Love Me, Love My Con

by Latebloomnriter

Will Hardcastle's budding romance blossom or wilt in the presence of Mark McCormick?

Love Me, Love My Con

Will Hardcastle's budding romance blossom or wilt in the presence of Mark McCormick?

Note: To the best of my knowledge and belief, this story is fair use of copyrighted material, as there is no commercial use and no loss of potential market or value of the original material will occur.

Rated T for non-explicit sexual content

This is my first attempt to use one of my favorite writing approaches-presenting the lead characters through the eyes of others. There are many shifting points of view here, and I hope I pulled it off.

I'm calling this semi-AU for some time shifts. I am setting some events in advance of their 1986 broadcast dates to earlier in the fall of 1985. McCormick is still on parole at this time, and Millie returns part time. I am also adding some visiting characters from "Hill Street Blues:" Captain Frank Furillo, his ex-wife Fay; their son Frank Jr., and Furillo's girlfriend, public defender Joyce Davenport. While this show aired concurrently with Hardcastle & McCormick, H&M premiered after HSB had been on the air for a couple of years. I'm shifting the time so that the Hill Street Blues characters are earlier in their show history, with Furillo and Joyce recently going public with their relationship and spending time together with Frank Jr., somewhat to the dismay of Fay.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"It's not too late to change your mind, ya know," pointed out Hardcastle. "Probably do you good. It's a change of scene, we'll get in some fishing first, and you might learn something."

"Judge, believe me, I appreciate the offer. But by staying I have a chance to catch up on some backlogged chores, and do some driving."

"Since when are you in a hurry to do any chores?" The Judge scowled suspiciously at his friend.

"Since I finally feel well enough to do them." That remark made the Judge pause, and he looked at Mark uneasily. Mark looked back calmly. He had recovered his strength after the shooting and subsequent rehabilitation, and was relishing being fit and active again. Even the exertion of the physical chores around the estate was welcome, at least for the moment. They had taken on no new cases, since the Judge still tended to be over protective and hovering until in his mind McCormick was sufficiently healed. Mark had begun to chafe at the attention, but he figured it was a sort of poetic justice. He has certainly hovered and bossed Hardcastle when he was recovering from being shot by Weed Randall. The two men needed a break from each other after being in unusually close contact during Mark's recovery. Besides, sitting around during a legal conference did not strike him as appealing, especially when his pent up nervous energy needed an outlet.

Hardcastle began grumbling, an early warning sign that he was on the verge of capitulation. "Yeah, I suppose you'll be all right." He began ticking off his fingers. "You have Frank and Mattie's numbers if you need anything, and of course Charlie will be available. And this driving-are you really up to it?"

"I'll be careful in the saddle, Kemosabe." As careful as a guy could be when hitting 200 mph on the straights and negotiating some of Riverside's notoriously tricky turns. "You know there's that auto expo at Riverside coming up, and it's a chance to show off the Coyote, and maybe get Barbara some backers for it. Besides, there's another reason why you should go alone. I want you to have a good time."

Hardcastle looked offended. "Don't you and I have good times together?"

"Sure we do. But Judge-" Mark paused and placed his hand on his chest. "Lone Ranger not live by Tonto and Silver alone, you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What I mean is, you're visiting a new place, meeting some new and probably interesting people, well, interesting to you anyway. Why not take advantage of my absence and enjoy a lady's company?"

"What?! Are you serious? Listen, wise guy, I've seen how guys are at these conferences without their wives. They skip the lectures and meetings that their firms or offices paid for, and prowl around for women. You see them in the bars and restaurants with some woman, and there's that red mark on their finger where they pried off the wedding ring. I'm not interested in that, or being like any of those guys."

"Judge," Mark was being careful, because this was venturing into delicate territory. "You're a free agent and a great catch. Why are you so reluctant about this? I can't figure you out. I mean, you ducked Aggie Wainwright and chased Pammy Peterson-"

"Don't call her Pammy. She hates that."

"-and you'll never convince me that you weren't eyeing something with Jane Bigelow, even when you thought her husband was barely cold in the ground. Speaking of cold, that's you-hot and cold about women. I can't figure it out." Mark suddenly paused and the grin spread across his face. "Oh, I see now. You don't like it when someone is pursuing you-it's the only reason why anyone would pass up a chance with someone like Aggie-but when you decide to do the chasing, like with Pam or Jane or that judge, that's different. You're so old fashioned! I tell ya, Hardcase, there are dinosaurs more enlightened than you."

"Are you finished now, Einstein? It's none of your business if I'm interested in someone or not. Besides, it's only a few days. Nothing serious will happen in a few days."

"Who says it has to be serious? Juuudge, women enjoy having a good time, even if it isn't serious. You both just have to honest about what you have in mind and what your expectations are. We're talking about consenting adults here."

Hardcastle grunted. "I prefer the company of ladies, McCormick. Sure, I was attracted to my wife when I first saw her-"

"When you blocked her car and she told you to move it or lose it."

"Yeah, and then when I saw her at that church social, and her ears turned pink, I knew she was interested, so I started courting her, which is what you do with a lady if you're serious. I mean, you're talking about jumping into the sack with a woman I just met, and what sort woman would do that-"

Hardcastle broke off at the McCormick's expression. The kid had gone rigid, and the muscles of his face there had tightened so much that the bones of his jaw and cheeks were jutting out. Storm clouds gathered in seconds and unleashed an icy deluge of furious words. "Oh. I get it. You still think that there are girls you have fun with and girls that you marry. Well, let me tell you something, Hardcastle. There were nice girls who 'did it' without a wedding ring even when you were a young man and I ought to know because I'm living proof of it!"

Mark's fists were tightly clenched and Hardcastle saw that his friend was a hair-trigger pull away from swinging. Hardcastle kept his face quiet and calm when he spoke.

"I meant no insult to your mother, McCormick. I know she was a very fine woman, because she raised a very fine son."

He locked McCormick's eyes in a gentle gaze, and waited. The flash flood of anger receded into calmer pools, fury dissipated in the face of their mutual trust and faith in each other. Finally McCormick nodded, signaling the end of the argument.

"Okay now?"

"Yeah, we're okay." McCormick was quiet too. "I just want you to enjoy everything life has to offer, Judge. You deserve it."

The trip started out well. Hardcastle had rented a car from the airport and set off to his campsite for some fishing. He didn't often come to this part of the country, with its abundant lakes and different fish, but he was sufficiently successful and enjoyed himself. Now back in the city, he left his rental at the entrance of the hotel reserved for arrivals, and began unloading his luggage.

Fay Furillo was in a state. This happened more often than she wished. Life seemed to be one stressful event after another, and it had been that way for a number of years. It had been challenging enough when she was married and raising a young child, with an alcoholic husband who was a police officer dealing with the pressures and demons of that job for himself and the officers assigned to him. Now they were divorced, and she was a stay-at-home mother depending on alimony to support herself and her son. It covered the basics, but not much else. Her ex-husband Frank had turned himself around and stopped drinking, after the pain of the divorce, and seemed fine on the remains of his Captain's salary. Not only that, he had acquired a beautiful, accomplished younger girlfriend in the form of a public defender. It just wasn't fair, that he could have the active sex life, he and Frank Jr. had the fun times, and Frank Jr. adored the younger beautiful girlfriend who treated him like the little prince. Fay had not found a new fulfilling role for herself, adequate financial security and future, much less having a regular sex life while living with a young son in her home.

She knew her ex would be at the hotel at the conference, and she needed to corner him for some more money. Frank Jr. wanted to enroll in an afterschool basketball program, and there were some fees to be paid. She hated having to ask for this, yet another additional expense, and Furillo would likely be on the receiving end of her frustration.

There was a fee for parking in the garage for visitors. Damn. She didn't want to throw extra cash around, and looked for room in the check-in lane. Surely she could get away with it. Hopefully she could find Furillo, get the check, and be on her way.

Damn. The tackle box had overturned and Hardcastle's spinners were messily entangled with his woolly buggers. He carefully began to sort them out-he had tied the woolly buggers himself- and did not want the effort to go to waste. A horn honked behind him and he turned with a frown.

The older guy in the flannel shirt and battered hat was moving slowly, fussing over something in his trunk. Fay couldn't wait there idling all day. She hit the horn and jumped out of the car. "I'm waiting to pull in here. Will you just hurry it up and get the lead out?!"

"I'm not going to be much longer. I'm handling some sensitive equipment here, okay?" She was a handsome woman, despite having a sharp tongue. It was a combination he had always liked.

"Look, I really don't have much time, and I have to speak to someone in the hotel right away, and I would rather not spend the extra cash on the pay garage."

She did sound rather desperate, and his barely closeted gallantry stuck its head behind the door to soothe someone in distress. "All right. I'll get my stuff and check in and I'll put the car in the garage. That okay?"

She smiled slightly in relief. Hardcastle re-loaded the trunk and got in the car, and Fay returned to hers. She began to edge into Hardcastle's spot when another car darted around her to squeeze in instead. That was too much. She jumped out of the car again to confront the felonious parking-space thief.

"I was getting ready to pull in there!"

"Better be faster next time, lady." The encounter was about to escalate worse when the older guy in the flannel and battered hat returned.

"Why don't you wait in the car, ma'am. I'm sure this can be straightened out." Fay was prepared to argue, but there was something in the man's tone and expression, an air of quiet, confident authority, that made returning to her car seem like a good idea, and she complied.

"You need to mind your own business mister. I'm a busy man." He started to move off, but Hardcastle blocked his way. He never raised his voice to answer.

"Listen, pal, I'm a retired judge headed to a conference full of other judges and a lot of cops. I know most of 'em personally, and the ones I don't know, know me. It's not a good idea to start even more of a disturbance here. I think the best thing to do is let the lady have the parking space, and you take the garage, okay?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "I'm a successful attorney and I don't know you. So just who are you?"

"The name's Hardcastle. Milton C. Hardcastle."

"Hardcastle? The Milton Hardcastle?" Shit, he had pissed off a legend. "Uh, I didn't realize. It-it's a privilege, Your Honor."

Hardcastle responded with a fake smile. "I wish I could say the same, and maybe I will if you let the lady have the space. Okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'll do that." He returned to his car and pulled off.

Hardcastle went to Fay's car and they shared pleased expressions at their minor victory. "Thank you. I'm sorry I was so abrupt earlier."

"Well, I know how people can feel the pressure sometimes. I hope you can settle your errand quickly."

Hardcastle pulled into the parking garage to remove his luggage and fishing gear. He would sort it out in his room. The encounter with the lady left him smiling. The phrase "get the lead out" sounded a lot like "move it or lose it" to him.

Hardcastle checked into his room. He opened his suitcase to get some fresh clothes, but found some items he hadn't put into his luggage. There was a bottle of "Stud Musk" and another small box which he remembered as usually being behind counters or discretely tucked in the men's aisle. A note was attached to the bottle. Tonto help Lone Ranger court woman in case Lone Ranger forgot how. Hardcastle scowled. Fat chance he needed a kid to show him how to date women. There were a few already who would be all over him if he allowed it. He passed by the mirror in the room, and saw to his dismay that the scowl he imagined he wore was nonexistent and the corners of his mouth were turned up in a grin. He frowned into the mirror to be sure he looked annoyed. It was all McCormick's fault, confusing things like this. Obnoxious brat.

Fay had some time to spare. She had found her ex between sessions at the conference, and with little argument, had provided her with the check for the basketball camp. This day's domestic crisis was over. She would have liked to sit for a bit and have a light lunch or at least some coffee, but hotel restaurants were notoriously overpriced, and this one more than most. She was heading back toward the lobby when a man approached her.

"Hello again. Did ya get everything straightened out?"

Fay had not recognized him at first. Gone were the battered hat and flannel shirt, replaced by a nice sport coat over a polo shirt, and a decent pair of slacks. In close quarters, she sensed again the air of authority and kindness. "Yes, I did, thank you. I appreciate your help." They smiled a bit at each other. "I'm sorry, I never thought to ask your name."

"Milt Hardcastle, and it was no trouble. My pleasure."

"Fay Furillo." His name sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Pleased to meet you, uh-Miss? Mrs.-?"

"Ms. Furillo. Fay."

"Milt."

They were still standing there. Neither seemed in a hurry to move on and end the conversation. "Would you like to have lunch, or maybe some coffee?"

"That would be nice, thank you. But I can't leave the car out there in a temporary unloading zone."

"Oh, I took care of that with the front desk. You should be okay for another hour or two."

"Well, in that case, I accept. Thank you again." It seemed safe enough, here in the hotel, surrounded by law enforcement and legal types.

They were seated at a table near a fireplace, already burning for warmth at the early cold snap of weather.

"So, Milt, what brings you here? Are you on vacation, to do some fishing?'

"Well, partly that. I'm also here for a convention."

He saw the wariness cross her face, and her eyes flick to his hand in search of a ring. He hastily tried to reassure her. "Look, I can imagine what you're thinking. I'm not the kind of guy who goes to conferences looking to pick up women for a cheap fling. I came here for some serious discussions, give a presentation, and sit in on a panel."

She looked more comfortable. "What do you do?"

"I'm a retired judge, from California." He squirmed a bit. "And this fire is a bit warm, on top of the heat. The weather is still good where I come from." He shrugged out his jacket. Fay's impression of a heavy set, kind older man shifted. Milt Hardcastle no longer struck her as old, and not so much heavy as powerful. His biceps were bulging to nearly burst his short sleeves, and the shirt front strained against his barrel chest. His hands were huge and rough for a white-collar man. The air of authority expanded. This was a very strong, attractive, formidable man, who could handle things. Age was irrelevant. It was very comforting and appealing to a woman who often felt such stress over her situation. He also had the most vivid blue eyes she had ever seen.

