These are not my characters, but I enjoy their stories and have borrowed them for one of my own.
Special thanks to L.M. Lewis whose wonderful stories encouraged me to write this one, and for her patience in helping me along and seeing it through. Love to Dave for the dumpster.
Can I Help You?
By
Storyfan101
This story takes place shortly after Going Nowhere Fast and just before The Black Widow. I know Frank Harper wasn't in the early episodes, but as he and Hardcastle had been friends for years, I figure he had to be somewhere in the background. As he is my favorite police officer, I just brought him forward.
Can I help you?" Mark thought it was an innocent enough question, but still the brunette jumped and her left hand flew to her mouth to cover the silent scream. She almost dropped the navy Yankees ball cap she had grabbed from behind the passenger seat.
"This your car?" She asked, her eyes never settling on any one thing for more than half a second. She quickly twisted her shoulder length hair into a knot and covered it with the ball cap.
"Yes. That's my jean jacket too." Mark motioned to the jacket the young lady was wearing with a nod of his head. He stayed on the driver's side of his red sports car. The mysterious woman looked like she might bolt if he so much as looked crossed-eyed in her direction.
"I wasn't meaning to steal them," she reached into the straw beach bag hanging from her shoulder and pulled out some bills. "I was going to leave some money." A diesel truck drove past and the engine noise made her jump again. Mark watched her take a deep breath and try to bring her emotions under control. "I am not a thief."
McCormick silently debated saying "I was," but didn't think that would help this situation any. Instead he quietly agreed. "You'd make a terrible thief. You forgot to run away when I caught you." His eyes lit up with a warm smile and the dimple in his right cheek was incredibly disarming.
The brunette made furtive glances up and down the sidewalk. She finally settled her gaze directly on McCormick's. He watched as her fear played across her face. He didn't think it was him. After all, she was still there looking at him.
"Are you all right?" He leaned forward to get a better look at her reaction
She seemed to come to a decision. She squared her shoulders and put her hands on the open window door frame. "Can you give me a ride somewhere?"
"So where's Mark?" Lieutenant Harper asked. He had stopped by Gull's Way to check up on his friend. The retired judge hadn't been by the office in almost a week, and the police officer was surprised by how much quieter his life seemed. So rather than be caught unaware when the shoe dropped -- and he knew it would-- he hoped to attach some kind of safety line first.
Hardcastle was just folding up the morning newspaper. "Good mornin' Frank. Can I get you something? Sarah made fresh orange juice this morning before she left to visit her sister." The judge held up his half full glass as evidence.
Frank took a seat across from his friend. "No thanks Milt. I'm just stopping by on my way to the office."
Hardcastle sat up straight in his chair. "You got something I need to look at?"
Harper would have to be blind to miss the excitement in the jurist's eyes. He shook his head, trying to cover his grin behind his hand as he rubbed his chin. "I was wondering if you had something for me. You and the kid have been quiet for a few days now."
The judge leaned back into his chair and relaxed again. "Ahh, the kid just needed some time to adjust. He thought he was the first." The older man shook his head. "For an ex-con, he sure has tender feelings."
Harper couldn't hide the laugh that escaped this time. He wasn't sure which was funnier. That Mark McCormick had hurt feelings because he wasn't the judge's first pick for Tonto; or that the hard nosed judge was concerned over the hurt feelings. The only thing stronger than the twitch in his funny bone was the calming of his butterflies at this unlikely friendship.
"So you've got nothing stewing at the moment?" Harper double checked.
"Nah. I've got a couple of files I'm looking through, but I haven't settled on one yet. I'll call you when I do."
Frank pushed himself up from the table. "Make sure that you do. Tonto's not the only one who worries about the Lone Ranger."
Hardcastle walked with the lieutenant to his car. "Well Tonto would be better off worrying about the hedges than about me."
The gruff demeanor didn't fool Harper for one moment. "Is that why you've got him out running errands? Testing the limits of the leash?"
The judge pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought about McCormick's whereabouts. "Nah, I'm not worried about him disappearing. He went out to find something for his friend Teddy Hollins. Seems Teddy made it through his first month with the same employer."
"He's celebrating one month of gainful employment?" The idea seemed ridiculous to the police officer. Almost as much as the thought of the hard nosed judge letting the ex-convict in his judicial stay out of arms reach to go shopping to find a gift to celebrate it.
"Ahh, the kid would celebrate the sun rising if I let him." The judge couldn't hide his smile. "He's off looking for something down near the beach. I can only imagine what he's after."
Frank couldn't help but laugh again. "Except for the beach bunnies out trying to even their tan, everything down there is a tourist trap. I think you've been had."
"If you ever met Teddy, you'd know that stuff would be perfect." Hardcastle closed the door to the lieutenant's car. "Thanks for stopping by Frank." He stood in the driveway until the policeman's car was no longer visible on the curving roadway.
Frank Harper watched in the rearview mirror as his friend's form disappeared behind the greenery lining the drive. Maybe a safety line wasn't needed so much as a bungee cord.
"I was kinda hoping for a little more direction." Mark looked over at the quiet figure next to him. After having agreed to give the unknown woman a ride, she had slipped into the passenger seat and slouched down pulling the brim of the baseball cap lower. When McCormick had asked "Where to?" all he got was a vague pointing down the road he had been parked on.
"You wanna tell me what's going on?" McCormick didn't think the young lady beside him was dangerous, but she did seem very frightened. He must be spending too much time with the judge. He was seeing mysteries everywhere. It was probably something nice and simple like no bus money…no she had tried to pay for jacket and the hat. "Hey I would like my jacket back. You can keep the hat."
The brunette turned and offered a wary smile. "I'm not exactly sure what's going on." Seeing McCormick's eyebrows dart up into his curls, she quickly added, "I know I'm being followed, but I don't know who or even why. Really." She threw the last bit in when McCormick's eyebrows still hadn't returned to their original position.
She threw her hands up. "I know it sounds crazy. I mean who do I think I am? I'm a secretary with an engineering firm for crying out loud. Have you ever met an engineer? I mean one who didn't have his head so far up in the clouds that he could speak coherent English? The fact that I am able to decipher Mr. Peterson's scrawl into something that another computer engineer can make sense out of is about the most exciting part of my day. So tell me, why were there two men following me through the last three stores I went to?"
Man, when she finally decides to let go, she let's go, Mark thought as he down shifted and braked for the red light. He turned slightly in his seat to get a closer look at the stranger sharing his car. Her eyes were clear so he doubted that she was on any kind of drug. The nervous twitches in her hands were probably just that. He thought he would probably have a few twitches too if he believed he was being followed by some unknown characters.
"You were being followed by two men?"
"As far as I could tell." She shrugged. "I'm new to this James Bond business." She turned to face McCormick and offered her right hand. "Rachel Andrews. Thanks for not taking me straight to the loony bin."
"Mark McCormick." He felt her firm grasp and felt reassured that she wasn't some escapee from an asylum. The light turned green and he was back to watching the road. "What were you in the middle of when you noticed these two goons on your tail?"
