain't been good, now I just gotta pay the price," he paused and asked, "You didn't win did ya? Is that why you're hear, you're gonna tell me in person, rather than over the phone? You're first class all the way Mark."

Mark looked away for a split second, "No, no I didn't win Seth. I couldn't find Barney. I'm sorry man, I really tried, and I'm still gonna look for him too, Hardcastle's gonna help me too Seth. He said he would. And once we find Barney, we'll take the case right to a real court, not a law school class."

"You looked for him where I tole' ya about?"

Mark nodded, "They said he was gone. I think he found out I was looking for him and he took off."

"Damn, I thought that might happen, you never know who hears what inside here, you know that though Mark. Someone probably overheard us talking and got word out on the streets. I know way too many folks."

"Well, the Judge and I are going to start looking for him tomorrow, so you need to hang on, you hear me?"

"How many times did I tell you to ask that crazy coot of a judge to help you and now you're finally gonna do it? You got a stubborn streak in you for a New Jersey boy," Seth teased. He then proceeded to answer his own question. "I know, I know, you wanted to do it yourself, it being a law class and all, you got that independent streak going again, just like when I first met ya. I understand your motive Mr. Counselor-to-be. But I've been telling you all along that you learn more from Hardcase than you'd ever learn in a book. And he's always got your back, that's a good thing man."

"Trust me Seth, that I know, but every once and awhile I guess I need to be reminded," Mark changed the subject again back to Seth's rapidly declining health. "What are the doctors saying Seth?"

"They're saying I shouldn't have had that still back in Alabama, or all the rot gut I poured into my body along the way, or the dirty needles and all the other crap too. It's a bad lifestyle I had. You know I started drinking when I was nine? Yeah, that's what happens when you do stupid stuff and you got no parents around to tell you right from wrong. The stuff just poisoned my whole body, especially my liver. I did it to myself, gotta remember this lesson, a hard drinking life leads to a hard dying, plain and simple. They put me on the registry for a transplant, but given the fact that I'm serving a life sentence, there's not a lot of hope in me getting one. This whole body of mine is just shutting down."

"Then I'm just gonna have to find Barney right away and get you acquitted and then get you that transplant once we get you out of here."

"Is it okay if I don't hold my breath on that one?"

"Hey, I thought you had confidence in my ability as a lawyer?" Mark got playfully defensive. He knew that Seth was teasing him.

"There's a few things wrong with that statement. You're not a lawyer just yet. Finding Barney requires your feet not your law books and lastly, just who will be my lawyer if you do find Barney, since you're not licensed to practice in this or any state just yet my friend?"

"Hardcase'll do it."

"Hey, don't be making anymore promises you can't keep."

"I can keep this one, like you said, all I need to do is ask him and I know he'll be there for me. That has been made painfully clear very recently."

"Yeah and how are things with that girlfriend of yours?"

Mark sort of chuckled, "Don't get me started on her either. Let's just say I owe her and Hardcase more than I'll ever be able to repay them."

"Man, that ain't how life works Skid, it's not about repaying things, it's being happy with what you got and you got a lot," Seth grinned, "So what happened yesterday with them two that you couldn't be here then?"

"I can't believe I'm that easy to figure out."

"I've always had the knack to get to the heart of things. It's a 'Bama thing."

McCormick spied a nearby chair and grabbed it and sat down. "If I'm gonna tell you this story, I think I should sit down….."

OOOOO

Hardcastle paced. The kid was going to drive him to a premature grave. Another late night, this time the clock read 1:18am. He should have been back from San Quentin hours earlier. Milt had made a couple of calls and found out that he'd left the prison at about 2:30. It would take a normal driver about 6 or so hours to make the trip, McCormick could do it in just about 4.

He was just about ready to call up a buddy at CHP to see if there were any accidents reported, and then just as he'd given credence to that thought, he heard the roar of the Coyote's engine come tearing up the drive.

Just under two more minutes, Mark entered the house.

"Judge, go to bed, I'm not drinking anymore martimi's okay," he said, purposely mispronouncing martini, as he burst into the den to see Hardcastle attempting to watch some sort of old movie on TV.

"That's cute kiddo, you remembered that part huh?"

