Hardcastle and McCormick: Better Off Dead!

by mrwiseman-2

When a mobster is up for parole, it is only Judge Hardcastle standing in the way of his release. When the mobster's plan to intimidate the judge fails, he decides to threaten Mark and Kathy. Has someone finally found a way to get Hardcastle to back down?

Hardcastle and McCormick: Better Off Dead!

(Check out my first two stories: The Ties That Bind (1) and Just a Few People, and a Nice Spread(2).

When a mobster is up for parole, it is only Judge Hardcastle standing in the way of his release. When the mobster's plan to intimidate the judge fails, he decides to threaten Mark and Kathy. Has someone finally found a way to get Hardcastle to back down?

Hardcastle and McCormick** Hardcastle and McCormick** Hardcastle and McCormick** Hardcastle and McCormick

James Hammersmith sat in his seat with a gentle smile.

"Mr. Hammersmith, I'm impressed by what I read here in your file. You have been here at San Quentin for twenty years now, and every warden and guard has written you a glowing recommendation for parole. I know in my interaction with you, that you have shown regret and repentance for your crimes."

"Thank you, Dr. Mason. I have had many years to reflect on what I did. I think about the young Adam Grant, and what I can do to make it up to the world for denying it a good person. I am beyond sorry, because sorry isn't enough," he responded emotionally.

Dr. Mason, perused her file a bit longer, "I see Mrs. Grant, has sadly passed. She spoke out against you at your last two chances for parole."

Hammersmith nodded sadly. "I regret that I could never earn her forgiveness. I pray that she is finally at peace, but I cannot blame her. He was her only son."

Dr. Mason smiled compassionately. She had never been so moved by an inmate. He gave every impression of a changed man.

"Now I see it is only Judge Hardcastle that you need to convince. He had spoken against you at every hearing." She glanced at the interior of his file and then replied, "It's odd—you reached a deal with the district attorney— your case never really came up before Judge Hardcastle."

"Not exactly, ma'am, but I did stand before the judge to plead guilty," Hammersmith put his head down in apparent shame.

The doctor raised her eyebrow in confusion, and asked aloud, "I wonder why...—."

Hammersmith cut her off, and answered her question, "I believe Judge Hardcastle became close to Mrs. Grant. How could he not take her side?" He spoke so sympathetically, that Dr. Mason reached forward to clasp the hands he held in his lap.

"Maybe I should reach out to Judge Hardcastle?"

"No thank you, doctor. He's a good man. I've decided to write him a letter. If you'd be so kind as to read it on your next visit—make sure it sets the right tone?" James asked.

"Of course, Mr. Hammersmith, I'll see you in tomorrow," she said getting up from her chair and patting his shoulder as she walked to the door. "I think this is your time, Mr. Hammersmith."

He sat and serenely nodded.

The heavy door loudly opened, and the good doctor exited. A guard came in and escorted him back to his cell.

"There you go, Jimmy."

"Thanks, Mike," he said going over to his desk. His cell mate popped up on the top bunk and asked, "How'd it go?"

"I have them all in the palm of my hand," James Hammersmith replied as his face changed from serenity to controlled rage.

"That S.O.B. Hardcastle is my only problem, and I need you to put me in contact with my favorite problem solver on the outside."

"I'll call Simms tonight instead of my 'mouthpiece.' How do you want it done?"

James considered, "I'll leave that to Simms. All I know is he's got until my hearing Friday. Hardcastle better not be there."

GULLS WAY

"Good morning," Mark said coming in the kitchen and sitting down at the table.

Kathy, dressed for work, was serving breakfast. Milt sat devouring a second helping of eggs and bacon, which was usually his favorite morning meal. Nevertheless, despite the food before him, he was in a foul mood.

"Early bird catches the worm, McCormick," the Judge noted with a more than average amount of grump.

"You know I've got two classes on Monday afternoon, and then my study group. I don't get home until late. What's got your goat this morning," Mark asked curiously. The judge mumbled something and kept eating. Mark looked to Kathy who shrugged her shoulders and sat down.

"Judge," she said sweetly, "I wanted to thank you for helping me get my job down at the police station. I am finding forensic accounting fascinating." It was clear she was trying to change the subject.

The judge replied, "That was mostly Frank. He says you've been doing a good job, and actually helped break a case."

Mark brightened, and said, "You didn't tell me that."

Kathy smiled with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. Mark had learned in the past two months of marriage that Kathy was uncomfortable taking credit for her accomplishments.

"It wasn't that big of a deal, any accountant could have seen it."

Hardcastle spoke up, "That's not what Frank said. He said two other accountants had gone over those books. The district attorney was couple of hours from dropping charges, and then you found a debit that proved the guy was at the scene of the crime."

"My wife the crime fighter," Mark said glowingly.

"Hardly," she replied.

"You do good work, Kathy, and don't you forget it," Hardcastle said definitively, and then added, "Speaking of work that needs to be good, I have a garage that needs cleaning out."

Mark was amused by the judge's shift in focus, and said, "Hint taken, Judge."

After a few minutes of silent eating, Kathy passed the ketchup, and took another bite of toast, before taking her plate to the sink.

"Well, I need to go. Mark can you give me a lift? I couldn't get my car to start this morning," Kathy asked returning to the table.

"Sure, I'll be back to complete my daily drudgery, Judge," Mark said rising from the table.

Milt grimaced, and said, "That's silly. Here—," he said handing Kathy a set of keys. Kathy looked at them surprised, and so did Mark.

"Those are the Corvette keys, Judge," Mark said. He was sure that Hardcastle had made a mistake.

Irritated, Milt replied, "I know what keys they are, McCormick—so what?"

"No one but you drives that car. You won't let me drive that car unless it's a national emergency."

"You're a maniac when you drive, that's why you can't drive it," Milt quickly shot back. "Kathy is not going to go all 'speed racer' or 'Evel Kenevil' down to the precinct, now is she?"

"Are you sure you want me to drive it, Judge?" Kathy asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Kathy came over, kissed him on the cheek, and said, "Thank you, Judge."

"Yeah, yeah," he said waving her off. Mark could tell something was really bothering him. Getting up he kissed his wife goodbye.

"Have a good day. Be safe."

Mark and Kathy exchanged expressions of concern. They both knew something was wrong. Kathy left hoping Mark could get it out of the judge.

"That's real nice letting Kathy drive the 'Vette, but you're going to have to let me in on whatever put you in such a crummy mood. Come on, what the heck's wrong?" Mark asked wanting answers.

The judge produced an envelope; it was tucked in under his napkin.

Mark opened up the letter, and read its contents.

"It says a con is coming up for parole. Don't you get like a few dozen of these a year?" Mark asked still unclear what was bothering him.

"Did you see who it is?"

Mark perused the letter again, his eyebrows rose when he saw the name. He tucked the letter back in the envelope. "James Hammersmith. He's a big one of yours isn't he, Judge."

"Sorta, I never actually tried the case. You see, the guy is as bent nosed as they come. Twenty years ago while escaping authorities, for gun running and other various other misdeeds, he ran a teenage kid right over in the street. It was on purpose—a distraction for the cops— the kid didn't have a chance. Then he goes and works out a plea deal with the DA. Now he plays all 'nice, nice' and comes up for parole every three years. Well, I and that poor kid's mother, have showed up every time his hearing comes 'round. So far justice has been done, and that piece of garbage has stayed inside. Last year, Mrs. Grant died of cancer. Now today, I get this letter from a friend of mine over at the parole board. He's not on the actual case, but he knows the way the wind's blowing," Milt said taking out another envelope.

Mark grabbed the letter, read it, and then understood the mood. "Unless you testify at his hearing, it sounds like he's going to be paroled this year."

"Well I can't let that happen. That poor woman lost her son. With Mrs. Grant gone, I'll have to be...well, sorta both of their voices now."

"I know you will bring them justice, Judge," Mark said with conviction, and then he added, "I heard of Jimmy Hammersmith when I was inside. He wasn't in my cell block, but ruled the roost in his own. They called him King James. He always knew exactly how to finesse the guards. Rumor had that he was still running his operation from the inside."

"I believe it. There was a witness willing to testify that he ran down Adam Grant on purpose -–as if he were nothing. Then that witness clammed right up, refused to even give a statement. The guy was scared—pure, unadulterated, intimidation. That's what Hammersmith does, intimidates—or worse."

"Well someone must have been willing to testify, otherwise how did he get sent to jail?" Mark asked, "I mean DA had to have a case, or how did he get even a reduced sentence of 25 years? That is still a lot of years, Judge."

"He should've gotten life for the Grant kid. There were two witnesses, a bar owner across the street from the building Hammersmith was dealing his guns, and a nurse, walking home from work. They saw him with the guns, but not running down the kid—or so they said. Eventually, they claimed that there had been attempts to intimidate them," Hardcastle stopped, and added, "Chew on this—both of them died within two years of giving their statements."

"Did he kill 'em?" Mark asked gravely.

"Well, Dave Jenkins, died in a car accident—went over a cliff. Cops said his brakes were bad. The nurse, Beverly Hernandez died from heart attack caused by an accidental drug overdose after an appendectomy—although she wasn't prescribed the drug that killed her. Cops said that was a medical mistake. You can add to it that the DA died in a house fire a year after—although, it could be all a strange coincidence."

"Coincidence—throw in a horse's head and it sounds like every mob movie I have ever seen." Mark was suddenly struck by a wave of worry, "I don't like the sound of it, especially with you being the one and only roadblock to his current chance for release."

"I'll be alright, kid. Jimmy sends me a letter every parole year with thinly veiled threat, but nothing comes of it."

Mark, who was taking a bite of his breakfast, nearly choked. "You mean he's threatened you?" Mark was dismayed.

"Yes, it comes every few years like a demented Christmas card. It sounds all sweet and gooey, but he and I know exactly what it means." Milt pulled out another smaller envelope from under his napkin.

"How many envelopes do you got under there, Judge?" Mark said with wondering if the news could possibly get any worse, and if the pile of envelopes were endless.

"Just read it, McCormick," the Judge replied not appreciating any humor in the situation.

Mark read aloud, "'Dear Judge Hardcastle, I am writing once again ask for your forgiveness, and hope that you will come and speak to me about my parole hearing. I am hoping I will have the chance to show that I have seen the error of my ways, and want a new start. You and I know what I have done. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of what was done, and how I can try to pay back for the wrongs committed. Know that I haven't forgotten and will do whatever it takes. I wish Mrs. Grant was still alive so that I could ask for her forgiveness. I am a changed man, and hope that soon we can be face to face so I can so I can prove it. All I need is a chance and I will take it. Please give me a chance, and I will make the best of it. Respectfully, James Hammersmith.'– So what? Sounds like a generic sort of apology."

"Read it again," Milt requested flatly.

Mark did as he was told, but then quickly replied, "Oh, I see it! The middle part can be taken two ways. I get the feeling the payback isn't going to be working in a soup kitchen."

Milt nodded, and replied, "Me, with cement shoes, I expect—like I said, the same every few years."

"How can the parole board being buying this junk?" Mark asked dubiously.

"Well, they do. Hammersmith plays the game: got religion, pretends to be a role model inmate, and blames his folks in the shrink's office. Meanwhile, his organization is still probably involved in everything from drugs to prostitution. After his oldest boy met a bitter end last year, his kid Kyle is running it now."

"Kyle? A mobster named Kyle, really? It's the eighties, I guess," Mark said contemplating the preppy mobster's name. "What're you going to do?"

"I'm going to have my rear end in that hearing on Friday—that's what I'm gonna do. And until then, I'm going to see what Frank knows about his current operation. Maybe we can find a way to tack on a few more years to his sentence."

"Lead on, Kemo Sabe."

POLICE STATION

"You came at a good time. The grapevine says that Kyle is growing impatient with his pop's direction, shall we say. He wants to break out on his own, and may very well have something in the works," Frank explained leaning back in his office chair.

"What kinda thing are we talking about, Frank? Drugs? Guns?," the judge asked, glancing at the current file on the son.

"Who knows— probably all of the above. We had a guy in there for a while, but they broke his cover. Hammersmith's eldest son, Michael, ran the operation until he was killed last year. Found him in a cement mixer—solid as a rock," Mark and the judge cringed at the thought, Frank continued, "He was just like his good old dad. This 'family' has always run a tight ship. I think they learned it from Hammersmith. They are all very controlled."

