Disclaimer: These are not my characters and I make no profit from them.

Thanks Owl, beta and closer.

Author's Note: In the third episode of the second season, "You Would Cry, Too, If It Happened to You", Hardcastle leaves Mark in charge of things at Gull's Way while he's off attending a week-long judges' convention in Hawaii. Mark's initial delight in his temporary independence soon turns to dismay. Two ex-con buddies, who've invited themselves over for a poker party, have turned the whole thing into an extravaganza with a houseful of unruly guests and more arriving by the minute. To add to Mark's horror, Hardcastle chooses that moment to call from LAX, announcing that he's come home two days early, bored with his own get-together. Unbeknownst to both men, an old nemesis of Hardcastle's, computer whiz and embezzler Jack Fish, has been monitoring his activities, looking for a chink in his armor. Alas, in the words of Fish, Hardcastle is "the only guy who took the Boy Scout pledge seriously." So Fish has hired Mark's old buddies to steal Hardcastle's files in his absence--which they do (along with everything else that isn't nailed down) as soon as Mark departs for the airport to pick up the judge.

Of course, that means Fish must also have investigated the guy who never signed up for the Boy Scouts.

Scouting the Opposition

by L.M. Lewis

Jack Fish liked to view himself as a methodical man, calculating to the nth degree, a man for whom other mere mortals could be reduced to sets of variables and their future behaviors predictably deduced. He was also a man of infinite patience. Vengeance served cold would be perfectly satisfactory.

These were all good traits, he'd decided, in someone who had set his sights on bringing down the illustrious and incorruptible former jurist, Milton C. Hardcastle. He'd made that goal his vocation, practically since the day Hardcase had sentenced him. It was only recently, though, with his rise to a position of more authority and access with his current employer, that he'd had access to the information he needed.

And still his quarry eluded him. A careful search of records, recent and long buried, had failed to provide a handle with which to pull the man down.

So Fish started again, looking for another way in.

00000

It was another late-night session at the bank. Fish had cultivated a reputation for diligence that was serving him well. He'd already convinced the mortgage department that providing connections to other data collections would streamline their background checks and lower their default rates. That had earned him points as well as increased the reach of his tentacles.

Now, armed with a valuable new bit of information, he was ready to dive into the data pool again.

"This guy, the one he's got doing his yard work," Fish smiled thinly, "he's got a record."

Lou Manduke, his partner in crime, looked up from his desultory scanning of some account documents—somebody had to keep up appearances.

"Yeah, uh, you didn't hear that?"

Fish shot him a look.

"Yeah," Lou nodded, "he brings home ex-cons, has 'em mowing his lawn—all that stuff."

Fish made an expression of disgust.

"That guy, Beal, you remember him? Real smart—only he took off and Hardcase hauled him back in, additional sentence. Then I heard he busted out and tried to kill the guy."

"I thought you said he was smart."

Lou shrugged.

"Anyway," Fish mused, looking at the name now up on his screen, "Hardcastle is retired. So where is he getting his con labor from now?" He smiled again, catching just a whiff of impropriety.

Lou leaned forward, taking in the screen, and then said, "I think that's the same one."

Fish looked at him again. "Same as—"

"As last year—in the newspaper article, the one about Beal. He must be left-over from when Hardcase left the bench."

"A year—no, fourteen months?" Fish looked disbelieving. He typed in more commands, studying the output with a doubtful and jaundiced eye. "He must have something on this one."

"Maybe the guy just doesn't want to end up like Beal. They got him up in Folsom now, I hear."

"He's a thief. Two convictions." Fish's brow furrowed. "There's a third case here." His expression deepened in concentration and then suddenly went lax with just one eyebrow up in query. "That industrialist, the CEO—Cody, I think he's still awaiting trial, isn't he?"

Lou shrugged again.

"Yes," Fish's fingers were flying now, "but that wasn't Hardcastle's case. That arrest came after he retired. It looks as though this guy, McCormick, was the last defendant he heard and the case just . . . stopped." He sat back with a satisfied look and then added, "That has to be some sort of malfeasance. And indefinite slave labor in exchange for, for what? A hold on the case?" He leaned forward. There were more quick entries, and then a disappointed frown.

"What?" Lou asked insistently.

"It appears that the parole board is aware of the arrangement and has given its approval." He looked more focused again as he studied the screen. "All right, then, we can't use the arrangement against Hardcastle directly, but there still might be a way."

