This is a work of fanfiction, for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle and McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators.
Author's Notes: Another epilogue, and this to one of my top ten favorite episodes. (Well, maybe top fifteen; it all depends on my mood.) Anyway, the ep is one of my faves, and I thank my writing partners for letting me have this one. Also, this is the last of my entries from our final CD 'zine, so I'd like to offer one last word of thanks to all of you who helped make Brian Keith's star a reality. We could never have done it without you, and I'll never forget it.
Epilogophilia: Flying Down to Rio
Hardcastle and McCormick are in pursuit of gun runner Peter Avery, who evaded them in Los Angeles. Now he's fled to the Caribbean nation of San Rio Blanco, a country which has no extradition treaty with the U.S. While hunting their quarry, the judge is framed on drug charges and tossed into a San Rio prison.
Hardcastle has given strict instructions to let the system do its job, but when ordinary channels don't seem to be working, Mark recruits a local aviatrix and air service operator, Aggie Wainwright, and uses a helicopter and a sack full of small bills to stage a prison breakout for the judge.
Now—with the tables turned and them on the run from Avery and his San Rio accomplices—they use the chase to lure Avery across the border to San Rafaelo, where there is an extradition treaty and Avery is taken into custody.
Epilogue—by Cheride
"Hardcase, please." McCormick's harshly whispered words carried an undercurrent of weariness that said he'd made this request far too many times. "Can you drop it already? I'm trying to sleep here." He kept his eyes resolutely shut to give full credence to the idea.
"You're trying to ignore me," Hardcastle corrected, his own tone more exasperated than weary.
"That would be one of the fringe benefits of sleep," Mark agreed, "but it isn't working too well so far."
"That's because we're not done talking about this yet."
"You're not done talking about it. I've already told you that I don't have anything else to say."
"You just don't seem to be getting the point that I didn't take you down there to go on some crazy crime spree."
McCormick sighed. "It's gonna be a long flight," he muttered. Finally he opened his eyes and twisted in his seat to look at the judge. "First of all, I'd hardly call it a crime spree. It was one jailbreak, and I'm not sure that even oughta count when the prisoner is locked up on trumped up charges."
"It still counts," Hardcastle told him firmly.
"If you say so. But the point you don't seem to get, Judge, is that the law isn't the same down there. Peter Avery bought and paid for your arrest and had you thrown in a hole you weren't supposed to come out of. Without that 'crime spree' you're bitchin' about, you would've rotted in that jail until they got around to scheduling your execution. And, really, with Avery's money, that might not've taken all that long. So instead of sittin' there all high and mighty, you ought to think about thanking me."
"Thanking—" Drawing a couple of sets of inquiring eyes, Hardcastle took a deep breath and brought himself under control, lowering his voice to something that couldn't be heard over the engines' roar. "Thanking you?" he continued, more quietly but still incredulous. "Did somebody slip something into that farewell coconut drink of yours? You could've gotten us both killed, not to mention dragging Aggie into the middle of everything. You didn't even give the system a chance to work. And besides, I'm supposed to be rehabilitating you."
McCormick raised an eyebrow. "Rehabilitating me? What, like some kind of school project?" He shook his head. "Never mind.
"Look, I won't bore you with the details of the proper channels I tried to go through to get you out, Hardcase, but trust me when I say that we didn't have enough cash on us to let the system work. And I didn't drag Aggie into anything; she was a willing accomplice, which ought to prove something right there. She's practically a native; she knows the score down there. And even she knew we couldn't let you stay in that damned place. Hell, Judge, the system barely manages to get things right from time to time back home, and you want me to trust it in a country that won't even agree to extradition? Seriously, just what kind of justice did you expect in a place like that?"
With that, McCormick faced forward, folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes again. But almost immediately he turned his head to look at the older man again for just a second.
"Oh, and don't forget, I didn't want to be there in the first place, but this rehabilitation program of yours seems to include cooperation through coercion. Just another shining example of the system at work."
This time, Mark closed his eyes and kept them shut, and Hardcastle didn't really have an immediate response, so he simply examined the young man for a few moments, a small smile working its way across his face.
He'd never say so out loud, but there was a part of him that thought McCormick might have a point—maybe even a couple of points. He was realistic enough to know that his chances had been slim sitting in that jail cell, and that being an American citizen wasn't likely to earn him any extra points. So on some level, he really was grateful for McCormick's results, even if he disagreed with the tactics. Mostly, though, he'd been extremely pleased to hear that the kid had tried to do things the right way first. Judge Ramirez back in San Rio had already given him the details on that, but he wasn't too surprised to hear McCormick gloss over it entirely. The ex-con might not like the idea of being a rehabilitation project, but Hardcastle himself thought it a necessary and worthwhile effort, and he had high hopes this time around. The fact that the illegal road hadn't been McCormick's first choice back on the island was encouraging.
The other valid point was that Mark really hadn't wanted to go after Avery in the first place; sometimes the kid had pretty good instincts about who was capable of causing the most trouble. But in an effort to show the young man who was boss, he had insisted, and then almost immediately found himself in hot water with no one but McCormick to bail him out.
But what the judge wasn't quite ready to admit to anyone—even himself—was that maybe the real reason he'd insisted McCormick come along was because he was pretty sure the guy would bail him out if necessary, even if it meant bending a few rules. So what kind of rehabilitation program was that? He pondered that a moment, then quickly decided that was the sort of thought that needed defending with a good offense.
"So you're saying it's my fault?" he demanded.
McCormick shrugged, seeming unperturbed by the delay in the continuing conversation. "You dragged me down there. I remember my choices clearly, Hardcase, and I'm no fool. There are gun-running crazy murderers in San Quentin, but no beaches or pretty girls. Not a hard decision." He opened one eye to glance over at his traveling companion. "But you should've known what you were getting into, taking an unrehabilitated felon into such a lawless society."
Hardcastle chuckled at the smirk on his friend's face. "So it is my fault."
"I am what I am," McCormick grinned, "and you should know that better than anyone."
"Yep," Hardcastle admitted, "that's true." Then he added smugly, "But I figure that works both ways." A good offense had to be enduring.
Both eyes popped open and McCormick cast a wary gaze on the judge. "You're gonna keep trying to convince me I was wrong, aren't you?"
The judge flashed a grin. "Maybe we should start with the basics. See, rehabilitation means . . ."