"Shopping for my brother's birthday present. I've only been living in LA for about 4 months now and I thought it would be funny to send him one of those tacky little snow globe things. You know 'staying cool in sunny California'?" She reached into the beach bag and pulled out a four inch square cardboard box. She opened it and pulled out a small globe with a bikini clad girl surrounded by sparkling glitter. "He'll hate it. He's a doctor in residence back home in Helena."
"Then why'd you buy it? Don't you like your brother?" Having grown up with no siblings, McCormick was curious.
Rachel leaned back and gave a soft laugh. "Oh I love my brother. He'll put this nasty little thing on a shelf and every time he looks at it he'll think of me and laugh. Next best thing to being there myself." She put the present back in its box and hid it away in her straw bag.
Feeling somewhat jealous, McCormick asked, "You've got just the one brother?"
"Nope. Three older and one younger. David's the second oldest. We're pretty tight." She didn't offer any explanation on the other brothers and McCormick knew better than to ask.
"So you were out hunting snow globes and picked up the last one-of-a-kind tourist bauble that someone just had to have? Doesn't make a lot of sense."
"You're singing to the choir my friend. Well who ever they were, they're gone now. You can just drop me off at that bus stop up ahead. I'll be all right getting back home."
"Hey, I offer door to door service. A white knight would lose his shield if he didn't complete the task of rescuing the fair maiden in distress."
The dimple was back and difficult to refuse, but somehow she managed. "Thanks, but I'm sure who ever those men were, they must have realized their mistake and found the person they were really looking for. I didn't see them around when you pulled out from the beach market."
McCormick pulled up to the curb. "Give me a call the next time you need a white knight."
Rachel pulled herself onto the doorframe. "My white knight and his red horse?" She patted the roof of the Coyote and smiled. "Thanks again. You know, for taking me seriously."
With only one arm out of the borrowed jean jacket, Rachel paused as the roar of a V8 engine and squealing tires sounded from behind. She almost fell out of the car as the sound of a gunshot rang out. Reacting to the noise he was becoming overly familiar with, McCormick grabbed hold of one tanned leg still in his car and pulled. The woman fell back into the passenger seat. Another shot, this time closer. McCormick looked around frantically, noticing a dark blue sedan bearing down on them. The Coyote's engine roared to life and McCormick peeled away from the curb, as two more shots whizzed past.
McCormick's racing instincts took over as he wove in and out of traffic. The blue sedan's driver was up to the challenge and matched the red firecracker's every move, while its passenger continued shooting. The traffic was getting thicker the further they went into Venice. Gaining ground by cutting off and edging out the few cars between them, the blue sedan neared the Coyote. McCormick knew they had to get onto the highway where the racecar's speed would leave their pursuers in the dust.
Taking advantage of a space in the traffic, the sedan swerved wildly and pulled nearly even with the Coyote. Mark cast a quick glance to the side. A flash of sunlight glinted off a gun aimed directly at Rachel. She was frozen in terror, unable to move or even look away.
"Get down!" McCormick grabbed her shoulder, pushing her down into the center of the car. He down shifted and power slid his car through a tight left turn that caught the pursuing driver by complete surprise. A couple more quick turns and they were heading back towards the ocean and the PCH. Five minutes and an ignored posted speed limit later, they were on the highway, heading north towards Malibu with no sign of the blue sedan behind.
"Where are we going?" Rachel asked with more calm than McCormick would have expected.
"I have a friend who will help us sort this out." He spared her a quick glance. She was pale and gripping the arm rest so tight her knuckles had gone white. She was staring straight ahead, her gaze unfocussed and unmoving, despite the twisting road. McCormick guessed she was hoping this was just a bad dream and she'd be waking up soon, because that's what he was doing.
"What are you looking for Judge?" McCormick asked as the older man eyed him up and down.
"The sign that announces you as the sucker you are. Honestly kid, trouble seems drawn to you as if you were magnetic north."
"Ha! You're the biggest load of trouble I've ever come across." McCormick pocked a finger into the jurist's chest. "What do you think of that Judge?"
"Proves my point, kiddo." Hardcastle smiled, knowing it would drive the younger man crazy.
McCormick threw his hands up in resignation. He slumped into his favorite arm chair and waited for the judge to spit out the plan he was sure the older man had already come up with. When nothing was forthcoming, McCormick encouraged him with a whiny "Well?"
"Well what, McCormick?" The judge knew what the kid was waiting for but decided to use this as yet another example to point out who was really in charge. He wasn't going to make McCormick wait too long. The judge was feeling pretty pleased with the knowledge the ex-con had come straight to him to sort through this mess.
McCormick stood up and paced from one side of the den to the other. "I know you've got something ticking away in that thick skull of yours. Rachel's not going to take all that long to figure out our cupboards are bare. I told Sarah I would get some groceries this afternoon so she could get going to her sister's."
"Making more promises you can't keep?"
"You're absolutely right Judge. What was I thinking? I'm sure the guys shooting at us would have happily paused the chase so I could pick up your supper."
The retired judge could see McCormick's temper bubbling just below the surface and he really did want to go over the plan before the girl returned from the kitchen.
"No need to apologize kid. You did the right thing."
"Apologize?" McCormick stopped and faced the judge who was waving him to sit down again.
"Do you want to hear about our next step or not?"
Torn between the comment on the tip of his tongue and moving ahead, Mark chose to glare at the judge while waiting for the man to explain his plan.
"You've got a partial on the license plate…"
"Yeah," McCormick agreed, "Blue Crown Vic, plate ending in V105." Seeing the disappointed look from the man sitting at the desk McCormick defended himself. "I'd like to see you get a plate from a rearview mirror while avoiding heavy traffic."
Hardcastle waved the comment aside and went on, "I'll have it run through the computers at the station while you and Rachel check out the mug shot books. You did get a look at the fellows who were redecorating the Coyote right?" He narrowed his eyes at the ex-con.
McCormick sighed, wondering if he'd ever win an argument with the old donkey. "I'll be able to single out the passenger in a line up. He was pretty visible while he was picking us off in traffic. Rachel got a real good look at the driver."
"You think she'll be able to identify him? She looked a bit shaky." The judge looked skeptically at McCormick.
"I still am a bit shaky and who am I identifying?" Rachel stood in the doorway to the den, having opened the door so quietly neither man had heard. "Or am I being presumptuous and you're actually talking about some other female?"
Not one to beat around the bush, the judge eyed the young woman carefully. "Nope, it's you I'm worried about. Not too many people, men or women, are geared to handle the kind of situation you went through this morning."
A small shrug, "I can't imagine why they should be. It's not a normal situation. You don't seem all that concerned about Mark's reaction."
Mark quipped, "I've had practice. Since I've moved in with the Judge I've come to expect bullets about every other day."
Hardcastle groaned. "Don't be such a smart mouth." Turning his gaze back to the woman in the doorway. "Do you think you could identify the driver if you saw his picture?"
Rachel closed her eyes. Mark was sure she was reliving the moment where a gun was pointed directly at her. When she opened them she looked determinedly at the two men. "Yah, I'm pretty sure that I can."
"Now what are you looking for?" Mark asked the judge who had stopped at the Coyote parked in front of the ancient truck in the driveway.
Hardcastle stood up from the passenger window. "I thought I left my favorite cap in here. Have you seen it?"
