Gift Exchange
Note: Many stories have adopted the name "Tommy" for Hardcastle's son. I have used a different name, as I prefer not to appropriate someone else's creation. I hope there is no confusion.
It felt, bad, having to kill a man. Mark thought he would feel bad for a long time. He managed to keep his composure around the Judge-it wouldn't do to have the man agitated and worried about Mark when the Judge himself needed to focus his energy on his own recovery. Mark was determined that he would cause no distractions. Not even when a distraction emerged from Hardcastle's room.
"Sandy." Mark was neutral, while dipping a toe in cool. "I hope the Judge isn't tired from your visit."
Sandy, still looking annoyingly perfect despite facing his own legal troubles, didn't dip into cool waters for a response. He was a bit streamed.
"I don't need you to tell me how to care for Milt. I've known him a lot longer than you have."
"Milt," answered Mark, "still has a long recovery ahead of him. He doesn't need to worry and try to help you with your troubles."
Sandy was angry now. "What do you know about Milt? He and my father were best friends, and he treated me like family after my father died. Reid and I were like brothers. "He paused at the puzzled frown on Mark's face. "Reid. You didn't even know the name of Hardcastle's son, did you?" Sandy was practically hissing now.
Mark hadn't known. He wouldn't have caused any distress to Hardcastle to ever ask him about this most personal loss. "No. If he wanted me to know, he'd tell me."
"Well, I guess that shows how you rate compared to me. You're hired help, Mark. If Milt feels like he needs someone to be like a son to him, he has me." He turned, and left Mark alone in the hospital corridor.
Mark gave himself a few moments to compose himself again. Damn, Sandy always made him feel like shit. He put an amiable expression on his face, and went in to see Hardcastle.
"There you are." Hardcastle was matter of fact and muted the movie he was watching. "Getting all the chores done?"
"Sure, I'm all caught up." Well, as lies went, it wasn't a particularly large one. Not enough to rate a perjury charge anyway.
"Well, I've got another one for you." He harrumphed a bit. "There's a wooden trunk in the attic I want you to sort through. Some old albums, and-some papers. I need you to look it all over, read through the papers, and see what we-I should keep. And maybe find another place for them besides the attic." He peered at Mark closely. "You got all that?"
"Sure. Wooden trunk in the attic. Read through everything." Knowing Hardcastle, it was probably to-do and honey-do lists from decades ago. "I'll keep the treasures. So, how about watching this John Wayne movie?"
Hardcastle gave him a long look and grunted.
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Mark enjoyed the attic. It wasn't simply filled with boxes and crates. The attic was finished, with some comfortable chairs, and had shelves of books, including more popular fiction that didn't rate with the classics in the library. He saw some youth-oriented books, and novels that must have appealed to Nancy Hardcastle-what looked like good trashy romances, bad trashy romances, and other book-of-the month type offerings. The attic had also been remodeled to serve as a boy's getaway. There was a model train layout that both father and son must have enjoyed, and an old stereo set. There were some cardboard boxes and other storage crates there too, off in the opposite end. The trunk wasn't hard to find.
The first objects he found were some photo albums, in light-colored leather. He cringed, and felt goose bumps when he opened the first album and saw the title.
Baby's First Album. These were the photos of Hardcastle's son. What had the Judge been thinking? He couldn't have known. Or, he had made a mistake.
Mark shook his head. Of course the Judge knew. He always knew. He must have overheard the conversation between Mark and Sandy. It wasn't a mistake. Mark was supposed to see this.
He looked at the first page, and read the entries below the printed headings. My name. Reid Darrow Hardcastle. Under the name was a photo of a newborn. He wondered about the origin of the name, and turned the page. The answer was there.
My name is Reid Darrow Hardcastle. My parents are Milton C. Hardcastle and Nancy Hardcastle. I am named after John Reid, the Lone Ranger, and Clarence Darrow, because my parents hope I will be as brave and wise as they were!
That was right-John Reid was the name of the Lone Ranger. Mark remembered it from the comic books. And it figured that Hardcastle would name his son after a distinguished jurist. He had done that too with Warren Wingate.
There were more infant photos, with beaming Nancy, and Hardcastle holding the baby in his huge hands. It was so obvious how precious the bundle was. The awe and love were all over the Judge's face.
"I'm so sorry, Judge."
There were more baby photos throughout the album. Mark finished it, and picked up another from the trunk.
The next album was full of toddler and photos of a small boy. Reid had his mother's coloring and darker hair, but Mark recognized the bright blue eyes and the pointed Hardcastle chin on the young boy. Then there was Reid in the blue and gold uniform of a cub scout-of course, what else would he be?-and wearing too a big grin missing his front baby teeth. There were photos of Reid and his father, with the Judge's delight and pride in his son seeming to leap off the page, and rip Mark's heart out.