"Yeah, I remembered, it's been coming back to me slowly, so you don't have to wait up for me, you should be in bed. I'm fine, I learned yet another lesson. And more importantly, I don't want to be accused of stifling your jump shot tomorrow morning because you didn't get enough sleep."

"Yeah, yeah, that can wait, I, uh, got a message for ya," Milt got up from the chair and went over to the desk to retrieve what he had written down.

"Where's Christy? I thought she'd be sitting up keeping you company," he glanced around.

"She had to catch a flight to Minneapolis, something about a new business venture. She got a call around 6pm and waited as long as she could, but she had to get to the airport. They scheduled a meeting for her at 7am tomorrow. She'll call you in the morning, but she left you a written note too." He grabbed the sealed up letter too but started to read the first message out loud, "The Deputy Warden called from San Quentin," Milt began to read his note. He looked up at McCormick and said, "Why don't you sit down kiddo," he paused and waited. McCormick didn't move.

"What is it? Something about Seth?"

Hardcastle nodded, "Yeah, he passed away just after six p.m." He handed both notes to Mark who reluctantly took them.

"Damn," Mark said softly as shook his head, squinted up his eyes and rubbed his left temple. He tried to force a smile and crack a joke "Maybe I shouldn't have spoken so soon about having a drink. I could use one right now."

Hardcastle saw right through it all, "You wanna tell me what is going on? The Warden said he died of liver failure? Why didn't you say something? I can understand why you wanted to get his case overturned, I didn't realize he was sick."

Mark took the time to make his way over to a chair and read over the phone message that the Judge had taken down from the Deputy Warden. He set it off to the side and looked at the envelope that Christy had left for him. On the envelope, she had simply written his name and next to it she drew a tiny picture of a heart. He turned it over and started to open it up. Milt took a seat across from him and afforded him the time to see what Christy had written to him.

Mark pulled the letter out of the envelope and started to read it.

Dear Mark,

I'm sorry that I had to dash off, since we've had such fun these past few days, but duty calls and this is one of those opportunities that I just cannot pass up. I know you'll understand, you always do! I promise I will call you right after the meeting tomorrow morning and let you know how it goes.

In the meantime, I hope that both you and I will be doing some thinking about the stuff we talked about at the beach. I know I will because of the plane ride, that is unless some handsome fellow sits down next to me and sweeps me off my feet. Seriously, we still have some things to continue to discuss, but the good thing is we have time.

I know you have a lot on your mind with school and the case you're working on and I know from my own experience that such things can seem overwhelming. If you'll allow me to give you a suggestion…take some time and consider doing what you've done for the past five years or so…talk to Milt. Maybe you won't solve whatever it is that is bothering you, but that's what friends are for, they listen and he's really good at it. He's never let you down yet.

I'll talk to you soon.

Love always,

Christy

Mark smiled as he quickly re-read the entire letter and continued to smile as he folded it back up and put it inside the original envelope and then tucked it into his shirt pocket. He looked over to the Judge and said, "Someday, I might have to ask her to marry me, she knows me pretty well."

"Ha," the Judge laughed, "She's too good for you, kiddo." He teased.

For a few moments there was a wall of silence between them and then Mark began to talk. "I've known since I took Seth's case that he was very sick, but the doctors seemed to have it under control. I guess he took a turn for the worse over the last few days and aside from giving him a transplant, which when you're serving a life sentence, there wasn't much hope. They made him as comfortable as they could, which wasn't much, given the fact it was prison."

"I wish you would have said something, I could have helped."

"Seth didn't really want anyone to know."

"I mean, I could have helped you," Hardcastle reiterated.

McCormick smiled. "When I first met with him to let him know about school and to see if he'd mind if I used his case, he was in the infirmary. He kept saying it was the flu. I know he didn't want to tell me anything but I finally got it out of him. He didn't want me to take the case if I was doing it because I felt sorry for him. It took me a week to convince him," Mark explained.

"So that's why you were upset the other day," Hardcastle asked, referring to the night of drunkenness.

"Not exactly, though I suppose it was probably part of it. Like I said, Seth was doing fine, he was in genpop. I didn't know he had a downturn till I got up there yesterday."

"Something else bothering you then?" Hardcastle wasn't going to beat around the bush any longer.

"Judge, it's late, this can all wait."

"Nonsense, you can say whatever it is you want to say. We're supposed to be friends right?"