McCormick shrugged. "Don't blame me if you can't keep track of your things."
Just then Rachel came out the front door of the estate, her straw bag almost catching in the closing door. "Sorry. I just wanted to get the dishes put away." She quickly jumped into the center of the truck's bench seat, McCormick getting in beside her.
"Come on Judge. Time's a-wasting." McCormick called out, hoping to distract the older man from asking too many more questions.
A loud harrumph with one last look at the Coyote and Hardcastle got behind the wheel of his Dodge.
At the police station they were given an empty desk in a corner to look over the mug shot books. Hardcastle had hoped for an interrogation room to have a little privacy. He didn't think he could live it down if the girl was going to swear to having seen Jimmy Hoffa driving the car.
Once the Judge was reasonably sure the two young people were searching the police books with due diligence, he went looking for the lieutenant who had visited him earlier that morning. He found Frank Harper in his office, sitting behind his desk.
"Kind of late for lunch, isn't it?" Hardcastle asked.
"Lunch? I'm still trying to finish my breakfast." Frank joked with his friend, eyeing him over the half eaten sandwich. "I'm surprised to see you, Milt. I thought you were taking it easy?"
"Seems McCormick was bored and decided to find us some excitement." Hardcastle quickly related the morning's activities finishing with the request to run the partial plate.
"It may take a while Milt," Frank said after calling the information in to the officer working the computer. "I'll call you at the estate if anything comes up."
Hardcastle nodded gratefully. "Thanks Frank. I'll check back before we leave. Hopefully we'll have something more to go on if the kid and Rachel can find the guys in the books downstairs."
Hardcastle returned to find McCormick and Rachel pointing at pictures and laughing quietly.
"You two enjoying your little date?" Rachel jumped at Hardcastle's gruff voice.
"Date? This isn't…Why would you…" The two men watched as Rachel's face turned red with embarrassment. She took a deep breath to calm herself. "Mark was just helping to ease the tension."
McCormick turned the book they had been looking through so it was open to the judge. He pointed to one of the snapshots. "So do you think he was in for bank robbery or pimping?"
Hardcastle eyed the picture for a moment. "Who? You mean Lazinski here? He's up in your old neighborhood doin' twenty-five to life for murder."
Rachel looked back at the picture. "I thought he was an accountant."
"He was an accountant. Took out his partner to get hold of the business," Hardcastle explained.
McCormick shook his head. "You do know everybody, don't you judge?"
"Most of the characters in these books probably crossed my path at some point in time. Did you two find the guys from this morning?"
"The passenger is this guy, Alan Monroe." McCormick flipped a different book towards the judge.
The judge nodded his head. "Makes sense. Monroe's a willing gun for hire, with no questions asked. No way to tie him to anybody without catching him and asking him directly. Not an easy thing to do which explains why he's still roaming around shooting at people. Maybe we can figure it out through the driver."
"We've sorta hit a snag there." McCormick acted as if he was sitting on hot rocks and couldn't bring himself to look directly at the judge.
"What kind of snag?"
"He's not in any of these books," Rachel stated.
The Judge raised a questioning eyebrow. "There are a lot of faces in these books. I can understand why you can't be sure."
Rachel shook her head. "I AM sure. He's not in these books. If you can get me a sketch artist, there's enough pieces here to build him."
"Have you two been eatin' something funny I should be aware of? Or is Doctor Frankenstein holding a convention in town?" Hardcastle looked from Mark's turned-away face to Rachel's defiant stare.
"My little brother is studying art. He had this one class where the students brought in several pictures of different people and they had to create a new face based on different aspects of each of their original pictures. Of course Paul cheated. He had taken in pictures of my older brothers and I then chose to draw my dad as his final picture. But I'm sure that a good sketch artist can do it for real." Rachel looked hopefully at the judge.
Mark shrugged his shoulders. Hoping to keep the judge from being too vocal about his opinions he added, "It couldn't hurt to ask."
Looking at his watch, Hardcastle gave in. "Frank's report won't be back for a while yet. Might just as well wait here as back at the estate."
It didn't take too long to get Frank's help in rounding up the police sketch artist and to request a report on Alan Monroe. Rachel pointed out the different mug shot pictures that had the correct facial features. After a little tweaking the artist held up the finished portrait a mere ninety minutes later.
"That's the guy," Rachel said proudly.
Frank Harper walked up to the little group and noticed what the artist was handing to Hardcastle. Eyeing the picture in his friend's hand, the lieutenant commented, "Ahh, now it makes some sense."
"You know this guy?" Hardcastle wasn't expecting any results from the drawing. He thought at best they might find a dentist in Oxnard that resembled the drawing.
"The last time I saw Stoney Whitmore he had a beard, but I'd say that's him. It would give us a possible connection to a dark blue Crown Victoria with license plate 4WYV105."
"This isn't an Agatha Christie novel. Tell us the connection." Hardcastle urged.
"The car belongs to a jewelry dealer in Santa Monica by the name of Gary Olsen. Your guy in the drawing looks like Stoney Whitmore, a suspected smuggler. He specializes in jewels, but will handle anything small and valuable. We've had him under surveillance a couple of times, but can't even put together enough to bring him in for questioning."
"That explains why there's no mug shot." Hardcastle agreed. "Sounds like the perfect candidate for one of my files."
"Jewels must be a profitable commodity if he's paying a hit man like Alan Monroe. His talents don't come cheap. He's suspected in the shooting of that land developer a couple of years back. The D.A.'s eye witness disappeared just before the trial. I would love to get him on something solid." Frank looked at Mark. "You're sure he was the passenger?"
"I picked him out from all these other guys. It was either him or his twin brother," Mark reassured the policeman.
Frank clapped his hands in anticipation. "I'll send out a car to his last known address. Bring him in for some questions."
Remembering the D.A.'s missing witness, Mark cleared his throat nervously. "There's no need to mention my name during this, is there?"
The Judge clapped his nervous friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry about that. He probably ran a check on the Coyote and already knows all about you."
"I'm not associated with either one of you or that hot little sports car. There's no way this jewel smuggler or deadly hit man know anything about me." Rachel sagged into her chair. "I just wanna go home."
Not wanting to frighten Rachel any more than she already was, but knowing it could be fatal if she decided to ignore the events of the day Mark pointed out, "You and Stoney stared at each other from a distance no greater than five feet. If it was enough for you to make a composite drawing, you've got to know he can identify you too."
Hardcastle added, "If you were using a credit card to do your shopping this morning, these guys will get that information and use it to track you down."
Seeing the frightened look on the girl's face, Frank knew the judge had made an accurate guess. "I think there's enough here to swing a decision on protective custody."
Rachel gaped, "You mean I should be in jail while those… criminals are allowed to be free? What kind of system is this?"
Frank realized she wasn't too frightened to be angry and guessed at the judge's next suggestion. "These two guys will take good care of you. I'll have a patrol car come by and give you some additional protection out at the estate."
"Thanks, Frank." Hardcastle appreciated the offer. "I guess our next step will be figuring out exactly what it is you saw or heard that put you in this spot."