Mark corrected him. "Except maybe this Kyle—sounds like he may be the weak link in this family's unity, especially if he isn't toeing the family line, and following his dad's directions. It would also worry Hammersmith. Now, personally, I'm more worried about the judge, here."

"He's right, Milt. You're a big problem for him right now. He needs to get out fast and maybe pull back on the family reins. Now I suppose there is no way to talk you into protection?"

Milt's faced sneered in disgust.

"Come on, Judge—how about a burly cop or two? What would it hurt to have a cruiser hanging about the place?" Mark asked encouragingly.

Hardcastle replied ornery, and swiftly, "It would be a waste of tax payer dollars that's what it would hurt! He isn't going to pull anything. Besides I have a gate, guns, and guts—I'll be fine.

Mark shook his head in exasperation, and chuckled. "The three levels of Hardcastle security."

"You got it, kid," Hardcastle agreed with a wink.

Frank replied, "Let's just hope you stop him before he gets to the guts, Milt." Frank couldn't help but feel Hardcastle was out of his depth on this one. Although it would be a budgetary stretch to pay for it, he would find a way if he could to protect a judge, even a former one.

On the way out, Mark shared a look of concern with Frank.

"Let me know if you change your mind," Frank added as they went out the door.

Hardcastle grunted and waved him off.

On the way back to the house, Hardcastle caught Mark staring at him with concern.

"Nothing is going to happen," Hardcastle stated definitively.

Mark frowned, and said, "Well, I'm not chancing it, Judge. I'm sticking to you like glue. You know an extra set of eyes—and guts."

"What are you going to do, annoy him to death, McCormick?" The judge said sarcastically.

Mark was determined, and replied, "If that'll do it—sure. Give it up, Judge—you're stuck with me."

"I've been stuck with you for four years, McCormick. But since you insist on being my bodyguard, you are goin' do it clearing out the crap from the garage."

"Fine," Mark stated flatly.

"Whatever," replied the judge, who shook his head thinking Mark was being ridiculous.

A few hours later, the judge didn't mind the whole bodyguard idea. The garage was cleared out, and as long as he stayed within McCormick's view, he had to do very little.

"You know McCormick, I may be in danger in the attic later...," Hardcastle said gleefully. He figured he might get that cleaned out, too.

"Ha! Very funny, Judge." He was tired, dirty, and sweaty. It had not escaped his notice that Hardcastle was clean and un-mussed. "For the rest of the day I'm going to protect you while you have a beer and watch the game on T.V."

"Sounds good to me."

Mark put a broom that he had been working with back, and then followed Hardcastle inside.

"You know I'm surprised, Judge. I thought by now you would have thought of a way to go investigate Hammersmith's operation—putting your, and no doubt my, life in danger.

"Actually the one time you let me out of your sight, I made phone call. An acquaintance of mine agreed to meet me tomorrow morning," Hardcastle said coming into his study.

Mark quickly replied, "He'll meet us tomorrow, Judge. Remember, I'm glue."

Milt scrunched his nose, and sniffed, "You do smell like a dead horse—get a shower, McCormick!"

"Fine, but I'm going," Mark said, clearly brooking no argument.

Milt was actually touched, but he'd be damned if he'd showed it. He replied, "Fine. Newt works at a diner called The Greasy Spoon as a fry cook. He has the early breakfast shift, so it'll be an early morning—I know how much you love the crack of dawn, kid." Milt grinned.

"How early?" Mark asked with apprehension.

The delight of the situation spread across Hardcastle's face, and he replied, "Five a.m. He only has time during a work break."

Mark's face fell, and he asked "His break is at five? Couldn't we catch him at the end of his shift?"

"No he works two jobs. You don't have to go, you know," Milt said thoroughly enjoying the corner Mark had backed himself into.

Mark replied, with a determined tone, "I'm goin'. I will see you outside by the truck at 5."

"Actually we need to get there by five. I will see you at 4:30."

Mark sighed and took a breath, and replied defiantly, "I'll be there at 4:15, in case there's traffic!"

"Fine."

"Fine!"

"Now go get a shower McCormick, you stink," Milt replied with disgust.

"Fine!"

Mark left to the gatehouse, and Milt, despite his crusty demeanor, knew he appreciated McCormick being willing to play "Tonto" to his "Lone Ranger."

GATEHOUSE

"You're worried, I can tell," Kathy remarked as she snuggled up closer to Mark in bed.

At dinner they had brought Kathy up to date on what little they actually knew. Kathy agreed with Mark that Hardcastle was probably not safe. She, however, was not fond of the idea of Mark playing bodyguard to Milt. The idea of both her husband and the judge being in the line of fire was upsetting, yet she knew Mark would be by his side no matter what she wanted. She knew better than to voice any opinion on that matter. Right now her focus was her husband, whose anxiety was apparent and acute. Although he and the judge had to get up early, Mark had been listless well into the night.

"He needs to take some police protection until Friday...maybe even beyond that—if Frank will allow it. This guy clearly holds a grudge. He can wait a year or two to take his revenge—look at the former DA and the witnesses," Mark said with his voice full of tension.

Kathy turned on the light, sat up in bed, and looked to Mark, "Ok, I am pretty good with raw data—facts and figures. Instead of dwelling on scary possibilities, we need to stick to the facts."

Mark pulled himself up, and replied, "Okay, shoot."

"Well, we know that Hammersmith is eager to get out and that he sees the judge as a hindrance. He writes the judge, a possibly threatening letter—and that is all it is. It could not have the ominous double meaning that you and the judge think you see."

"Are you kidding—it is just Hammersmith's style—," Mark objected, but was cut off, by Kathy.

"—We're looking at facts, not suppositions. We can't be certain, and besides didn't the judge say he gets these things every few years. Nothing has happened before. He may be right about this being Hammersmith blowing off some steam. And the dead witnesses and district attorney, they could have all been strange coincidences. It's terrible, but it may not have been malicious. All we know for sure is that Hammersmith is anxious to get out of jail to see to whatever his son is doing. That's it, and I am not completely sure about even that. The judge may be in no danger at all, he hasn't really been threatened yet."

Mark sighed, "I know, but I just got a real bad feeling."

Kathy moved over in bed and put her head on his chest. "If you don't get some sleep you aren't going to be of any use to him."

"You're right—I know it. I need to stop jumping to conclusions," he replied. Taking another deep breath, he leaned down and kissed her. "I'm kinda glad I have you around."

"You aren't so bad yourself," Kathy said moving to turn off the light.

THE GREASY SPOON DINER

The judge was at the truck at 4:15, far too chipper for Mark's current mood. He arrived dragging, taking a swig or two of coffee as he lumbered towards the car. Placing his mug on the driveway, he climbed in the truck.

"You look like you were dragged through a knot hole, McCormick," Hardcastle said noticing Mark not only lacked enthusiasm, but also a good hair combing and a shave.

"The GQ quality looks arrive after 8," Mark said flatly.

"Well, maybe you'll just scare off trouble," Milt said with a chuckle.

By five they had arrived at the Greasy Spoon.

Newt Curtis was a tall, skinny man, with a bad eye and a worse complexion. There was something about a skinny cook that gave Mark pause, that and the fact that the Greasy Spoon seemed to be properly named. Mark was wiping his actual greasy spoon when Newt came over to sit at their table. They had ordered breakfast, but Mark was hesitant to eat anything.

"That's it for the first wave," he said, wiping his hands on his splattered apron.

"People eat here this early in the morning?" Mark looked at a plate of fried eggs, potatoes, and onions, slightly charred and pooling oil to the side of the plate. He set his utensils back on the table. If this was the "worm" the early bird got, he'd sleep in late for the rest of his life.

"Oh yeah, we have factory workers coming of shifts, college kids, folks from the studio, we even get a CEO once and a while."

Milt jumped in, "We don't want to keep you from your break, Newt. I need whatever you got on James Hammersmith.

"After you called me yesterday, I got a hold of my buddy on the inside. Dixon works in the kitchen with Jack Collins. Collins shares a cell with Hammersmith. That Collins loves to complain about King James...I expect that if he knew how much Collins talks he'd kill 'em—," Newt said, going on a tangent.

Hardcastle, eager to get Newt back on topic, interrupted and asked, "So what did he tell you, this Dixon?"

"Well he said that Hammersmith contacted some guy named...what was it... Simms. Yeah that's it—Simms. Dixon said King James wants to keep you from coming to the hearing on Friday."

"A hit? Is this Simms supposed to kill him?" Mark asked anxiously.

Newt shrugged, and replied, "With Hammersmith it could be a hit, it could also be a big man with a threat. Alls I know is you are definitely not number one on Hammersmith's 'hit parade'. Sorry, Judge, I wish I had more. I hope this makes us square." Newt got up and started to go then he remembered something, and added, "You wanted to know about his family...Dixon said that Hammersmith is really mad at his kid. Said this time he really wanted to be sprung before the kid screws everything up. Stay safe, Judge—now more than ever."

"Thanks, Newt," the judge said somberly, and Newt went back to his grill.

"That's it, Judge, I'm calling Frank," Mark said with determination.

"For what?" Milt growled, "It's all hearsay. For all we know I may get sugar in my gas tank on Friday morning. Frank'd have to fudge a lot of figures to justify the city paying for a security detail. Naw, we got nothing, McCormick."

"What about this Simms?"

"That we can take to Frank, maybe he's a known associate," Milt said rising from the table, and making his way to the truck.

In the truck, Mark asked point blankly, "Why are you being so stubborn about this, Judge? Why can't you take protection?"

Hardcastle took a moment, and then said, "This isn't the first threat to come to my door—you know that. I can't run scared every time I put away a bad guy and he makes a threat. You can't live your life in fear, kid. Besides if my number is up, it's up...I don't like it, but I'm not going to let guys like Hammersmith make me hide under the bed. 'Cause if he can make me back down, what is he going to do to the ordinary citizen? I can't give him that kind of power."

"I know, Judge. I just really rather not see your ticket punched quite so soon."

The two were nearly half way home when out of the blue, a black truck quickly whipped around them and forced them off the road. Surprised, Milt fought to maintain control and spun out in the dust on the shoulder. The two looked up to see the truck continue to race down the road, too far away to get a plate.

"Now, are you convinced that Jimmy is out to kill you?" Mark said, hoping that finally Hardcastle would acknowledge the danger.

"No, but I am sure L.A. is full of crummy drivers."

GULLS WAY

"I'm not going, Judge" Mark insisted, digging in his heals at the idea of leaving to attend his afternoon classes.

"You have classes, that I am payin' for I might add, and so you're going," Milt replied brooking no argument. "I don't need a bodyguard to change the truck's oil, and that is all I'm going to do today. That and call Judge Timmins about playing poker with the gang next week."

Mark was equally as stubborn, and replied, "After today? Learning that this Simms is out there gunning for you and that black truck trying to kill you...You're being a donkey."

"Me!" Hardcastle bellowed in protest, "You're too mule stubborn to see that nothin' has actually happened! Now that truck could have just been 'hot-rodding' it down the highway. I checked my files and talked to Frank. There's no known association between Hammersmith and a Simms. Newt's buddy inside may have been just blowing smoke. Go to class McCormick!"

'Yeah, maybe, but maybe not—If I'm here I can be that extra set of eyes and guts."

Milt was adamant. "I'm not going to argue with you McCormick. Go to class!"

"Fine, but at least let Frank put a squad car at the gate. What's it going to hurt? If he's willing to justify the expense to the city, let 'em. I'd feel better with some protection. It's Kathy's day off, you know—she's going to be here all day. It would make me worry less, Judge, whaddya say?"

Milt considered. "Ok, McCormick, for Kathy's sake...I'll give Frank a call after Judge Timmins."

"I guess can live with that—I hope you can, too," Mark replied, although he still wasn't the least bit happy about the situation. He glanced at his watch. "I should be back by seven. So don't go out wandering."

"Get to class," the judge growled, feeling riled up again.

"I'm going—but call Frank!" McCormick said walking over and climbing into the Coyote.

Hardcastle shot him a sour expression as he drove away.

Milt had had every intention of calling Frank Harper, but the conversation with Judge Timmins lasted well over an hour. By the time he put down the receiver, all the judge could think about was getting on to the oil change before the afternoon was done. Deciding he's better put on some junky clothes he headed up the stairs.

At the exact moment he cleared the landing the house was showered with blasts of gun fire. Bullets shattered glass, and ricocheted off bricks. Milt hit the floor. Although it lasted for only a minute, it felt like an eternity. All Hardcastle could think about was where Kathy could be at that moment, and if the gatehouse was getting the same hailstorm of gunfire.