McCormick smiled, thinking of Christy's note and how well she knew both of them. "Are you sure you want to hear all of this now?"

"No time like the present, that's what they always say."

"You know the first thing Seth ever said to me when I met him in the joint?" Mark began.

"What?"

"He asked if I knew how to play chess."

"What's so unusual about that?"

"Judge, guys on the inside, well, for one thing, you just sort of know who everyone is, but Seth wasn't like every guy in there. He just blazed his own trail. And you know the first thing you usually get asked is 'what are you in for, or how long you in for?' But Seth Cullen didn't care, he had his own agenda, and that day it was chess."

"Was it one of those indoor, rainy sorta days or something?"

"Not at all, I was coming back from chow, outside actually, middle of the day, sunny, I was walking across the yard and he came up along side of me and just asked. I'd never met this guy in my life and up he walks and asks me that, not hi, how ya doin' or my name's Seth, what yours? He just got right to the point."

"What'd you say to him?"

"I said, 'yeah, I know how to play.' And then he asked if I'd teach him. He'd seen guys playing it in the dayroom, and wanted to learn."

"Did you teach him?"

"Yeah, we had a 'standing' appointment, once a week, Friday at 2pm. I taught him the basics and the first time we played, he actually beat me. Most of the time though, our matches were pretty competitive, you never knew who was going to win. I remember even checking out a couple of books from the library to try to improve my own skills, but Seth, he just got it right off and ran with it. He had that sort of knack for strategizing and thinking dozens of moves ahead, just like you're suppose too. It was instinctive to him, just incredible. Me, I liked to play fast and that was always my downfall when he did beat me."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me. Who taught you how to play anyway?"

"My mom," Mark said proudly, he stopped talking for a moment and added, "That was one of the next questions that Seth asked me too."

Hardcastle knew there was more to this whole story, but he let the kid proceed at his own pace.

"I don't think he ever asked me what I was in for and I never asked him directly either, I found out though through the normal grapevine, but it didn't matter, he was just a guy I played chess with."

"Sounds like he was an all right sorta fella."

"He was Judge, I wish you could have met him, whether he guilty or not, he knew he did a lot of stupid things, but he was never angry about it, or about being in prison. You don't run into many people like him inside or even outside. I thought a lot about his case when I got into this class with Professor Haynes. I tried to avoid it but I kept coming back to it again and again. You know that. In the end, it was worth it to try, I just wish it had a better outcome."

The Judge nodded his agreement. "I think you made the right choice, but then you already know that the best decisions are the tough ones right?"

McCormick avoided answering the rhetorical question. "You want to know the first thing Professor Haynes asked me?"

This shift in direction perplexed the Judge. "No, what?"

"He asked me what I served time for and for how long?"

"You're kidding?"

McCormick shook his head no. "He was taking roll call on the first day there and going through all the names, LaRouche was the name right before me and before he read off my name out loud, I heard him mumble it under his breath and then he asked me that."

"In front of the whole class?"

"Yep, in front of the whole class, just like that. LaRouche started laughing, I'll never forget that. That's when I knew he was a book smart kid, but he still needed to grow up. I think everyone else in the class was sorta stunned."

"How'd he even know?"

"Okay, that's scary, I'm starting to think like you and vice versa. That was exactly what I wanted to know, so I asked him after class, because I thought it was inappropriate and I told him so. He said he gets the class roster ahead of time and goes through everyone's file, so he has an idea of 'who we are.' Then he said, I wasn't the first ex con he's had that though he could be a lawyer."

"Well, there's more to you than what ever's in your school file," Hardcastle responded.

Mark laughed, "And I said that to him too, man that's freaky that I'm thinking just like you."

"No wonder you've been tightlipped about that class. The guy sounds like a real jerk."

"Judge," Mark started against better judgment, "that's just the tip of the iceberg."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"This is gonna sound like the old bully in the schoolyard sort of thing and I guess as it was happening I just didn't want to believe it was really going on. I thought law school would be different. Adult-like." And from there Mark began to give the Judge a rather detailed litany of all sorts of unethical and improper insults and requests that Haynes made of Mark over the course of the semester, both in and out of the classroom.

"Did you talk to the Dean?"

"Yeah I did, and he told me unless I was willing to press formal university charges and probably spend the beginning of my law career playing 'he said, I said,' in front of a bunch of college administrators, that I should just buck up, get through the class and move on. And so that's what I've been trying to do."