Rachel threw her hands up in exasperation. "I was shopping for heaven's sake. I bought a can of Coke, a new crossword puzzle book for the bus ride to work on Monday, and that tacky snow globe for my brother. My plans were to spend the afternoon on the beach trying to improve my tan. Yet here I am with Batman, Robin and Commissioner Gordon working on a plan to capture Joker and the Penguin."
McCormick tried to reassure the girl while Hardcastle pulled Frank off to the side. "We'll try to get her to relax at Gull's Way. Maybe she'll remember something then."
"Call me if she does."
Stepping back into earshot of the two young people, Hardcastle assumed that McCormick's charm had eased Rachel's tension when she admitted, "When I get together with my friends the most dangerous topic in our conversation is who found the best deal on a new pair of shoes."
They had a relatively quick stop at a JC Penney so Rachel could pick up something warmer to wear than the shorts and tank top she had worn for the beach, plus the few extras she had deemed necessary since she was going to be away from her own home comforts for a couple of days. Mark reminded the judge that they still hadn't picked up any groceries and should do take-out for dinner. Hardcastle was outvoted 2 to 1 for Chinese.
Hoping to get Rachel to relax before rehashing the morning's events, the judge and McCormick took turns explaining their point of view of their living arrangements and how it came to be. Rachel laughed at both of their outrageous stories.
"It's quite a unique relationship." She agreed, refusing to take sides. She insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes.
"It's the very least I can do to thank you both for all your help." She ushered them out of the kitchen.
The two men went across the hall into the den. The judge went directly to his thinking spot behind his desk, and McCormick headed to his favorite chair. They didn't have long to wait until Rachel joined them.
"Can you remember the names of the stores you visited this morning?" Hardcastle asked as soon as the girl sat down on the free leather chair. "Maybe Frank will be able to tie one of them in with the characters who chased you and McCormick."
"I know I bought the snow globe at Wang's something or other. I remember thinking the name was funny as there wasn't an oriental sales person anywhere in that whole store, but I don't remember the other names. I bet it would say on the sales receipts though." She got up and went to the front door to retrieve her large straw beach bag that she had been carrying all day.
She pulled out a small beach blanket, the yet-to-be opened can of Coke, the box with the snow globe and a book of crossword puzzles, two novels by different authors, and a bottle of suntan lotion. "These are always hiding at the bottom when I'm looking for them," she added a ring of keys to the growing pile on the judge's desk. As she reached back into the bag, Hardcastle began to wonder if its previous owner had been Mary Poppins. The next item out was a navy baseball cap, then finally the wallet that caused the search in the first place.
Hardcastle admired the cap. "You a Yankees fan?"
Rachel picked up the cap in question and put it back into the bag with her other things. "I couldn't tell a Yankee from a Dodger. Mark gave it to me when I was trying to hide in his car."
The judge gave McCormick a withering glare. "Very generous of you McCormick."
The ex-con squirmed in his chair, but managed to maintain an innocent smile. "Well it was just lying there and it's not like I ever wear it."
"Such a nice hat would sure be useful while doing all the yard work and pool cleaning." Hardcastle's meaning wasn't lost on the curly haired man. McCormick could feel his back ache at the thought of the work the judge was going to heap on him as punishment for giving away his favorite hat.
"Well this is weird." Rachel's comment brought the judge back to the matter at hand. She was looking at a small rectangle of paper.
"What have you got?"
"I keep my receipts in my wallet so I can reconcile my bank and credit card statements. I emptied my wallet out just the other night. So the only things in here should be from today." She handed the small slip of paper over to the judge. "I have no idea what this is."
McCormick got up and went around the desk to peer at the old-fashioned, hand-written receipt. He pointed to a set of numbers. "This isn't even for today. That's Monday's date."
"You figured that out without even having to look at the calendar." Hardcastle slapped McCormick's finger away, then pointed to another set of numbers. "This one looks like a time of day."
"Yah, but is it 4:30 in the morning or the afternoon?" Mark asked.
Rachel held up a second receipt. "This one is labeled Seaside Shack. So that one should be from Wang's Whatever."
"Judge, you know what this is don't you?"
"Yes, McCormick, I know what this is!" The retired jurist grabbed the phone and began punching in Frank's phone number.
"Well I don't know," Rachel admitted.
"This is what Alan Monroe and Stoney Whitmore wanted back from you." Mark explained. "This is the date and time of the next smuggled shipment."
Rachel got up to have a second look at the innocuous looking piece of paper. "What about all these other numbers?"
Mark was guessing, but felt pretty confident, "Those must be the values of the goods coming in."
"But that totals over half a million dollars!"
"That explains why they were willing to kill to get this back." McCormick put the disguised receipt down on the desk and slid it along the desk towards Hardcastle who grabbed it and began reading off the numbers to the police officer on the other end. The ex-con stepped back to the far side of the desk, wanting to distance himself from the offending record.
Hardcastle hung up the phone. "Frank's sending over a second car to pick this up. He says he'll nominate you for a key to the city if this will lead to the arrest of Whitmore and Monroe."
Rachel grimaced. "I won't be booking a hall yet. I have a feeling there may be other plans for me. I'm afraid someone may be sizing me for a pair of cement shoes."
"Mornin'." Rachel greeted the judge as he came into the kitchen at 6:30 Sunday morning.
"I thought you would be catching some of that beauty rest you were talking about last night." Hardcastle poured himself a large cup of coffee. He noticed the stifled yawn and the tired eyes of the young woman sitting across from him.
"Hard to sleep in a strange place." She explained. "I thought I'd go for a walk along the beach to relax, then I remembered you telling me to stay indoors unless you or Mark was with me. At least your morning coffee's ready, right?" Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
Hardcastle wished there were words that would make everything better. He knew there weren't. "Just a couple more days. The LAPD will have everything wrapped up by tomorrow night and you will be free to return to your apartment."
"Until the trial."
"You could choose not to testify. Of course that would leave Whitmore and his crew free on the streets to continue their illegal trade. McCormick can only ID Monroe in that Crown Vic. Getting him off the streets would be a good thing too."
"What about the exchange for the smuggled goods. Surely the LAPD will have enough evidence to file charges with that bust?"
"Yep. So long as we've guessed correctly and the exchange goes down at the warehouse for Wang's Emporium. But if Whitmore let's his cronies handle the exchange, there's nothing to tie him to the goods."
"Without me putting him in the car that chased Mark and me from the beach and tying him to the receipt with the exchange notice."
"Now you're cookin'."
"You'll be fine. The police cruiser will stay here and I won't be gone all that long." Hardcastle got behind the wheel of his treasured Corvette.
"Where's your police protection?" McCormick looked around pointedly.
The judge laughed. "I don't need police protection. I didn't see anything worth threatening my life over."
"What does Frank need with you down at the station anyway?" Mark still worried that something bad might happen to the judge if he wasn't there to protect him.
"I'm just going to make sure there are no loose ends. That's all. You're needed here to keep Rachel from going crazy. You know I don't do so well with that sort of thing." Seeing the nervous look on the ex-con's face, the judge added, "I'll call when I get there. Now git."
McCormick watched as the judge raced down the drive, knowing that he could have done it faster. Fast or fastest, it didn't matter. He was still gone.