"I usually don't pry like this but I have to ask. Are you married, or involved with someone?"

This was why he had never been in a hurry to meet new people, especially not women he might want to date. His rare dates were typically people he already knew or met through other mutual friends. There was no need to explain his situation, since they already understood it. When he did have to explain his history, he was inevitably faced with that embarrassed expression from someone alarmed at causing the recall of a painful memory, and then he was stuck with offering reassurance to his new companion.

"I'm a widower." There it was, that slight cringe at making him think of his late wife, and being uncertain of how to respond.

"I'm very sorry." The next, more dreaded, but perfectly reasonable question was coming. He knew it. "Do you have any children?"

"I did. My son died in Viet Nam." She looked mortified, and completely speechless. People never knew what to say to this unexpected answer that was so against the natural order of things, when a parent survived a child.

"It's okay to ask," and to his surprise it was easier to say this time. "It's a normal question with an abnormal answer. We don't have to say any more about it."

He moved the conversation on. "What about yourself?"

"Well, I'm divorced. The person I needed to see here is my ex-husband. He's a cop, a captain, in the city here."

"Yeah, marriage can be tough, especially for a cop's wife. I know-I was a cop before I became a judge. You go through a lot, dealing with what we bring home, and holding a household together. I know there's a high divorce rate, other problems, drugs, drinking."

"My husband is an alcoholic. He's sober now, but not before the marriage ended. I couldn't help him. There was a lot he wouldn't discuss with me."

"No, usually we don't do things like that. It's bad enough when we bring the work home, but most of us figure that the smart thing is to leave it behind when we go home, at least as well as we can. See, we see so much ugliness out there, that we like to come home and see something that isn't dirty, that remember there is still good in our little world. That's what our wives are to us. It's like leading two different lives sometimes."

"I never saw it like that. Maybe if I did-" She appreciated his deep understanding. A rare man indeed.

"It takes two, you know. What about you? Do you have children?"

"I have a son. He's ten. The reason I needed to find my ex was to get some extra money for a basketball camp."

"Ten, huh? That's a fun age. You get to watch them learn and form their own ideas, and they like to spend time doing things with you. And he likes basketball? Good for him."

"Well, I enjoy it now, but I'm not looking forward to a few years ahead. I hear from friends with teenagers about how difficult they can be. How old are kids when they stop mouthing off at you?"

"Not before thirty-something, that's for sure."

She thought that was an odd statement, but let it go. At any rate, the thought didn't seem unpleasant because she was sure Hardcastle had the hint of a wry smile. "Tell me more about yourself. Are you from California originally, and is there other family?"

"I'm from Arkansas. My parents were sharecroppers before they saved enough for their own place, but we were always pretty poor. I did well in school, and got a basketball scholarship to UCLA. After school, I went into the Army, and after the War I came back to California to be a cop, and worked my way through law school. I got a lucky break to become a judge fairly early, and I served for about thirty years. I have four aunts, a sister, some cousins, all back in Arkansas, a brother, and a niece-she just finished law school, and is the only relative in California."

"You're retired now. What do you do for fun, how do you spend your time? Besides fishing?"

"Oh, I go fishing when I can. I'm in a band-Dixieland, I play trombone, and I still sort of volunteer to help law enforcement. And, I spend time with my friend-I mean friends."

They continued with the get-to-know-you talk, and had a pleasant time. He found himself oddly reluctant to mention McCormick, as if, like his son, this was something private. "I wonder," said Hardcastle as they were leaving the table, "if you had plans over the next few days. I'd like to have dinner, or at least another lunch with you."

"Well, I have my son with me. I could do another lunch, and maybe get a sitter for dinner. He does have a sleepover planned later in the week. We could maybe go out then." She would make it work. He was a fascinating man.

They parted company, but before Fay left the hotel she picked up a program for the convention to leaf through the bios. There it was, Milton C. Hardcastle, thirty years a judge, ruled on such and such landmark cases, former candidate for the Supreme Court and past mayoral candidate for Los Angeles. That was where she had heard of him. This fascinating and accomplished man wanted to spend time with her. She mentally skipped back to her car.

Hardcastle also left in excellent spirits. There was nothing wrong with enjoying a woman's company, even if it wasn't serious. He was looking forward to it. The memory of McCormick saying almost exactly that flashed into his mind, and he could hear those words buzzing in his ear like an annoying gnat. Shut up, you annoying gnat. Don't you have hedges to trim?

HHHHHHHHHHHH

"I'm so glad to have a chance to see you, Uncle Win." Joyce Davenport, public defender in the city, rarely saw her father's old friend. The men had gone to law school together, and Judge Winslow Gault was an honorary uncle.

"Not as glad as I am to see you. So where is that man of yours?"

"Here he comes. Judge Winslow Gault, this is Captain Frank Furillo." Furillo, dedicated, intense, recovering alcoholic, and an honest cop, had been Joyce's lover for over a year. They had kept the relationship secret for most of that time, wary of any accusations of collusion between the public defender's office and the police. They went public not long ago, at Furillo's insistence at acknowledging their relationship, and she had recently been spending time with his son.

They shared the obligatory handshakes and introductory small talk. "I'm glad you made it out here. Joyce has been looking forward to seeing you and this conference. I am too, actually. There are some speakers I'd like to hear, and I know Joyce- what's the matter? You're staring."

Joyce's gaze was fixed on someone across the room, waiting to be shown to a table. "Isn't that Judge Hardcastle? Uncle Win, you must know him. I'd love to meet him." She smiled slyly at Furillo. "He has a reputation for being tough on cops if they haven't followed 'the book' in making arrests or gathering evidence."

"Counselor, you're looking star struck." Furillo was amused. "As a former cop, he understands the demands of the job, and he'll lock 'em up and toss the key for repeat criminals. I admit, I'm a fan too, from what I've heard about him."

"I know him." Gault was nowhere near as impressed as his dinner companions.

"I'm looking forward to his presentation on creative sentencing to reduce recidivism."

"He's creative, all right." Furillo and Joyce caught Gault's disapproving tone. "He's a sucker for a sob story. He has this idea of personally rehabilitating criminals, even bringing them into his home and putting them to work. He's tried it a few times, and it's never successful. The one he has now is a two-time loser, a smartass con who was looking at a third felony rap while on probation until Hardcastle slapped a judicial stay on the case and had the guy placed into his custody. I know Milt has to keep pulling strings to keep this one out of jail."

This was surprising to Furillo and Joyce, who would never have suspected that the judge, given his reputation, could be fooled repeatedly by cons.

"Why does he do it?" asked Furillo. "It's risky, having someone like that in close company."

"Well, Milt's a widower, and lost a son in Viet Nam. All the cons he brought home were young men. That might have something to do with it."

"I'd still like to meet him."

"I'll ask him over." Hardcastle was being shown to a table, but he noticed Gault raising his hand and head in a beckoning gesture, and changed direction to come over.

"Hello, Winny."

"Milt. Milt, this is my honorary god-daughter, Joyce Davenport, a public defender here, and Captain Frank Furillo of the city police department." Gault's tone was polite but cool, as was Hardcastle's, befitting two men who did not particularly like each other.

So this must be Fay's ex. Hardcastle wondered if he should say something, but given the company, quickly decided against it.

"It's a pleasure, Your Honor." Joyce was decidedly still impressed. Hardcastle had a formidable presence. She could understand how he earned his reputation as a strict but fair judge. He would tolerate no nonsense in his courtroom.

"Milt, we were just talking about your 'creative sentencing' and bringing cons into your home for rehabilitation. You still carrying on with those experiments, despite results?" Gault had never changed his opinion after that disastrous poker game, and the men hadn't played cards together since.

"It's true, some of those attempts didn't work out. I still believe in the idea, provided it's the right person. The young man in my custody now, has been with me for a couple of years, and is doing very well." He smiled pleasantly, and waited for Gault to dare to challenge him on the matter. Joyce and Furillo noted the difference of opinion, and were leaning closer to Gault's interpretation. Hardcastle anticipated Gault's next question. "Right now he's back in California."

"At least, you hope so." Gault was trying to bait him, but Hardcastle did not rise to it.

"Well, it should be a good conference. I hope to see you around, Ms. Davenport, Captain." The others extended farewells, and Hardcastle excused himself and went to his table.

MMMMMMMMMMMMM

"This was a wonderful lunch, Milt. Thank you for inviting me."

"Oh, I enjoyed it too. I'm glad we could both get away. By the way, I was introduced to your ex at the conference. He seems like a decent guy."

"He is, for the most part. He's a good father to Frank Jr., staying a part of his life after the divorce, despite some bumps."

"I'm glad to hear it, for Frank Jr's sake. A man who runs out on his kid when things are tough, well, in my book, he doesn't deserve to call himself a man. Kids, they can carry scars of being abandoned for years." He frowned, as if the subject of fathers deserting their children were a special sore subject with him.

"Did you happen to meet a Joyce Davenport?"

"Yeah, she was there with him and a judge I know from California, Winslow Gault."

Fay's mouth tightened a bit. "She's Frank's girlfriend. Frank Jr adores her, and why not? She's young, beautiful, rich, and spoils him rotten. I'm the mean mom who makes him pick up after himself, and do his homework, and none of the fun stuff." She looked so dismayed, and a little threatened, that Hardcastle hastened to reassure her.

"Hey, that doesn't mean he loves you any less. Kids like some discipline, I think. You're the one working hard to take care of him, give him a good home. I'll bet he becomes especially close to you, and starts feeling protective. It's something unique with a mother and son."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yeah, I do. I think kids can have a special bond with the parent who is lives with them every day." Hardcastle took on that distant expression again, as if a situation like this struck a strong chord with him.

Impulsively, Fay asked "Would you like to come to his basketball practice? The first one is tonight."

Hardcastle grinned. "Sure. I'm always up for anything to do with basketball. There's a social event tonight, but I can go later. They last until the early hours."

He enjoyed himself. The kids started out a bit boisterous, but he liked being around that sort of energy. The kids were run through their drills, with coaches alternately shouting encouragement and demanding order. As it ended, Fay went to gather her son. Hardcastle watched them, and went over when Fay glanced his way.

"Frank, this is Judge Hardcastle. He helped me when I had trouble at the hotel finding your father the other day." Well, it was mostly true, and the simplest explanation.

Hardcastle held out his hand. "Glad to meet you, pard. You had some nice moves out there. I played in high school and college, and you looked pretty good."

Frank Jr's small hand disappeared in Hardcastle's huge palm. He was beaming at the compliment, and being treated as if he were an adult. Hardcastle continued. "You have a good grip there too. I'll bet you play baseball too, right? Ha. Thought so. What do you do to celebrate after a good practice?"

"Ice cream?!" It was half exclamation and half request. The boy looked hopefully at his mother.

"That sounds pretty good. If it's all right with you and your Mom, I'd like to join you."

"That would be very nice. Thank you, Milt."

It was indeed very nice. Milt clearly had a way with boys, understood them and knew how to talk to them. Frank Jr took to him immediately, and nearly burst with pride and enthusiasm at how he was treated.

"Can you see me again, Judge Milt? Can you show me that hook shot?"

"The Judge is very busy, Frank. He'll only be in town for another few days."

"Sure, I'll come by and offer some advice, if it's okay with your Mom. I have extra time during the conference."

"That would be wonderful, Milt."

The next lunch with Fay again went very well. She invited him to dinner, and the three of them had a fine time then, too. Frank Jr was on his best behavior, and even helped her with some chores to prepare for their dinner guest, and clean up afterward.

"You certainly are good with young boys. He listens to you with no argument."

"Yeah, it's the bigger ones who can be a handful."

"I was wondering. Frank Jr has a sleepover tomorrow night. Would you like to have dinner here again, just the two of us?"

"Yes, I would." He had not lived completely like a monk after his wife died. There had been women, but it had been a while.

They did not elaborate on the implication. The hint was understood, and would be asked directly the next night.

They found each other easy to talk to, and there was a strong mutual attraction. Fay was pleasantly surprised when Milt offered to help her in the kitchen, and brought a very nice bottle of wine. They sat together after the dinner on the sofa, and Fay settled easily against the strong arm reaching around over the back of the sofa.

"This is nice."

"Yeah, it is." He looked into her eyes very seriously, and stroked her hair. His eyes shifted down, and they moved closer to share a kiss.

The kiss was good, too.

"Milt?"

"Hm?"

"Would you like to stay over?"

"Are you sure? I mean, I'll be leaving for California in a few days. I don't know that there's a future after I leave, but yeah, I'd like to stay the night. If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

When Hardcastle returned to his room, the light on the phone was blinking, signaling he had messages. Before he could check, it rang again and he answered.

The voice on the other end was louder and more agitated than usual. "Where have you been? Do you know what time it is? I have been calling and calling. I was about to start calling hospitals and the local police-"

"I know what time it is, McCormick. What's the problem?" He had been calling home faithfully every night until the last one.

"Where have you been?! Is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine, McCormick. I was out. I don't have to account to you how I spend every minute of my day."

"Out? All night? Where? Oh. Ohhhh. You mean, you got lucky? Tell me about it! Who is she?"

"I don't share that sort of information. It's none of your business."

"Oh yeah? Since when? What happened to the modern guy who wanted all the details about me and Kiki?"

"As I recall, sport, you didn't share any details with me either. You lied through your teeth until she came sashaying out in your shirt."