"Up until three days ago," Hardcastle said, "What happened then that drove you to the martini's? He must have set you off." Hardcastle could only imagine what McCormick was about to tell him.

"I let him get to me," Mark let out a sigh, "I know it was stupid but I fell for it hook, line and sinker during the mock hearing. And that's probably what he's been waiting for all semester. He was acting as the 'judge' for my case. Everyone else got an impartial faculty member till then and he claimed he couldn't find anyone else to do it that day. And then he proceeded to rip apart every argument I presented, he disallowed every piece of evidence I brought and wouldn't let me call a new witness that I had found. And then when I couldn't find Barney, well that was the final dagger. My closing was a mess, I was all flustered, because by then I was mad. I just let his obvious prejudice get to me Judge. I know it's silly, but after sitting through all the classes and the practice trials and meeting with him one on one, I just got tired of hearing him belittle me in his roundabout way."

"Do they keep a transcript from the final trial?" Milt wanted to get a look at it to see for himself if the kid was as bad as he thought he was.

"No, I already checked. Not that it would do any good anyway, the other students got their cases picked apart too, that's why it's a class, so that we can learn, right? I talked with the dean about that too and he said that law students always think they're being picked on. He said we have to get over the 'personal' factor."

"Sounds like a bunch of hogwash to me," Hardcastle said, his anger building. "If you've been putting up with this sort of nonsense all semester, then you have a legitimate gripe, you've never had this problem with any of the other faculty."

"No offense Judge, but you might be more than a little biased here. That's another reason I didn't say anything to you. I guess part of me wanted to just get through it, like the dean suggested."

"Well, what exactly happened at the bar that night? You obviously didn't get drunk till well after class was over. My bias," he accented, "Knows you well enough to know you wouldn't get stinking drunk like that over any of that, so what went down there?"

"It was just more of the same and then I made the mistake of starting to drink," McCormick was obviously trying to avoid the whole story now.

"McCormick, just spit it out, you've done stupid things before, you know like thinking you could just take back a car that you signed over to someone else."

McCormick gave the Judge a bit of a glare before continuing. "I started drinking and they started buying me drinks. It was the same sort of thing it had been all along. 'Why did every ex-con think they could be a lawyer?' "Just because I broke the law didn't mean I could learn the law, defend the law, maybe even write the law. And on and on it went." Hardcastle listened and read between the lines as the kid detailed the bar incident. He knew the insults were probably a lot worse. McCormick kept talking. "From there, Haynes started in on my case and LaRouche felt inclined to jump in. I know he's just a kid, but I gotta admit he is sharp when it comes to the law and he knows just how to argue, that you don't even realize you're being picked apart. I tell ya Judge, if he works for the right side, he could have a legendary career. Right now though, he gets easily swayed into whoever or whatever side has the power. And three nights ago he was standing along side Haynes. It seemed like they had all the power. So right there in the bar they both started picking apart every bit of my case all over again. LaRouche finally stepped over the line when he mentioned that arguing a case is like playing chess and that he was able to think ten or twelve moves ahead of what I was thinking. And by this time I had way more than enough to drink. The last thing I remembered when I saw Christy walking in was Haynes saying something about ex-cons or criminals inheriting their bad behavior from their parents and he asked if my Mom ever spent time in jail too. And from there, you know about as much as I remember. Like I said, it was dumb and I let it all get to me, and the martini's sure didn't help."

The Judge listened to every word and even allowed a brief moment of silence hang in the air before he said anything. "I think tomorrow you and I are going to find this Barney once and for all."

"Judge, he's gone, heck, he might not even exist. I don't have a picture or a last name or even a hint of where he might have gone off to. And now that Seth's gone, we'll just never know. How can you find someone like that? We've got nothing to go on."

"You let me worry about that. I might have something from Seth's file anyhow. Right now, let's get some sleep and we'll tackle this thing in the morning."

"Judge, it doesn't matter, Seth's dead now."

"Then we'll clear his name once and for all, come on kiddo, it's not like you to give up, we can do it, we've done it before."

"See this is not what I wanted to happen," McCormick lamented.

"McCormick, think of it like a chess match, all the pieces gotta work together, the king can't do it alone."