As promised, 30 minutes later the judge called to say he'd made it safely to the police station. He reminded McCormick that Barry from the market would be coming by with a box of groceries.
"Good thing too, or we'd be frying our shoes for lunch like Charlie Chaplin," Mark joked.
"Just make sure the patrol outside knows he's coming too. I don't want to explain to Barry's manager why he needs a new delivery boy. And Frank says to tell you there's a new patrol coming on at two."
"Thanks Judge. Don't drive Frank crazy. We need him on our side." McCormick heard muttering as Hardcastle hung up the phone.
"Why do you tease him like that?" Rachel asked.
Mark smiled. "How else will he know I care?"
Further down the PCH from Gull's Way, a man wearing a telephone company uniform cleaned up the extra wires he'd connected to the phone lines. He descended the pole and drove off in his waiting van.
Barry had lived through his delivery and left with a questioning look over his shoulder. McCormick was sure that if it wasn't for the good tips he got, Barry wouldn't deliver to this address.
Lunch was a simple fare of soup and sandwiches eaten out at the pool. Mark decided to have a go at the back hedges while Rachel cleaned up after lunch. When she finished inside, Rachel came back out to help weed the flower bed near the bushes Mark was trimming. McCormick guessed she wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but not so alone she couldn't see a friendly face.
It was just after two when the next patrol shift came round to announce their arrival.
"We've been asked to bring you down to the station," said the taller officer.
"What for?" McCormick asked.
"Sorry. We aren't a part of the task force that's being assembled." The officer looked a bit put out by this admission.
"Oh. We don't know much about what's happening either," Mark said lamely. "Just give us a second to get cleaned up."
"Sure. We'll be waiting by the car. Don't be too long, though. Sounded like they wanted you sooner rather than later."
"Don't they always?" McCormick muttered. Bad temper aside, he and Rachel were ready to go twenty minutes later.
McCormick hated being in the back seat of the police cruiser. He wished he could have taken the Coyote. He sighed. At least he wasn't in handcuffs. Rachel didn't look too happy to be there either. She was staring at the shorter officer in the front passenger seat. Suddenly her eyes grew larger.
"Wait! We have to go back."
"Why? What's wrong?" Mark was more than a little concerned about the secretary.
Rachel looked lost for a moment, then quickly stammered, "I ah, forgot my bag. We have to go back for my bag."
The police car kept heading down the drive. The officer Rachel had been eyeing turned to face the backseat passengers with a malicious grin and aiming a revolver. "I don't think so, sweetheart. I thought if I shaved my mustache and didn't say anything you wouldn't recognize me."
McCormick squinted at the man, not recognizing him. "Who are you?"
"He's from Wang's Emporium." Rachel said quietly. "He's the cashier who gave me the receipt."
Nothing was said by any of the occupants of the hijacked police cruiser for several miles. Mark guessed the other cop was Gary Olsen, the jewelry store owner. McCormick didn't mistake the two shop proprietors lack of conversation as a sign they were unprepared to shoot both himself and Rachel should the need arise.
"Just stay calm." Mark squeezed with the hand Rachel had grabbed when the thug from Wang's Emporium aimed a gun into the back seat.
"Calm? Right." Rachel wasn't able to look away from the end of the gun.
"Maybe they just want to exchange grocery coupons."
Rachel turned to openly stare at the man beside her. "Did you hit your head when you got in the car?"
"No," Mark smiled. "But at least I got you to stop looking at the gun."
"I suppose I can't wish it away."
The short passenger in the front answered. "Not likely."
Rachel leaned back into the seat. If it wasn't for the death grip she maintained on his right hand, McCormick would have thought she had relaxed.
Silence reigned again until the car stopped outside a large shipping door of a warehouse.
"Out." The man with the gun held Rachel's door open. He motioned with the gun for both the back occupants to exit the car.
A smaller, personnel door opened and was filled with a solid form McCormick had hoped not to see again.
"I'll take them from here. Whitmore wants you and Olsen to dump the cruiser. We'll see you back here when the shipment comes in."
"Sure Monroe. Just remember this is my warehouse. Bloodstains are hard to get off a cement floor." The Venice shop owner slammed the car door just before the car sped forward.
"Unless you want to be shot where you stand, I suggest you come in." The hired gun motioned for the two captives to enter through the opened door. Fighting every instinct to run, Mark put his arm around Rachel's shoulders and helped guide her into the warehouse.
"Mr. McCormick. Ms. Andrews. Welcome to my piece of the pie." Stoney Whitmore said congenially, rising from his seat behind the desk in the spacious imports warehouse.
"I thought you smuggled jewels, not dessert." McCormick quipped, before being shoved harshly into the nearest wall by Alan Monroe.
Rachel tried to lunge to Mark's rescue but was pulled aside and shoved into an empty chair by Whitmore. "Have a seat Ms. Andrews. I just have a few questions for Mr. McCormick."
McCormick picked himself up from the floor where he had landed after bouncing off the wall. He turned to face Monroe who was closing in with an evil grin. "I see you enjoy your work." Mark took a step back and found the wall blocking his path.
"That was for sending the police to my place. Good thing I saw 'em first, I just kept driving past." Monroe stepped in with a hard blow to the ex-con's midsection.
"I thought you wanted to ask questions?" Rachel got half way up from her chair before the smuggler shoved her back down again.
"Thank you Ms. Andrews." The criminal leader focused on McCormick who was down on his knees clutching his stomach. "What have you told the police, Mr. McCormick?"
Mark managed to stand back up, leaning against the wall for support. "Me? The police?" He managed between heaving breaths. "They were out selling tickets to this year's ball. I'll tell 'em to hold a table for ya."
Monroe smacked a back-handed blow to McCormick's right cheek, his head twisting to the side. Mark wiped at the corner of his mouth and saw the blood red smudge across his hand.
"Do the police know about tomorrow morning's shipment?"
"Their number's in the phone book. Why don't you call and ask?"
Monroe's fist sent McCormick sprawling across the floor. Rachel raced to the fallen man's side. "Stop it!" She screamed at the well paid bully. Tenderly she touched the ex-con's bruised cheek. "Mark, just tell them. Stop this."
"No," he hissed through sore and clenched teeth.
Monroe grabbed the girl and pulled her up by the collar of her shirt. "I bet she'd tell us everything we want to know."
Whitmore raised an eyebrow. "She is the cause of all this mess."
"NO!" Forgetting his injuries, Mark jumped up, leaping towards the large man. But he was too late to stop the back handed-blow from knocking Rachel backwards, and she fell over Mark.
Whitmore had a gun out, stopping McCormick's further movements. "You had your chance."
Monroe stepped towards the weeping girl, her arms wrapped around her head, her body curled into a tight ball.
"Stop!" McCormick yelled as he stepped between the vicious goon and Rachel. "Just stop, and I'll tell you what you want to know."
"Use the siren, Frank." Milt urged. His worries growing steadily since Harper informed him that the relief patrol hadn't responded to a routine check-in. There had been no response from several telephone calls to the house either.
Lieutenant Harper refused to turn the siren back on. They were nearing the entrance to Gull's Way and he wanted the benefit of surprise on his side. He slowed the vehicle to a crawl once he turned off the highway and started down the long road to the main house.