"Okay. Point taken. We're both gentlemen. I'm happy for you, if you had a good time. Did you have a good time? And did you, well, I know you're the kind of guy who would step up and do the right thing if something unexpected came out of this, but that doesn't mean we should increase the odds of finding a little bundle on the doorstep in nine months, wrapped in black robes and sucking on a gavel."

"Shut up, McCormick."

"So it went that well? I really am happy for you, Judge."

The conference had evening gatherings every night, and with the largest event scheduled for the last night. Fay was pleased to arrive on the arm of the eminent Judge Milton C. Hardcastle. Several curious looks were directed her way. It was apparently a surprise for Hardcastle to be accompanied by someone, and she was treated with considerable yet speculative deference. A part of her felt enormous satisfaction when she saw the expressions on the face of her ex and his girlfriend.

"Milt helped me in the parking over a disagreement over a parking space. We've spent some time together over the last few days." See, Frank, I have a trophy date too. Furillo looked surprised but a bit miffed. Joyce's reaction was even more gratifying. She almost dropped her jaw at the sight of them together and looked deeply impressed. Fay was introduced to some of the most distinguished attorneys and judges in the country, and she enjoyed receiving the great respect as Hardcastle's date.

The next day, they were saying their goodbyes. "I had a wonderful time. I wish you weren't permanently in California."

"Well, I have commitments there, and it's home. I don't want it to end here either. Listen, if you wanted to come visit, I'd love to have you there. Frank Jr, too, of course. Anytime you say. It will be my treat. Maybe you'd want to even stay out there. And, to show I mean it, I want you to have these."

"These" were two round trip tickets to California. They were open ended.

"I'd love it. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too. Listen, the commercials say long distance is the next best to being there. I'd like to call you."

She had no doubt that he meant what he said. This man was no liar, nor accustomed to making insincere promises to a woman.

"I will look forward to it."

Their embrace was loving and tender, with an undercurrent of lingering passion. Both hoped that this would not be the last time they saw each other.

McCormick was waiting at the airport to pick him up. Hardcastle refused to catch the expectant looks thrown his way. Finally, he grew tired of the nudging for at least some details which would still befit a gentleman and decided to set the kid straight.

"Look, I had a good time with a nice lady, a divorcee from a cop, and her son. If she wants to come visit, that will be nice too. We were honest about expectations, and behaved as consenting adults."

"Let's see. Hm. Be honest about expectations and act like consenting adults. That's great advice. Where have I heard that before?"

"What are you chortling about, McCormick?"

"I'm not chortling, I'm snickering."

"Don't argue with me, McCormick! That was definitely chortling."

"I was snickering."

"I know a chortle when I hear it! That was a chortle!"

"All right, have it your way. Hold up, I need to stop by the vending machine and get a Chortles bar."

HHHHHHHHHH

The parting was not permanent, nor even lengthy. Hardcastle found time to call Fay several times each work, or schedule a time for her to call him, juggling it with his planning for upcoming cases, and taking pains to hide the continuing dialogues from McCormick. The Judge would call Fay in the morning, when she was already up after getting her son off to school, but before McCormick was out of bed. The Judge would call later in the evening as well, when McCormick was out on a date or some night school class. Despite his attempts to maintain some privacy, Hardcastle had the annoying feeling that McCormick, given his smirks, knew exactly what was going on.

MMMMMMMMMMMMM

"Joyce has another conference coming up, in California." Furillo was laying the groundwork for his request.

"She seems to have a lot of those. It must be nice, on taxpayers' funds." Fay still was envious at what she assumed to be greener grass on her ex's side of the fence.

"I plan on going along too, and seeing that there are some long weekends without school coming up, I'd like for us to take Frank Jr to Disneyland. Would you be all right with that?"

The reaction was swift and vehement. "Disneyland! That's wonderful, Frank, that you would get to take our son on a milestone trip. Why do I have to be the heavy, instead of being the one who does all these wonderful things? Maybe I'd like to see Frank Jr experience Disneyland too!"

"Is that an answer? Are you saying no?"

She was about to indignantly confirm it, when the idea came into her head. "I'll get back to you later today." She would have the answer after the next call.

"Milt? It's Fay. Is the offer still open to come to California and visit?"

Fay's next call was a triumphant answer to Furillo. "You and Joyce can take Frank Jr to California. I'm going too."

"Can you afford that?"

"Not to worry, Frank. I'll be Milt Hardcastle's guest. I'll go out ahead, and stay with Milt, and we'll meet a couple of days after that. Frank Jr. will stay with me at Milt's for a couple of days."

Furillo felt a twinge of envy, and something else. "I don't think that's a good idea, for either of you. I heard from Winslow Gault, who is a friend of Joyce's, and knows Hardcastle, that he has a repeat felon on parole living with him who is apparently still untrustworthy and manipulative. I got the feeling that this guy can hoodwink Hardcastle. I don't want Frank Jr around someone like that." Furillo did not want to antagonize Fay into automatic disagreement with him. He played it carefully. "I know, as good a mother as you are, that you want to take care about who Frank Jr is exposed to."

She had not expected this, and it gave her pause. "I'll call Milt again." She would be tactful, but firm. Frank Jr. thrived with Milt, but she could not have her son in bad company. She called Milt immediately.

"Milt, I heard something from Frank that I wanted to ask you about. I trust your judgement, but Frank says that there is someone else living with you who's been in trouble. I'm not comfortable with someone I don't know being down the hallway from me and Frank Jr."

How refreshing it was to hear from a woman with modesty, worried about staying with him alongside strangers. "You mean McCormick, who helps me with my work? He doesn't actually live under the same roof as me. No, no-he has his own place."

Fay felt reassured. Obviously, Frank's information was wrong. It shouldn't be difficult to keep the con away from herself and Frank Jr. Milt was still speaking. "I want you to have the chance to meet my friend-friends. I think you'll get along fine."

She called her ex back to relay the news. "You have wrong information. The ex-con doesn't live with Milt. He just works for him. It shouldn't be difficult to keep distance from him and have a safe environment." Now comfortable with the situation, Furillo and Fay agreed on dates and logistics.

Hardcastle ended the call with satisfaction. He was eager to have Fay visit. He had met her kid. It was time for her to meet his kiddo.

Despite his pleasure at Fay's visit, Hardcastle soon found himself a bit uncomfortable. He had been with women since his wife's death, but none had ever stayed at his house. This was partly due to some discomfort on his part; the need for neutral ground like at a weekend getaway, ( or if not neutral, at the woman's place), and Sarah's potentially testy reaction to someone new in the family home. But Sarah was gone now, replaced part time by Millie, and Hardcastle was eased by the fact the room he slept in now was not the room he had shared with his wife.

Milt and Nancy had occupied the master suite located on the end of the house, with a second-floor balcony overlooking the ocean. Nancy, knowing that she was dying but still looking out for the man who would be left behind, foresaw his future difficulty in remaining in the room they shared, and hoped that, in time, he would not be alone. She looked around the massive suite, with its sitting area, his-and her closets, and huge bathroom and remarked, "We really don't need all of this space. It would make a wonderful second-floor living area. You'll see to it, won't you, Milt?" Both pretended that the inevitable wouldn't happen.

Dee Dee and Sarah saw to the re-design, consulting with Nancy while she was still lucid. She insisted that the re-modeling proceed, after she entered the hospital for the last time. She would not pass in the house, and have Milt be reminded of that. Hardcastle moved into one of the guest room, just over the main entrance, with the gabled window looking over the courtyard. It suited him, with its heavy, dark, masculine furniture, and being at the top of the landing meant he wouldn't have to pass by the other rooms when he retired for the evening. He didn't have to see his old room, now significantly different in appearance-lovely, in fact, but quite different and used only occasionally, nor look toward his son's old room. He would be comfortable with Fay staying with him in this room.

Of course, it might be that Fay would be uncomfortable there. He would have a guest room prepared, if she wanted a more neutral space, rather than his own. Another room would be for Frank Jr.

Hardcastle needed one more question answered about the visit. He stared at Nancy's picture, and softly asked "Are you okay with this?" He imagined a somewhat irritated response that of course he should enjoy someone's company, and get moving on it already. That was his Nancy.

MMMMMMMMMMMMM

"Whadda ya mean, you won't be here? I wanted her to visit so she could meet you, ya know."

"Juuudge, think about it. She's coming here to stay with you. It's all very new. You two should have some privacy at first, so she can get comfortable, before I enter the picture. Besides, Barbara has some new potential investors lined up who want to see the Coyote, so I'm just going to Sears Point to do some demo driving. Then, I thought I'd stop by and see Sam and Teresa Lynn, help out a bit at their place, work on some songs, and then I'll be back. I'll be back in time to meet Fay, and then there's the auto expo at Riverside. Her kid would probably like that, and I could get you some VIP passes."

It was fortunate, thought Hardcastle as he drove to the airport, that he had the new car to chauffer Fay and her son around town. When Millie had called and asked to come back part time, it belatedly dawned on the Judge that she would need adequate transportation if she were to take over some of the shopping. There wasn't a single 4-door vehicle on the property, nor even a comfortable two-door. The pickup was too high, the Corvette too low, and the Coyote was out of the question. The new car to be acquired generated considerable discussion, all of it animated. McCormick wanted something high performance, like a Mercedes, which could also be used in a con if they had to assume another identity during a case. Hardcastle had balked at some of the price tags of prospective McCormick dream machines. So the Judge replaced the Cadillac lost during his excursion to Watersong, and selected a four-door model which would be comfortable for Millie and allow her to easily unload packages. McCormick insisted that he put the car through its paces with an enthusiasm and intensity that Hardcastle couldn't quire share. To McCormick, an automobile was more than a mere form of transportation. It was a mechanical marvel of endless fascination to be explored, finessed, partnered, and mastered in driving it to the limits of its design and beyond. The Cadillac was no exception. Mark took the sedate luxury car to the track, and seduced her into screeching tires and careening through the chicanes with the abandon of a demure dowager shedding inhibitions and corset to take a young lover. Satisfied with the Caddy's performance and his own, McCormick solemnly informed a bewildered Hardcastle that the car needed a cigarette.

Fay enjoyed the drive from the airport, once they left the worst of the traffic behind. She was grateful for the first-class, nonstop flight and the chance to stretch her legs when she and Hardcastle collected her luggage. This was a rare chance of freedom and adventure, being away from home, and her son looked for a few days after by his capable father.

"The views are beautiful." She admired the ocean as they drove on the Pacific Coast Highway. She wondered if Hardcastle's home had any views. She had the impression from their conversations that he was fairly close to the beach.

"Oh, yeah, all along the PCH, up the coast. We can take a drive up farther north, if you like."

"Let's play it by ear for now. You can tell me about what you have in mind, and I have some ideas after talking with friends. I'm not up for a lot today, though, after the flight, unless it's close by. How much farther to your place?"

"Only a few minutes more. Next stop, Gulls-Way."

"Is that the name of your community?"

"No, that's the name of the house."

The name of the house? His house had a name? She was trying to digest this when Milt turned onto a dirt driveway., flanked by some dried grass. Ahead of them was a brick and iron railed fence, and a huge iron gate. There was the name on it: Gulls-Way. Hardcastle waved a remote device at a security device, and the gate opened automatically. The drive was paved now, surrounded by stone and extensive green shrubs and trees.

"Milt, Oh my god, I never imagined this!"

There was a small brick house to the left next to a huge circular driveway, with a fountain-a fountain!- in the middle. Extensive lawns were dotted with Grecian-style statues.

Then there was the house. She didn't know if it qualified as a mansion, but it wasn't far off, made mostly of red brick and surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges.

Hardcastle took her surprise in stride. "Yeah, it's nice. It belonged to my wife's family, then it came to her, and to me."

"And you live here all alone in this house?"

"No, not exactly. There's the housekeeper, Millie Denton, who stays over a couple of days during the week. She's off right now, be back the day after tomorrow. And McCormick-Mark McCormick, who helps with my cases and taking care of the place, lives in the gate house. He's away for a few days too. Let's get your bags inside."

"Isn't he the felon on parole? I thought you said he didn't live here?!"

Hardcastle was busying himself with the bags and didn't notice her concern. "No, I said he doesn't live under the same roof, meaning in the main house. He lives in the gate house."

"Milt," Fay began anxiously, "I'm sure you must understand, with Frank Jr here-well, it's important that kids not be exposed to bad influences."

"Oh, I'm sure there's nothing Frank Jr. could say or do which would shock McCormick."

She didn't think that was particularly funny. She did not yet know Hardcastle well enough to understand that he wasn't joking.

"I'm sure you'll like McCormick. Lots of women do." Ha. That was an understatement. Mature women always seemed to want to mother him-when they weren't flirting with him-and the kid ate up both treatments.

Fay was too distracted to catch Hardcastle's words. Hardcastle was still too distracted by carrying the luggage to notice Fay's continued concern.

"You did say he wasn't here?"

"Yep. Be back in a few days."

That would give her time to ensure that there would be limited interaction, and none with Frank Jr. She was sure that she, Furillo, and Milt could come to an understanding.

They were in the entry foyer. "Well, this is it. Would you like to go to your room first?"

"I'd like to see the house, if that's all right."

"Sure! Let's go. Here to the right is my study."

The first object she noticed was a gun cabinet. "Oh Milt, the guns, with Frank Jr here-"

"Not to worry. They're securely locked. And, I'll secure the handguns too."

"He knows not to touch them, from his father, but I'd like to be sure."

