Author's Note:
I originally wrote these as independent short stories, then I decided to make it chapters in a longer story. If portions seem redundant, that is why. Not a lot of substance here. Just some fun with the guys.
Discrete reference to one of my favorite stories, The Hole, as well as Beautiful Noise.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters and no profit is being made.
CHAPTER 1
Judge Milton C. Hardcastle looked out across the courtroom he presided over and noticed his attention had drifted. It wasn't the first time over the past few weeks that he had momentarily stopped paying attention. In fact, there had been several occurrences where he had chastised himself when he realized he had missed a sentence or two of testimony. He knew better. He was a judge, for Pete's sake, and he needed to hear every word. And yet on this instance of another mental journey he was not so quick to pull in the reins and redirect his thoughts. In less than two weeks it would come to an end. Retirement was looming and he was scared to death, scared that retirement meant death. He just wasn't ready for a rocker and crossword puzzles.
He dragged his mind back to the case at hand. A simple burglary, should be open and shut for the jury. The guy was caught in flagrante delicto. The cops had clear surveillance video and they grabbed him in the parking lot with the stolen goods. He was a two time looser with no alibi and no redeeming character traits to play on the emotions of the jury. Heck, the guy didn't even have any family or friends on his side of the gallery. Over the years Milt sometimes wondered what path led people to his court. What happened to his parents, siblings, and other family? Did he abandon them or maybe they were tired of his shenanigans and had cut him loose? At any rate these kids with sorted childhoods, no real career hopes and repeat offenders of the same infraction were a dime a dozen. Prisons had revolving doors for them and the best society could hope for was that they didn't hurt anyone when they were out. Milt didn't consider himself jaded; there were those who went to prison, learned their lesson and became productive members of society. But he knew there were far too many who would never break the cycle.
Milt believed in rehabilitation and had even taken a crack at helping a few parolees. He felt the right participant could learn to respect authority, the value of an honest day's work and could build self-esteem. If you could demonstrate a better way of life than maybe a guy could break the cycle and become a contributing member of society. In his younger years as a cop and then a lawyer he and his wife Nancy discussed being mentors and helping some of these people. They couldn't save the world but maybe they could make a difference with a few troubled young men. Nancy relished the idea but worried about how it would influence their son. They talked about it and agreed to wait until Tommy was off to school, then they would look into being foster parents or helping a young parolee. It was a plan they both believed in and a way for them to give back to the community which had given so much to them. It was something they looked forward to doing together in their empty-nest years.
Tommy deferred going to college in lieu of joining the military. Shortly after he shipped off to Vietnam, Milt and Nancy began looking into candidates for their project but then it all fell apart. Milt opened the door one sunny day to find two men in uniform: a captain and a Chaplin. He took it in instantly and his heart broke in two, all but ending his world. His hopes and dreams for his only child were obliterated. While still deep in their grief over the loss of their son, Nancy was diagnosed with cancer. She would pass away, with Milt at her side, less than three months later. In just under six months Milton C. Hardcastle went from a giant of a man, full of life and laughter, to a shell who shuffled through life with a constant scowl and steel eyes that had lost all sign of life. Losing Tommy shattered his dreams but losing Nancy shut him down for good. He was a changed man.
Milt withdrew into himself. With few exceptions he avoided social activities and stuck to an orderly routine of work, a monthly poker game and organizing his files. He took on a few rehabilitation projects working to help troubled young men turn their lives around. Bringing parolees to the estate alienated some of the few friends he had left but he didn't care; he wanted to follow through on the work he and Nancy believed in. Ex-cons would cycle into his life, spend some time and then move on to either productive lives or back to the big house. He took no joy from the successes and only slight disappointment from the failures. He gave them a chance, the rest was up to them and the results were on them, not him.
After the last debacle even his closest friends begged him to stop taking on these projects. JJ Beal had come close to killing him and others. It was only with extreme effort that he was returned to prison. But with retirement looming Milt was desperate to give it one more try. This time it would have a twist. He was not just looking to show a wayward soul the path to honest, orderly living, he wanted a partner who would help him chase down the criminals he had carefully accumulated in his files. He knew he was mentally sharp enough to track these guys down and he was physically fit even for a guy half his age. But he did not kid himself into thinking he could do it alone. He needed a backup, a guy to do the heavy lifting. Someone with youth and agility on his side and enough gumption to hold on if things got sticky. Most of all, he needed someone who could take orders unconditionally. He was not looking for a partner, he was looking for a subordinate.
As the prosecutor tediously questioned the officer to establish the elements of the crime, Milt thought back to the night when he showed Lt. Frank Harper, a longtime friend and one of the few people Hardcastle took into his confidences, the file on the young man he had targeted. Frank had come by the house for dinner prior to their monthly poker game. As they sat on the patio watching the steaks grill, Milt handed Frank a file.
"Take a look at this. I'd like your opinion." Hardcastle said.
Frank had a feeling he knew where this was going and it took everything he had not to shove it back at the jurist and refuse to participate. He held the file for a moment and looked at his friend. Milt wasn't making eye contact. His elbow was on the table and his chin rested in his hand. He had a far-off gaze and suddenly to Frank he appeared old, forlorn. Frank sighed.
"If you're going to make me look at a file of some kid you think you can turn around, I want another beer." Frank tried to lighten the mood.
Hardcastle reached over to the cooler and liberated two cold ones.
"I know what you're thinking." Milt was almost imploring. "But I think this is the one. I think I can make my retirement project work with him."
For months Frank had been hearing all about the 'retirement project'. He had done everything he could to dissuade Milt. Bad enough taking these guys in and hoping he could show them the error of their ways but trusting them to watch his back while he went after criminals was pure insanity. Or a death wish. Frank grimaced at that thought and shoved it aside. The argument was cold and stale and he was tired of being the one trying to crush Milt's dream.