"God Frank, they could be hurt. Can't you go any faster?" Hardcastle hated the begging sound he heard coming from his mouth, but he couldn't hide his fear.
"If there's a hostage situation, I want the chance to look around and see what we're up against. I don't think Whitmore would want to kill Mark and Rachel outright." He said nothing of the two officers that he had sent to watch the people in the house. Hardcastle knew that his friend was worried and wanted to get up to the house as bad as he did.
The police lieutenant stopped the car well back from the house. They saw no sign of the cruiser that had been sent out for guard duty. Quietly they exited their car and darted from cover to cover until they reached the front of the house. Hardcastle noticed the Coyote and his truck were still parked in the same spots as when he left. If Mark and Rachel couldn't be found on the estate grounds, he would know the young people had left against their will.
The retired judge and police lieutenant were making their way around the house in opposite directions when Hardcastle heard the den phone ringing. He let it ring five times before he decided that there wasn't anyone else around. He made the dash to the front door and flew through the house to grab the phone.
"McCormick!" he bellowed into the mouth piece.
"He's here Judge," an oily voice the judge didn't recognize oozed. "The girl too. They're both staying healthy…so far."
"Who is this? What do you want?" Hardcastle demanded. Seeing Frank come running through the doorway, he held up his hand for quiet.
"Oh I think you know who I am. I have it on good authority that you're planning a little get-together with me and my boys."
"Whitmore. If you hurt either one of those kids…"
"They'll be alright as long as you do as you're told Judge," the voice hissed back. "You're going to call off the heat. I need this last shipment to finance my relocation plans."
"I'm not in charge of the operation Stoney. I don't have the authority to close down a bust that will bring in scum like you."
"Then find someone who does."
Hardcastle thought for a moment. "What about the two police officers who were guarding the house? If you've killed them, I won't be able to stop a nation wide man hunt for you."
"Not to worry. They're tied up in an outhouse at a rest stop about twenty miles north of your place. They've suffered no permanent damage"
Hardcastle gave Frank a relieved wave. He saw the lines on the policeman's face relax slightly.
"Why don't you reschedule your exchange. I don't know if I can stop everything in time."
"Things are already in motion. You do as you've been told or you'll be attending the funerals for your sidekick and his girlfriend. If I see just one person out by my warehouse that I don't recognize, I'll personally shoot your friend McCormick." The phone line buzzed its lost connection.
"What did he say?" Frank asked, having watched Milt age before his eyes as he hung up the phone.
"He wants the police to butt out of his business arrangement. Oh, and McCormick's mouth is working its usual charms."
After having answered all of Alan Whitmore's questions, McCormick was sure it was the end of the road for Rachel and him. He had been quite surprised when Monroe tied their hands behind their backs and bound their ankles out in front then left them alone in the corner. Except for a washroom break just before midnight and the occasional rope check, Rachel and Mark had been ignored.
Rachel's head was leaning on Mark's shoulder as she dozed lightly. Two days of excitement and one night of next to no sleep had taken their toll on the young woman. Mark closed his eyes, hoping to encourage the belief that both he and Rachel were sleeping. What McCormick really wanted was information. He listened carefully to Whitmore and Monroe, who were standing nearby making quiet plans for the early morning.
"You think that judge will call off the raid?" Monroe whispered
Whitmore shook his head. "I really don't know. Everything I've found out about the man says he'll be leading the charge." The smuggler cast a glance at the sleeping captives. "There's some talk about a soft spot for the ex-con though."
Monroe gave a harsh laugh. "Who's ever heard of a judge caring about an ex-con? It's all just some sort of scam."
Whitmore shrugged. "I don't know. We had a hard enough time getting McCormick to give us anything about Hardcastle. It could be possible." Through the spaces between his eyelashes, McCormick watched as the smuggler stared at him, trying to find some physical signs of an unlikely friendship between a judge and an ex-convict.
"We say nothing to Olsen and Nicols about the raid. We'll let them handle the two lose ends and if things go bad," Whitmore shrugged again. "There'll be less heat available for us."
Whitmore and Monroe walked towards the front of the warehouse and out of McCormick's earshot. Mark couldn't hide the shudder that passed through him. How was he going to get Rachel and himself out of this mess?
"I thought getting married was scary," Rachel whispered.
Mark hadn't realized Rachel was awake, she hadn't moved as far as he could tell. He guessed she was aware enough to not want the attention of the two men with guns.
"You're married?" McCormick whispered back.
"I ran away before the date of I do's. Moving to California was less intimidating than the possible mistake of a lifetime," Rachel sniffed. "Matthew's a good friend of my oldest brother. I told them I was too scared to make that kind of mistake. Boy! Wouldn't they like to know how I feel right now?"
"We'll find a way for you to have the chance to tell them," Mark promised.
The whispering stopped. McCormick guessed it was Rachel's way of giving him time to come up with a miracle. Whitmore and Monroe moved about the warehouse. If they had any more exchanges about their plans, they weren't held within listening distance of Mark and Rachel.
Now as the clock ticked closer to 4:30, the jewel smuggler spoke to McCormick. "Hopefully your judge friend can take orders and keep the cops away." He was looking out a smudged window at the front of the warehouse, trying to see out into the moonlit morning. "I don't see anyone, but it doesn't mean they're not out there."
"The judge is kinda partial to me. It would be an awful inconvenience to train a new Tonto" McCormick eyed the hit man pacing nearby.
"I bet you're kinda partial to livin' too." Whitmore stared down at McCormick. "My truck should be here soon. Then Olsen, Nicols and I finalize the deal and we're gone."
Mark wondered about the plans he had overheard during the night. Had Whitmore changed his mind since he uttered those dire words to his partner? The villain's smile didn't look like the death sentence McCormick was expecting. No, the ex-con was sure plans were still in place to get rid of two witnesses.
"What about us?" Rachel whispered into Mark's ear.
Mark shook his head at her question. "Don't ask. Trust me. If you remind them you're here, the bad guys will always enjoy telling how they're gonna do you in."
Having overheard, Whitmore answered. "As long as Judge Hardcastle keeps up his side of the bargain, I'll have no reason to 'do you in' as you put it Mr. McCormick. Once this is finished, I'm heading to a nice little island that doesn't have an extradition treaty with the United States."
Mark squinted at the smuggler, trying to judge the honesty level, when the criminal added with a leer, "Of course Gary Olsen still has his jewelry store and Steve Nicols has Wang's. They may not want to give up their lucrative arrangement. In which case you both will have to disappear."
"See I told ya. You're just better off not asking."
"Here comes the truck now." Harper handed the binoculars to the judge lying on the rooftop beside him. The lieutenant picked up his walkie-talkie. "Everyone hold your positions. No one moves until we determine the state of the hostages."
It had been a long night. Every time a cloud passed in front of the moon, throwing the warehouse district into darkness, policemen swarmed into the area concealing themselves before the moonlight reappeared. Now it was finally time for all their sneaking to pay off. The delivery truck carrying the imports from Mexico for Wang's Emporium honked at the closed truck delivery door.