OOOOO

"So where do we even start to look Kemosabe?" Mark climbed into the cab of the pick-up truck. "Because I'm completely out of ideas."

"San Diego," the Judge said, matter of fact.

"Of course, San Diego, what was I thinking?" He rolled his eyes at the Judge, "Why San Diego? You know something that I don't know?"

Milt laughed, "I know a lot of things you don't know kiddo."

"I walked into that one, I'll give ya that Hardcase, now what do you know?"

"Well, while you were recuperating on my couch the other day," Milt cleared his throat to add emphasis, "And driving up the coast yesterday, Christy and I started reading through every bit of information we could find on Seth and we didn't come up with much that we didn't already know, but we sure had a lot of time to sift through everything, and I do mean everything."

"Cut to the chase already, will ya?" Mark said, slightly annoyed at the continued referencing to his time.

"Christy actually spotted something that I think is gonna be useful. Maybe we ought to think about having her join us when we chase after the bad guys," Hardcastle tossed out the suggestion.

"Not a chance Judge, besides, we don't chase after bad guys anymore remember? I'm in school and you're officially retired."

"I don't know about that, we did a pretty good job on Tim Ryder and that gambling ring last month."

"Tell me you did not tell her about that did you?"

"No, of course I didn't tell her, you kept reminding me about a hundred times not too. Boy she sure has you on a tight leash. That usually doesn't happen till you get married sport."

"I'm not on a leash, there's just some things she's better off not knowing, especially when you and I go racing off after some nut job with a bazooka."

"Oh, he never fired it at us, you really overreact, did I ever tell you that?"

Mark shook off the whole conversation, "What did she find out about Seth?"

She found out that apparently Seth has a younger sister. We made a few calls and tracked down an address. She now lives in San Diego, did you know that?"

"Nope, and unless her name is Barney how is she gonna help us out? Seth left Alabama almost twenty years ago and he told me he never looked back."

"Once Christy spotted that in his file, I started making some calls. I think you're gonna be surprised."

"Judge, please, I'm still not up for guessing games, and I've never been, you should know that about now, how about just filling me in."

"Just sit back and enjoy the ride. I think we're going to find out what we're looking for."

OOOOO

They pulled up to a rather average looking house in a middle class neighborhood. There was a moving truck in the driveway. They went and knocked on the door. A woman, younger than McCormick came to the door.

The Judge introduced himself. "Hi, are you Linda Osborne?" The woman nodded. "I'm Judge Hardcastle, I talked with you on the phone yesterday," he continued.

"Oh yes, please come in," she offered, opening the door. "I'm sorry this is such a mess, but we just moved in from Newport Beach. My husband got a new job down here."

"I understand, and we're sorry to disturb your unpacking. This is Mark McCormick, I told you about him yesterday."

"Yes, I remember."

Mark followed in behind Linda and he said, "I'm very sorry about your brother, I…" his voice trailed off for a moment and Linda took the chance to interrupt him.

"Thank you, Judge Hardcastle told me what you were doing for Seth and I'm sure he was very appreciative of all you did for him. His death was very sudden."

"Seth was a good guy and I really believe that he deserved to have someone look into his case. There were a lot of questions about what happened and it just didn't seem right to let them go by unanswered," Mark tried to explain.

"I know my brother did many things that I don't approve of, but I never wanted to believe he was capable of murder. Honestly, I didn't know what to think about him and because of that we never really knew each other. I was only 11 when he left home to come out here and for a long time I didn't know anything about him. We started to get word about the things he did. And part of me didn't want to move out here when I got married, because of what Seth had done. My husband and I didn't want anything to do with him. But, then he was convicted and sent off to San Quentin and I didn't have to see him or hear about him. I have to admit I still had my doubts. He was a good 'ol boy who got into trouble, albeit more than most, but killing that girl, I didn't think so. My Momma and Daddy didn't raise any of us to be like that."

"I think Seth would have agreed with you Mrs. Osborne," Mark said, "he knew he wasn't an angel, but he always maintained his innocence as far as the murder conviction. I really just wanted to help him clear his name."

Hardcastle stepped into the conversation. "Is he here Mrs. Osborne?"