Soon, the bullets stopped and Hardcastle heard tires screech as they raced away down the drive. He rushed to the now obliterated study window, but it was too late to catch anything more than a glimpse of a black truck. He knew then that the kid had been right. He shuttered when he noticed the bullet ridden desk chair where moments ago he'd been sitting, but then he thought of Kathy. With fear tightening around his chest, he made his way out the door and down to the gatehouse. He was relieved to see all the windows intact. He prayed that Kathy hadn't left the gatehouse earlier.

"Kathy!" he shouted. She didn't immediately respond, and he didn't know what he'd so if something happened to her. How could he face McCormick? He was angry at himself for not getting on to Frank as he had promised. If something had happened he wasn't sure how he could live with himself. He yelled again with more desperation, "Kathy!"

"Judge?" she responded as the door swung open. Her face showed that she was scared, but clearly relieved. "Oh thank God you are alright, Judge." She immediately hugged him.

"I was so scared," the judge said, his voice coarse with emotion, "Are you okay, kid?"

Kathy wiped a tear away from her face, and broke off the hug. "I'm fine. I heard the shots, and there was nothing I could do to help you. I'm so sorry, Judge."

"You—you got nothin' to be sorry about. I'm glad my being such a stubborn jackass didn't get you killed. McCormick was right, my life is in danger. And because of me, so's yours."

Later, when Mark came up the drive later he was horrified to see the police cars, lights flashing, all about the drive. He was even more dismayed to see the condition of the windows at the front of the house. Although repair work was underway, he still had to step on piles of shattered glass to get to the study.

"Hardcastle! Hardcastle! Judge!" he shouted through the crowd of cops gathered in the study.

Kathy immediately saw him and ran to him.

"Are you okay?" he asked checking her for injuries. She nodded and was immediately drawn into his arms. "Thank God. Thank God."

"I was in the gatehouse, but the judge was in here when it was shot up," she replied emotionally with her head on his chest.

Panic radiated through him, and he asked anxiously, "Is Hardcastle alright?"

Hardcastle came up behind him, and replied, "I'm okay, kid."

After an audible sigh of relief, Mark demanded, "What the hell happened here today?"

"You called it, kid," Milt said with true contrition, "I didn't see the guy, but I caught a glimpse of that same black truck flying down the drive."

"It has gotta be this Simms that Newt said Hammersmith hired."

Milt nodded.

Frank joined them and said, "Well, we still don't have a lead on this Simms. We have to find a connection to Hammersmith. Otherwise, we got nothing to pin on him."

"Oh come on, Frank. It's obvious who it is," Mark responded in disgust.

"Obvious to you and me, but the law is something else—you know that! Milt has enough enemies that it could be argued any one of them could be the bad guy here, Mark. We have to either find this Simms, or some kind of concrete connection to Hammersmith. Until we find it, we have nothing. I'm sorry."

"So that's it? Someone fires up the house—could of killed the Judge and my wife, and you are going to do nothing?" Mark said raising his voice in frustration.

Milt jumped in. "Settle down, kid."

"No Judge, I'm not going to settle down! The cops have gotta do something before this Hammersmith kills you. As I see it they owe you," Mark replied adamantly.

"I'm leaving a car with two officers on the drive and another two at the gate," Frank said defensively, "That's something!"

Mark was quick to respond, "For how long—until Friday? What happens after that? This guy has a long memory and an even longer reach."

"What do you expect me to do—," Frank started.

Milt put his hand up to stop the argument. He calmly interjected, "Enough already. Frank is doing what he can do. I suspect this Simms isn't going come back here with the police presence. Right now we need to know our enemy. I wish we knew about Hammersmith's current concerns about his operation. Considering recent events, I think we can take Newt's information about Jimmy's problems with his son seriously. I wish you still had a man in there."

"Me, too," I will check with vice and see if they can tell me anything else. For now, Milt, stay here at Gulls Way" Frank replied.

"Sure, Frank," Milt acquiesced.

Frank then asked, "Can I talk you out of going to the parole hearing on Friday?"

Hardcastle shot him a definitive look that Frank immediately interpreted.

"I didn't think so," Frank replied, and walked off.

"So what are we really going to do?" Mark asked as soon as Frank left.

"Well, to start with I'm going to write one hell of a big check to the glass repair people, and then I'm going to stay put—for now," Milt said walking towards the stairs, glass crunching under his feet. Mark could see the event had upset him. He also could see the wheels turning in Hardcastle's head. He was up to something. Of course as Mark watched Milt, he forgot to notice his wife. Kathy had suddenly come up with an idea of her own.

HAMMER INDUSTRIES

Kathy McCormick pushed up the glasses on her nose. Gone were her contacts, and back were her thick glasses, in a sort of makeshift disguise. As she entered the office, she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection on the door. She was nearly certain no one would recognize her, or at least she hoped they wouldn't. She had told Mark when she left, that she was off to work. It was a lie she thoroughly disliked telling, but she knew he and the judge would never allow her to do this.

"May I help you?" A cheerful secretary asked at the desk.

Kathy took a deep breath and began, "Yes, I am looking for a job as an accountant. I am a licensed CPA and this is just the type of business I'd be interested in. Is there a position available?"

"Actually, Mr. Hammersmith has made some recent changes in staff. So there are a few accounting positions open. Let me get you an application. Do you have a résumé?" The secretary said as she got up and went over to a file cabinet and extracted a form.

Kathy removed a résumé from her purse. It was an older one that she had used when she first returned to California. She had decided Kathy Kasternack was a safer name to use than Kathy McCormick. She didn't know why, but she assumed mob types had information and might associate McCormick with the judge. She handed the paper to the secretary and was handed back a clipboard with an application. Kathy decided a seat near the inner office would put her in a perfect spot for eavesdropping. She also suspected the secretary might be a good source of information. So as she slowly filled out the application, she decided to strike up a conversation.

"Is there new management here? Is that why there are staff changes? I mean I would hate to lose this job if I got it—I really need money."

The secretary leaned towards her, and replied, "Actually I have only been here a little over two months. Mr. Hammersmith, Mr. Kyle Hammersmith, he seems to want to get rid of his father's old staff. Mr. Kyle is fantastic to work for—he's wonderful. His dad used to run the business. I think he's retired or something. I guess the only people he's kept are a couple of warehouse managers and then there is Mr. Simpson."

"Mr. Simpson?" Kathy inquired.

"Yeah, Mr. Anthony Simpson—he is the vice-president around here. He is kind of a...well, I don't like him, and Mr. Kyle doesn't like him either. Other than that, this is a great place to work. Kyle is a wonderful boss. You'll like it here."

It was clear that the secretary was especially fond of Kyle Hammersmith. Then Kathy tried a different approach, and asked, "Does this Mr. Hammersmith's father ever come around?"

The secretary rolled her chair a little closer, and said, "I have never seen him. I think he doesn't get on with his father. Mr. Kyle is constantly calling this all a 'fresh start' for Hammer industries. He is a real upbeat guy." The secretary scooted back over toward her desk when she heard the entry door open.

Kathy's eyes traveled up to the entry and nearly choked. Strolling in on a mission was Judge Hardcastle. She did her best to hide herself behind her clipboard and a nearby potted plant.

Earlier at Gulls Way, after Kathy had left, Milt made his way to his truck. Mark, who had been haphazardly manicuring a shrub, immediately became alert.

"Where're you going?" Mark said coming over to the truck.

"I am going to have a word with Kyle Hammersmith. I'm not going to live in fear, kid," the judge said matter-of-factly.

"Wait, you promised Frank—," Mark began, but realized he didn't blame the judge. He too was itching to do something other than be a sitting duck. "Ok, I'm going with. Let me drive. You can crouch down so we get by the cops at the gate."

"Good thinking," the judge replied and tossed the keys to Mark.

When they finally reached Hammer Industries, Mark remarked, "I should have my head examined for letting you come here. I spend days convincing you to hide under police protection, only to drive you into the belly of the beast, so to speak."

Milt was resolute, "Well, I gotta let Hammersmith know that it isn't working. It also may not hurt to let him know he's being watched."

"Isn't that sorta like poking a bear with a stick," Mark asked dubiously.

"Maybe, but this bear's a grizzly and going to attack again either way, McCormick," Milt replied, and then started getting out of the truck. When he noticed Mark exiting, he quickly said, "No—you stay here. This is my fight."

"Judge—,"Mark began in protest.

"No, I want to keep you—and Kathy—out of it. It scared the hell out of me today to think she could be in the crosshairs...No, stay in the truck. They're not going to pull anything here. Don't worry. If it looks like trouble I'll come right back out here. I promise." Milt was resolute and sincere.

Mark didn't say anything, but his brow betrayed his concern. He did get back into the truck. Milt nodded and headed into the office of Kyle Hammersmith.

"I want to see Kyle Hammersmith," Hardcastle demanded after he came to the secretary's desk.

The secretary became a little flustered, but then asked, "Do you have an appointment?"

"Is he in?"

"Yes, but he's busy, hey wait—," she started as the judge went straight in the door.

Inside the office were Kyle Hammersmith and another man. Kyle was young, sandy haired, and about thirty. The other man was older, in his mid-forties, dark haired, and having a well-used look of disdain on his face, which gave serious doubt if he was capable of any other expression. It was clear the two were not happy with Hardcastle's abrupt arrival.

"Who are you?" Kyle asked.

"My name is Milton C. Hardcastle. I'm the man your father sent someone to kill yesterday. And honestly, I don't appreciate having my house shot up. Now, I'm only going to say this once, so that you can take it to your father. Tell, good old Jimmy, that I'll be there at his hearing Friday. There's no amount of intimidation that'll stop me—nothing he can do to me that will keep me from keeping him in prison...And if I can tie this to him—and the cops are looking into it, well, I might see to adding on a few more years. So, it's in Jimmy's best interest to call it off, or risk doing life in prison. You got me? Now have a nice day."

Before either man could respond, Hardcastle turned and headed out of Kyle's office.

On his way out, Milt turned to apologize to the secretary, but was momentarily stopped in his tracks. He recognized the two bespectacled eyes peering over a clipboard.

Those eyes pleaded with him and directed him toward the door. His face scowled. Kathy knew he was livid. She had hoped to do her intelligence gathering without drama, or detection, but she knew she now was going to get one heck of lecture when she got home.

Hardcastle grumbled and decided it would be safest just to leave, but not before shooting a hard look Kathy's way. She felt much like a teenager in trouble with her father.

Milt stomped to the car. He gazed about the lot and spotted the 'Vette parked on the perimeter. He went to the truck, opened the door, got in, and slammed the door shut.

Mark evaluated his mood, and said, "Didn't go well, huh?"

With a voice of angry frustration, Milt cranked, "Oh, you're going to love this. Of course I blame you. You've corrupted her! Now she's pulling one of your stupid moves."

"Are you losing it? Has the stress finally cracked that thick skull? What are you—I have no idea what you're talking about," Mark muttered in complete confusion.

"Look," Milt said pointing out the Corvette. The license plates reading D JUDGE gave away that it was Hardcastle's car.

The light dawned on Mark, and he gasped. "Her—you mean Kathy? She...she's in there. You left her in there? What the hell is she doing in there?"

"I don't know, kid. Whatever she's doing in there, I didn't want to point her out to the bad guys, now did I? So I didn't ask. Alls I know is I don't like it!"

Mark moved to open the door, and stated, "I'm goin' in to get her out of there."

Milt grabbed his shoulder. "Hold it—hold it! Don't. Come on, you don't want to draw attention to her do ya? Let's wait."

"Wait? While she is in a mobster's office," Mark replied nervously.

Hardcastle did his best to think rationally, but even he was agitated.

"We give her fifteen minutes—then we go in," the judge said as if laying down the law.

Mark started to sputter but relented.

Inside Hardcastle had left quite the argument in his proverbial wake, as well as a very open office door. In the moments after his leaving, Kathy overheard the two occupants begin to argue.

"That was Judge Milton C. Hardcastle. What the hell is my father up to? You are going to have to remember where your loyalties should lie!" Kyle shouted.

The older of the two must have realized their conversation was being heard, for he stuck his head out the door. With a scowl he glanced at the secretary and then at Kathy. She felt a chill from his cool observation. He spent an extra second focused on her. Kathy's instincts told her to hide or run, but instead she decided to continue to play the role of a prospective employee. She sat up and smiled. If anything, his expression lowered a few degrees. Then he slammed the door.