"Of course, I understand."

They proceeded farther into the study. It was a very masculine room, with wood paneling, wood floors, deep, leather furniture and a large desk. There was something of a western motif. She noticed a bronze sculpture-who was it that did those-Remington? There was a large painting of a western scene, and she noticed the signature. Russell. She knew that name. The painting looked original. "I spend a lot of time here. Well, let's move on."

On the other side of the entry there was a railing overlooking a step-down living room. This was painted off white, and there were French doors leading outside. The furniture looked elegant, and there was a painting of flowers prominently displayed. Fay leaned in for a closer look.

"It's a Picasso! An original Picasso!"

"Oh, yeah. That one's not bad. He did that when he painted things that looked like things, not like somebody carved up and dismembered into triangles, or shards of glass."

Hardcastle's indifference towards cubism did not lessen Fay's attitude. She was deeply impressed. The room was full of what looked like very valuable antiques.

"Over here, this is the formal dining room." Nancy's parent liked to entertain and had an enormous table in the center. Hardcastle had never used the room much, but it was useful for setting up a buffet when he did host a party, like his favorite Halloween bashes. The room also generated a testy exchange with McCormick. "Judge, the carpet is pink! Why do you have a pink carpet?" "It's salmon, not pink." "Oh, you mean it's a manly pink." That was how Hardcastle dealt with the color, which most people would indeed call pink.

There was another large painting on display. "I think I've seen this before."

"Probably not this one. It's a Renoir, a companion piece to another painting. This one is "Everyone gets off the boat after the luncheon" or some damn such thing."

Then there was a library, back to the heavy wood shelves and masculine air, and a small room in wood and stone. "This is the family dining room." There was certainly not room for a crowd, but despite the now familiar masculine air, there was a homey and intimate feel to it.

"This is the game room." His son had another name for it. He called it the Dead Animal Room. Mounted on the walls were an array of big game heads, and trophy fish. There was a wet bar, a card table, and pool table, as well as some more heavy leather chairs. Hardcastle used to hold his poker games in the room, until after a particularly bad losing night Mattie Groves declared that the moose over her shoulder was reading her cards and telegraphing her hand. She refused to play there again, and the game was moved to Hardcastle's study. A cabinet with a collection of fishing rods was against one wall, and near it a desk and tools that Hardcastle used to tie his flies. The pool table did get some use. Unlike the one-on-one basketball games, which were often decided by a single basket or two, pool games were notably one-sided. McCormick had clearly misspent much of his misspent youth in pool halls, and he routinely mopped the floor with Hardcastle at pool.

Fay could envision in an earlier era women being sent to another room while the men remained with their cigars and brandy. This room had an old-fashioned air to it. She glanced at one of the photographs in surprise. "Isn't that Teddy Roosevelt?"

"Yeah, that's him. The kid he's posing with was my father-in-law. Roosevelt stayed here for a bit when he came west in '03. He traveled with my wife's grandfather, and her father tagged along."

"Your wife's family has been lived here that long?"

"Well, they've had the property since before the turn of the century. They made their money in shipping, and were based in San Francisco. This was a vacation property. Of course, the house has been rebuilt and expanded since then, and the gate house added. The business was sold eventually, and my wife and her sister were mostly raised here."

"I'm surprised that isn't more nautical art here, if they made their money in shipping."

"There is some, but it's in the gate house." He hesitated at the thought of showing her the gate house. This had not so much to do with respecting McCormick's privacy-it was Hardcastle's house, after all, but doubt about what he would find in there. The last time Hardcastle had entered, he witnessed mass casualties of clothing scattered throughout from a failed assault to secure a position in the laundry hamper.

"Don't you worry about it, having valuable items in there with the-, er, less security? Has there been any trouble?"

"Oh, there has been. Not lately, and it won't happen again, that's for sure." Hardcastle was frowning. Fay was relieved. Despite what her ex had heard, clearly Milt wasn't manipulated by the ex-con, and kept him firmly in line.

"I can't say I'm a big fan of hunting." Fay looked around again at the mounted heads.

"Well, there's a lot to be said for it. When we were dirt poor, we hunted for some of our food. Most conservation laws were enacted because of sportsmen who wanted to be sure that there would be enough animals for sustained hunting and fishing."

They were at the back of the house at the opposite end from the study. "This is the kitchen."

Fay found it to be a cook's dream. It was spacious and airy, with plenty of counter space, and a large island with red tile for preparation. A small table and chairs were there for breakfast dining.

"That's about it, for the first floor. There's the housekeeper's suite, the basement, and a wine cellar."

He carried her luggage upstairs. "I wasn't sure where you'd be most comfortable, especially when Frank Jr. joins us." He paused. "This is my room." Then, to be sure she understood she wouldn't be in his late wife's space, he added "it used to be a guest room. I didn't need all the space." After my wife died was the unspoken phrase.

Fay saw that this was another room with masculine touches, and heavy dark furniture. She was becoming accustomed to the valuable items, and hadn't even remarked on the Monet painting with water lilies at the top of the landing by Hardcastle's room, or the Van Gogh.

"I thought you might also like this room." It was the largest bedroom after the master suite, and had been occupied by Dee Dee and Nancy at one time. There were two large beds, and it was light and airy, with lace trimmings and bright yellow colors. Aunt May and Aunt Zora had stayed here.

"This is lovely." She liked again the sense of it being more neutral territory. "Room for two." They both smiled.

The rear of the estate was equally impressive. Fay admired the well-kept gardens and rows of rose bushes, and what looked like a bountiful vegetable garden. There was a small rose bush, dwarfed by the other bushes, which stood alone in a triangle of grass. "That's nice, too. I like that shade of pink. Could we have some flowers when we dine inside?"

"Sure. Ah, but not from that one." The small rose bush wasn't his. It had been a gift to McCormick from Kiki Cutter before she'd left, and the kid was very attentive to its care. "It's, er, not ready."

They moved on the pool, surrounded by more stone and brick. There was the view of the ocean.

"Milt, it's magnificent. So beautiful that I worry-"

"What is there to worry about?"

"Well, I can't help being affected by it all, and I don't want to be. I really care about you, Milt, and I don't want to be influenced by these material things."

Hardcastle grinned and stroked her cheek. "Definitely not worth worrying over. The fact that you are bothered, means that it won't matter in the end. Just enjoy it."

The rest of the day went smoothly. They took a walk on the beach, and went to one of Malibu's fine restaurants for dinner. They paused at the top of the stairs and look at each other.

"What would you like to do?" asked Hardcastle quietly. He was holding her hand.

"I think I'd like to sleep here." Fay indicated her room, and led Hardcastle in with her.

The next day they went sailing. Hardcastle borrowed Charlie Friedman's boat, much smaller than the yacht Hardcastle once bought, but still having small but comfortable living quarters. Hardcastle enjoyed it enough that he wondered about buying a small sailboat for himself, and hoping he could lure McCormick into giving sailing another try.

The Judge made plans for the following night to introduce Fay to his friends. Millie and McCormick would be back by then, and Hardcastle ticked off the names of invitees. There would be Frank and Claudia, of course-Fay would certainly have much in common with another policeman's wife. Mattie and her husband, Mike Delaney and his wife, Charlie Friedman and his wife, plus a few other attorney and cop friends would all be in attendance.

Millie Denton serenely went about making plans for the food for the party. She was continually grateful that she had made the decision to return to California and work at Gulls-Way on a part-time basis. She had not shaken her feelings for the place and its inhabitants when she was in San Antonio. The Judge's parting words to her had become an epiphany. "Listen," he said quietly. "I know this ability you have has caused you a lot of grief. I feel a bit guilty that I'm grateful for it, because I don't know if we would have found him in time without it." The words kept coming back to her, along with the notion that this curse had actually done some good. She returned then, to be at the place where there was no need to be secretive, and when some comment she made was listened to and considered. The occupants meant a great deal to her. In addition to the glimpses of the future, she was attuned to emotions past and present, and she had quickly recognized the undercurrents at Gulls-Way. Despite Mark's original formal request for her to meet his employer, Judge Hardcastle, Millie quickly recognized she had entered an unorthodox, but loving household.

Millie was working on the pies-pecan for the Judge, overstuffed apple for Mark.

"I hope the preparation for the party isn't too much. I can certainly help." Fay was not accustomed to working with servants.

"Thank you, but it's not necessary. It is a bit more work, since I usually just cook for the family." She would leave some prepared meals for the days when she wasn't at the house, so the Judge and Mark only cooked for themselves several days during the week.

"How long have you worked here?"

"A couple of months, though I had a break from when I first started."

The answer was puzzling to Fay. She assumed that Millie was a long-term retainer if she usually cooked for Hardcastle's family.

Millie smiled to herself, recognizing Fay's confusion. The Judge's guest had a good deal more to learn about life at Gulls-Way.

Hardcastle was on the phone with McCormick. "You won't be here? How come?"

"I will be there, but I don't expect to make the party. I'll be home tomorrow at the latest. It's taking longer to fine tune the Coyote, and ah, there's going to be a race at the auto expo, so it needs to be in best shape possible. It came up at the last minute, honest." He hadn't meant to evade Hardcastle, the race really was arranged while he was at Sears Point.

The mumbling in response failed to disguise the concern. Mark knew that the Judge didn't really enjoy watching him race, though Hardcastle was always glad when Mark enjoyed himself or had some success. "Well, I'll have to come out then. Fay's boy will here by then. I imagine he'd like to see everything."

HHHHHHHHHHHH

It was a wonderful party. Fay thoroughly enjoyed the welcoming from Milt's friends. If she was treated with dignified respect while on Milt's arm at the conference, at his home she was almost enthusiastically welcomed by his friends.

"Where's your other half, Milt?" asked Mike Delaney. "I haven't seen him."

Frank Harper answered for Hardcastle. "You mean you haven't heard him. That's how you tell if McCormick's around or not."

"Ha," grunted Delaney. "Got that right."

Fay was responding to a question from Mattie Groves. "My son will be joining us in a day or so. I certainly hope that felon who works for Milt won't be here. You know, you can't be too careful about someone like that." She turned to in response to a question from another guest, leaving Mattie staring incredulously.

Claudia joined Mattie. "Fay seems like a nice sort. She and Milt look like they fit pretty well."

Mattie looked back warily. "She doesn't like Mark."

"What? How can she not like Mark? What is she, crazy?"

"What do you suppose will happen, when Milt realizes this?"

"I know who'll be the one sticking around, that's for sure."

They looked at each other in perfect conspiratorial harmony, then at Fay.

"Hussy."

"Bitch."

Fay was now talking with Frank Harper. "I'm very honored to be spending this time with Milt. He's a remarkable man. My son adores him, and he's a great influence. I was just telling Mattie, though, that I'm a bit relieved that the felon who works for him hasn't been here."

Frank had been chewing a roll. Now he chewed more carefully to move the bulge of bread from his cheek before he answered. "You, uh, you haven't met McCormick yet?"

"No, and I'm not eager to. I'm concerned about being around a smooth, or rude talking felon."

"He's got a mouth on him, all right." Frank saw a rough patch ahead.

"Excuse us, Fay. I need to borrow Frank for a bit." Harper found himself being dragged off toward the kitchen.

"Milt, what's going on? How come she hasn't met McCormick?"

Hardcastle looked furtively around Frank and beckoned him closer.

"Jeez, what is this, junior high? Cute girl smile at you in the hallway?"

"Frank, I think he's ducking her."

"Now why would he do that?"

"I don't know! He was out of town for some driving, and he was supposed to be back for the party. More fine tuning of the car, he says." He looked hopefully at Frank, waiting for some insights.

"I don't know. Maybe he's worried about what would happen if things are serious between you and Fay. Things would change, though I always thought that Mark would be the one to find someone."

Hardcastle looked puzzled. "What do you mean, things would change?"

"Milt, come on! You two have been joined at the hip for over two years. You have a great friendship. But you'll be spending less time together if either one, or both of you, has a serious relationship." This was the likely scenario, unless the women in question became part of the crime fighting team. Frank had an eerie dread of the dynamic duo expanding into the three or four musketeers.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hardcastle did not immediately join Fay when she retired for the night. This time they would be in his room. She wanted to test herself to see if she would be comfortable, and he had mumbled about needing to stay up and do some work. It was well past midnight when he finally came to bed.

Hardcastle had nearly finished undressing when he turned sharply toward the open window. Fay could hear the sound of an engine rumbling and coming to a stop near the window. Hardcastle was now putting on his robe. "About time he got back," he muttered. "I'd better go see what trouble he got himself into."

Fay was apprehensive again. The felon clearly had problems. Her apprehension did not lessen when she heard Milt's voice downstairs.

"McCormick! Where the hell have you been?"

Fay, Mark, and Millie listened to those same words, but each understood something different.

Fay heard "Where the hell have you been?"

Millie heard "You're late and I was worried about you."

Mark heard "You're late, so I'm yelling to pretend I wasn't worried. I've missed you and I expect you to play the game and yell back, so we're back to normal."

The men must have been walking away from the house, because the words were inaudible. Milt's voice rose in volume, and was matched sharply in turn by another voice. Fay hoped Milt wouldn't be threatened. She needn't have worried. If she had followed them, she would have seen the men enter the kitchen, where the Judge poured a glass of milk for the felon.

"So it's going all right?" Mark shook the stiffness out of his legs before sitting down.

