Disclaimer: These are not my characters and I make no profit from them.
Author's Note: In "Whistler's Pride", the fourteenth (and possibly most confusing) episode of the first season, Hardcastle is invited to the reading of Willie Yarborough's will. The invitation is unexpected because Willie was a bookie whom Hardcastle had occasion to find guilty. It's even more surprising when the will reveals that Willie "the Whistler" left his old nemesis a racehorse known as Whistler's Pride. Or maybe it's not so surprising. The horse comes with unpaid feed and stable bills amounting to thirty-six thousand dollars. In a bid to recoup his loses, on the advice of Casey (a female would-be jockey who worked for Willie) Hardcastle has Mark enter the horse in the Oak Royal claiming race. Almost immediately after, Mark is jumped by two toughs at the track and the guys discover that other jockeys in the race have been threatened. Soon the judge is more interested in getting to the bottom of the scheme than actually having his horse win. Of course he refuses to scratch his entry, but he also sets up a fake workout that makes Whistler's Pride look like a favorite. Then he takes both horse and jockey home to Gulls Way as bait. The bad guys, hired by horsewoman Lenore Alcott, sneak in that night. Hardcastle's jockey is injured and the horse is spirited away. The guys (and Casey) find Whistler's Pride hidden at Alcott's farm. She and her head goons escape in the judge's truck. Hardcastle pursues on horseback and successfully corrals them. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, after taking on a couple of Alcott's lesser goons, Mark finds himself, once again, in police custody . . .
The Dark Horse
by L.M. Lewis
McCormick: (in handcuffs as Hardcastle drive up in truck) Here, this guy'll tell you. This guy, he's a judge. He's a judge, he'll tell you. Judge? Judge, come here for a second. Come here, listen, you wanna tell these guys I'm with you. Come on, tell em.
Hardcastle: I never saw him before.
McCormick: (irate) Knock it off. Now come on, (a little more desperate as Hardcastle starts to walk off, smiling) now listen, I got a record here. They're gonna take me downtown. This isn't funny; get back here—
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In truth he'd only gone another three steps before his smile had faded a bit. It might have been partly the hint of nervousness in McCormick's tone, though he preferred to assume it was strictly a matter of practicality—a joke was a joke but they had serious business to attend to. He halted, trying to summon up the smile again before he turned around.
He was glad he hadn't succeeded. McCormick looked genuinely aggravated.
"He's mine," Hardcastle said to the officer in custody, who raised one eyebrow.
"Really," the judge reiterated. "With me. Mine."
The officer—whose name was Harvey according to the nameplate above his uniform pocket—looked unconvinced.
"We've got some counter-complaints. These guys over here are saying he started the fight."
Hardcastle frowned. "I'm the one who called the cops in for back-up. Milt Hardcastle. You can check with Stanton, LAPD. Ms. Alcott was holding stolen property—my horse—and her guys over there are gonna be charged with home invasion, battery, and felony theft."
"But—"
"And this guy," he pointed to McCormick, "was assisting me in the recovery of that stolen property."
The officer held his reserved expression for a moment then the eyebrow went up again, though he was now turning toward McCormick. "Guess I gotta let you go, Skid." There was the unexpected hint of a smile on the man's face as he reached for his key.
Hardcastle frowned in growing suspicion. "You two know each other?"
Mark, turning his back to give the officer better access to the cuffs, cocked his head over his shoulder with what had probably been intended to be a wry smile. There was a bit of uncertainty to it, though.
"Yeah. His kid brother worked pit for Flip a couple years back."
"Sorry to hear about what happened to him," Harvey interjected quietly as the second cuff slipped off and he pocketed the set. He patted Mark on the shoulder. "Those guys are laying some complaints," he jerked his thumb toward the rest of Alcott's pack, still in cuffs, "but in light of the stolen property beef, I don't think there'll be much trouble."
He nodded and went off to assist the other cops in the clean-up.
Hardcastle immediately turned back to McCormick with a look of indignation. "I was set up."
"Just a little," Mark replied tersely. Casey, standing right behind him, stifled a smile.
"Harv didn't bust me," the younger man added, "but one of the other cops had. When he saw what was happening and came over to straighten things out, I told him to hold off a sec. I thought maybe you oughta see how this goes down."
Hardcastle frowned. This was an obvious reference to the week before, when McCormick had briefly ended up in cuffs instead of a would-be thief and murderer who was an ex-LAPD detective.
"I just didn't realize you'd get such a kick out of it," Mark muttered.
"I had it figured out from the get-go," the judge said staunchly.