Now unable to hear the conversation, Kathy sought any reason to get closer to the inner office. Spotting a water cooler near the door, she asked the secretary if she could have a drink. She gestured to the cooler and Kathy found a spot as close to the door as she could, all the while hoping she wasn't being too obvious.

From where she stood she could faintly hear the argument from the office.

"Your father is getting mad at you destroying his legacy," the man shot at Kyle Hammersmith.

Kathy heard Kyle laugh with disgust. "Legacy...murder, drugs, guns, hookers...quite the legacy. I hope to God that Hardcastle is successful. I want that man locked away for life. In fact I wish this state had the death penalty because he'd be better off dead."

"You're a fool, Kyle. Jimmy has power and respect."

"No, he has fear. He's always only had fear. Well, I, like this judge, don't want to be afraid of him anymore. I'm going to make this business legit and profitable."

"By selling off the other interests to other cartels—everything your father has built?! He'll kill you first."

"Not if he has sense, as of Friday it is all gone anyway, besides I already have a profit without all the other..."

Kathy had hoped to hear the end of the fight, but the secretary began to stare at her suspiciously for taking far too much time sipping the world's smallest cup of water. Kathy crumpled the cup, tossed in in the waste bin, and picked up her clipboard. After a few more spaces were filled in, she moved to hand application to the secretary.

Then the door flew open and the older of the men walked out. He gave Kathy one last hostile glance and stormed away.

Kyle Hammersmith was angry, and shouted after him, "I mean what I say. Did you hear me, Simms!"

At that name, Kathy dropped her clipboard.

She quickly bent to retrieve it, but Kyle Hammersmith was faster, and picked it up.

He gave it a once over, and replied, "CPA, that's wonderful. We are looking for good people, Miss Kasternack." He spoke congenially, a surprise after the hostilities in which he had just participated. "I see you haven't had your certification for long."

"Is that a problem, Mr. Hammersmith," Kathy asked trying her best to play her role properly, although she was sure her voice had wavered.

Kyle smiled, and said, "No. Around here it is about a fresh start—new people and ideas. Now, I will read your resume and Miss Wilder here will call your references. If everything checks out we will give you a call. Thanks for coming in." Kyle handed her clipboard to the secretary and shook Kathy's hand. Then he returned to his office. Kathy was struck by the unexpected feeling that she may actually like Kyle Hammersmith.

Out in the truck, the time was up. Mark looked to the judge who popped open the glove compartment and pulled out a gun. But before they could 'assault' the building, Kathy came out casually from the front door. She caught the truck out of the corner of her eye, and ignored them. Getting in the Corvette, she started it up and drove out of the parking lot. She watched the truck follow her, and when she was a good distance from the Hammersmith office, she pulled over into a parking lot. She was excited by what she had learned.

Both Mark and Hardcastle exited the truck in a snit. She knew she was in for it.

Kathy got out of the car and leaned against the door. She crossed her arms. She would wait out their overreaction.

Mark was the first to start. "Are you crazy? What were you thinking—going in to at the office of the local mobster? I can't believe you. I expect this from 'Hardcase,' but—it's crazy!," Mark said lividly.

The judge was equally animated and upset. He added to Mark's litany, "That was mighty dangerous, kid. What if he had known who you were and something had happened to you? These guys are bad guys. It was whole lot nuts!"

Kathy stood stone faced, but then suddenly got mad. "Nuts! You two are telling me what I did was crazy and nuts! These comments from a law student prepared to be a bodyguard for the last week, and man who just stormed into a mobster's office and made threats—and I'm the crazy one? As far as I can see I'm the only one who had a sensible plan. And it must have been a pretty good one, gentleman, because I've things to share—if you two can get off your high horse to listen!"

Both the men stood for a second as their fuses fizzled out.

"Ok, ok. Whaddya find out?" Milt finally asked.

Kathy unfolded her arms and stood up straight.

"Well, first, Kyle isn't exactly a mobster anymore. The reason Hammersmith wants out is because Kyle has about sold off every bad part of the business to other 'families.' He wants have a legitimate business and he wants his dad to stay in prison—actually he said he hopes you can keep him in prison. I heard him arguing with that other man you saw in the office. He must side with the father. He certainly doesn't like Kyle."

"Kyle said the guy's name is Simpson," Milt added.

Kathy quickly jumped in, and replied, "Yeah, but as he left the office, Kyle called after him...he called him 'Simms'—must be a nickname or something. Isn't that the hitman?"

"So, that's the guy who shot up Gulls Way," Mark replied, and watched Hardcastle's mood darken.

"Wish I'd a known it when I was in there."

Kathy remarked, "Well, we know now. And he doesn't know that we know. So doesn't that give us an advantage?"

Milt gave a broad smile and put his paternal arm around Kathy. "Thanks to you, kiddo."

Mark wasn't ready to praise her completely, and grumbled, "I still think it was a little crazy going in there by yourself..."

"She got more than we got, McCormick," Milt replied honestly.

Kathy grinned and winked at Mark proudly, which made him laugh.

"Okay. But I wanted noted that I married her, so I can take some of the credit."

"Now, that is something that she did that was totally insane—marrying you," commented Milt sarcastically. Mark shook his head and laughed at the typical "Hardcastle" insult.

"Come on, let's get home before the cops figure out we've flown the coop," Milt said, "We'll call Frank from there."

SAN QUENTIN

"Hardcastle isn't backing down, Jimmy. He came in a confronted Kyle with a message for you. Said nothing you could do to him to stop him from being there Friday," Simpson said in the visitor's room through the phone.

"He did, did he? He needs to be disposed of, Simms," Hammersmith said with barely controlled rage.

Simpson replied, "That's now a whole lot harder. He's got police protection."

Hammersmith was surprised.

"Hardcastle?"

His knowledge of the man told him that Milton Hardcastle was far too bullheaded to seek outside protection.

"Yep, now if he stays at his mansion, he'll be hard to touch."

Hammersmith though for a minute, a smile crept over his lips, and he asked, "Does he have family? If I can get to him, maybe we can persuade him thata way."

Simpson shook his head, "I checked. Wife and son are both dead. What I did come up with is that he has got an ex-con and his wife living with him—a guy named 'Skid' McCormick. He did time here for grand theft auto. My connections say he treats him just like his kid."

"Then that'll do. Go after the ex-con first...and then the woman."

GULLS WAY

At dinner, Frank Harper brought over a surprisingly slim file on Simpson, a.k.a. Simms. Other than a few misdemeanor theft charges and a brief stint in prison for bookmaking there was nothing. Anthony Simpson, if he was a hitman, was a very good one.

"He's managed to keep his side business off his record," Frank commented. "I sent over a surveillance team to watch him. Problem is, we've checked the business and his apartment, but we haven't gotten eyes on him yet."

"That makes me nervous," Mark said. He figured this Simms must be up to something if he was staying out of sight.

"I got more news that'll make you nervous. He is on the record for visiting James Hammersmith earlier today."

"Marching orders, no doubt," Milt said with uncomfortable acceptance.

"I still have the guys out there," Frank said pointing to the exterior of Gulls Way.

Mark added, "I think Kathy and I'll stay in the house tonight."

Frank nodded as if he thought it was a good idea.

Milt however responded, "No. Right now, I'm the target. I'm not putting you two kids in the line of fire. I'll be fine."

"Judge—," Mark began, but Hardcastle had none of it.

"I'm not hearing it, kid. Frank's got his men outside—I'll be fine."

Mark was annoyed. "You're being a donkey, again."

"Well, it takes one to know one."

GATEHOUSE

The phone rang early in the morning. Mark reached across Kathy, and answered the phone.

"McCormick...yeah. Who?... Who? No, I'm sorry I don't remember...Really? Ok. Ok. What was the address?...806 Laroca Pass. That far? Yeah, sure...No problem, Justin...Sure...I'll meet you by then. Bye."

Kathy rubbed her eyes as he set down the receiver.

"Who was that?" Kathy asked sleepily.

Mark reluctantly pulled himself out of bed, grabbed his pants, and groped around the floor for his shoes. He replied, "A Justin Aberdeen. I guess he's a guy in my class. Says he missed the last lecture and needs the notes. I'm going to make a copy and take it to him."

Kathy opened both eyes a little wider, and asked, "This early?"

"Yeah. I know. We've an exam later today. He says he wants them to cram—have you seen my shoes?"

Kathy pointed to the stairs. Sure enough, they sat next to the top step.

"Laroca Pass, isn't that a backroad up the side of a mountain?" Kathy inquired.

Mark distracted by putting on his shoes, asked, "What?"

"Laroca Pass—what you said on the phone. You don't have to go half way up a mountain? Is he a goat? I mean is there anything even up there?

"Must be. Yeah—not thrilled about it. He says he lives a ways out there. There is a diner at a halfway point where he is going to meet me. If it isn't too bad, I'll just eat breakfast there—so you and Hardcastle don't need to wait for me. I should be back in an hour, or so." Mark grabbed his jacket and keys. He came over and gave Kathy a kiss goodbye.

"I hope this guy is a good friend, considering. Be safe," Kathy said as he moved to the stairs.

"That's just it," Mark replied incredulously, "I don't remember him at all. Of course, it's a big class. See ya. Keep an eye on 'Hardcase'."

Minutes later Kathy heard the Coyote turn down the drive. She lay in bed as the sun came up. When she fully woke up, she began to turn what Mark had said over in her head. She became uneasy. The uneasiness increased by the second, and she had a feeling she'd better tell the judge. She didn't bother to get dressed. Instead, she put on her robe and headed directly to the kitchen. She knew the judge was already up. He had made his morning visit to the basketball court over an hour ago.

When she arrived at the kitchen, the judge noticed her informal attire. "I thought you were really going to work today?" he asked.

"Mark took off for Laroca Pass. I mean he got a call from a fellow law student—at least he said he was a fellow student. He asked him to bring him some notes. The problem is he doesn't remember the guy. I mean he didn't seem to know him. I mean, how did he get Mark's number?" Kathy began, and then got flustered, "I don't know. I just had a bad feeling is all."

Hardcastle struggled to make complete sense of her rambling, but gleaned enough to understand Kathy's concern. Milt took her seriously, and asked, "When did he leave?"

She glanced at the clock, "About a half hour ago—maybe a little longer." She mentally chastised herself for not paying attention to the clock when Mark left.

The judge headed outside to the squad car that sat in the drive. Kathy anxiously followed, talking nervously. "I think if the call hadn't woken us up...we would have been thinking more clearly."

Milt got the officer's attention, and then he turned to Kathy. The officer listened as Milt asked Kathy, "Do you know where he was going—as specific as you can?"

Kathy thought for a second to remember the address she had overheard Mark repeat on the phone. She was grateful she had a crack shot memory.

"806 Laroca Pass—it's a diner. He said he was going to meet a Justin Aberdeen at this diner to give him notes. He said that Justin told him he lived a distance away and that was the halfway point."

The judge turned to the officer, and said, "I want you to follow McCormick to that location."

The officer appeared to question whether or not he should leave, but Hardcastle was emphatic.

"Go! I'll call Harper," he said and watched as the cruiser took off around and down the drive.

The judge saw Kathy's fear, and did his best to alleviate it.

"You know it's probably nothin'. We both are goin' to get all sorts of grief from McCormick for being such worry warts. Naw, I'm sure it is just a kid and notes. You go ahead get ready for work." the judge said as if he wasn't worried at all. Kathy knew better.

Meanwhile, Mark had made fairly good time up the steep road. He checked his watch as he pulled into the diner's parking lot. It was a rather dingy place, much like The Greasy Spoon. Its name was simply Good Eats, but he was not the least bit convinced that this time the name would ring true. He grabbed his notes, went inside, and scanned the small diner for someone familiar. The only customers were an elderly couple and an oil stained truck driver. Neither could be Justin Aberdeen. Deciding he must be early, he took a seat at the counter and asked for some coffee. Considering the smell of burnt bacon grease and scorched toast that wafted through the room, Mark decided to pass on breakfast.

As he sat, a black truck had pulled up to the unobservable side of the diner. Simms came over to the Coyote. After quietly popping the hood, he leaned in deeply and put a slice through the break line. Carefully, and stealthfully, he dropped the hood back into place. Brake fluid slowly dripped out onto the gravel. Simms smiled grimly and moved his truck down the road to a low copse of brush. Then he sat back and waited.

After thirty minutes, Mark decided that he had waited long enough. He got the waitress's attention.