"Yes," she said, with some reluctance. "He doesn't know any of this, well, until last night when we sat him down and spoke to him, he's only fifteen, my husband and I aren't even sure he can help, but my husband was convinced of your sincerity, and well for me if we can clear Seth's name, my family's name, then it'll be worth it," she said in her southern drawl. "Let me get him." She left the two men standing in the living room.

McCormick was confused and turned to the Judge to say, "Judge, what is this all about?"

"Just wait McCormick, you'll see."

Linda Osborne came back into the room, leading an undersized looking fifteen-year blonde boy. "Judge Hardcastle, Mr. McCormick, this is George Osborne, my son, and well my nephew too actually, Doyle and I adopted him legally about ten years ago. Apparently Seth was his father, we never knew for sure, until now." she introduced the boy to them. Mark's mouth dropped open.

George eyed them both up with some hesitation and he shoved his right hand tightly in the pocket of his blue jeans.

"George, we're pleased to meet you," Milt said. "Your Mom and Dad told you why we came to see you right?" The boy slowly nodded. "Do you remember anything from the night of July 10, 1978?"

George didn't say anything at first.

Upon seeing the boy's reaction, Mark leaned over to the Judge and said, "Judge, he's just a kid, what would he have been four or five at the time, come on." Hardcastle brushed his comment aside.

"Anything you can tell us George, sure would help," the Judge said.

"I didn't know he was my Dad, I thought it was Mason," George said, sounding an awful lot like his mother Linda, though his southern drawl had a bit of California in it. "They just told me last night. I mean, I knew I was adopted, but there's not much I recall. I didn't understand any of it, what happened that night, but after sitting down with my parents last night, it sort of makes some sense." He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a scrap of paper and he took a step forward, ready to hand it to the Judge. "You're really a Judge?" he asked of Hardcastle.

"Yes, I am."

George handed the paper over to him. "The two of them were fighting over this paper. I didn't know what any of it meant or why I held on to it all these years, but I kept it hidden away in my room. I guess I thought some day maybe I'd figure out what it meant. Mason, he always called me Barney, and then when I was adopted, my Mom and Dad changed my name."

The Judge read over the paper. It was a computerized report from what appeared to be a hospital or medical center and part of it was ripped off. The part that George had the results of a paternity test. Five-year-old 'Barney' was the son of Seth Cullen. On the other side of the paper, was the last name of Cullen. Milt held it out for Mark to see.

McCormick spoke up immediately as he saw the torn paper. "The piece of evidence we have matches up to that perfectly, and Seth's name was right above the last name and that's how it got torn. The other side has some sort of hospital coding on it, nothing else," Mark explained. He looked over to George and asked. "Seth said you saw who killed the lady George, is that true?"

George nodded yes, "Mason Bailey did," he began, "I saw him hit her over and over, she fell to the ground, and he told me to go wait in the car. I didn't know she was dead, I was just a little kid, and he never told me he killed her, but he did. I saw him beat her to the ground and then he jumped on her."

"What happened after that?" Milt asked.

Linda stepped forward. "George always thought that Mason was his Dad. The woman, who was killed, Janet Pavia, was his mother. That very night Mason dropped George off at a hospital and abandoned him. Then he went to the police and told them that Seth killed Janet, even though Seth was no where near where the murder happened. He was in Newport Beach to tell us about George. The three of them were all into drugs, including Seth that night, I couldn't make any sense of what he was saying, he was so wasted. Seth had no idea he was George's real father, not that night. He thought Mason was, because Janet had always said he was. But he knew that Mason had abandoned him and Seth wanted us to adopt him, he couldn't bear the thought of the boy being alone. I didn't realize he might actually be the father either until you called yesterday. I couldn't bear to go to the trial. I never thought George may have witnessed whatever happened. We never knew they called him Barney. But I remember hearing Seth tell me that George was always with either Janet or Mason. Just after he was sentenced, I saw Seth for the last time and I told him that we were close to adopting the boy. That seemed to make him happy. He asked if Doyle and I would consider naming him George, after our father. I really think by then he knew that George was his, but he never let on."

"So he kept sending me on wild goose chases for fictitious Barney's," McCormick said shaking his head.

"I'm afraid so." Linda said, "But none of knew that George was really Seth's son until the Judge called us yesterday. It took the piece of paper that George had to confirm it. Even Seth didn't know for sure, he never did get to see the paternity results."

