3.
Mark slept until early in the evening. When he stumbled down the stairs, his eyes were still ringed with black circles. "Hey, Judge."
"How are you feeling?" Hardcastle asked, handing the other man a glass of water.
"Thanks." Mark downed half of the glass before coming up for air. "Boy, that may be the best drink in the house."
"Here are your pills."
Mark peered at the three pills held in the callused hand, scowling. "What are they?"
"What your doctor ordered, so take 'em. And you didn't answer my question."
Grumbling, he took his medicine, finishing off the water. "I'm okay. A little groggy, but okay."
Hardcastle nodded, not having missed how carefully McCormick moved. "Hungry?"
Mark's face brightened at the mention of food. "Yeah, I am. Pizza? Steak?"
"Too heavy for someone who hasn't been eating much in the last three months. I have some homemade chicken noodle soup and I'll make you some grilled cheese sandwiches as well if you want any."
"Homemade?"
"Yep, to Sarah's recipe."
"Oh, great." Mark's expressive face changed and became almost somber. "I really miss her, Judge."
"I know, kiddo, so do I. When this is all over with, why don't we drive up and visit her?" Hardcastle gently guided his young friend into the kitchen.
"Could we? That would be terrific." He broke into a wide, open smile as he gingerly sat down at the kitchen table.
Hardcastle ladled out two bowls of soup before slathering butter on four slices of bread, slipping cheese slices in-between and putting them on an old waffle grill with the patterned insert removed.
"This is good, Hardcase, thanks." Mark eagerly spooned the hot soup into his empty stomach. "Sit down and eat."
Hardcastle checked the sandwiches. Seeing that the bread was golden brown, he removed the sandwiches with a spatula and placed them on two small plates. He laid them on the table, finally taking a seat.
Mark blew on the sandwich before taking a bite, but still found himself gasping as his mouth closed around hot cheese. "Oh, oh, oh, 'ot!"
Hardcastle laughed for the first time in three months. He handed McCormick his glass of cold milk. "Here, hotshot, put the fire out."
After another bowl of soup, Mark felt almost uncomfortably full. "That was the absolutely best."
"Want another sandwich?" Hardcastle asked with a wave toward the waiting bread and cheese.
"God, no, I couldn't eat another bite." Mark yawned, trying to smother it.
"Ready to go back to bed?" Hardcastle asked, already knowing the answer.
"No more sleep, not now. I'll go up later. If I sleep too much, I'll get a headache."
"Fair enough. Go get comfortable in the den, see if you can find something to watch on television. I'll load the dishwasher and join you in a few minutes."
"You want some help?"
Hardcastle shook his head. "Nah, I've got it. Go on."
"Okay," Mark said, yawning again.
By the time Hardcastle made it to the den, McCormick was sound asleep on the couch. The Judge's face softened, an affectionate smile curving his lips as he tossed a throw over the insensible man. Hardcastle took his chair, turning his attention to the old movie flickering on the television set. "You're missing a good one, kiddo," he said softly. "Cary Grant and Grace Kelly."
H&McC
Mark woke slowly, blinking in the sunlight flowing across the bed. He frowned, trying to determine how he had gotten upstairs. The last thing he remembered was sprawling on the couch in the den. Searching his memory, he vaguely recalled the Judge trying to make him go to bed. Guess he convinced me to move.
He pushed himself to a standing position, stretching slowly until he hissed at the pull in his side. He still felt tired, but wasn't in the mood to sleep any longer. He was hungry as well. Glancing at his watch, Mark realized that it was past nine o'clock. He was surprised that Hardcastle hadn't tried to wake him for his usual early morning basketball match, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Mark spotted a change of clean clothes on the rich pine dresser and decided to take a quick shower before heading downstairs. The hot water eased his sore muscles, but washing his hair aggravated the pain around his rib cage. He grimaced at the bruises on his torso from Lutrin's earlier attack. He slipped into a loose shirt, buttoning it up halfway before rolling the sleeves up.