"What good are hostages if you can't use 'em? They've got to be in the warehouse." Hardcastle aimed the glasses at the rising delivery door. The panel truck had barely cleared the threshold when the judge saw Alan Monroe pulling the warehouse door closed. Frank was having a hard time keeping the judge from rushing down the building's side ladder and over to Wang's warehouse.
"I said everyone holds their position. That includes you, Milt. There are guys in place who have a better view of the interior. We'll get those kids out."
The one opened box of import goods was kicked to the side, its contents having been spilled across the desk. For the last eight months the Mexico/California border guards hadn't noticed the difference between the real gems and the tourist costume jewelry. After confirming the gems' worth the loot was bagged and handed to Olsen. Olsen handed Whitmore a stack of bills. Whitmore in turn gave a thousand dollars to the driver of the delivery truck, who happily got back behind the wheel of his vehicle. His exit from the warehouse was as quick as his entrance.
"I hate to end our little arrangement," Whitmore flipped through his cash. "Maybe we can set it up again in six months once the heat's cooled down."
"I don't want anything to do with murder." Gary Olsen kept glancing to the two trussed up figures in the corner. "You wait to do it until after I'm gone. I've made enough money to make a new start somewhere else. No need to put my name on any wanted list."
"Won't matter if you're here or not." Monroe checked the chamber of his revolver and closed it with soft click. "Judge Hardcastle knows all our names. Think it's gonna matter to him if his friend started bleeding before or after the door closed behind you?"
"Steve Nicols grabbed Olsen by the arm. "There can't be any witnesses. You don't get sentenced to prison on suspicion. Those two are the only ones who can tie us all together. Without them, the D.A. won't have a case."
McCormick wondered what Nicols would do when he realized Whitmore was using the two shop keepers. Only Monroe and his gun at the ready stopped Mark from saying anything. He hoped he would have the chance to tell about the smuggler's plan later without the hit man around.
Olsen pushed Nicols away from him. "This is all you fault, Steve. You let a pair of legs distract you and you hand out our timetable to someone who hangs out with a retired judge."
"Enough!" Whitmore's bellow cut the argument short, though the two men continued to glare at each other. "We need to get out of here before the police figure it out. You two can take Mr. McCormick and Ms. Andrews. If you run into the LAPD use them as a bartering tool. Otherwise you know what you have to do."
"What about you and Monroe?" Olsen turned his steely gaze to the man in charge, his distrust clearly evident in his eyes.
Whitmore smiled coldly. "Hostages make it most difficult to board a plane. Don't worry; we'll be right behind you."
Both Olsen and Nicols brought out their weapons. Nicols appeared much more at ease with the gun in his hand than the jewelry store owner.
"You're coming with us." Nicols motioned for the two captives to get up from the floor.
"Unless your plan is to have us hop ourselves to death, you're going to have to help us out here." McCormick raised his bound feet a few inches from the floor.
"I heard how well you drive that fancy car of yours, hotshot, now you can drive for us." The jewelry store owner grabbed the knife from the desk that had been used to open the delivery box. His fears for Mark's and Rachel's future well under control, Olsen slid the knife through the ropes without any hesitation.
Having been sitting on the cold ground for so many hours, both the ex-con and the secretary needed help getting to their feet. Olsen gave them a moment to let the blood flow through their limbs before marching them to his car.
"Nice Crown Vic." Mark commented as he accepted the keys. "I've heard these things handle well in traffic." Once they were away from the warehouse, Mark thought he would tell the two business men about the smuggler's plan. Maybe they'd forget for just a moment about their hostages and he and Rachel could make an escape
"Shut up and get in." Nicols pushed the former racecar driver into the driver's seat and got in behind him. On the other side of the car, Rachel was let into the back seat beside Nicols while Olsen got in beside Mark. Mark felt surrounded, and cut off from Rachel. McCormick hoped Hardcastle was out there with a plan.
"Nice and easy. You wouldn't want me to pull the trigger accidentally now would ya?" Olsen poked McCormick in the shoulder with his gun.
Mark looked in the rearview mirror and saw Rachel watching him. He offered a wry grin to give her some support, however small. Rachel wasn't able to bring a smile to her face, but she nodded her head, to acknowledge she was doing the best she could. .
Monroe opened the large door for them to pass through. Rachel turned back to watch it close behind them. Off in the far back corner of the warehouse, she caught Whitmore pulling on a dark blue shirt and donning a matching hat, then the doorway was sealed. Rachel wondered what the jewel smuggler was up to now.
McCormick was picking up speed in the blue sedan, but had managed to pass only one other building before all hell broke loose.
"Will you stay down?" Frank grabbed the shoulder of Milt's jacket and held him to the roof of the building. "Something's happening."
The delivery truck turned left away from the warehouse.
"Any sign of the hostages?" Frank asked into his walkie-talkie, no longer having to hold Hardcastle down.
"I counted three men talking against the wall, plus the guy who let the truck out." One officer reported.
"I got two more against the back wall, sitting on the floor." It was the reply the judge had been waiting for. There was no way he was staying one second longer on the rooftop while McCormick was sitting down in that warehouse. He ran hunched-over across the roof to the start of the ladder.
"Follow that truck and stop it at least half a mile from here. I don't want anyone in that warehouse to know we're closing in." Frank released the communication button then ran to the ladder in the same fashion as the judge. Hardcastle was just reaching the bottom. "Stubborn donkey." Harper couldn't help muttering one of McCormick's favorite terms for the older man.
The lieutenant was almost as fast as the judge in descending the rungs. Frank crept silently down the alley until he caught up with his friend at the corner of the building.
"What do you think you're doing?" Frank hissed.
"McCormick's counting on me to get him out of this mess." Hardcastle never took his gaze from the front of the warehouse across the street.
"You can't go running in there like back at the estate." Frank had already reamed the judge out for entering the house to answer the phone Sunday afternoon. The judge acted invincible, but Harper knew the man wasn't bulletproof.
"Do I look like I'm entering that warehouse?" Hardcastle asked as he looked around the alley, taking stock of his surroundings.
"And you're not going to until I say you can." The policeman waited until he saw the resigned nod from the retired judge.
"Wait, the door's going up again." Frank got Hardcastle's attention. They both watched as the blue sedan edged slowly out from the warehouse. It was turning onto the street heading towards their alley.
"That's McCormick driving and Rachel in the back," Frank groaned. "We'll have to stop that car fast before their captors have a chance to use them as shields."
Hardcastle had grabbed the edge of an empty dumpster. "Get over here and help me with this."
There was no time for questions. Frank heaved on one corner and Hardcastle on the other. The giant green garbage can sailed out from the alley and into the path of the oncoming car. The resounding crash echoed throughout the street. The front end of the Crown Victoria was crumpled, and jets of steam shot from the smashed radiator; the car was dead in its tracks. The dumpster was battered and laying on its side from the force of its meeting with the vehicle.
A half-dozen policemen rushed from their hiding spots, weapons drawn. Hardcastle and Frank were the first to reach the doors of the beaten automobile. They yanked both of the left side doors open. Harper reached in to grab Nicols' weapon then stepped back to hold his own gun on the unarmed criminal. Hardcastle leaned past McCormick to grab Olsen's gun lying on the front seat. The jewelry store owner slumped against the passenger seat headrest, out cold from having smacked the side of his head against the dashboard.