"Miss, if a Justin Aberdeen comes in could you give this to him," Mark said holding up a pile of papers. The waitress hesitated, and he added, "They are notes from law school. I was supposed to meet him here, but I need to go. If he doesn't come by the end of the day, you can throw them away."

The waitress reluctantly consented, and took the papers placing them behind the counter.

"Thanks," Mark replied leaving a far better tip than a cup of coffee was worth.

He exited the diner, inhaled fresh air, and hopped into the Coyote.

At first he didn't notice that the brakes were not working well, but it didn't take too many downhill turns to realize something was wrong. He was about to try to bring the Coyote to a slowing stop, when the black truck suddenly rammed his side. Accelerated from the impact, Mark struggled to make each twist and turn on the winding mountain road. The truck continued to smash into him whenever he tried to abate his acceleration. He was caught between a rock and a hard place, afraid to accelerate, but needing to get away fast.

The Coyote flew all over the road. For most of the violent decent, Mark was grateful that the traffic down the peak had been nonexistent. However, he was abruptly startled by a large Winnebago lumbering up the hill. Unable to stop, the Coyote swerved. Dust and gravel flew, and Mark's back end caught the side of a tree. Although jarring, the impact stopped most of the forward motion. Unfortunately, the front of the Coyote swung out to a stop, teetering on the edge of the precipice. The position was so precarious, that Mark was unable to shift his weight or risk going completely over the cliff. He held his breath unable to move. In the rearview mirror his eye caught the black truck. The engine revved up to ram him over the edge. Mark's mind raced to figure out what he could do next.

Then all at once, a police siren blared. The black truck turned rapidly from its malevolent intentions and flew up the road.

Mark sighed in relief, only to set the Coyote to wobbling. Panicked, he tried hold still. Mark recognized the policeman as the one that had been sitting in the drive of Gull's Way, and fought the urge to again sigh in relief.

"I called to a rescue team! They'll be here in ten minutes!" the officer shouted.

"Can we make it five?!" Mark yelled but once again was met with a shift in the vehicle. His smart mouth would get him killed yet.

GULLS WAY

Milt had practically shoved Kathy out the door. He didn't want her to worry. She had left in the 'Vette reluctantly. He had to remind her that at the police station she could actually hear everything first. She promised to call as soon as she got there.

After she left, Milt alternated between sitting by the phone and pacing in the study. He, like Kathy, had a bad feeling about McCormick.

Kathy parked the 'Vette at the parking ramp down the street from the station. Jittery, she dropped the keys, and bent to pick them up. As she stood, she noticed a black truck turning the corner slowly to her level. Perhaps it was her feeling of heightened alarm for Mark, the black truck involved in the shoot up of Gulls Way, or the fact that a postal truck had chased her in a ramp a few years back, but as quickly as she could she propelled her feet forward.

Simms spotted his target quickly. Even without her glasses, he immediately recognized her as the woman in the lobby from the day before. His plan had been just to scare the McCormick woman, but now he was willing to inflict some real punishment.

The screech and acceleration of tires behind Kathy told her that her instincts had been spot on. She rapidly sought the exit sign and raced towards it. The sound of bullets suddenly echoed off the cement walls around her. She fought the urge to look back, afraid that it would slow her down. She envisioned the cold stare of Mr. Simpson. The cold faced image made her feet move that much faster.

Even when her arm stung with sudden pain, she didn't hesitate for a moment. Instead, she grabbed the handle of the exit door, jerked it, and flung herself through it, never turning around. She did her best not to fall as she tried to run down the stairs two steps at a time. Her ears, peeled for the possibility of someone pursuing her, heard nothing but the staccato of her heels on the steps. Nevertheless, she raced out of the garage and down the street to the police station as fast as her feet would carry her.

The bloodstain spreading across the sleeve of her blouse caused quite a scene as she ran through the station. She ignored everyone until she arrived at Frank Harper's office. Her thoughts filled only with worry over Mark.

"Is Mark alright," she gasped. She could only think that if this crazy man had shot at her, what had he done to Mark? Fear sluiced through her, even as blood dripped to the tips of her fingers.

Frank looked up from his phone and was taken aback with shock. Aghast, he saw the blood and immediately sprang up from his desk chair. He went over to her, and attempted to assess the situation.

"What the hell happened, Kathy?"

Kathy, who couldn't care less about herself, begged again for an answer, "Is Mark okay?"

Frank saw quickly that the wound was from a bullet, and yelled to the crowd that had formed behind Kathy, "It's a bullet! Myers, call an ambulance!" He applied pressure to the wound, and then turned to Kathy and calmly said, "I was just on the phone with Milt. Mark is okay. Simms tried to push him off a cliff, but that husband of yours has nine lives. He's fine. They're going to tow the Coyote and him back to Gulls Way. Now, what in the hell happened to you?"

Kathy was relieved, and with the adrenaline wearing off, replied shakily, "I parked the car, the Corvette—Oh, I hope it didn't get shot up! The judge has already so much to upset him."

"Considering how Mark and Milt get shot at nearly every week, I think they have a bulk rate at the body shop—don't worry," Frank said reassuringly, and then asked, "Now, come on, what happened to you?"

"Black truck—it had to be Simms...or Simpson—whatever his name is. I saw the truck and ran. He shot at me," Kathy said, and then appeared to suddenly look down and realize she had been shot. The sight of blood made her legs weaken, and Frank led her to a chair. He kneeled next to her to continue to hold pressure on her wound. His eyes darted about looking for something at arm's distance to use as a tourniquet.

"What level did you park?"

"Three," Kathy replied weakly.

Frank barked more orders at a few of the officers still gathered around. Several split off in various directions.

"Well, that parking ramp has security cameras. Maybe we'll finally have something to nail Simpson with. You did good. You're going to be okay."

In a moment the paramedics came through the door. Frank stood back and let them take over.

GULLS WAY

The tow truck brought McCormick and the somewhat crumpled Coyote to the driveway. Although he was uninjured, he viewed the badly beaten Coyote with a pained expression. The car would need another pile of major repairs. It had been rebuilt so many times that it was hardly the car he had been given four years ago.

Milt arrived on the scene as they lowered the Coyote down to the drive.

"You okay?," he asked coming over to Mark.

"Yeah," Mark said practically sighing in despair. He gestured to the car. "Look—look at it. It's going to cost me a bundle."

"I got this one, kid," Milt said with contrition, "It's my fault."

Mark didn't like it when the judge came down on himself like this. He preferred the bold and cocky Milton C. Hardcastle.

Mark turned to Milt and then started towards the house. "Com'on—your fault? What-did you cut my brake line, jump in a black truck, and try to drive me off a cliff? No, Judge, this is Hammersmith—and that Simms or Simpson, whatever—it's their fault! When I get my chance I'll take it out on them. No—you will when you go and speak against Jimmy at that hearing!"

They stopped at the stoop.

"Kid, I can't help thinking if I wasn't so stubborn—well, I'm just glad you didn't end up on the bottom of that ravine," Milt spoke remorsefully. Since Frank had called him about Mark, the judge had been slowly coming to a conclusion about Hammersmith and the hearing tomorrow. He wasn't sure how the kid was going to take it.

Mark didn't like the sound of Milt's tone. He could sense Hardcastle wavering.

Just then a squad car circled around the drive. A young officer jumped out.

"Judge Hardcastle—Mr. McCormick—Lieutenant Harper has asked that you come with me right away," the officer spoke with urgency.

Neither one of the men where all that enthusiastic about going anywhere, and Milt asked, "What's this about?" He gestured to Mark, and continued, "The kid's been through a hell of a lot— "

"Sir, this has to do with Mrs. McCormick."

Immediately the two were at red alert.

"What's wrong with Kathy?" McCormick demanded. He moved toward the officer.

At the same moment Milt anxiously asked, "What's happened?"

"I don't know much, sirs. I was told to escort you to the St. Vincent's Hospital," he replied gravely.

Mark looked to Milt. There was no hiding their fear.

Milt motioned to the truck, and said sternly, "Let's go, kid." Mark followed without hesitation.

The officer was about to object, for he'd been instructed to bring them, but Milt replied, "Get in your car. We'll need a police escort. Use the siren—we won't be stopping for any lights." The young man nodded understandingly, and got in his cruiser. In a moment they were headed, at top speed, down the drive.

ST. VINCENT'S HOSPITAL

The two men raced into the hospital. Inside they were met by Frank. Since both men seemed intent on barreling through the emergency room, he held out his arms to stop them.

"Hold up—hold it. The doc's almost done. Give him a chance to finish," Frank said continuing to hold them back.

"Almost done with what?" Mark asked with a voice riddled with panic, "What's happened to Kathy?"

Frank motioned to the chairs in the hall. He knew he'd better bring calm to the situation before either one of the two went off halfcocked.

"Come on, Frank. How bad is it?" Milt asked uneasily.

It was clear they were not going to sit down, so Frank lowered his arms with a reluctant shrug. He'd tried.

"Well, your man Simms must have hustled across town after leaving you teetering on the edge of that cliff, because he had a go at Kathy soon after."

Mark paced nervously, and asked, "Car accident?" That and a million disastrous scenarios raced through Mark's head. Then he demanded angrily, "Damn it—what's wrong with her!?"

As calmly as he could, Frank replied, "She took a bullet, Mark."

The wind knocked out of Mark and he sat down in shock. His wife had been shot.

"How bad, Frank?" Milt asked seriously. He put his hand on Mark's shoulder. The kid sat in distress.

Frank did his best to reassure them. "Not too bad, guys—a 'through and through' in her upper arm. The doc is back there sewing her up." Then Frank chuckled gently, and said, "She's a trooper, Mark. That kid was more worried about you—and that damned car of yours, Milt—then herself. Speaking of which, we are hoping we catch a break, because the parking garage where she was shot has a security camera. If we get a good picture, or plate, we can nail this Simpson."

"What about Hammersmith," Mark said seething, "He's behind all of this..." Mark rose to his feet and raked his hand through his hair.

"Now settle down—we want to do this right and gather the evidence. I want to keep that monster in prison and throw away the key—we aren't going to do it if you go all hell bent on revenge. Alls you'll do is get yourself put back in," Frank stated emphatically.

"Revenge! How's about self-preservation! He...He shot up Gulls Way—could of killed Hardcastle. Then he...then he nearly pushed me off a cliff and shot my wife! " Mark shouted in response. The angry pacing began again. Mark was barely in control, and Milt knew it.

"Hold it. Calm down. We do this by the book, McCormick," Milt replied. However, there was something strange in how the judge spoke. It lacked his normal mule stubborn conviction.

A nurse arrived from behind a swinging door.

"Are you Mr. Mark McCormick?" she asked Mark.

"Yes—how's my wife?" He asked stepping towards her.

"You can come back now. The doctor will speak to you."

Milt patted Mark on the back to go on without him. Mark followed the nurse and Milt remained with Frank.

"Milt, we have known each other far too long for me not to see some kinda plan forming in your head," Frank replied inquisitively.

Milt sighed and said, "Yep, but you aren't going to like it, Frank. Neither are the kids." He paused and then stated, "I want you to take me out to San Quentin. I'm going to have a word with James Hammersmith."

A Dr. Kilpatrick met Mark in the hallway and explained that although Kathy had lost some blood, the bullet went through her arm without hitting a major artery or doing any significant damage.

"I recommended that Mrs. McCormick stay in the hospital overnight for observation, but she insists on being discharged. Right now she is getting dressed. You can take her home, but I insist she have complete rest for several days. I have given her shot of painkiller and a prescription for antibiotics. She will have to return in a few weeks to remove the stitches" Then Dr. Kilpatrick sighed and then smiled a bit continuing, "All in all, she appears fine. She will just have to heal. You can go back and get her in room 9."

Mark nodded, and replied, "Thanks, Doc."

Mark went around the corner and found Kathy sitting on the edge of the examination table. Other than being a little pale, she was as Frank had described her, "a trooper." Her feet dangled as she sat, and she kicked her feet ever so slightly as she waited making her appear childlike. He almost smiled at the sight. But then, Mark noticed that her sleeve was in bloodied tatters and her arm was now wrapped and in a sling. Anger rose up in his middle, but he suppressed its expression, he would not upset her for anything in the world. He was glad she looked far better than any of the nightmarish possibilities he had imagined.

"You know Wonder Woman has bracelets to stop bullets—the rest of us are supposed to duck," Mark said entering the room.

Kathy's gaze traveled to his. Her face filled with relief. She held out her good arm and he carefully embraced and kissed her.