Heading down the stairs, Mark realized that Hardcastle wasn't alone. He could hear at least two other voices coming from the den. As his foot hit the last step, he put names to the voices. He walked down into the den. "Frank, Joe. Joe, how are you doing?"
"Pretty good, palsy." The stocky CIA agent looked up at Mark from the couch with a wry grin, waiting for his response.
"Oh, my…it's gone! You shaved off your moustache!"
"I didn't shave it, the hospital did," Joe growled. "Go on, get it out of your system."
Mark surveyed the other man, wincing at the red dots spread across his chin and neck.
"That bad?"
"No, it's just…Joe, I'm so sorry."
"Hey, it wasn't your fault, McCormick."
"I should've done something, grabbed the shotgun, something."
Hardcastle shook his head. "It happened too fast to do anything, kiddo."
Frank Harper agreed. "Don't second guess yourself, Mark. Everything worked out. We've got all the bad guys."
Shrugging, Mark reluctantly agreed. "So now what? Are you here for my statement?"
"Naw," Frank said. "I just came to see how you and Milt were doing. And discuss security. Agent Collins will be by for everyone's statement later today."
Mark looked from Frank to Hardcastle and back again. "Why here? I mean, if it was Frank, I might understand it. But I'd think Collins would insist on all of us coming down to FBI headquarters."
"He can insist all he wants. You're under doctor's orders to rest, so Collins will just have to come out here."
"Ju-udge," Mark protested. "We don't want to tick off the FBI."
"Why not?" Frank asked, a twinkle in his warm brown eyes.
"Frank, don't encourage him."
"Seriously, Mark, I'd prefer that anyone who needs to see either of you come here to Gull's-Way. It'll be easier for us to keep you both safe if you stay here."
"What about you, Joe? Want to move in with us?" Mark asked.
"I'm covered, Mark. I have to head to Seattle for another case coming to trial. I don't think I'll have much to worry about from Lutrin and his crew," Joe explained.
Mark sat back on the couch, breathing heavily.
"You hurting, kiddo?"
"Nah, I'm good." Mark grinned wearily at Hardcastle. "Just another day in the life of Tonto and the Lone Ranger."
Hardcastle flinched, stirring uneasily in his chair. He shook off his uneasiness. "Hungry? 'cause you have to take your pills with food."
"I'll eat something, but I don't need any more medicine, Judge."
Hardcastle ignored him. "We about done here, Frank?"
"Pretty much. Call me when Collins gives you a specific time to take your statements. I want to be here. He's trying to cut me out of the loop. I'm not letting it happen." Harper rose to his feet in one fluid motion. "See you later, Mark."
"Frank, you don't have to run off," Mark protested.
"Yeah, I do. I need to get your guards on duty and work out a schedule for the future."
Mark acknowledged the police lieutenant with a nod. When he saw Joe Hayes stand up, he struggled to his own feet. "You leavin' as well, Joe?"
"Afraid so. I've got a lot to do before I can leave the state." Joe gently clapped Mark on his shoulder. "Stay out of trouble, palsy. You're got my number, call me if you need anything. Anything at all, even if it's just to talk. Remember, I've done those undercover assignments myself, I know what it's like."
"Thanks, Joe. Ya know, you're not too bad for a dumb redneck," Mark said with a grin.
"Big praise from a hotshot track lizard."
Once Frank and Joe left, Mark and the Judge headed for the kitchen, arguing about taking the medication. Mark realized that he'd ultimately lose, but had to make the effort.
H&McC
FBI agent William Collins had reluctantly agreed to come to Gull's-Way to record the official statements of both Judge Hardcastle and Mark McCormick. He was equally unhappy about the fact that Joe Hayes had left the Los Angeles area and probably wouldn't be returning until the trial.