"You two OK?" the judge asked giving them a quick once-over, happy to see them alive.
Rachel was rubbing her right shoulder where she had hit it against the Crown Victoria's unyielding frame. She looked at the judge with unbelieving eyes. "We're not dead," she managed to say with only a slight hint of surprise. An officer opened her door and helped pull her out of the back seat. She almost sank to the ground once clear of the car, her knees too weak to hold her up. The officer had a strong arm around her shoulders and was able to guide her to the sidewalk where she promptly sat down on the curb.
McCormick was rubbing his bruised chin, having hit it on the steering wheel when the car came to its sudden and complete stop. "Tonto thinks Lone Ranger be one crazy white man."
"Come on, get out of there." Hardcastle helped McCormick out from behind the steering wheel. The judge walked his young friend over to the sidewalk and helped him sit down on the curb beside Rachel Andrews. Looking them over, Hardcastle thought they didn't look too bad. The girl had a large bruise on her right cheek, and the corner of McCormick's lip was split and his left eye looked like it was surrounded by a lot of blue. Tomorrow they would probably be pretty stiff and sore in spots, but all in all, still fairly healthy.
Deciding they didn't need any molly-codling, Hardcastle gruffly asked, "What did you do with Whitmore and Monroe?"
McCormick looked back at the warehouse that had been his and Rachel's prison for the past half-day. "They were still in there when we left."
"Someone go check out that building. Careful, those men will be armed and dangerous." Hardcastle yelled to several nearby policemen.
The well trained group approached the warehouse warily, each man positioning himself where he would have a clear view of the entries and exits to the building. Two officers in bulletproof vests crouched down beside the personnel door. Once the door had been opened, they ducked into the building, weapons at the ready. It didn't take long before they returned outside.
"Building's clear," one officer called out.
"Clear?" Hardcastle bellowed. "Where the hell did they go? There's nothin' but cops around here. Where do they think they'll get to?"
Rachel's head snapped up. "Judge! That's it. They're dressed as cops. I saw Whitmore putting on a blue uniform as we were leaving."
Hardcastle swept his gaze across every man standing on the street, but it was McCormick who spotted the phony policemen. "There!" He pointed to the end of the block where the two disguised criminals were getting into a patrol car that had been parked to barricade the street following the Crown Victoria's crash.
Disregarding his aches and pains, the ex-con raced down the street to a second police cruiser.
"Hurry up! You're letting them get away." the judge hollered at the younger man's retreating back.
Other police officers took chase behind McCormick.
Stoney Whitmore floored the gas pedal, spinning his steering wheel hard to the right. The police car fishtailed until the smuggler brought it back under control, racing away from the three police cars lining up in pursuit.
McCormick led the charge, managing to narrow the gap between his vehicle and Whitmore's. Mark saw Alan Monroe lean out the passenger window, left handedly pointing his weapon of choice. McCormick swerved his car to the left, removing it from the direct line of fire. The next cruiser in line wasn't as fortunate. McCormick heard the telling chings as several bullets found their mark in the front end of the following car. The vehicle had been forced out of the chase, smoke billowing from under the hood.
Mark coaxed more speed from his vehicle, bringing it along Whitmore's driver side. McCormick hoped to force the smuggler off the road, but Whitmore guessed what the younger man was up to. Braking hard and yanking the steering wheel to the right, Whitmore skillfully spun his vehicle around, aiming it 180 degrees from where it had started. McCormick zipped past, not wanting to be taken out by the back end of Whitmore's car. Once clear of that danger, he followed the smuggler's move and pursued the stolen cruiser back towards the police-crowded street.
The remaining police car was barricading the road, the driver hoping to catch the criminals between it and McCormick's car. Whitmore rammed into the front corner of the parked car, pushing aside the front end enough to shoot past. McCormick followed through the cleared space.
Monroe, desperate to stop the tailing car, fired shots continuously until his weapon emptied. Finally able to drive without dodging the deadly bullets, McCormick pulled alongside the leading police car. A quick love tap sent Whitmore's car over the curb, but it wasn't enough to put him into a wall as McCormick had hoped. The smuggler brought his vehicle back onto the road.
Whitmore looked through his driver's side window, trying to guess the ex-con's next move. He caught McCormick's grin. By the time Whitmore turned to see what lay ahead, he hadn't enough time to deal with the overturned dumpster looming in front him. The resounding crash of steel against steel could be heard blocks away, but the muffled sound of the engine sputtering and dying in the crumpled front of the cruiser, inside the dumpster, announced who the winner of this match was. The only concession the garbage bin made to the car's entry was to screech backwards several feet until it was stopped by the disabled Crown Victoria.
McCormick brought his vehicle to a quick stop. He jumped out and dashed to the criminals stuck in their car, still contained within the beat-up dumpster. Judge Hardcastle and Lieutenant Harper were already there, trying to open the doors to extract the battered crooks.
Hardcastle stepped back and let a uniformed officer finish pulling Stoney Whitmore out of the totaled cruiser. The judge looked McCormick over. The ex-con bent over with his hands on his knees, was trying to bring his heavy breathing under control.
"You call yourself a professional racecar driver? There are five cars here that are completely totaled, three of which are a direct result of your driving." Hardcastle groused as he poked a finger at McCormick's shoulder.
McCormick stood up and poked back at the judge. "That first one was definitely your fault. I know you're responsible for that dumpster coming out of that alley."
Hardcastle couldn't hide his grin. "That was pretty quick thinking actually, probably saved your life."
McCormick threw up his hands. "Then why are you blaming me?"
Rachel joined their group, wanting to make sure Mark was okay and overheard their argument. "How else could he show he cares?"
"I just wanted to say thank you. For everything." Rachel had finished packing up her few belongings from Gull's Way and was waiting for her taxi.
"The D.A. knows where to reach you? To let you know about the trial?" Hardcastle was surprised to realize he was going to miss the young lady.
Rachel smiled. "I gave Lieutenant Harper my parents' number and address. They'll have my new address after I've settled down again."
"You're sure you want to move back to Montana?" Mark couldn't imagine giving up the warmer California winters for the freezing ones up north.
Rachel nodded. "I moved down here after Matthew proposed to me. After everything that's happened these past few days, getting married doesn't seem so frightening after all."
A yellow taxi came up the drive. It stopped in front of the small group. Hardcastle greeted the driver and handed over the small amount of luggage.
"You and Matthew going to try to work things out? Gonna make it to the altar this time?" Mark watched Rachel's eyes for her answer.
Rachel gave Mark a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I think we'll be all right. We'll take a little time and see where things go. Actually you remind me a lot of Matthew. If I wasn't in love with him, I really could have fallen for you."
Hardcastle held open the door to the taxi. Rachel gave him a quick hug before getting into the cab. "You've got a place to stay whenever you're in Helena."
The judge closed the door and leaned in the open window. "Been a long time since I've been up that way. Might take you up on your offer."
"I hope that you do." Rachel waved out the window until the men were out of sight.
Mark put his arm around Hardcastle's shoulder. "You know, that wasn't so bad. Maybe our next case can have a little female companionship?"