"Oh yeah, it's fine. Fay seemed to like my friends, and they liked her from what I could tell." He rummaged through the refrigerator. "Mille made some chicken salad from the leftovers. That okay? Y'know, Fay eats an awful lot of chicken. That and the trout we caught. We've almost run out. I don't know what the big deal is, why she won't join me in having a hamburger. Matter of fact, she doesn't eat much at all."

"Juuudge, she's probably trying to watch her weight. We probably shouldn't complain about what women do to keep their figures, since we enjoy the end result."

"Eh, I suppose so. We used up a lot of hamburger at the cookout though."

"Not to worry, Sam sent back some steaks and burgers from his own cattle at the ranch."

"Great! Now I'll be cookin' again." He set the chicken sandwich down, with the last piece of apple pie, and pretended not to watch that McCormick ate everything in front of him.

MMMMMMMM

"Is everything all right, Milt?" asked Fay. He has been gone a while.

"Yeah, I sorted him out. He'll be off again tomorrow. He's got another job to do over at Riverside." Fay was relieved again that the felon would hopefully be absent when Frank Jr. came to stay with her.

Fay and Milt were off again the next morning on the latest outing before McCormick was up and about. Hardcastle had looked thoughtfully at the gate house, tempted to roust the kid with a long overdue game of on-on-one, but decided against it. He had plainly been tired last night, fatigue given away by the increasing hoarseness in his voice. If he would be doing high speed driving and racing, he would need his rest, and the Judge let him sleep in.

"So what's she like?" asked Mark eagerly when he was finally up. "What do you think of her?"

"She seems nice," answered Millie. "Of course, it's early yet, but they've been happy."

"She's not a gold digger or anything, is she? I mean, he's a great guy, and he's loaded."

"I don't have that sense. I think she really cares for him, but she's a bit overwhelmed. I mean, this place-" Millie paused and gestured around-"you have to admit, is very impressive."

"I just want him to be happy. I wonder though, what would happen if she does become a permanent part of his life." Guilt spread across Mark's face. "I'm being a selfish jerk, thinking of my own place, instead of what's best for him."

The pictures came to her then, clips of a likely future. Millie saw Mark in the gate house, pouring over a stack of books. There were the two men, side by side at an altar. The Judge, blinking very hard, at Mark in a cap and gown. The Judge dozing in his favorite leather chair, cradling a small child in his arms. In between these pictures were scenes of Mark racing a series of different cars. "I wouldn't worry about it, Mark. I see good times ahead for you and the Judge."

"You've seen something? I mean, 'seen it,' like the future? What happens?"

Millie smiled enigmatically.

"Millieeeee."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

"I'm sorry I have to drop you off like this, but I do need to help wrap up this case I worked on." Hardcastle and Fay returned to Gulls-Way early in the afternoon. The Judge was pleased to see that a large swath of lawn was freshly mowed, and the front bushes were trimmed. He saw his truck, with the trailer bearing the Coyote tucked close to the garage. Good. McCormick was still here. He and Fay could meet at last. "I'll gather up my stuff and be back later."

"That's no problem, Milt. I'll enjoy a swim, and sit by the pool."

Fay changed into her suit and robe and headed to the kitchen for some refreshments to take out by the pool. She walked into the kitchen to hear a conversation.

"There's some lemonade in the refrigerator, Mark."

"Water's fine, thanks, Millie."

So this was the felon. Fay saw him from behind, standing before the sink, rubbing a glass of water across the back of his neck. He wore cutoff shorts and a t shirt with sleeves also cut off. Though he was tall and thin, there was some definition in the muscles of his arms. At the sound of Millie discretely clearing her throat, he turned and saw Fay.

He smiled and held out his hand. The smile was charming and nearly overshadowed by prominent dimples. He had a crown of curly golden brown hair. California, where even the felons looked like they stepped out of a toothpaste ad.

"You must be Fay. I'm Mark McCormick."

Fay automatically extended her hand, then remembered who she was meeting. She dropped her hand. "McCormick," she said coolly, repeating the name Milt used in referring to the con. "It's Ms. Furillo."

The smile faded and McCormick too lowered his hand. His friendly expression morphed into a neutral look bordering on cool, and he watched her steadily and silently, waiting for her next move.

"Well," Fay began briskly, "I hope it's understood that my son will be here soon. I don't want there to be any contact."

There was a slight flicker of an eyebrow, and Fay imagined the words, Oh, really? from the con. She finished with "I'll be by the pool, Millie, if the Judge is looking for me."

Millie merely nodded. She had kept her head slightly averted during the exchange, but now looked at McCormick. Fay moved around the island to the refrigerator to grab a glass of lemonade. McCormick turned his body around to watch her, and sipped his water. Fay moved outside to the pool, thinking she had handled the situation, but wondering if she was now a target fleeing from some daggers.

"I'd better change," said Mark shortly. He set the glass down and left the kitchen without looking at Millie. He strode quickly toward the gate house, his thoughts moving even faster and close to sounding an internal alarm. There it was again, that look, that judgment which he could never escape, for being a felon. Worse, it was someone Hardcastle was interested in. What happens to me? Would she convince Hardcastle to send him away? He slowed his breathing, to try to calm down, and think rationally. Millie, he would ask Millie if she saw anything, if she was sure he and Hardcastle would still be a part of each other's lives. He straightened up and started to leave the gate house for the kitchen, when he caught himself. No, if he needed Millie now to confirm the relationship he had with the Judge, after all this time, and all those experiences, then the relationship meant little, and that would never be true. Hadn't Hardcastle spent days by his bedside only a couple of months ago, watching over him and willing him to recover? Hadn't the Judge spent the time after the hospital discharge hovering over Mark in general? Faith kicked the insecurity demon in the ass and ordered it to get a grip. Mark would never cut the Hardcastle out of his life, and the Judge would never do the same to him.

Mark showered and changed, preparing to head to Riverside to prepare for the auto expo. Hardcastle spotted him and moved to intercept him. "Well, did you and Fay have a chance to get acquainted?" He seemed so cheery that Mark wondered what discussions Hardcastle and Fay had about him.

"Uh-only briefly, to introduce ourselves. Not much to say." He put his bag in the truck, and turned to Hardcastle. "Judge, just what did you tell her about me?"

"Oh, not much, that we were friends and you helped me with my cases. Why?" He was certain he had been clear about that with Fay.

"She knows I'm a con, though, right?"

"Right, but she never said much about it."

Not to you, anyway. Or maybe the signs didn't register. "Look, I'm sure we'll get to know each other better. Right now I have to head out to the track. You'll be there for the show?"

"Of course I will. And, would you get some VIP passes for us? Her son will be here by then."

Yes, that will go over well. "Sure, whatever you say." He managed a smile that would never have fooled Hardcastle, except that he must have thought Mark was distracted by the preparations for the expo and race.

"Be careful out there, kiddo. I'll see you later."

A plan of action was forming in Mark's head. He would not directly undermine Hardcastle's relationship with Fay. She would either get to know and like him, or she wouldn't. If not, Fay Furillo could cut her own throat. He would merely be ready to hand her the knife.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The next day, Fay's ex, their son, and Joyce Davenport arrived in Los Angeles. Fay had spoken to her son briefly, and she assumed that the day would be spent recovering from the flight. The following day, Furillo, Joyce, and Frank Jr. would come to Gulls-Way and the next activities would be planned.

"I wasn't expecting something like this," remarked Furillo as he drove through the Gulls-Way gate. "I'm in the wrong line of work." His words had followed Frank Jr.'s excited "Wow!" at the site of the huge lawn, basketball net, and fountain.

"From what Uncle Win said, this was Mrs. Hardcastle's property, and Milt inherited it after she died."

They pulled up to the front door. Fay and Hardcastle soon emerged to meet them. Fay embraced her son, and there were cordial greetings all round. Hardcastle sensed there was a need for private talks, and prepared to lure Frank Jr. away.

"Listen champ, how about you and I shoot some baskets, huh?"

"Sure!" They moved toward the gate house, where Hardcastle began explaining how to shoot for the regulation height hoop.

In the house, Fay, Furillo, and Joyce found themselves in Hardcastle's impressive den. Fay proceeded to hold court there as if it were her own. "Well, did you rest up from yesterday? Are we going to Disneyland tomorrow? I have to admit I'm excited about going there myself, just as much as I want to see Frank Jr.'s reaction."

Furillo had braced himself. "Actually, we weren't that tired yesterday. We've already been to Disneyland. Frank Jr. couldn't wait."

"What?! You already went? Didn't I make it clear that I wanted to see my son experience it for the first time?"

"Fay," said Furillo steadily, "there's plenty we didn't see. Frank Jr. wants to go back. We can take him again, and you can take him then-"

"No. I will not miss out on the next chance." Battle lines were drawn.

MMMMMMMMMM

"So," said Hardcastle, as he and Frank Jr. paused for a break."Do you know what you want to do?"

"I want to go to Disneyland again."

"Oh sure, but is there anything else? Listen, do you like cars?"

Frank Jr. perked up. "Oh, yeah!"

"Well, tomorrow there's an auto show in Riverside. All sorts of fancy cars, old and new race cars, that sort of thing. It happens that a friend of mine will be working there, and he can get us special passes for behind the scenes. What do you say? Would you like to go?"

"Yeah, that would be cool!"

Hardcastle clapped his hands. "Great! Now, do you like baseball?"

"Sure, but it's over now."

Hardcastle looked pleased and grinned. "Yeah, the season's over, but the California Stars are having a fan appreciation day and exhibition in a couple of days and I'm sure I can get tickets to meet the players."

"Wow! I want to go! Can you really do all that, Judge Milt?"

"Of course! I said so, didn't I?"

Fay, Furillo, and Joyce joined them. Negotiations had been concluded. "We're all set for Disneyland," said Fay. "We'll all go." She and her ex would grit their teeth if they had to, but they would present an amiable united front for their son. Per the negotiations, Furillo and Joyce would have Frank Jr. with them until tomorrow, when they all planned to go to Disneyland.

"I can't go with you," Hardcastle told Fay when they were alone that night. "I mean, McCormick's working over at the auto expo, and I kinda need to be there, make sure he stays out of trouble." The last few words slowed to a mumble. He wasn't ready to admit how much he worried over McCormick's racing. Fay unwittingly said she understood, when she had no idea of the whole truth.

The next morning, Hardcastle had already left when Furillo, Joyce, and Frank Jr. returned to Gulls-Way to pick up Fay. The three adults soon noticed that Frank Jr. seemed unusually quiet for someone who had been so enthusiastic about going back to Disneyland.

"What's the matter, son? You all right?" asked Furillo.

"Yeah, I guess so," the boy muttered in response. "Do we have to go to Disneyland?"

"I thought you wanted to go back!" exclaimed Fay. "Is something wrong?"

"Well no, but do we have to go today?"

"Why not today?"

"Judge Milt said he could get us special passes to the auto show in Riverside today. And then he said we could see the California Stars. Can't we do that, and still go to Disneyland later?" The boy's words were enthusiastic in describing what Milt could do, then wound down to the plea for delaying the trip to Disneyland. Furillo felt a twinge of competitive jealousy. He sighed, and glanced over at Joyce, then into the rear view mirror to catch Fay's eye. Reading the signals, he quietly sighed. "Okay. We'll head for Riverside."

The expo was not yet open to the general public. Milt enjoyed bypassing the crowds, courtesy of his VIP pass. As he walked through the aisles in the exhibitors' area, he received a number of nods and greetings from the automotive insiders. The recognition pleased him. It was not for the distinguished Judge Milton C. Hardcastle. He was acknowledged for being Mark McCormick's friend.

He paused when he saw McCormick. He was close to heading out to the track, wearing the flameproof suit, and no doubt, the accompanying fireproof underwear. Hardcastle indulged himself in a private scrutiny of his friend. The Judge noted again the difference in McCormick when he was about to race or do some serious driving. There was no sign of the familiar nervous energy, nor the wisecracking. The straight line of his mouth, and brief conversations with the team near him showed him to be composed and focused, the edges of his sharp tongue smoothed and polished. He looked every inch the highly competent professional.

"Looks good, doesn't he?" Barbara Johnson drew beside the Judge.

"Yeah, he does. Listen, is everything all right with this race?"

"Oh, it will be. It's four cars: the Can-Am car, a Daytona prototype, a modified Corvette from the Trans Am series, and the Coyote. On paper, the Coyote isn't the fastest. It's the Can-Am or the Daytona prototype. The Coyote will be neck and neck with the Corvette. But if Mark drives well, he can move the car up and make a good showing." She paused and sighed. "We need that, to promote the Coyote for production."

Hardcastle frowned slightly. The stakes were high for Barbara, and Flip Johnson's memory. The Judge already knew what Mark would do for them. He hoped the outcome would leave the kid in one piece. There was the sound of the Coyote starting up, and it pulled off down the lane. Hardcastle excused himself and walked back down the line toward the entrance.

Frank Jr. was fascinated. His head swiveled back and forth, pointing out the signs of the cars and celebrities to be featured to his father. The boy was already eyeing the souvenirs, and paused before a worker setting up a large poster advertising the expo. It had renderings of some of the cars, and head shots of the notables who would be in attendance. He looked hopefully at Furillo.

"How much is that?" Furillo asked the worker.

"I'm sorry, sir, these are only for the sponsors. We have a smaller poster for sale at the souvenir booth."

"We can get one of those," said Furillo, noticing his son's disappointment.

"No, it's not the same." The souvenir poster was much smaller, with less detail. The group moved on.

"Milt said he had arranged for some passes," said Fay. They were at the VIP entrance. She turned to the attendant. "Do you have some passes for Hardcastle?"

"There were three, but one's been picked up. There are two left."