George stood off to the side and he spoke up once again, "Well, what does it matter, they're all three of them dead now anyway?"

Linda went and put her arm around him, "Honey, don't say that, now you know that Seth was your Daddy, he cared about you so much that he made sure you had a good family, his family."

Mark took a step forward toward George too, "And we can clear his name now George, and we will clear it, right Judge?"

"Now you're cookin'."

"George, I have one last question for you," Mark began, "Do you know how to play chess?"

The boy shook his head no.

"How'd you like to learn?"

"Sure," he eyed up this so-called friend of his newly discovered father, "Maybe you can tell me about Seth, I mean my Dad, too?"

McCormick grinned, "Deal," he replied holding out his hand.

OOOOO

The Judge insisted that Mark go solo in filing the necessary paper work regarding clearing up Seth Cullen's name, saying that, "It's your case McCormick, it's always been your case and you should be the one to put the thing to bed once and for all." And he followed it with a softer, "You did good work on this one, kiddo."

"With some help from a lot of friends," McCormick replied.

The paper work and various meetings with local, county and state officials took the better part of several weeks, due to law school, regular household duties and a girlfriend by the name of Christy Miller.

While McCormick dashed off from class to appointment to date, Milt Hardcastle pulled out some paper work of his own that he secretly was more than happy to be working on. He had his own 'case' to wrap up.

Three weeks later the two of them sat out on the patio eating breakfast and Milt shoved the morning paper across the table into the direction of McCormick.

"Do you mind?" McCormick whined, "I'm reading the sports section. The news can wait!" He said, popping the end remnant of an English muffin into his mouth.

"Read that, would ya?"

He set aside the sports and picked up the section that Milt had slid over. "What am I looking for, can you at least give me a hint?"

"You'll know it when you see it," the Judge said, letting a smile fill his face.

Nothing on the front page of the metro section jumped out at him and he scowled up his face and opened up to page two. Nothing like a little game of Hide and Seek this morning. There it was in the bottom corner. The headline jumped out at him. LOCAL UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR DISMISSED FOR ETHICS VIOLATIONS. "What the hell?" he said, burying his nose even further into the paper. It was just a tiny blurb, but the significance of the message certainly hit home with him.

Professor Robert Haynes, a tenured law school professor has been dismissed by the University for numerous ethics violations with regards to students.

According to numerous documents received by this newspaper, Professor Haynes has been accused by no less than a dozen students, current and former, with 'prejudicing, belittling and using his position to denigrate, victimize and humiliate students.'

University records show that the complaints began flowing into the law school in 1982, just six months after Haynes was given tenure by the University. He was immediately removed from teaching yesterday and has been terminated by the University system as well.

The State Bar is also investigating Haynes, as he is a member. His license to practice law in this state could be revoked as well, pending a preliminary hearing in two weeks.

The University's Dean of the School of Law is also being investigated for his role. Some students allege that Dean Morris Greenbrier attempted to cover up Haynes behavior and students were asked to look the other way or were led to believe that their complaints were unwarranted.

Chancellor Howard Novatny is forming a university committee to look into the allegations.

McCormick dropped the paper to the table and was grinning from ear to ear. The grin faded as Hardcastle was nowhere in sight. He picked up the paper and read the article again. "I'll be damned," he murmured as he finished reading it for the second time.

This time when he set the paper down, Hardcastle was coming out of the house carrying a tray.

"You been busy lately, huh Judge?" Mark asked. "Here I thought you were working on another case, when you were actually digging up dirt on Haynes, am I right?"

Milt nodded affirmatively and set the tray down onto the table. "The guy's a piece of crud and he shouldn't be teaching or practicing law. I figured you couldn't be the first student to have a problem with this guy and I took it from there. University records are a piece of cake, everything's open, it's great! And Howard's a good friend of mine. It all just fell into place. Only thing I never found out how he knew me, no case of mine has his name in it at all. Maybe someday I'll find out, this is good enough for now!"

Mark looked over the contents of the tray with suspicion. "So, what's all this about?"

"This? Well, I thought you'd like to celebrate. You're not even a lawyer yet and you've already won two cases. I thought we'd toast with a couple of martimi's!" Milt cracked as he started to fix up the drinks.

"I'll drink to that Judge," he paused, "And don't forget, shaken, never stirred."

The End.