A/N: Thanks to L.M. for the assistance in hatching this one.

MAKE WAY FOR MCCORMICK

by

Owlcroft

"I thought I heard the truck. What're ya doing out here, anyway?" The judge stepped out onto the patio.

McCormick straightened up from bending over the pool and assumed a nervous smile. "Uh, nothing. I just got back from the garden center." He cast a hurried glance over his shoulder at the turquoise water behind him. "I'll just be a coupla more minutes. You go on back in--"

"What's in the box?" Hardcastle interrupted.

"Box?" said Mark innocently, looking everywhere but at the box at his feet. "What box?"

"That one," said Hardcastle sardonically. "And what the hell . . . there's something in the pool!"

McCormick sighed and held out his hands in appeasement. "Judge, look. I know what you're thinking."

The judge glared at him uncompromisingly. "Oh, yeah? You know that I'm thinking you're a raving lunatic?"

"Yeah, something like that." Mark stepped off the coping and looked down at the small flotilla of ducklings happily paddling in the pool. "But I couldn't just leave them there. The guy said that nobody wants them now that Easter's over and he'd end up just throwing them out or something." He gazed appealingly at the judge. "I had to buy them."

Hardcastle stared at the tiny pastel-colored ducklings in baffled anger. "You bought five ducks and put them in my pool?"

McCormick nodded, still smiling anxiously.

"Well, get 'em outta there. The chlorine's not good for 'em. Ducks!" Hardcastle snorted. "I send you out to buy peat moss and you come back with pink ducks."

Mark picked up the pool skimmer and tenderly herded the fluffy creatures toward the side of the pool. "Only two are pink. One's blue and one's green and the other's kinda . . . light purple. That's Dinky."

"You've named 'em?"

"Yeah." Mark beamed at them. "Pinky, Binky, Winky, Dinky, and --"

"Stinky." The judge folded his arms and looked with disapproval at the additions to the pool made by the tiny paddlers.

"No!" McCormick was outraged.

"Kinky? Finky? Twinky?"

"Sam."

"Sam?"

"Bad duck, Binky," said McCormick sternly. "They're not exactly house-trained," he apologized to the judge.

"Yeah, well, I can tell that. Look at the blue one, stop him, can't ya?"

"That's why I had to get 'em outta the box, judge." He nudged it further away with a quick kick. "As soon as I get the peat moss put away, I'll take them over to the gatehouse and fix up some kinda nest or something. It's only 'til I can find a home for them."

"Ya know they imprint, don'tcha? They'll think you're their mother and they'll start following you around like freight cars on a train track." Hardcastle shook his head. "And what're ya gonna feed em? Ducks don't eat meatloaf, ya know."

Mark smiled in satisfaction. "The guy gave me a whole bag of duckling food, just for taking them off his hands. And look," he pulled a sheet of paper from a back pocket. "He made out a list of stuff I can give them . . . cracked corn, worms, grass." He cocked an eyebrow at the last item. "Do ducks really eat grass? I thought cows and horses did that."

The judge frowned at him and reached for the list. "Nah, ducks eat grass, too. Most things eat grass once in a while. We used to give ours chopped up dandelions."

"You had ducks?"

"When we were kids." Hardcastle looked at Mark evilly. "Raised 'em all spring and summer and then had the best roast duck in the world all winter."

"No!" cried Mark in shock. He spread his arms protectively in front of the tiny flock in the pool. "We're not eating these ducks!"

Hardcastle smirked at him and handed back the list. "We'll see. Now get 'em outta the pool and fix up some kinda pen to keep 'em in."

ooooo

Frank Harper pulled up and parked in front of the main house, gathered up the manila folder containing the files Hardcastle had asked for, and climbed out of the car. He glanced up at the house casually as he closed the car door and saw the judge coming out of the front door, waving at him and holding a finger to his lips.

"What?" said Harper wonderingly. He looked around and saw nothing unusual. "McCormick taking a nap or something?"

"Hush," whispered the judge, coming up to him and pulling him by the arm to the side of the house. "He's gonna be coming out of the gatehouse any minute now to go to the pool." He tugged Frank to the corner of the house and peered around the bushes screening them from the driveway. "You gotta see this, Frank. Damn, forgot the camera again!"

Harper sighed ostentatiously. "Milt, what are you talking about? Oh, here are the files on Malden." He proffered the folder, but the judge waved it off.

"Hah! There he comes." Hardcastle turned to Harper and grinned delightedly. "Look!"

Frank peered around to him to see McCormick walking across the small gatehouse lawn toward the back of the main house. Following him, wobbling and staggering, came a small rainbow of tiny ducks, uttering high-pitched cries of excitement.

"What in the world . . .?" Frank gaped at the procession until it disappeared around the corner of the garage. He turned to the judge and asked, "What . . . those are ducks!"

"Yep." Hardcastle gestured for Harper to follow him around the corner and headed for the patio area himself. "Time for their swim. Every day at two." He glanced back at Frank. "I thought you'd like to see the parade. Cute, huh?"

Frank rubbed the top of his head thoughtfully. "Well, yeah, it is. But where'd they come from?"

Hardcastle waved a hand. "Ah, you know McCormick. Some guy at the garden center conned him into taking them with a sob story. You know how he is when anybody feeds him a line about needing some help. Kid's gotta a soft heart to go with that soft head."

Harper looked askance at the judge. "Well, I notice you're letting them stay. You're not turning this place into a bird sanctuary, are you?"

The judge snorted. "Nah. But that's where those guys are headed. I've already got it all set up. A coupla more weeks, maybe a month and they'll be up the coast living every duck's dream life."

"Mark know about it?"

"Oh, yeah. He's okay with it." Hardcastle ushered Frank onto the patio ahead of him and pointed to the glass-topped table. "Especially when the alternative was duck for dinner." He chuckled wickedly.

McCormick turned from the pool to wave a greeting. "Hey, Frank. How've ya been?"

Harper tossed the folder onto the table and strolled over to the side of the pool. He smiled at the flock splashing and dabbling in the water and chuckled when the pale green one flapped his tiny wings ineffectually. "I've been okay. Looks like you've been busy."

"Yeah, well, it's not so bad." Mark smiled at his armada affectionately. "I'm gonna miss 'em." He looked at Frank sideways. "But I'm not gonna miss cleaning up after 'em. Ducks are dirty little guys. Winky, Pinky, cut that out." He reached down to gently push one squabbling duckling away from another.

"I'm telling ya, there's nothing like farm-raised duck." The judge settled into a chair at the table, rubbed his palms together and made an mmm-ing noise. "My mother used to make the best stuffing. Bread, onions, celery, mushrooms . . ."

Mark looked down at his nose at the judge, then turned back to the pool. "Ignore him, Frank. He thinks he's amusing."

Harper grinned at him. "I think you're both amusing."

Hardcastle opened up the folder and removed the pages it contained. "Yeah, well, let's take a look at this stuff."

"You're just jealous because you never got to be a mother," said McCormick primly.

The judge grunted and replied, "You'd be surprised what I got called in open court."

The ducklings quacked in noisy agreement.

finis