"Oh," said Fay in dismay. They were a party of four. She was about to start cajoling when she spotted Milt heading their way.

"Hey! So you came after all. Looks like a good day."

"Milt, there seems to be a problem. There are four of us, and only two passes."

"Oh, that shouldn't be a problem. We need two more passes."

"I'm sorry sir, only the sponsors and exhibitors can arrange for passes."

That would have been Barbara Johnson, at McCormick's request. Hardcastle looked around, saw something, and spoke again to the attendant. "Any sponsor or exhibitor can ask for passes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, we'll be set then. No one will want to disappoint a kid. I'll be right back." He strode off toward the first booth being set up in the VIP aisle, waving his program to attract the attention of someone there.

"What's he doing? He's just going off to ask for passes?" Furillo was surprised at Hardcastle's nerve. He looked more closely at the person Hardcastle was approaching. "That's Kiki Cutter." Furillo recognized her from her ads and the numerous posters in the precinct's locker rooms showing Kiki sprawled provocatively across some very fast cars.

"She certainly made it big in a man's world." Joyce wasn't much interested in cars, but she appreciated a woman's success in a very macho field.

"Kiki! How are you there?"

"Judge, it's wonderful to see you again."

"So, I guess congratulations are in order, with another championship." Kiki had reluctantly resumed racing to maintain her marketability and finances after the scandal involving Sammy. Sammy's arrest had cleared the way for Kiki to score remaining points in the series, and she had recently clinched the Top Fuel championship.

"And I'm done." She looked relieved. "Time to lie on a beach, for a while anyway."

"Any plans after that?" McCormick had been unusually close mouthed about Kiki, not even mentioning her racing successes post-Sammy. Hardcastle had read about them in the sports section.

Kiki smiled. "I'm going to be doing some racing commentary on one of the cable channels. I'll also be doing some test drives and reviews based at Willow Springs for one of the car magazines. So, some traveling, but not as much. We'll see how it goes. Did you see Mark this morning?"

"Just a glance. Didn't want to distract him."

"He's been dreaming about this little race."

"You know, I didn't know it was so important, that he had been dreaming about it."

"Well, not that kind of dreaming. I meant it literally. His feet twitch when he sleeps. Braking, shifting, accelerating. I recognize the pattern. Definitely Riverside."

Well, that explained why the kid was in a hurry to leave Gulls-Way. He'd been shacking up with Kiki. The Judge remembered his mission, and changed the subject.

"They seem to have a lot to talk about," remarked Fay. "Oh, look." Hardcastle was waving his program toward them and the attendant. Kiki held up two fingers.

The attendant made some notes on his clipboard. "Okay, here are your passes."

They headed over to join Hardcastle and Kiki. Introductions were made, and Frank Jr. gaped at Kiki's dragster, prominently displayed in the booth. He looked wistfully at the large poster for the expo that was also there, which he had admired.

"I can't stay much longer," said Kiki. "I'm leading the parade of cars after the opening ceremonies. I'll be driving this year's Indy pace car. It should be a good show."

Hardcastle noticed Frank Jr. eyeing the poster. "Say, Kiki, are you keeping that?" Kiki also observed Frank Jr.'s interest. "I can always get another one. Would you like to have it?"

"Oh, yeah! Thanks, Judge Milt!"

"Better thank Miss Cutter there." Frank Jr. beamed. Even as a pre-adolescent, he was impressed by Kiki. She took the poster and signed her name with a flourish under her picture. "Here you go."

"Thanks!" The adults added their gratitude, Furillo with a touch of envy that someone else was able to gift his son with something he wanted so badly. They moved, and Furillo at least managed to be the one carrying the poster.

"You certainly have a way with people. I suppose at an expo, the celebrities are expected to be gracious to fans." Fay was continually impressed by Milt's polite but assertive manner.

"Oh, that? I figured she would do it. I know her from that business with her husband. I helped out with that case. She's-uh-sort of a friend of a friend. Well, let's keep moving!"

They worked their way down the aisle. There were more people than in Hardcastle's first pass, and he continually nodded and waved in response to nods and greetings. He pulled up shortly at one of the greetings. Frank Jr. swelled up with excitement at each face and name he recognized and kept looking at Hardcastle in awe. Frank Sr. swelled in annoyance.

Now Hardcastle paid special attention to one of the men greeting him. "Pat Sheldon, right? I hear you won that Trans-Am series. That's good."

"Well, it was easier than if I had to race Skid for it. I'll be driving the Corvette in the race with him today."

"Listen, we have this poster-"

"Sign it? Sure." Frank Jr. lit up again, and Furillo darkened.

They continued, and Hardcastle made a sudden turn to the side. "Oh, we should speak to this guy."

Frank Jr. gaped. "Dad, it's E.J. Corlette!"

E.J.'s booth was advertising his new track and driving school. He smiled warmly at Hardcastle, and nodded to the others in the group. Introductions were made again, and Frank Jr. was grinning ear to ear when E.J. shook his hand. His family was a little more reserved. E.J. had made great strides in rehabilitating his reputation, but to some his past required a little more to overcome. Nevertheless, a camera was produced, and E.J. posed with Frank Jr. for a picture.

"Judge," said E.J. as he signed the poster, "I wonder if I can borrow Skid for a bit, fine tune the track and test it out a bit, maybe help with some teaching?"

"Sure, I imagine he can fit in with his schedule."

They moved on. "Who is Skid?" asked Fay.

"Oh, that's my friend who helps me with things."

Frank Jr. was almost bouncing up and down. "Judge Milt, you know everybody!"

"Well, not everybody, but I've been around for a long time."

"Frank," said Furillo seriously, "I know you liked meeting E.J. Corlette, but he was in serious trouble. Just because people are famous doesn't mean they're good people, or always do what's right. He committed a crime."

Hardcastle frowned at this exchange. His mind was on McCormick, who had been so influential in helping E.J. turn his life around, and who had himself done so much good after such a troubled, difficult start in life. The Judge couldn't resist adding, "Of course, E.J.'s paying for it now, serving his probation, lost his license for a couple of years. He'll do some good at this new track of his." With McCormick's help, he told himself proudly. He did not notice Fay's nod of agreement with her ex-husband. He had locked eyes with Furillo, in an ancient prelude to asserting dominance and a course of action. A battle of words might have commenced, but Hardcastle was hailed again from another direction.

"Milt! Milt Hardcastle! How are you, big guy?" It was Chuck Foster, owner of the California Stars. Even dressed casually, he still looked like a fat cat billionaire with a young woman on his arm. Hardcastle and Furillo ended their stare down to see the newcomer. More introductions followed.

Foster followed up on his hail. "I see that the Coyote is being put through her paces today. I've been thinking of getting a custom one built for myself."

"Forget about an exact replica. You'd have to fold up like pretzel to get in that thing. So, Chuck, we were thinking about going to that fan appreciation day the Stars are having. Can we still get some tickets?"

"Don't bother with that, Milt. Come to my owner's box. Just call Betty and have her set it up with security."

Furillo would have been ready to escalate the earlier discussion with Hardcastle, but he paused due to Frank Jr.'s thrilled presence and this latest interruption. His sensitivity to his position as father and adult male influence on his son rose even further. Here was Hardcastle with yet another notable friend and access to even more sports figures guaranteed to turn a boy's head. And why did he always take charge of everything?

The group left to take their seats in the stands for the parade of cars, burying or more likely delaying further tense discussion. The spectacle temporarily stayed the percolating disagreements. They watched Kiki lead off in the pace car, followed by the cars of various vintages. There was on old race car once driven by Barney Oldfield, a Stutz Bearcat, and progressively more modern cars to the contemporary race cars. The Coyote was fourth last, engine growling in protest at the slow speeds of the train of other cars. After several laps, the slower cars pulled over and the racers unleashed more speed to fly down the track before pulling over. The cars were then scheduled to be presented individually and have some solo laps.

Hardcastle had again led the conversation, pointing out cars he remembered from his youth. Not to be outdone, Furillo interjected with his own recollections and favorites as they took their turn on the track. Joyce became increasingly bored and excused herself to visit some of the non-car related booths, designed to appeal to the high-dollar crowd attracted to high-dollar cars. Fay's mind was wandering. Hardcastle became increasingly quiet as Mark's turn for a solo approached.

"Next is the Johnson Coyote. Designed and built by Flip Johnson in 1983, this prototype race car is noted for its versatility and suitability for a wide range of racing classes. Its unique suspension offers exceptional durability for endurance racing and modifications for dirt tracks, as well as Can-Am and in production for Trans-Am series. With a mid-engine V-8.." there followed to Fay's ears a dizzying number of technical terms and numbers that apparently made the car something special.

"…can reach speeds in excess of 200 mph, the Coyote is one of the fastest cars here today. This stunning car is also street legal and is featured on the cover of the new Sam Jones-formerly known as Jesse Wingo-album 'Drive the Hard Road.' For your own custom Coyote, see Barbara Johnson at booth 33. The Johnson Coyote is driven today by Mark McCormick."

Hardcastle's attention left his companions and he focused on his friend. The car had been traveling relatively slowly during the narration, but now the kid opened her up and sent her roaring around the track. Hardcastle heard the engine hit the familiar, continuous high pitched scream that had led to the car's name, and knew there were stretches where it must have reached that 200 mph speed. He was relieved and proud at the showing, and McCormick's safe execution of the demo. Now there was that damn race.

"Wow." Frank Jr. was in awe."I think that car is my favorite. Imagine riding in that!"

"Well, that won't be possible. Those cars are driven by experts and they don't take passengers." Furillo exercised his authority.

"Oh, I don't know about that," remarked Hardcastle. "You never know, something could be arranged." They would be in for a nice surprise. His attention was back on the track now. The other cars McCormick would be racing would be on the track soon, and the race would follow.

"We have a special treat for the audience today," declared the announcer. "Our four fastest cars today will be lining up for a ten-lap race. Get ready to cheer for your favorites, and see who wins today!"

Hardcastle was oblivious to his companions now. McCormick was in the second row, on the high side closest to the grandstand. The organizers must have figured the Coyote to be the slowest car. When the flag dropped, McCormick got the jump on Pat Sheldon in the modified Corvette and edged into third place behind the Daytona prototype and the Can-Am car. They held that order for several laps until a section with some tight turns. The Daytona prototype missed the turn and slid into the dirt. McCormick went through smoothest and fastest of all, and moved into second place. He had the lower line, and floated the Can-Am car higher on the course to try to pass it. The effort failed, but Mark and the Coyote finished in second place a mere car's length behind the Can-Am racer.

"Are you all right, Milt?" Fay noticed how intense he was, and he had mangled his program in a tight grip. While her mind wandered during the end of the narration for the Coyote, she did not notice McCormick's name as the driver.

"Oh yeah, everything's okay now. Sometimes these things bother me, people just wanting to see a crash. Everybody ready to head out? Okay. Listen, I'll see everyone back at the house. I have to check on someone-something but I'll be back home to meet you."

Hardcastle excused himself to seek out the pit area. His VIP pass would only take him so far, but he expected McCormick or Barbara would let him in. As it turned out it was a glowing Barbara.

"It was fabulous. He was fabulous. This should get people interested in the Coyote. Mark will get some driving offers after this, for sure." She looked back at Hardcastle warily. "Is that all right?"

Hardcastle sighed. "If he wants to do it, I won't stand in the way. I hope he gives it serious thought though." The kid's parole was nearly up. He was bound to be thinking of his future.

They were walking into what served as a pit and preparation area for the display cars. McCormick was there, with the flameproof suit half unzipped. He looked tired but triumphant, and flashed that I-am-a-badass-driver-aren't-I grin in their direction. Barbara bolted away from Hardcastle and jumped into Mark's arms.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou! You were great, and you made the car look great."

Mark softened his grin into something more serious. "Flip made the car great." He shook hands with Hardcastle.

"Ready to head on home kiddo? There are some people for you to meet, ya know."

"I need to put the Coyote back in street mode and wrap up here. I'll be home tomorrow."

HHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hardcastle returned home after his conversation with McCormick. The Judge's guests finished their tour of the auto show and headed back to Gulls-Way. Frank Jr., stuffed with expo food and worn out with excitement, promptly fell asleep in the back of the car. The three adults spoke quietly about future plans.

"If he's not too tired, we can hit Disneyland tomorrow," said Furillo.

Joyce had had her fill. "I've got some shopping planned and work from the conference. You and have Fay can take Frank Jr." It was good for the boy to have activities with both divorced but civil parents. Furillo could pick her up in town later in the day.

"About staying with the Judge," continued Furillo, "what about the felon who works for him? Will he be around?"

Fay sighed. "He generally hasn't been around. Milt said he actually worked somewhere at the auto expo, but I didn't see him." She hesitated for a minute. "It turns out, he lives in Milt's gate house."

"What?! I thought you said he didn't live there."

"There was a misunderstanding. Milt thought I asked if the con lived in the same house."

"Well, it's hard to have that sort of misunderstanding."

"Well, who thought Milt would have a separate gate house and live-in staff?" Frank Jr stirred, and the adults lowered their voices again. Fay continued more quietly. "I already met the felon and told him there was to be no contact."

Furillo spoke firmly. "I'll remind Milt of the same thing. Did you have any trouble?"

"I'm not sure. He was very familiar and forward in introducing himself. I ended that, and he was quite cool afterwards."

"That fits in with what Win said-that this was a smart-mouth manipulative con." Yes, he would make sure that the con was kept far from Frank Jr.