"I'm so, so, sorry Judge."
More photos, as Reid aged. There were many sport and fishing photos. Of course, how else would it have been?
Then came a photo which made Mark tense. There they were, the three of them. Hardcastle and his boys, Reid and Sandy. Sandy appeared in some other photos, too. Why not? He was practically family by then. Hardcastle had his arms around the two of them. They were Eagle Scouts by this time. Naturally. Mark was stealing his first car at around that age.
Graduation and young adult photos in the next album. Reid wasn't quite as tall as the judge, and less stocky. That was likely from his mother. From the photos, Nancy was on the petite side.
Photos of Reid in his uniform, before shipping out. That was the last of them. Mark sighed, and reached for the papers. There were some childish drawings, made for Mom and Dad, some schoolboy reports, and some college essays. All of them reflected a bright, happy, intelligent boy. What was left of Mark's heart was now dribbling out of his chest.
He found the letters below the other papers. They were marked from training camp, and Viet Nam.
He started to put them back, unread, and paused. He was supposed to read them. Mark understood that Judge had bestowed the ultimate trust in Mark, in sharing this deeply personal information. The Judge had intended that Mark, as much as it could happen today, meet and become acquainted with Reid Hardcastle.
It was wrong, so profoundly wrong that Mark started shaking. Why am I here, and this good and probably brilliant man gone? It's not right. Not right.
He managed to brace himself and began reading. Reid was not only a nice guy, very bright, but he had a wicked sense of humor. There were the wry and hilarious remarks about the absurdities of life in an army training camp. The tone was more serious in letters where it was clear that Reid had shipped out. Mark had a sense of a young man trying not to worry his family. It would have been a futile attempt to his father, himself a war veteran.
There was another letter, in different handwriting. This one was addressed to Reid. It must have been in his possession when he died, and sent back with other effects.
Reid,
I want to assure you that I am keeping an eye on things here. I spend a good deal of time with your folks, and Milt and I have enjoyed fishing and going to Lakers games. Those of us who are here Stateside understand what you are going through over there.
Well, that was a joke. No one could know unless they experienced it.
I have to say, though, that I take exception to your last letter when you referred to me as "Dudley Do-Wrong." I take my future in law enforcement very seriously.
Mark laughed out loud at comparing Sandy to Dudley Do-Wright, the handsome but dim blond Mountie from the Bullwinkle cartoons. Good one, Reid. He clearly had Sandy's number by that time. Mark knew he would have liked him. There were more pompous statements, and the letter concluded with Sandy's assurances that he would take time to keep Milt and Nancy company at Gull's Way. What a guy. What a sacrifice.
He came to an end to the letters and sighed. He had more work to do. Somewhere during Mark's acquaintance with the Judge, he had turned a corner. The mementos did not have to be hidden away. It was not, Mark knew, that these were reminders. Hardcastle would have carried thoughts of his son with him, always, though unspoken. Now Mark was entrusted with placing everything where it should be.
He took the albums downstairs to the library. There, on one of the shelves, were other photo albums of Nancy's family, the wedding album, and others of Milt and Nancy together. The albums were slumped to one side, showing a gap. Mark slid the albums there. They fit perfectly, standing upright, as they once did and now did again.
One of the last letters had particularly struck him. I think, Mom and Dad, that when I come home I would like to stay in the gate house, at least for a bit, or longer if I go to graduate or law school. That would be okay with you wouldn't it?
The gate house had more space than Mark occupied in his loft area. There some more closets and a blocked off area that Mark had never needed. He placed the trunk of letters there in an extra closet, where they would be safe and ready.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
The more Sandy thought about Mark appointing himself Milt's protector, the angrier he became. Sandy was the real friend, and filled that needed void in Hardcastle's life. McCormick was being an opportunist. The notion troubled Sandy enough that he went back later that same day to see Milt and let him know what was happening. McCormick would not be allowed to isolate the Judge from his friends.
Hardcastle seemed to be sleeping when Sandy went into the room. He would have to wait, and congratulated himself on being attentive to the need for rest. He started to turn back to the door.
"Come in Sandy. Sit down. I want to talk to you."
Sandy looked back. Hardcastle hadn't been asleep. He had watched Sandy from under his lids.
"Sure Milt. Anything you want. What do you want to talk about?" The answer came in a quiet voice, with Hardcastle's eyes still mostly closed.
"You've been pushing McCormick's buttons."
"Milt, I haven't, I don't know what he said, but-"
Hardcastle's voice was stronger. Now his lids half opened and he fixed his eyes on Sandy. "You've been pushing McCormick's buttons. And that's gonna stop."