00000

It took several more nights of digging for Fish to formulate his picture of the man in question.

"This, see?" He placed the first of the printouts in the table in front of his colleague. "From the parole board."

Lou looked at it in puzzlement. "This ain't about McCormick."

"No—a known associate. A career criminal named Hollins, paroled last year and formerly a cellmate of McCormick's. McCormick aided Hollins a year ago—he was arrested about that time. Hardcastle smoothed things over somehow. The man must do good hedge-work. Hell, it's even possible Hardcase was taking a cut, but if he did, he made sure his tracks were covered."

"Okay, so McCormick's a stand-up guy," Lou said begrudgingly.

"At least to his old prison chums," Fish said with a gleam in his eye.

Lou winced. "I hate to tell ya this, Jack, but 'chums'." He shook his head woefully. "It's kinda like the bow-tie."

Fish glanced down sharply, though he couldn't actually see it. "What's wrong with the tie?"

Lou sighed. In some ways, Fish would always be a fish.

Fish, no longer waiting for an answer, had put down another print-out. "Ever heard of these two?"

Lou read the names on the computerized rap sheets with casual interest: two guys, Michael and Edward, and if anybody besides their mothers ever called either one of them that, he'd eat his socks.

He gave Fish a quick shake of his head.

"Ah, the benefits of mediocrity," his friend observed. "But, see, each of them has two further qualifications for the job—both are currently out of prison, and both are known associates of Mr. Hollins; therefore most likely one or the other—possibly both—knows McCormick."

"What job?" Lou said warily. He wasn't sure he'd trust these guys with fetching a newspaper.

"A simple procurement. The infamous Hardcastle Files."

"I already checked," Lou pulled out a notebook of his own. "The place has a good-enough security system. No concertina wire or nothing like that, but he's got an electronic lock on the gate and nine-foot fencing. But the big deterrent is firepower. I got the word from Beal, directly. Shotguns, rifles, a .44 magnum—you name it, he's got it."

Fish nodded consideringly. "Which is why our boys need a window of opportunity . . . and an invitation would be nice."

Lou's jaw went slack.

"From Mr. McCormick, of course," Fish added with a smile. "And I already showed you the window—wide open: a week in Hawaii."

"What makes you so sure this McCormick guy will do the inviting?"

"Simple," Fish said, spreading his hands out over the papers that now littered the table, "his habits and history. Long-term indentured servitude to a man like Hardcastle has surely led to considerable resentment by now. Given half a chance, and an amazing opportunity, he'll probably jump at idea that he can even the score a little."

Lou frowned. Jack Fish, despite the bow tie, or maybe on account of it, could have a nasty temper when contradicted. He wasn't sure he wanted to share the rest of the story Beal had told him.

"And," Fish continued on, with confidence, "we'll increase the pressure a little, send in some diversions and distractions, make sure that, no matter what, he's already in trouble with Hardcastle. That should tip the scales in our favor."

"What if it doesn't?" Lou asked cautiously.

Fish's new smile was something more sharklike by far than Lou had ever seen on the man. His eyes were cold, too.

"Again, simple," Jack Fish said. "I've got a third man, handpicked. Mickey and Eddie don't know him—he's strictly out-of-state talent. If Mr. McCormick presents any insurmountable difficulty, he'll deal with it. That will be another advantage of the diversionary activities."

Lou frowned, cocking his head slightly. He finally decided Fish was right. This guy, McCormick, would probably jump at the chance to make some major bucks at Hardcastle's expense and maybe get out from under. And, if he somehow didn't have the guts even for that, then a knifing—or even the shooting—of an ex-con at an out-of-control and unauthorized party, hell, it'd be just part of the background noise in more ways than one.

Still, there was the story Beal had spun—though maybe that was just excuses. Beal didn't seem like the kind of guy who could accept a defeat at the hands of Hardcastle working solo. And yet . . .

He gave it one last try, just a word to the wise.

"Ya know, Jack, with ex-cons, it can be kinda tricky."

"Hmm," was Fish's only response, already having gathered up his supporting documents and now turning back to the machines that did his bidding. Lou knew he was being ignored.

"I'm just saying," Lou persisted, "They're not very reliable. They don't always do exactly what you want."

"These will," Fish assured him. "They're greedy, and that's all the loyalty I need."

Lou sighed. Nobody could say he hadn't tried. And, anyway, that third guy would take care of everything.