Hardcastle greeted them all amiably back at Gulls-Way. After sending Frank Jr. upstairs with Fay to get settled, Furillo pulled Hardcastle aside. The captain reminded himself to be tactful, despite his strong misgivings. Joyce discreetly took a stroll around the gardens.

"Judge, I appreciate the time you've offered my son, but I have some concerns about the living arrangements and exposure he might have to some unsavory people." He thought about the felon being away for a time at Riverside. Probably some manual labor in setting and cleaning up. "How long will it be just you and Fay with him here?"

That was thoughtful and responsible of Furillo. Given the Judge's sometimes dangerous cases, which the captain was no doubt referring to, Hardcastle was ready to offer assurances. "It will be the three of us, plus my housekeeper, and another friend who will be here tomorrow. I don't expect anyone else, except maybe if we have another cookout, which means more friends."

Furillo was relieved on that score. He felt his authority was intact and his concern was addressed. No felon would be around Frank Jr.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The three Furillos left for Disneyland the next morning. Hardcastle declined due to some work, but without mentioning that he would be waiting for McCormick. The prodigal rolled in the early afternoon driving Hardcastle's pickup and towing the Coyote on a trailer.

"Are you finished getting that thing back to normal and ready for the road?"

McCormick looked offended. "Normal?' Judge, what you saw at 200 mph was normal for this car." He sounded wistful. "Anything else is a pale imitation."

"Reason I asked, is that Fay's boy took a shine to the car during the expo, and I thought he'd get a kick out of seeing it up close."

"No problem. I'll give him a ride too, if it's okay with his folks."

"Now wait a minute, I didn't mean you'd go drag racing with the kid-"

"Juuuudge, I'll just rev the engine, we can do 40, and with the open air he'll never know the difference."

That answer got a harrumphing concession from Hardcastle and he returned to the den and let Mark finish transitioning the Coyote back to street car.

Hours later, Hardcastle had a call from Joyce. She wanted to know if Furillo had returned and could pick her up.

"He's not back yet. But listen, there's no need to get a cab. I can send someone down to pick you up. He needs to go by there anyway." Hardcastle had wasted no time in listing out McCormick's latest chores. "His name's McCormick, Mark McCormick."

A worrying thought entered Joyce's mind. More distant from the immediate concerns than Furillo, Joyce could be more neutral and tactful. "Is this the young man Win mentioned?" Well, it was better than asking if Hardcastle was sending his felon to give her a ride. Presumably not a one-way ride.

"Yeah, that's him. I'll send him over."

Joyce was ready in her professional demeanor. In her job as a public defender, she was accustomed to representing people she personally disliked, out of a belief in protecting rights of the indigent within the legal system against more powerful interests. She would keep her composure in dealing with McCormick. After all, the Judge knew the felon would be with her, so he would likely show decent behavior.

"Ms. Davenport? I'm Mark McCormick. The Judge sent me to give you a ride back to your hotel."

Like Fay, Joyce hadn't expected someone so attractive. "Mr. McCormick."

Well, at least she hadn't dismissively used only his last name. Public defenders were used to putting on a show that their clients were respectable, whether they believed it or not. "I'll get your bags for you."

"I'm fine, thank you." Great. Now that was dismissive. He escorted her back to the Coyote. Having missed the race and his demo, she had never seen the car. "Careful, it's a gull wing."

Joyce watched as the door flew upward. She hadn't imagined the Judge owned something like this, much less entrusting it to a felon. She managed to lower herself in without too much awkwardness, and looked around to see where she could put her bags.

"Sorry," said Mark. "There's no trunk. You'll have to hold the bags on your lap."

All show, typical p-car for a man. She heard a sound, then saw McCormick's feet slide over the door, followed by the rest of him into the seat. Oh, he did think he was hot stuff. She couldn't resist a remark. "Do you not believe in entering through doors, Mr. McCormick?"

He shrugged. "Habit" was all he said. It was how he typically entered a race car.

She saw him put on what were a very expensive pair of sunglasses. There was a hint of a chain around his neck, just visible over a cutoff sweatshirt. He was casually chewing gum now, and she saw the deep dimples. Yes, he definitely though he was cool. She had been hit on by many men like him, who wrongly thought she would find them appealing. She gave herself a reminder that anyone who survived a stint in San Quentin had to be a very tough customer, with plenty of rough edges. He was a young man, good looking, and could well have been prey in prison unless he was very tough and resourceful. He was certainly someone who would do what was necessary to survive, even faking some graciousness.

She was definitely gorgeous, with that long dark hair, green cat eyes, and cool demeanor. Under other circumstances he would have been tempted to try to melt the glacier, but she was not only the Judge's guest, she was involved with a police captain who was the ex of the woman the Judge was interested in. Don't do anything, Markus. Not for you. Besides, she may not be cringing away, but she certainly would rather not be sitting next to you.

Joyce quickly noticed that Mark McCormick was a very good driver. She had no knowledge of his racing background, but she noted that there was almost no noticeable hesitation or jerking motion when he shifted gears and accelerated or slowed. It was all smooth as silk. He made no further effort to talk with her, and she eventually asked a question. "How long has the Judge owned this car?"

The eyes veiled by the expensive shades briefly turned in her direction, and the chewing paused. "Judge Hardcastle doesn't own this car."

"Who owns it?" She had a momentary thought that there might be a problem riding with the con after all.

"I do." The dimple facing her deepened, as if there were a smirk behind it.

"How did you get it?" She should have asked Furillo or Win about this man's crimes. Something had paid well.

"It was a gift. The daughter of the man who designed and built it gave it to me."

"What happened to him?"

"He was murdered." Well, that would either ignite or smother the conversation. As it turned out, that pretty much ended the conversation. Joyce ignored again Mark's gentlemanly gesture of offering her a hand to help exit the car after they arrived at the hotel. She saw him make an exaggerated "hands up" motion to show he was harmless, but the mouth hardened into a thin straight line before morphing into another smirk. Win had been right to distrust this man. She wondered what sort of show he put on for the Judge. Joyce merely said a brusque thank you, relieved to be away from him. She would share her thoughts with Furillo.

Fay, Frank Jr., and Furillo arrived shortly after Mark returned to Gulls-Way. He had already absented himself back to the garage with the Coyote.

Frank Jr. remained amped up after the Disneyland trip. Now the adults of the house were having their boring talks. He was tossing the basketball around when he heard the loud sound of a powerful engine. He saw it. It looked like the beautiful red car he saw at the auto show, the one Judge Milt grinned about whenever Frank Jr. raved about it. He ran over to see it up close. That was it. He was in love.

"This is a really cool car."

Mark grinned. He had been making further adjustments to re-domesticate the reluctant car. "Well, you're a really cool kid to think so." He held out his hand. "I'm Mark McCormick. This is my car, and you saw me drive it at the auto expo."

"Wow. How did you get it?"

"The man who designed it wanted me to race it, but he died before everything was ready. His daughter gave it to me as a gift." There, that was a nice honest G-rated answer with no gory details.

"You're a real race car driver?"

"Well, I was. I still do race once in a while, but not very often. I work for Judge Hardcastle now."

"How come you do that instead of racing?"

Mark used his best Godfather imitation. "He made me an offer I couldn't refuse. Really, it's okay, I like a lot of what I do, helping the Judge with his investigations." That was a good answer too. He was on a roll now. "If your mother says it's okay, I'll take you for a ride in it." He had another thought, about Joyce, Furillo, and Fay comparing notes about him. "When she's in a good mood. What are you doing now, before dinner?"

"Nothing."

"Well, I was going to clean the pool after I finish with the car. You can go swimming then, okay?"

"Yeah!" The boy raced off to change.

Millie watched Mark from the kitchen. He was in better spirits than when she saw him bring the car around after he just returned. She stepped outside to call to him. "Can I get you anything, Mark?"

"No thanks Millie. I just need to finish some final adjustments to the car and start on the pool." He sighed. "She's fighting me this time. Like a horse that's barely tamed, and needs to run wild and free rather than be locked in the barn." He was wistful now, eyes focused on some inner thought. Millie knew he wasn't just thinking about restrictions on the car. "What makes a wild horse want to return to the barn, Mark?" she asked quietly.

He flashed a wide genuine smile. "A donkey."

Mark made the last adjustment to the Coyote and picked up the tools to set about cleaning the pool. The late afternoon had turned warmer, and he soon shucked his shirt. Frank Jr., now in his swim trunks, hung around impatiently for Mark to finish.

The boy didn't know why it took so long. He started idly looking around, until something caught his eye and he stared at Mark. There was a long, red scar on his stomach. He kept staring, until Mark spoke and Frank Jr. started.

"Didn't your mother tell you it was rude to stare?"

"Um, yeah." This was spoken in a mumble. Frank Jr. looked away, but couldn't help looking up and staring again.

"Uh-huh."

"How did you get it?"

"Didn't your mother tell you it was rude to ask a question like that?"

"Um-"

"Not sure? Well, I had an operation." Operation. That was a good way to provide the barest details. Hardcastle and Millie would cringe and look guilty when they saw the scar as Mark worked without a shirt, remembering how it all happened. He had taken to covering up whenever they were around. Fortunately the scar was starting to fade, and Mark hoped any residual and unwarranted guilt would diminish as well.

"And for the future," continued Mark, " it is rude to ask and expect answer to a personal question like that." He leaned closer, to catch Frank Jr.'s, eye. "It would be best not to mention to Judge Hardcastle that we had this conversation." He didn't want the Judge to have any more reminders. "Okay?"

"Okay." Frank Jr. wouldn't say anything to make Mark angry, and not give him a ride in that beautiful car.

Mark had returned to the gate house and the boy had finished his swim and was back in the house to clean up and change his clothes when Fay returned to the poolside. Milt was planning another cookout, this one "a quiet family cookout" that she was sure she would enjoy. She was seated in one of the comfortable lounge chairs when she saw McCormick approaching. He had changed into a decent light sweater and pants and wasn't just walking, he was sauntering toward her as if he would one day own the place. Fay was increasingly taken aback when McCormick threw himself in the chair next to her, and propped his feet up on the low table in front of them.

The act was a symbol for McCormick, representing the change in his status from parolee in Hardcastle's custody to something more. The change happened quickly, but so seamlessly that neither man remarked on it. It began when McCormick was alone in the gatehouse, and he decided that when he was alone he would put his damn feet on the damn coffee table and if the Judge didn't like it, that was too damn bad. Everything progressed rapidly from that point. After a few cases, McCormick began receiving invitations-make those orders- to join the Judge for breakfast on the patio by the pool. It was rather informal, especially when Sarah didn't stick around, and McCormick found himself propping his feet on the iron table there too as he listened to the latest briefing about a prospective case. Later in the day, if he had been working on the grounds and Hardcase wanted to speak to him, McCormick would let himself relax and dangle his feet over the arms of the lounge chair.

The next stage in the progression came when Hardcastle began inviting him to come by at night to watch a movie. They were always old movies, usually starring John Wayne, but McCormick found he enjoyed them and kept up a lively round of chatter during key moments or any time that struck him as entertaining. Both men were unwinding, and the Judge never said a word when McCormick would rest a foot on the well-polished coffee table in the den. More cases and conversations, and they were beginning to understand each other; and become comfortable together at Gulls-Way. It was natural at that point for McCormick to settle sideways in one of those substantial leather chairs in the den and sling his legs over one of the arms. The Judge never said a word. Hardcastle's desk was the last stronghold, but eventually even that fortress began to crumble and the period of time lengthened from when Mark put his feet on the desk until the Judge snapped at him or simply swatted the feet away when the Judge came out from his desk.

"Nice place, huh?" Fay had looked displeased when Mark arrived, and he couldn't help reacting to it, and where the Judge would eventually see it. Mark was dangling the knife.

"I'm sure you must think so." It was certainly better than prison, and why was he here making himself at home? She was annoyed to see those cavernous dimples again. They didn't just appear when he smiled. They winked at her every time McCormick moved his mouth.

"Oh yeah, nice place. Yup. Yes sirree." He turned to her, grinning, giving into the malicious impulse to respond in kind to the undeserved hostility. "Great way to stick it the ex, huh?"

"What do you mean?" she demanded. Even after the exclamation, her face must have reflected that she knew there was an element of truth in the words that McCormick spoke, that she did enjoy showing up Furillo and Joyce. The damn con noticed it right away, the smirk widened and dimples deepened evilly.

"There you are!" Hardcastle interrupted Fay's prelude to an indignant blustering response. He had a plate of uncooked burgers in one hand and a couple of beers in the other. To Fay's astonishment, he handed one bottle over to McCormick automatically even as she held out her hand. Hardcastle turned to her. "Oh! Sorry, did you want one too?"

She tried to cover up her mistake. "Maybe just a soft drink. Diet."

"Be right back!"

As she watched, Hardcastle trotted back to the house. There was a sharp sound, and she turned back to see and open bottle of beer on the table. McCormick struck the second bottle on the arm of one of the metal patio chairs and pried the cap off the second bottle. He tilted his head back, took a satisfying swig, and closed his eyes with a loud sigh of satisfaction.

MMMMMMMMMM

"I didn't think you had enough cash to take a cab back to the hotel," said Furillo, after greeting Joyce back at the hotel. "Did the Judge give you a ride, or give you some money?" He wasn't happy with either outcome, particularly that the Judge had plenty of money for pricey cab rides.

"No," replied Joyce. She wasn't looking forward to the conversation. "He sent someone to give me a ride."

"Who was it?"

She sighed. "It was the con Win told us about, that works for Hardcastle."