With her hand she held the side of his face, and examined him. She asked, "Are you okay?"

He chuckled. "I think that's my line."

"All I could think about is what that Simms could have done to you—considering, you know" Kathy replied motioning to her arm in a sling. She leaned in and kissed him again.

"I'm okay... I'm okay. You're the only one who's hurt. Doc says you are refusing to stay at the hospital."

Kathy's face became stern, and she replied, "I'm sure as hell not leaving you two alone tonight. Who knows what silly plan you'd come up with." She put her hand on his arm and carefully slid to her feet. She cringed with pain but then confidently said, "Okay, let's go."

Mark found Kathy's resilience reassuring. No matter how many scrapes and troubles she got herself into, Kathy McCormick wasn't one to remain a damsel in distress. She always seemed to brush herself off and embrace the next danger as it came. Milt was right, she was the girl for him—for both of them. He couldn't imagine any of the blond, cobalt eyed, beauties he'd dated taking to his and Hardcastle's lifestyle quite as Kathy had. She was a wonder woman, alright.

"You know you've just been shot?" Mark said, knowing she wasn't going to listen.

Kathy steadied herself with his hand, and replied, "Considering our household—who hasn't been? Take me home. We have to stick together. We have to be there for Judge Hardcastle. He's going to need us tonight. I have another bad feeling."

There was no arguing with that. Mark had the feeling that Hammersmith had finally gotten to the judge and that worried him more than almost anything else. Milton C. Hardcastle could not, and should not, be intimidated by the "bad guy." In Mark's mind it should always be the other way around.

Quickly, Mark found a wheelchair and pushed Kathy out of the ER. He knew they'd better move quickly to find out what the judge was up to.

When they arrived in the lobby, a receptionist handed Mark the keys to the truck. She told them that Hardcastle had left with Frank.

Mark hoped that the judge wasn't doing something that he'd regret.

SAN QUENTIN

James Hammersmith grinned like Cheshire cat as he came to the visiting area. He was delighted how fast Simms must have worked to bring this about. Before him, was his nemesis—his defeated nemesis.

Milton C. Hardcastle sat stone faced and waited for Hammersmith to pick up the phone. When he did, Milt grabbed his receiver and again waited.

"I'm so glad to see you Judge. I had always prayed that you would come after one of my invitations. I must have said—or done—something right to finally get your attention." Jimmy said with obvious double meaning and a dose of his now signature saccharine.
"Leave them alone, Hammersmith," Milt replied coldly. He could tell that Jimmy knew exactly what he was talking about, but Hammersmith continued with his "sweet" routine.

"Who? Who are you talking about, Judge? Me—I'm here in prison...what can I do? Of course I'm always ready to do whatever I can for my 'friends'—you know, those that help me...or don't get in my way, for that matter. Can I assume you came here today to be my 'friend,' Milt?"

"You go after those kids again and you'll find that I'm a very special friend—if you get my drift. If you have a problem, it's with me. You got that?"

For a second, some of the façade of saintliness fell away from Hammersmith. His eyes flashed hatred toward Hardcastle, the man who had until now, killed his chances to reclaim his empire. Then he put on a false smile again, and said, "Kids? I didn't know you had any family Milt. I thought they were all dead—all dead. That son of yours killed in Vietnam—shame. Then there was your wife, Nancy—too bad, too bad... I'm so glad you have some sort of do-it-yourself family now. That is wonderful, Judge. I hope that nothing further happens to them, too...too much death. Well, I guess that is up to you—being the head of the family and all. Just think if I get out tomorrow, with your help—or absence for that matter—I'd be able to see to it that no one hurts your family. I mean I have no beef with them."

Milt became uncomfortable, looked down and frowned. Then he looked straight at Hammersmith and replied, "Fine. You tell Simms, or Simpson, to leave them the hell alone—got that?"

The expression on Hammersmith's face changed to sadistic glee, and he replied victoriously, "Oh, I knew with a little gentle persuasion you'd become a friend. Well, fear not Judge, I will pray for your 'kids' and I guarantee my prayers will be answered—they will be safe."

"Your prayers better be or you'll be receiving your 'heavenly reward' before you know it Hammersmith—you understand King James?" Milt threatened, and then slammed the phone down. It took everything in his power not to punch through the glass and strangle the life out of Hammersmith.

Hammersmith smiled blissfully and waved.

It made the judge sick to see the victory on the face of a creep like Hammersmith, but he'd be damned if he allowed Mark or Kathy to be hurt. He hoped that Mrs. Grant, wherever she was, would forgive him.

Frank met him on the other side of the door.

"You're giving in to him—not going to speak against him, aren't you?"

Milt, who appeared as defeated as Hammersmith was triumphant, replied, "Frank, those kids mean...well, they mean everything to me. I'm not going to let them be hurt because of a guy like him. We'll have to find another way. Have you got anything on this Simms?"

Frank and Milt began to walk toward the exit, and Frank replied, "The video from the security camera gave us a clear look at the plate and the face of this Simpson, or Simms character. We've put out a warrant for his arrest. We have yet to spot him, but when we do..."

"Yeah—when you do, he'll have to roll on Hammersmith—and I don't see it happening," Milt said utterly discouraged.

Frank patted Milt on the back, and said, "I'll take you home, Milt. The word from the hospital is that they released Kathy. So go home and take care of...your family. Focus on them, and we'll take care of Simms and Hammersmith."

GULLS WAY

It was an odd evening. After some inquiries about Kathy's condition, the trio ate an almost silent dinner. Mark has seen this sort of mood before in Hardcastle. The judge was upset, and if Mark had a guess, it was self-directed. Mark had a hunch why, but waited until Kathy had gone to bed to tackle the subject.

As Mark entered the study, he noticed the judge sitting and staring contemplatively at the far wall. He hadn't seen Hardcastle this forlorn since he thought he was dying. Unfortunately, this time there was no waxing poetical over a plastic flower. Hardcastle was in a much darker place.

"Kathy fell asleep right away," Mark said, announcing his presence in the study.

Milt gave a half smile, and replied, "Good. I'm glad you two are staying in the house tonight." Mark nodded. Milt's voice was sincere, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

Mark looked directly at the judge, paused, and then said, "I guess we could beat around the bush all night. But you and I both know that isn't my style. You saw Hammersmith today, and you said you weren't going to his hearing tomorrow—didn't you?"

Milt sighed, and replied, "Yes, I saw Jimmy. I wasn't going to let him have a go at you or Kath again—that's for damned sure. I said what I had to say to...protect you—you, know." The judge became ever so uncomfortable with the emotional stuff, but Mark ignored it.

"What's going to stop him after he gets out, Judge? I mean, this guy isn't exactly the 'forgive and forget type'."

"I said today what I had to, kid. We'll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Maybe they won't let him out no matter what I do," Milt replied without conviction. He took a deep breath and turned his head.

Mark hated seeing the judge this way.

"Come on, Judge. Where's that 'if I'm intimidated what will that mean to the ordinary citizen' attitude. A couple of days ago you would have gone to that jail, spit in his eye, and then told him to go to hell—Not to mention coming up with a plan to nail the creep."

The judge became uncomfortable at being reminded of his own words. He got up from his chair, walked over to the desk, and then glanced momentarily at Mark.

"I guess I am a disappointment, kid. I'm sorry," Milt replied and circled around to the desk chair. He pulled it out, but didn't sit down. Instead, he turned to gaze at the darkness outside the study window.

Mark replied earnestly, "You aren't a disappointment—I mean you want to protect Kathy and me...I get that. I can't tell you how scared I was to day, Judge...Not knowing what happened to Kathy. I'm not too thrilled that she was shot today, but she is okay—I'm okay. I hate to think we went through all that and Hammersmith wins is all." Mark sat down, starting to feel defeated himself.

"I know kid, I know. Did my own worse case scenarios twice today," Milt began, then turned around and faced Mark. He continued, "First, I thought you could have been killed...then Kathy." Milt became thoughtful, and said, "You know, when I was talking to Hammersmith he reminded me of something. He brought up Nancy and my son..."

"—I'm sorry Judge," Mark interrupted. Hammersmith was despicable. Milt waved his hand to dismiss McCormick's sympathies.

"No...that annoyed me, but he had a point. He said that you two where my family now—of course he hinted to a threat, but he was right. You are...well, you are all I have now...," Milt lowered his head and his voice cracked slightly, "I'm not losing any more family."

Mark stood up in a flourish, came towards the desk, and replied vehemently, "Then fight him like the mule stubborn Hardcastle, I know, would fight! Last thing Kathy said before I came down was 'to let Hammersmith have it'. I sure as hell don't want anything to happen to Kathy—to any of us—but, if you give in, we've got nothin'. We've got no guarantees that Hammersmith won't try again. We'll stand with you—take on the risks. Don't let him win, Judge! You have to go to the hearing—for us, for Adam Grant...for yourself! This family, or whatever the hell we are,...We are behind you—Ready to fight for 'truth, justice, and the Hardcastle way!'"

"He's right—count me in," spoke a small voice from the doorway. Kathy stood, arm in a sling, leaning against the wall in her robe. She had heard Mark's words and smiled with encouragement towards Milt.

Milt had stood silently with his back to Mark during his entire speech. He turned and looked to Mark and then to Kathy. A smile spread slowly across his face.

"You know, I never actually told Hammersmith that I wouldn't come to the hearing. I never even said I wouldn't testify."

Mark saw the flash of "Hardcastle" fire in Milt's eyes. He was back! With a grin, Mark quickly replied, "Now you're cookin'!"

HAMMERSMITH INDUSTRIES

Kyle Hammersmith was at his desk when Simms barged into the office.

Kyle didn't bother to look up, but simply responded, "The police are looking for you."

"I need more cash," Simms said flatly, "This family owes me."

At that, Kyle finally did look up.

"Why...Why would I give you money? The police, they told me what you've done. You shot a woman, Simpson! She didn't do anything –you and your blind loyalty to my father. You have tied your own noose. Now hang from it," Kyle said shaking his head and rising from his chair behind the desk.

"That woman sat in your lobby spying on us just two days ago—the one wanting to be an accountant. She crossed your family," Simms spat.

Kyle was incredulous. "This family...This family...we were never a family—Just an angry man bullying his wife and children. Now this lady, I don't blame her. You and good old Dad, shot up her home, and she comes down here to find out why. Revenge, retribution, intimidation and then you get offended because people don't like it...you repeat the pattern over and over again. You and my father are fools—do not expect me to join you!"

Simms was disgusted, and replied, "Your father will kill Hardcastle when he gets released...then maybe he will clean his own house."

Kyle knew exactly what Simms meant, and replied calmly, "Then I will at least die with honor, trying to be better than what I have been given—stopping this family's pathological greed for all things evil. My grandfather, uncles, and even my brother—what did they die for? So that more drugs could be on the street that day, or more hookers turning tricks...blood money? No, it ends with me."

Kyle sat down calmly and returned to his work.

"You lectured me the other day on loyalty. Soon you will have to pick a side, or it will end you," Simms said ominously.

Just then, three police officers with their guns drawn, entered his office.

Again, Kyle's eyes stayed focused on his work, "I'll choose the 'good' side, Simpson—every time. That as a rule is always the exact opposite of whatever my father wants. I will never be like him. I'll not be a killer, Simms," Kyle looked up to the cops. "I am glad my secretary reached you. Get him out of here, officers."

They cuffed Simpson, whose eyes raged with a murderous rancor, as Kyle got back to work.

GULLS WAY

Mark stood by the mirror straightening his tie. They had agreed to go together to the hearing. Even Kathy had insisted she would go, despite the men's objections.

"We need to get going," Kathy said grabbing her purse. Mark stepped out from the gatehouse bathroom and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair.

"Are you ready?" Mark asked. She looked fantastic, considering all she went through the day before. She wore a light blue dress with a lace collar. The color of the dress, she had said, went better with the navy blue sling in which her wounded arm was still placed. But Mark's words meant more than clothes; they had come up with a risky plan the night before. Although he and Kathy would not be taking on the lion's share of the threat, they were all putting their lives in danger by going to the hearing and sticking it to Hammersmith.

Kathy smiled thoughtfully, and replied, "I'm ready."

Mark took her good hand and they headed outside.

Milt was at his truck "itching" to get going. Hardcastle was a bundle of nerves and anticipation. Mark couldn't blame him.

"Just got a call from Frank—they nabbed Simms," stated Hardcastle.

Kathy asked, "Does that mean we don't have to go today? I mean, he is the connection to Hammersmith that we needed, isn't he?"