"Milt, this is a misunder-"
Now Hardcastle's eyes were fully open, and his voice took on its usual firm tone, increasing in volume with each word. "You've been pushing McCormick's buttons and you used my son to do it! You used Reid!"
"Milt, I tell you-"
"No, I'm telling you. I meant what I said before about helping you, but that deal is off if you keep needling McCormick like this. Got that? Now you think about what you did, and what he did, and what he has to deal with because of that. And you watch closely, and learn to recognize the right stuff that makes a real man. Are you clear on that?"
Sandy gritted his teeth and wore a contrite expression. "I understand Milt. You can believe in me, like always."
Hardcastle waved a dismissive hand and grunted.
Sandy left with a clear objective in mind. He would deal properly with McCormick, and see that he was treated as he deserved.
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Frank was there for the roses. Milt had told him the other day to come and take what he wanted, since they were in full bloom and it would be a shame if they withered without being appreciated. Claudia loved and appreciated roses, and Frank loved Claudia's reciprocal appreciation.
Frank did not appreciate what he had to tell Hardcastle, but better from him than somebody else. Besides, he trusted that it was all over.
"Glad to see you're doing better, Milt. Many visitors today?"
"Yeah, Sandy was here, McCormick, and you so far. Lots of calls from others planning to come by. Say, did you ever stop and get those roses?"
"Yeah, I did. Listen, Milt, I need to tell you something before you hear from somebody else. Sandy and Mark had a little brush at the house today-"
Frank had parked in the back, by the gardener's trailer. His car couldn't be seen by the driveway entrance. He was eyeing some roses when he saw Sandy walk up to the garage.
"-Sandy caught Mark off guard-"
Frank saw Sandy quietly come up behind Mark in the enclosed space of the garage and swatted at him.
"Mark was a little surprised."
Mark had spun so fast and struck out, sending Sandy flying out of the garage. No surprise that McCormick reacted like that. The enclosed space was like parts of the prison. Frank was used to the smart mouthed, but generally good-natured part of McCormick, but he had overlooked that there must have been times when Mark was junkyard dog-mean to survive. A blow from behind would seem like a prelude to assault, and Mark responded instinctively and roughly to a sensed attack.
Sandy knew what would happen. All of Frank's cop gut told him that.
"No worries, I kept it under control."
By the time Frank was beside them, Sandy was still on the pavement and Mark was pinning him down, with a heavy wrench in his hand. The wrench moved over Sandy's head. "Mark!"
McCormick was already lowering the wrench aside when Frank shouted. Never taking his eyes from Sandy, Mark tossed the wrench away and slowly stood up.
"Frank, I'm glad you're here. You must have seen what happened. McCormick assaulted me, without provocation. This has to be dealt with."
"I didn't see anything like that."
"What? You were right here! I just came by to check on the place for Milt, and McCormick deliberately attacked me! Look at the wrench! "
"Well, if anything did happen, I'd say that anyone who knowingly crept up behind an ex-con to incite a response, hoping for an attack so he could then press charges, would have deserved a beat down."
"I'll swear out a complaint to the parole board about McCormick's actions. They'll pull his ticket and he'll be back inside where he belongs."
"And I'll testify that I didn't see anything."
"That's not true!"
Frank pulled himself up straight and intimidating. "I am a decorated and respected member of the police force. I'm not the one set to lose his badge. And I say I didn't see anything like what you described. Or, I say I saw everything. Everything, Sandy." There was a pause. "What's it going to be?"
"I'm leaving. I have better things to do."
"Good idea. And Sandy, maybe you better keep away until Milt says otherwise."
McCormick had kept his mouth shut for once, but his eyes and expression were spitting venom at Sandy. No wonder he had survived prison. He could look damn scary when he needed to.
Frank turned to Mark as Sandy left. "Ok now, Mark?"
"Yeah, it's ok. Thanks Frank."
"So, like I said, it turned out to be no big deal. You know how people exaggerate sometimes. And thanks again for the roses, Milt. Claudia will love them."
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
Mark came back to see the Judge just before visitor's hours ended. It had taken him that long to settle down, and convince himself that Frank effectively had Sandy over a barrel, and there would be no word to the parole board. There was more important business to finish.
"Oh, there you are again. Everything all right?"
"Sure Judge, everything is fine." There was a pause.
"Did you take care of what I asked?"
"Yeah, I did." Mark found he had to clear his throat. "I put the albums with the others in the library. And the papers I-I put in the gate house."
There was another pause before the judge spoke again. "Hm. Seems like a good place for them."
"I thought so."
"Well, I guess that settles it."
"Yes. Everything is clear and settled."