Furillo looked sharply at her, and his annoyance escalated into full blown anger. "What! He's back at the house? Are you all right? What was he thinking? Was there any trouble?"

"No, no trouble. I'm sure the Judge told him to be on his good behavior." There was a wry note in her voice that Furillo immediately noticed. Joyce read the question, and expanded her answer. "No trouble in that I thought I was in danger then. But I think this is a calculating man who could be dangerous to cross in the wrong situation."

Furillo grabbed his wallet and keys. "And Frank Jr. is there with him. That's it. I'm getting my son out of there."

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Fay hustled after Hardcastle. She would not stay alone with McCormick. She caught up with the Judge in the kitchen. "Milt, I have to talk to you. Why is McCormick here with us?"

Hardcastle looked surprised. "What do you mean, why is he here? He lives here. Where else would he be?"

"I mean with us. It looked like he would be eating with us!"

Now Hardcastle gave her a long look. "Of course he's eating with us. I mean, you've barely met. I wanted you two to get to know each other."

"Why? Why on earth would I want to know him or be anywhere near him?"

The look turned into a frown. "He's my friend. My best friend, in fact. I hoped," he said slowly, putting emphasis on selected words, "that my friends, the important people in my life, would get along." Little pieces of past conversations were piling on top of each other in the Judge's mind, like circumstantial evidence pointing to a verdict. "You never wanted to get to know him, did you?'

"Of course not! And my son is here! How can I let him be around a man like McCormick?"

"I think," said Hardcastle evenly, "you would change your mind if you got to know him better."

Fay was on the verge of protesting that she certainly had no intention of getting to know McCormick better when Frank Jr. bounced into the room, changed and ready for dinner. He was on his best behavior. He had an important question for her.

"Mom, I was talking to Mark by the pool, and he-" the boy's mother gave him no more time to continue.

"What! You shouldn't be anywhere near him! Milt-"

Hardcastle cut her off, seeing Frank Jr.'s alarm. The Judge held up a reassuring hand. "It's okay."

Fay re-escalated the situation. "Just what did he say to you?"

Frank Jr. hesitated. Since he saw the Coyote close up, he wanted nothing more than to ride in the car. He needed his mother's permission. Then too, Mark has asked him not to repeat their conversation. If he said anything, he wouldn't get to ride in the car. He hesitated, looking back and forth, then away. "Nothing," he muttered.

"Are you sure?" demanded Fay.

"I don't remember." Now he looked at the floor.

Hardcastle intervened. "It's okay, pard. Listen, why don't you go upstairs and get your jacket, in case it turns chilly later." The atmosphere was pretty damn chilly in the kitchen now, with freezing temperatures possible.

After the boy left, the source of the cooling front entered. Mark had gotten tired of waiting. He knew he would be discussed, and like every other time, he was ready to face the challenge.

"There you are, kiddo. Listen, what did you and Frank Jr. talk about? He wouldn't say."

Hardcastle knew almost before the words left his mouth that McCormick wouldn't say anything either. The kid folded his arms, and his mouth had that set expression like he had when his car was stolen, and other times. He was set on a course of action and wasn't about to budge. Unspoken words flew back and forth. Trust me. I believe in you.

The next sound was the alert that someone had entered the property. Hardcastle glanced out window, and beckoned. Furillo stalked into the kitchen, followed worriedly by Joyce.

"Frank," said Fay, "McCormick here was talking with Frank Jr. and neither one will say what it was about."

"McCormick." This was quietly spoken, from Hardcastle. The rest of the sentence was again silent, but understood. I trust you kiddo, but say something.

McCormick was defiant. His defenses were up, his filters were down, and a gaggle of smartass remarks were jostling to be the first through the gap. The victor emerged. "I thought I'd take Frank Jr. along to ride shotgun on my next bank job."

"McCormick." Furillo and Fay looked ready to explode. "Take a walk, cool down and start the burgers. Then we'll have this sorted." The fuse nearly reached the dynamite when after McCormick left and Frank Jr. returned. The boy looked anxiously at the adults. His father regained control and managed to ask calmly.

"What did you and McCormick talk about?"

At the boy's look of alarm, Hardcastle took over questioning. "Mark was just here, and he said it was okay to tell us." Well, a bluff now and then worked when he as a cop interrogating suspects.

All adults now managed their fear and anger. Frank Jr. responded. "Well, I saw him by the pool and I asked-" he hesitated now. He really wanted to ride in that car.

"It's okay." That was his father.

"Everything's fine." That was his mother.

"He had this scar, a big scar on his stomach, and I asked him how he got it." He looked around at all of them. "He said I shouldn't tell Judge Milt we talked about it."

"Is that it?" Furillo wasn't expecting this. On the surface, not serious, but there must be something else there, that McCormick was hiding something from Hardcastle. He looked inquiringly at the Judge, and was surprised at the Judge's expression.

Hardcastle would have been a gambler's dream then around a card table. No poker face there. Of course McCormick wouldn't say. He knew how guilty Hardcastle felt about the shooting, and was trying to protect the Judge from feeling more guilt.

Furillo and Fay noted the array of emotions on Hardcastle's face, somber, grim and moved rolled into one. Clearly, the man knew what all of this meant. Fay addressed her son. "Okay, I think that's all. Why don't you make a snack while we go somewhere for a bit." The adults broadcast more easy vibes now, sensing that Hardcastle had the answers.

"We'll go to my den."

It was like a courtroom. Hardcastle sat behind his desk, with an air of dispensing justice. He was in control, though out of sight of the boy, Furillo and Fay were again becoming upset.

Hardcastle started. "Okay, this is the deal. You probably heard something about McCormick from Winslow Gault. Winny doesn't like him, since he cleaned up at a poker game. It's true, he is an ex-con on parole, and in my custody. And he's got a smart mouth. But he's also my friend, who helps me with my investigations. I can trust him with my life, he's shown that to me. He got that scar after being shot during one of our cases. I feel guilty about it, he knows that, which is why he doesn't want me to be reminded about it. That's why he asked Frank Jr. not to say anything." He paused, and the words from his mayoral campaign came back to him. "He's worked real hard to turn his life around, and I'm very proud of him."

There were a few silent moments, while Furillo and Fay considered this speech. There was in them a part that didn't like admitting they could have been wrong. Both Furillo and Fay had a fallback response.

"I'm sure you understand Judge, that Fay and I have to be concerned about our son. There are some things, and people, we don't want him exposed to yet. We're just trying to be careful."

Hardcastle sighed. "There's something you should know, that you can't understand now because your son is so young. You want to protect your kid. I get that. I been there. But what you don't know is that the feeling doesn't change. It doesn't matter from when you first hold your kid as a helpless newborn, who barely fits in your hands, to when he stands six-one and is full of lip. You always try to look out for your kids when you think they need it."

Fay spoke next. "I appreciate that you believe everything you say. But we're Frank Jr.'s parents, and we have to make these decisions."

Hardcastle held up his hand. "I understand. I'm not trying to interfere or undermine your role and relationship with your kid, and protecting him. That goes both ways. Don't mess with mine."

It sank in then, under the Judge's steady gaze. The guests finally had a sense of Hardcastle's relationship with McCormick, though none still fully grasped the depth.

"I think," Hardcastle continued, "that you owe him an apology."

Silence followed. It was an impasse, a minor ditch eroded into a canyon. It was impossible to cross.

Furillo eventually spoke. "I think Fay's right, in that you really believe what said. I think we will have to politely disagree. As for Frank Jr.-" he paused and looked at Fay. "He comes first."

Fay was wrestling with herself at the cliff over the canyon. She cared deeply for Hardcastle, and had let her fantasies wander over a possible future with him. Furillo was right. Frank Jr. had to come first. She forced the words out. "I have to agree. I'm sorry Milt."

"I'm sorry too. But even polite disagreements can be insurmountable."

"I guess there's not much more to say." Furillo was done. It was a matter of persuading Fay to let them take Frank Jr. out of Gulls-Way.

"No, I guess not," said Hardcastle. "Fay and I need to talk in private."

Furillo and Joyce exited to find Frank Jr. Hardcastle and Fay turned to each other.

"I'm sorry" they said in unison, and managed to smile. Fay said regretfully, "I don't think we can get pass this. I'm not sure what else we can do next."

"Well, if you can't get past this, then we definitely don't have much to do next, except say our goodbyes." He harrumphed. "I want you to know that I'm not sorry that we started something. I did have a good time, and I won't regret it."

"I had a good time too, Milt."

"You have a lot of good qualities, Fay, and I hope you find the person who appreciates them, and can share your life, if that's what you want."

"I hope the same for you, Milt." She paused. "What about right now? And what to tell Frank Jr.?"

"We can say that I have to work, and that you'll be staying in a hotel for the rest of the vacation. I'll make reservations and pay, I'm not throwing you out without a place to go. Maybe somewhere with mouse ears."

She laughed. "Frank Jr. will like that. I'll tell him. Thank you, Milt, for everything. I'll start packing."

"Thank you, Fay."

It ended rather smoothly, after all. Frank Jr. never did get the ride in the beautiful red car, but accepted the story at face value and looked forward to Disneyland again.

HHHHHHHHHHHH

Mark watched first Furillo's rental car and then the cab for Fay and Frank Jr. leave the estate. He came back inside with a pile of well-cooked burgers and a freshly opened bottle of beer. He handed it to the Judge. "I'm sorry, Judge, that it didn't work out."

"Eh? Well, these things happen. I'm not sorry about it. We had a good time for a while. Not all relationships last more than a few dates, right?'

"Uh-right. I know that you don't take this sort of thing lightly, though."

"I don't, but like I said, I did enjoy it while it lasted. I liked spending time with her kid, too. He's a good boy. How often do I get to do that? I mean, who knows how long it will be before you make me a grandfather?" He stopped at the audible sounds coming from Mark. Hardcastle rapidly replayed his last words in his mind, and his eyes widened in alarm at the recollection of what he had said. The widened eyes promptly shrank back into a scowl of righteous denial. "NOW what's so funny? What are you snickering about?"

"No takebacks, Judge. I heard what you said."

"I didn't say anything! And stop snickering!"

"Sorry, Hardcase, this time I was definitely chortling."

The next few days showed that Hardcastle was certainly full of surprises. Not for him was the expected moping from a romantic breakup. He was closed mouthed about the entire failed relationship, but as open mouthed as usual in ordering McCormick to take care of the chores. The latest and oddest was a directive to pick up some fancy-ass cheese at one of the downtown Malibu gourmet shops. That was unusual in itself for a plain eater like Hardcastle, but Mark supposed that if the Judge had already paid for it as part of the now aborted attempt to entertain his lady, he would never let it go to waste.

Mark was on his way back to his car with the fancy-ass cheese when he heard himself being hailed. The identity of the hailer was a surprise.

"Jane? I mean, Miss Bigelow-"

"You had it right the first time. Please call me Jane."

"The last I knew you were in San Francisco, and the trial hadn't started yet. How is that going?"

She slipped an arm companionably through his as they walked along. "Well, you may remember that both the defense and prosecution wanted me as a witness. Chip's defense wanted me to testify to the changes in his emotional state, and why he may have had 'diminished capacity.' I certainly had noticed his changes, but didn't know why until the investigation progressed."

"Why did he change?"

"It seems to have been dietary. You might say," she said wryly, "that he was having too much honey."

Mark caught the tone and looked at her closely. Realization came quickly, in a series of monosyllables. "Hm? Oh. Aww."

"Hm, yes. He started the affair and supported the honey, and planned to divorce me. With the length of time we were married, and California property laws, he was going to lose a substantial part of his fortune. He started embezzling money so he-and she-could continue to live in the manner to which they wished to remain accustomed. I did love him for a long time, and I would have helped him if he were sick, but this? To hell with him. I'm going ahead with the divorce and I've moved back to LA."

They were approached by a pair of women. "Aren't you Jane Bigelow?"

Jane smiled graciously. "Yes, I'm Jane Bigelow."

"I knew it." The woman point to a spot on her own chin. "I was sure."

Jane laughed as she and Mark continued on their way. "My beauty mark. Of course, when I was growing up, it was merely a mole and I endured innumerable taunts about it. Then, when I became an actress, it miraculously became a beauty mark and I was filmed to show it off and supposedly fascinate men. I am occasionally recognized by it, but I have no idea if it still has any effect." She cocked her head to display it better to Mark.

"Oh, yes ma'am, it does."

"I'm surprised you didn't know the latest about my case. Milt and I talked about at lunch the other day-"

"Excuse me, you and the Judge just had lunch recently?"

"Yes, we did. You know about the dinner Milt means to have with the three of us in a couple of days. I wasn't expecting to see you before then so our meeting here is a pleasant surprise. Why do you look so startled? Do you mean to say that he didn't mention it yet?"

"He did not. The little scamp. I'll have to have words with that young man." That explained the fancy-ass cheese.

"Milt thought that if he and I are going to spend more time together, then you and I should get to know each other better. Naturally I agree, and it will be a pleasure. The two of you come as a package deal. You're laughing now. What did I say that was so funny?"

"I was just thinking about what I'll say to a girl when things start getting serious."

"What's that?"

" 'Love me, love my hay-bearin' jackass.' "

Author's Note: Sharp-eyed viewers may recognize "Stud Musk" cologne from its nonspeaking cameo in "Really Neat Cars and Guys with a Sense of Humor."

Sharp-eared viewers may have noticed the one-line mentions of Hardcastle's other aunts, Ada and Sylvia, in "Hardcastle, Hardcastle, Hardcastle, and McCormick."