Mark flatly replied, "He won't talk. The guy put his neck way, way out for Hammersmith—he is quite the loyal soldier."

Hardcastle nodded in agreement with Mark, and stated, "Now you two don't have to go—this is my fight."

"Judge, don't start. We are 'all for one and one for all' on this one. I think, with all we have gone through, it is now officially our fight," Mark replied. They had argued about it all the night before. Mark knew that secretly the judge was pleased by the show of solidarity, no matter how much he grumbled his dissatisfaction.

"Okay, kids, let's go," Milt said getting in the driver's seat of the car. Mark and Kathy walked over to the 'Vette and got in.

"You'd better not put a scratch on her, McCormick," Milt yelled out his window as he drove next to them.

Mark laughed, put the car into gear, and replied to Kathy, "Isn't it nice to have him back to his old cuddly self."

DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS PAROLE BOARD

The three found a seat at the back of the hearing room. It wasn't long before James Hammersmith was led handcuffed into the room. He looked almost euphoric.

"He's in for one hell of a surprise," Mark said sarcastically to Milt.

Sure enough, as Hammersmith surveyed the room he spotted Hardcastle. For a split second his face registered the jolt. He covered quickly, but his eyes sizzled with simmering anger towards Hardcastle. Soon after, he was flanked by well-wishing lawyers, shrinks, and even several guards from the prison. He had quite the cheerleading section.

Kathy, who sat to the other side of Milt, grabbed Hardcastle's hand in support. Milt glanced at her and smiled faintly.

"Here we go, kids," the judge said as the parole board entered the room.

Then the three had to sit through an hour of glowing testimonials to Hammersmith's character.

Mark was riled. All he could think about was that the man everyone seemed to be deifying had hired someone to kill each one of them. He writhed in his chair.

"Settle down, McCormick," Hardcastle whispered harshly, "We'll get our turn."

Mark whispered back, "Yeah, but one against..." Mark stopped as he motioned to the lineup of Hammersmith sycophants. The odds were getting steep. Even Hardcastle was having serious doubts that his words would have any weight against the crowd of Hammersmith supporters.

"Judge Hardcastle, you have something to say," stated a parole board member.

Milt stood up, and replied, "Yes, mam."

"Good luck, Judge," Mark said quietly as Hardcastle moved to the front of the room.

After thanking the board, Hardcastle went into a retelling of the original crimes that Hammersmith had committed from the gun smuggling to the cold blooded running down of Adam Grant.

"Now, Mrs. Grant is usually at these things, but she recently died of cancer. Now I stand before you as two people—three, if you count young Adam Grant. I stand to here to remind you that not only has Mr. Hammersmith not paid for his actions, the death of that fine young man, but also that even now he uses intimidation and fear to get his way."

"—Judge, what proof do you have?" One of the board members asked before Hammersmith's lawyer could interrupt.

Mark watched, and moved to the edge of his seat, he knew that what they'd just gone through couldn't exactly be proven to be Hammersmith's fault. The judge would have to walk a narrow line with the words he chose.

"Just today an associate of Mr. Hammersmith's, a Mr. Simpson, was taken in to custody for attempted murder on my life, and those of two friends of mine."

"I must respond to this," the lawyer interrupted in protestation, "Mr. Hammersmith is in prison, has been for years. He no longer has any associates."

Hammersmith, who had sat with a smile plastered on his face, suddenly grasped a Bible to his chest and replied gently, "I must speak if I may." His lawyer quickly whispered something in his ear, but Hammersmith waved him off. "No, I must tell the truth. The man the judge is speaking about is a former associate. He came the other day, angry about Judge Hardcastle's plan to speak against me. I tried to set him right. I even reported my concerns to the warden when I realized that he might do something wrong. Sadly, it appears he didn't listen to my counsel for peace. The true peace I have received from the Lord."

Mark guffawed.

The warden quickly spoke up, "Mr. Hammersmith requested a meeting with me yesterday. He did tell me of a Tyler Simpson's threats against the Judge. I took it though proper channels. The police were notified today."

"It came a little late," Milt grumbled under his breath.

With his saccharine tone Hammersmith replied, "I'm so sorry, sir. I tried to stop it."

Mark in an annoyed whisper, replied to Kathy, "This is rich. The jerk protected himself in case we caught Simpson. He comes out of this smelling like a rose. Damn it!"

The board member, acting as if the matter was resolved, turned to Hardcastle and asked, "Is that it Judge, or is there more you would like to say?"

"That isn't it! Remember the Grant kid! Not to mention Hammersmith is a danger to me, people I consider my family, and anyone else that crosses him!" the judge shouted angrily. He was livid at the snow job the board was obviously buying, not to mention the utter lack of proper procedure at the parole hearing. He let the board know it.

"That is enough, Judge Hardcastle! We are taking all the facts into consideration. Please take your seat," one board member said harshly.

Milt went back to sit by Kathy and Mark.

"Well, they're buying his line of bull," Milt replied in disgust.

"We knew they might, Judge," Mark replied, "Now that you have sufficiently ticked the man off, we just have to sit and wait...well, you do Kemo Sabe. 'Tanto' is not the man King James is going to be gunning for."

"Let's go. The rest is all academic. I need to go get rid of my police protection...," Hardcastle said looking at the two kids. They knew that the plan was moving forward.

GULLS WAY

Milt put down the phone.

"Well, that's that. They cut Hammersmith loose. He'll be out tomorrow at dawn."

"That's quick. Hammersmith's sure getting the red carpet treatment," Mark replied, his voice not hiding his revulsion. "He runs guns, hookers, drugs, and murders a kid and they bend over backwards. Now, I just take my own car...then when I am up for parole, my hearing was filled with hostility and a bad attitude— and that was just you! There is no justice, Judge, none at all."

Hardcastle took offense, and replied quickly, "Stop it! Of course there is justice, McCormick—every once in a while someone like Hammersmith comes along and abuses the system is all. Besides, we are going to get justice. Paroles can be revoked, you know!"

"And charges added, I know, Judge, I know. I still think your plan is pushing it—of course it's pushing it. I spent a week trying to keep you out of Hammersmith's crosshairs only to get you back into it on purpose, no less." Mark said sitting down on chair in the study. "Come tomorrow you're a sitting duck. I never thought I'd miss the police at my door."

Hardcastle sat forward on his desk chair, and replied, "That's just it. Hammersmith isn't going to make a move with two squad cars sitting out there."

"You do realize what 'make his move' means, Judge? Meanwhile, there's you and me hoping we can dodge the bullet after it's left the gun," Mark replied cynically.

Milt sat back, and smiled, "He'll come—he lost a whole lotta 'face' by me being there at the hearing. Frank got me a copy of his psychiatric profile—one from his first 'psych' evaluation when the doc wasn't his best pal. He's real big on getting 'respect.' We can bet he'll be coming after us personally."

Mark appeared sick at the prospect of the risk and at Hardcastle's apparent pleasure at the thought. Then the judge became more serious, "Kathy is staying at Madge's for a couple days, right? I don't want her around here getting hurt."

"Your concern for me is touching—but yep, I drove her over 'kicking and screaming' this morning. You know she wanted to stay and help," Mark replied, only exaggerating slightly. Kathy had objected stridently to being sent away. "She's real big on us sticking together."

"If she was here, we'd both worry about her and lose focus at the matter at hand," the judge replied bluntly.

"Oh yes, the matter at hand... getting killed in appropriate mob fashion—will it be a walk in the woods followed by a shot to the back of your head?...Or how about the classic cement shoes and 'swimming with the fishes," Mark said sarcastically with a laugh. "You called Frank, right?"

"Very funny, McCormick—Frank'll be ready to go at dawn. You know what you need to do tomorrow, right?" the judge asked getting up from his chair.

"I get to hide—you have no idea how much I like that part of the plan."

HAMMERSMITH INDUSTRIES

Kyle Hammersmith knew when his father had arrived. He could hear his voice before he even came in the building. Larger than life, and seething about the edges, it was the familiar presence he had experienced his entire childhood. He sat back in his chair, swallowed hard, and waited.

"Who are you?" James shot loudly at the unfamiliar secretary outside his former office.
"Miss Nora Wilder," she responded nervously.

"Yeah, I heard about you," Hammersmith replied slyly. "Where is my kid—in there?"

Kyle heard Nora continue her objections, but moments later the door swung open and in walked King James Hammersmith. Silk suit, and an aura of self-satisfaction, he was the quintessential bent nosed crook.

Kyle sat and said nothing. He apologetically waved Miss Wilder away.

It was clear his serenity annoyed his father, who sharply exclaimed, "What? 'No welcome back, Pop'?" Hammersmith chuckled sadistically, and didn't wait for a reply. He turned around and shut the door.

"That Wilder is a looker. I can see why you go for her."

At that comment Kyle's eyebrows rose is surprise.

"Yeah, that got you attention didn't it? Simms, and few other friends, filled me in on a lot of things...," Hammersmith said as he perused the room looking at the changes. "I like what you've done to your office...it's got class now. I like it. You will notice that I said 'your office.' 'Cause although you have done nothing but stab me in the back—you are my only son. Blood and water and all that junk..."

Kyle could tell that his father's words were not some grand overture of kindness. He knew that a bitter "pill" would be following this "sugar." It didn't take long.

"You see I'm willing to let you stay on, as boss man here. I'll even let you be as legit as you want on your side of the business. But, even for you, there's gotta a be a cost. Call it a test of honor...loyalty...respect," Hammersmith's tone had become ominous.

"I am not interested in being your loyal anything," Kyle said sharply and rose from the desk. He tossed a folder that had been sitting on the desk towards his father.

"What's this?" Hammersmith said pointing to the folder.

"Inside is my resignation, Pop. I'm not going to front your corruption!" Kyle spat with conviction.

"Sit down," Hammersmith replied. When Kyle did not comply, he yelled violently, "Sit down!"

Gone was the false face of fatherly consolation, back was the cruel gangster Kyle remembered from his childhood. He was again the abuser with the crazed look and the short temper. His face red and enraged, he was a cocked pistol ready to fire.

Kyle sat.

"Let's get this straight! I don't know what number your mother worked on you while I was in the joint, but whatever it was you'd better forget it. You ain't resigning from this business unless maybe you intend to go out the same as your brother. Except this time, maybe it won't be the Gamboli family taking you out!"

Kyle, not in the least surprised by the threat, sat stone faced.

Then Hammersmith stopped, pulled a gun from his belt, and laid it onto the desk before Kyle.

Kyle swallowed again. It seemed his father might be willing to kill him right in the office. That he hadn't expected.

"Wipe that look off your face. I'm not killing you here. Hell...you want to walk away—fine! But you are doing one more thing for me—or I will kill you...," Hammersmith said, pausing for effect, and then he continued, "...I also will have to pay a visit to your Miss Wilder, too."

Kyle looked at his father with horror and despair. He knew his father was not one given to idle threats.

"That finally got it to sink in, didn't it? Don't worry. I'll make it real easy. Right now we are going to get in a car and meet up with a man who just refused to be my friend. Then you're going to put a bullet into him. Then that one bullet solves two problems, see. Judge Hardcastle will be dead and you'll finally prove you are worth something to my organization—maybe you'll want to stick around."

Kyle shot up from his spot behind the desk, and quickly replied, "I'm not killing a judge!"

"You will if you want that 'secretary' of yours to survive the day. Don't worry, the gun there is 'clean.' I have no intention of seeing you sent to the 'can'," Hammersmith said coolly, and then he grabbed his son by the arm.

Before Hammersmith could move, a knock came to the door. Pulling Kyle with him, James yanked it open only wide enough to peer out. A man whom Kyle recognized from his warehouse gave Hammersmith a meaningful nod. Hammersmith seemed pleased, and replied, "You got her? Good—real good."

The man responded, "Her, and another dame."

"The more the merrier," Hammersmith answered back, and then added, "Go get the car. We're leaving now." Hammersmith then shoved Kyle to the desk. "Pick it up!" He shouted. Kyle, feeling as helpless as he did as a child when his father raged, grabbed the gun.

"Good, son, good." Hammersmith then pulled him away from the office.

GULLS WAY

The judge nonchalantly strolled to his truck. He did his best not to be too obvious when he came to the tarp that now was draped and tied down over the truck bed.

"You okay back there?"

McCormick replied with a muffled litany of complaints, "Am I okay back here? Are you serious? I have been here since before the sun came up. I am cramped, and tired—and right now, I can barely breathe. Not to mention, that I 've a shotgun jabbing me in a particularly uncomfortable area. Do we have to take an arsenal with us?"