Frank perused the file. He slowly turned the pages, examining each item trying to glean every ounce of information he could from the official statements, social worker reports and mug shots. The guy looked like bad news. He was orphaned at a young age, lived with an abusive uncle and then in the foster system where he repeatedly ran away, likely from more abuse. The kid had been living on the streets from about 15 on but he managed to finish high school with decent grades. He had been in juvie and had a couple GTA beefs as an adult. His childhood experiences, in all likelihood, spawned an adult who would be bitter, lacking empathy and only looking to help himself. To make matters worse there was no sign that he ever took responsibility for any of his convictions, always insisting on misunderstandings or miscarriage of the law. None of this made Frank think Mark McCormick was ripe for rehabilitation much less someone he would trust to help Milt on his crusade.
There was a small hand scratched note. Frank worked at deciphering Milt's writing and then with a shocked expression looked at Milt, "The guy was a bookie in the joint?"
Hardcastle gave a small shrug and waved it off. "I talked to the CO's. The kid was taking a few bets, all on the up and up. No collection enforcement and he never did business with the real bad guys. It was small time, friendly and he played it fair. No big deal."
It wasn't like Hardcase Hardcastle to turn a blind eye to any illegal activity. Still, Frank knew if no one was getting hurt the guards would likely turn a blind eye and let the inmates have some fun. If the kid was offering good odds the CO's probably placed bets as well. It was risky business doing that from the inside. One wrong move could get you infractions from the CO's or brutally taken down by the inmates. Anyone who could walk that line in prison without getting busted, beat up or thrown in solitary had to have some guts and wile.
McCormick's prison record showed he joined the right groups, steered clear of the gangs and even managed to complete a couple of semester's worth of college credits. There was an unexplained ten-day stint in solitary followed by time in the infirmary. Perhaps he hadn't walked that line as finely as he thought. On the other hand, he had no indication of violent tendencies. Maybe the kid had some potential. Frank sighed heavily.
"I know," Milt drawled. "He's got some rough edges. But I am telling ya, this kid's got what it takes. I've had him in my court, saw him when he was in Quentin…"
"You what?" Frank couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You went to San Quentin to visit a guy you convicted?"
"Well, yeah." Hardcastle replied sheepishly. "I wanted him to know he had some choices and he could get on the right path if he worked at it."
"And how'd that go over?"
Hardcastle chuckled. "Not well. The kid agreed there were some path's he'd like to take with me. Something about his foot and parts of my anatomy. Don't think he would've agreed to see me at all except he didn't want anything to look negative at his parole hearing."
Frank nodded. "Refusing to talk to an officer of the court. Yeah, I can see how that would go over with the board." Frank turned serious. "But really, Milt. This is crazy. Didn't you learn anything with Beal? And Beal was squeaky clean compared to this kid. I mean did you look at his juvenile record? This guy is bad news. You can't trust him to back you up. You need to drop this insane mission. Your intentions are good but you gotta accept that some of these guys aren't salvageable much less trustworthy enough to watch your back. It's too dangerous, the risk is too high." Frank's voice was rising, his frustration evident.
Milt put the steaks on the table then gazed across the yard to the ocean. "Yeah, you're probably right. But…ah hell, Frank. I'm retiring. If I don't do it now, I'll never get another chance and this is important stuff. I think McCormick's got what it takes. I think he can be shoved in the right direction. My gut tells me this kid is the one."
Frank's gut was telling him this kid was a punk destined to spend his life in and out of prison. Relying on him as a back-up might just get Milt killed.
"I want this one, Frank." Hardcastle said just above a whisper.
Frank looked at his friend. He remembered the boundless energy and how full of life Milt had been when he was a father and husband. The fishing and camping trips, the parties he and Nancy would throw and all the times they spent shooting the breeze and talking cop shop. He missed the old Milt but more importantly he wondered how much further Milt would withdraw if he retired and didn't have this project to occupy his mind.
He picked up the file. As he ate Frank silently went through the file again and again. Milt remained silent. He didn't need Frank's permission, but he was hoping to have at least one person in his corner. Frank finished his steak, stood and handed the file back to Milt. Without a word he carried dishes to the kitchen. The two men cleaned up then set up the card table, making conversation as old friends did, never mentioning the file.
Hardcastle walked the poker players to the door as Frank took his time getting his jacket and keys. Milt stood on the porch waving to the last of the cars heading out the driveway.
"I think you should go for it." Frank said, trying to hide his concern and sound confident.
Milt's face lit up. "Really? You mean that?"
"Sure, Milt. I dunno, who can say what's really going on in this guy's head. But I know your gut and if your gut says he's the one, well, that's good enough for me."
Milt let out a deep breath and a wide grin spread across his face. "Thanks, Frank. I know people are gonna think I went off the deep end, it means a lot to me to have your support." Frank was shocked at the unusual voicing of emotion. Claudia was going to tan his hide for not trying to stop Milt but looking into his friend's eyes he saw a glimmer of the old Milt. Frank smiled, patted Hardcastle on the back and turned to head to his car.
"I hope to hell we're right. And I hope you know I am going to personally keep an eye on this punk. If he even thinks of putting one toe out of line…"
"I wouldn't want it any other way." Hardcastle laughed.
Milt was jarred from his musings by an objection from the defense.
"Overruled." He replied gruffly, wondering if the attorney got his law degree from a Cracker Jack box.
He needed to get the ball rolling and get things in place before his retirement set in. He made plans to contact McCormick's PO and his thoughts drifted to how he would lay out the offer to convince McCormick to join him. He began taking mental notes. There was a lot to get done in two weeks; this time he made no effort to redirect his attention back to the testimony.