"The hell you did."
"Okay, that was some pretty good acting," he admitted. "But maybe I figured I deserved some turn-about for all those short horse jokes of yours."
"It's not the same." Mark rubbed his wrist absently. Then he dropped his hand self-consciously to his side and glanced off at the truck as though to change the subject.
"How'd you catch 'em? I thought somebody said they took your truck."
Hardcastle looked around, and spotted one of the other officers walking his drafted mount back to the stable. He pointed in that direction. "The big chestnut with the stockings. Good animal."
Mark looked at the horse and then back at him, disbelieving. "You went after the truck on a horse?"
Hardcastle nodded. "Nice gait. Plenty of speed. Been a while since I'd been up on one, but you know what they say—it's like riding a bicycle."
"Yeah, but you don't go after a truck on a bicycle, either," Mark protested. He seemed to have forgotten, at least temporarily, that he was miffed.
The judge found it a little hard to hold onto his own indignation as well. Taking down Alcott and her henchmen had been . . . exhilarating.
"It was fun," he admitted sheepishly. "I think maybe I always wanted to do something like that. Kinda like Roy Rogers."
Mark pinched his nose. "What are we gonna do with you, Kemosabe?"
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Eventually they had the trailer rehitched to the truck, and were headed for home. Casey occupied the neutral zone between him and McCormick, otherwise the judge thought they have been talking about something other than generalities. As it was, Mark barely waited for the vehicle to pull to a stop before he hopped out, opened the gate, and then climbed up on the truck bed for the rest of the short ride home.
Hardcastle had already made up his mind about what he intended to do. With everything that had happened, he thought he stood a good chance of reclaiming his entry fee if he withdrew his horse from the race. That was the only prudent course, since Mark had disabled their jockey in the chaos of the late-night attack on the estate.
What he didn't expect was Casey and McCormick presenting a united front, and then Stanton coming up with an even more pressing reason to keep the Whistler entered in the Oak Royal, even though Casey was apparently the only one who could ride him. With a big fish like Tony Barrow just begging to be caught, it was mighty tempting to keep his bait in the water.
It probably didn't hurt any that Casey was pleased as punch to be taking such a dangerous chance. Between her bubbling over about getting her first mount in a real race, and all the final arrangements that needed to be made with Stanton, it was late in the evening before everything settled down.
In the interests of last-minute security, McCormick had volunteered to spend the night out in the makeshift stable they'd rigged up for the Whistler in the old garden shed. It was probably overkill. Stanton had stationed a squad car out by the gate. Hardcastle half-wondered if the younger man hadn't been looking for an excuse to avoid him now that the details of tomorrow's scam had been worked out.
He scowled slightly at the thought of scams in general. Casey had finally gone up to bed. The estate was dark and quiet. The judge felt a sudden urge to make one last round of the place, just to be sure.
He approached the old shed with no particular stealth. There was still a light on inside. He heard Mark talking softly and the Whistler nickering.
"Ya oughta turn that off and let him get some shut eye," Hardcastle groused as he leaned against the jamb. "He's got a big day tomorrow."
Mark turned abruptly from where he'd been standing, obviously close enough to have been patting the Whistler's neck. "I did. He seemed kinda nervous so I turned it back on."
"Nervous?"
"Shifting around, bumped the wall a couple times. I think he'd rather have a goat in here." Mark gave the horse one last absent pat and sat back down on the cot. "He's had a rough couple of days."
Hardcastle studied horse and then man and finally gave that a considered nod. "Guess he has."
"He'll probably be glad when it's over. Guys jumping at him outta nowhere."
"Think he's got one more good run in him, though?" the judge asked quietly.
Mark gave that a moment's thought and then finally said, "Yeah, but I think a horse likes to know where he's at—know he's got people looking out for him."
"He does." Hardcastle reached out and gave the Whistler a pat on the withers. It wasn't much of a reach.
There was a moment of silence and then Mark frowned. "You think he knows he's short? People don't expect much of him, all that?"
"Well, Casey expects him to run fast, and he runs fast for her. Leastwise, that's what she says. Maybe it only takes one person to believe."
"Yeah, but if there really is only one person, that person had better be there when the chips are down." Mark gave him a straight-on steady look. "Seriously."
"Yeah," the judge nodded once, "you might be right about that."
"You know I am," Mark said firmly.
"And you know I am, too." Hardcastle replied, capping it with a small but sincere smile. Then he gave the Whistler one last pat and turned, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You both oughta get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day."
"Don't worry," Mark said confidently as he reached up to douse the light, "we're both fast."