"Yes, McCormick—now, shut up! Hammersmith will be able to hear your 'yammering' from a mile away. Frank's going to follow us from a distance as soon as we get down to the crossroads. Stay down 'til I give you the signal."

"Be careful, Judge," McCormick said sincerely. They both knew that what they were about to do could go wrong at any moment. If anything, the odds were against them.

"You too, kid."

The judge then entered the truck, started down the drive, and turned onto the road. He got off the highway as soon as he could. They figured the fewer the witnesses, the better the odds that Hammersmith would take his chance. The ruse was that Hardcastle would pretend to have car trouble, thereby making him a sitting duck. They were prepared to repeat their theatrics as a many times as needed until Hammersmith showed up.

Milt was convinced they would not have to wait long, and he was right. In fact, he had not had time to even pretend to break down. When just a mere three miles from Gulls Way, he caught sight of a black Lincoln Continental accelerating on his tail.

He yelled through the open back window towards Mark, "Get ready, kid!"

Before Mark could reply, the car slammed into the side of the truck. Mark rolled towards the impact. He grabbed hold to the side of the truck bed to steady himself. The judge held control as they jerked towards the shoulder. Pressing down the gas, Milt knew he needed to get to the crossroads to meet up with Frank. He also didn't want to make it seem too easy.

Hammersmith's car met the speed of the truck, and rammed it again. Suddenly, metal dislodged, twisted and ripped a hole into a tire on the truck. The tire flapped against the road. Milt spun out into the gravel as dust flew in a cloud about him. The Lincoln promptly moved in to block Milt from pulling away. There would be no going further, not even to the crossroad. The judge took a deep breath and exited the truck. Through the dust, he looked up and down the road. No sign of traffic or Frank. His thoughts grim, he had to give Hammersmith credit for picking a perfect spot for a murder. Milt's eyes turned in the direction of the car.

Hammersmith was the first to exit the Lincoln. He got out from the back door with a bearing usually reserved for royalty. He said nothing to the judge as he met his gaze. His signature sadistic smile unfurled as he tapped on the window of the passenger side of his car. Out of the car came Kyle Hammersmith. By his sick expression, Milt could see that Kyle was probably there against his will.

Ignoring his son, Hammersmith's viper like gaze never left Milt. The judge, who felt very much like prey, waited for Hammersmith's next move with trepidation, but revealed nothing in his face. He wasn't about to give Hammersmith the satisfaction of seeing fear.

"Well, here we are at last, Judge. I can't tell you how much I have looked forward to this moment," Hammersmith smiled coldly. Gone was the "holier than thou" persona that Hammersmith had presented at the parole hearing. Back was the monster that ran down the Grant kid without hitting the breaks.

The judge smiled widely, and replied, "I've kinda been looking forward to seeing you as well. I mean, you have already violated your parole—attempted murder by this bumper car routine you just pulled." The judge motioned to the truck. "You're going back in Jimmy, and I will be the cheering section when they throw away the key."

As the judge talked, Mark cautiously climbed out from under the tarp. The back of the truck had come open from the impact of Hammersmith's car, making his exit far easier than expected. He was careful to keep his body down. Out of view, he began delicately sliding out a shotgun. Unable to see anything, he was, nevertheless, disgusted by how cocky Hammersmith sounded. Mark took a look around. No sign of Frank, or anyone at all, made him nervous. The judge's life was in now his hands alone. He took a deep breath and crouched down behind the back tire.

"Oh, I was never here, Judge. I have at least ten loyal employees that will swear that I was in my office at this very moment—paper work. Tax season will be fast upon us." Hammersmith was almost chirpy with delight.

"Lie for you, then, will they? Well, I guess you'll have some company in prison," the judge replied, and then motioned to Kyle, "What's he here for?"

For a moment Hammersmith appeared to have forgotten about his beleaguered son. His sinister smile suddenly became a frown of disgust as he looked to Kyle. Then as he noted Kyle's misery, Hammersmith's smile returned. It was clear he relished the torture he was inflicting.

"Oh, you know kids, Judge. Sometimes you have to use creative discipline to get them on the right path. Kyle, show the judge why you are here," Hammersmith said pointedly to Kyle.

Kyle shakily produced the gun.

"So you are going to make your son do you dirty work? I thought better of you than that Jimmy—not much better, but better. I thought family meant something to your 'kind of people'—guess not," Milt said, shaking his head. He took a step towards Kyle, thinking that the scared young man would give up the gun easily, but suddenly a burly man exited the driver's side of Hammersmith's car. Instead of coming towards Milt, he swiftly moved to open the backdoor of the car.

Unsure of what was happening, Milt stopped in his tracks. On the other side of the truck, Mark waited anxiously for Hardcastle's signal. He could tell something was up. It was too quiet.

Then Hammersmith chuckled malevolently, and warned, "I wouldn't move another step if I were you, Judge. Baker—you know— well, he might get nervous and someone could get hurt—one of your 'kids', perhaps. As luck would have it, I couldn't locate that surrogate son of yours, but I did find the wife. Baker followed her all day yesterday and picked her up at her little friend's house just this morning." Baker reached in the car and out came Kathy, and then Madge. Both were blindfolded and gagged.

Milt's features became unschooled. He watched as the driver gave Kathy a good shake to yank her clear of the car. She pushed against the goon as best she could. Gone was her sling. Both she and Madge had their arms tied behind their backs. The judge did his best to reign in his anger, especially when he saw that her wounded arm had started to bleed through her blouse.

Hammersmith stood enjoying every minute of the judge's obvious distress.

Mark was a mass of anger and tension. In his mind, he mentally begged the judge to give him the signal to attack. Unable to see anything, he was tortured by the sound of Kathy's stifled whimper. He deduced that Hammersmith must have her gagged. He put his faith in Hardcastle to tell him the safest moment to move on Hammersmith, and hoped it would be soon. He gripped his shotgun with white knuckled tension.

"Now, you can't say I didn't warn you. All you had to do was stay away from my hearing—be my 'friend.' Just remember this is all... your...fault," Hammersmith said emphasizing every word, and coming to stand closer to Milt. It was clear he was trying to turn the proverbial knife before he killed him.

"Let the girls go. They've done nothing to you. Like you said, you've got no beef with them," the judge said, hoping that Hammersmith would be reasonable, but knowing better.

Hammersmith laughed, and replied, "I hear the McCormick dame spied on my family—my son—in the office. So she deserves what she gets. Besides, I keep my word, Judge...'my kind of people' always keep their word—or what kind of respect would we get?" Suddenly, Hammersmith changed moods. His temper flared. He glanced around, and his mind returned to the task at hand. Turning to Kyle, he spat, "I have no time for this! Shoot him, Kyle! Then Baker will take out the girls and dump them in the desert. We'll find the ex-con later."

When Kyle did not immediately respond, Hammersmith shouted, "Shoot him, or I'll make sure Baker there has a little fun with your girl before he kills her!"

Mark dug his heals into the gravel ready to jump out of his hiding place. "Come on, Judge," Mark whispered forcefully under his breath.

Kyle began to shake with a mixture of fear and fury. Tears formed in his eyes, and sweat on his brow as he looked directly at the judge. The gun and his arm rose up. His father smiled wickedly, convinced he had pushed all the right buttons.

Milt suddenly shouted, "Now!"

Startled, Hammersmith turned away from Kyle. In that second, the gun in Kyles hand fired twice. The explosions from the weapon echoed against the hillsides nearby. Madge and Kathy screamed against their gags. Mark bounded out, knocking out a distracted Baker with the butt of his shotgun.

In the midst of the action, the grin suddenly disappeared from Hammersmith's lips. It was replaced with one of astonishment. He looked down to see patches of red spread across his chest. He had just enough time to turn and see the disdain in Kyle's face as he hit the gravel beneath him.

For a moment everything stopped and everyone was silent. Hammersmith's body lay in a heap as gravel dust swirled about him, showing no respect for him or his silk suit. Then the world started up again. It was clear to all that Hammersmith was dead.

Milt came over, touched Kyle' shoulder, and took the gun from his shaking hands.

"I'm sorry you had to...," Milt began.

Looking more like his father than he would have ever wanted, Kyle's eyes became as cool as steel as he interrupted, "I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry at all... He's better off dead."

Milt patted his shoulder again. There was nothing more to say. Sirens blared in the distance. Milt figured Frank must have gotten worried, began to suspect the worst, or heard the shots.

Mark untied Kathy quickly, removing her blindfold and gag.

"Are you okay?" He asked, as he surveyed her injured arm.

"I think I just tore a few stitches," she said as he took her into careful embrace. "What happened? I thought he may have shot the judge—oh thank God!" Kathy was thankful to see the judge without a scratch and Hammersmith on the ground. She ran over to hug Hardcastle as Marked turned to help Madge.

Soon, Frank was examining the scene. As the coroner loaded up the late King James, a couple of officers put Kyle and Baker into squad cars.

Milt, Mark, and Kathy stood with a sense of surreal relief washing over them.

"Well, that's that," Frank came over interjecting flatly.

"I guess we're all safe again," Mark replied, "Well, until the next bad guy."

Milt ignored the sarcastic comment, but nodded thoughtfully, and then said, "The Grants have justice now. It's a shame how it had to happen."

Mark glanced at Kyle Hammersmith in the squad car, and asked, "They aren't going to charge Kyle, are they? I mean, he saved the judge's life—everybody's lives."

"I doubt it, considering the pressure his dad put on him. We'll just get a formal statement. I expect the D.A. will cut him loose and he'll be free by tomorrow...maybe even tonight," Frank said with resolve.

"I think he's free already," Kathy replied watching the coroner's van pull away. They all understood what she meant.

Milt said nothing, but he couldn't help but wonder. It took something from a good man to kill another person. How could any son get over killing his father, even a nightmare like Hammersmith? By the look in the kid's eyes, he had a feeling Kyle would be carrying that burden for a long while.

"Now that the tire is changed, I am going to take Kathy by the hospital to get her stitches looked at," Mark said grabbing Kathy's hand and moving toward the truck.

Frank replied, "I'll send an officer to get your statements there."

Milt nodded, "I'll go with Frank and Madge to make a statement. I'll see you at home." Milt then lit up with a smile, and added, "Hey remember, Rio Bravo and True Grit are on the Late Show tonight! I'll pick up the ice cream and popcorn on the way home. I'll meet you two in front of the TV at 10:30!"

Mark laughed. Leave it to the judge to end one hell of a week with a John Wayne movie marathon. Damned if it didn't sound great.

"See ya there, Judge."

GULLS WAY

Milt got off the phone and came over to sit in a chair in the study bringing a massive bowl of popcorn with him. He handed it off to Mark, who sat in the other chair with his feet up on the coffee table. Noticing the feet, Milt slapped at them, and Mark chuckled as he put them down. The judge was certainly back to normal.

Kathy, who was propped up on the couch, reached over to grab a handful of popcorn with her good arm.

"Well, it's official—Kyle Hammersmith isn't going to be charged," Milt announced as he settled down into his chair. "I think all of our statements tipped the scales in his favor."

The irony of the situation suddenly hit Mark and he guffawed.

"What?" Milt asked.

"I was just thinking. You spend how many years making statements to keep one Hammersmith in prison...and then today, your words kept a Hammersmith out of prison—it has been a strange week, Judge," Mark said, shaking his head in disbelief and grabbing some popcorn.

"That's lady justice for ya, kid. Let's just hope that this Hammersmith improves greatly upon the original," Milt replied, and then leaned over to grab some popcorn. "Okay, okay—the movie is starting. Be quiet..."

As opening overture played on the TV in front of him, Hardcastle looked about him and smiled. Mark caught the grin and Milt immediately sobered up.

"What?" Milt asked defensively.

Mark smiled. "Nothing, I was just thinking it was kinda nice to see how much you love—I mean, how much you love watching the movie tonight," Mark said quickly covering his real meaning. He could tell Milt understood. "I am glad you're okay, Judge."

Hardcastle's face soured. He pretended to be annoyed, and replied, "Could you turn down the sentimental slop...the movie is starting."

Mark grinned widely, and went back to watching the television. Then very quietly he heard in reply, "I'm glad you kids are okay, too." Milt then pointed to the screen, and said excitedly, "I love this part."

Mark glanced at Kathy, then at Hardcastle, and replied, "Me too, Judge...me, too."

The End