Once the statements were taken down by the stenographer accompanying Collins, they waited for her to transcribe them. Collins had more questions. "There is absolutely no chance that we're gonna find your prints anywhere on the shotgun used by Lutrin, McCormick?"
"What? No, I never touched it."
Hardcastle watched from his easy chair, having surrendered his desk to the stenographer, currently typing on her portable electric typewriter.
"You're certain? No doubt at all in your mind?" Collins persisted. "You never touched it even once during your time at the compound?"
"I told you I didn't touch it." Mark turned to the Judge. "What's this all about?"
"Lutrin is claiming that you fired the shotgun that hit Joe and myself in order to get clear of the Attempted Murder of a Federal Officer charge. He also denies knowing anything about the illegal guns found onsite and is totally innocent in the gunrunning charges. He actually has two of his men willing to take the fall for him. If your prints were found anywhere on the shotgun, his lawyer could create reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury about who fired the weapon. It wouldn't be a big leap to you lying about everything else if you were wrong about touching the shotgun."
"That's bull! Tomas Lutrin was well aware of everything going on. Nothing and no one came into the compound without his knowledge and approval. Nothing!"
"That's why your testimony and that of the Judge is so crucial. If Lutrin is lying about who fired the gun, he'll be less believable about all the rest. That's why I need you to be absolutely certain of your actions."
Mark nodded. "I get it. Collins, I can guarantee that you won't find my prints on any weapon on the compound. I was very careful not to touch any of them."
"Good. Now while I appreciate the presence of police guards outside this place, I'd prefer putting both of you into protective custody. We can move there now."
Hardcastle looked at McCormick before speaking. "We appreciate the offer, Bill, but no. Neither of us would do well confined to a small room with others watching our every move."
Mark agreed. "Too much like prison."
"We'll be careful. But we're staying here."
Collins frowned. "Hardcastle, be reasonable."
"I am. I'm allowing Frank to station guards outside, aren't I?"
"Believe him. Usually we'd be conducting business as usual," Mark explained. "In fact, why aren't we, Judge?"
"Doctor's orders." Hardcastle's answer was succinct.
"Fine," Collins reluctantly agreed. "But I want some of my men augmenting the security here."
Frank had been silently watching from the couch. He leaned forward. "I'd appreciate the assistance. Gull's-Way is a security nightmare. Between the beach access, the highway and the nearby hills overlooking the estate, it's a logistics nightmare."
"That's why I'd prefer to move them to a more secure location," Collins said.
Frank laughed. "It'll never happen. Been there, tried that."
"Yep, he's even got the t-shirt." Mark chuckled before he turned serious. "Look, I know this makes things difficult for both of you, but let's be honest. The case could take months to come to trial, longer if the defense attorneys decide to delay things with a flurry of motions. I just can't…" He swallowed. "I spent three months with my every move being watched. I just can't deal with that right now. I need to be here, I need to be home."
"It's okay, kiddo, we're not going anywhere." Hardcastle got to his feet, slapping McCormick's knee as he did so. "Looks like Miss Delacroix is finished typing up our statements. Let's sign them and send everyone on their way."
After a grumbling Collins drove off with his transcriptionist, Frank joined Hardcastle and McCormick in the kitchen. He watched as Hardcastle prepared brunch while Mark set the table, pointedly ignoring the pills placed next to a glass of water near his usual seat.
At first reluctant, Frank was soon convinced to have a Spanish omelet and coffee with the two men. The pills continued to sit like an elephant in the room.
Frank and Hardcastle carried most of the conversation, discussing baseball, fishing, and the latest political scandal while McCormick slowly ate the food put in front of him, barely looking up from his plate. Frank looked at his old friend, raising his eyebrows. Hardcastle shrugged and scowled in return.
Finally the dishes were cleared of food and second and third cups of coffee were poured. McCormick's eyes were growing heavy, but he still sat with them at the table.
"Take your pills and go back upstairs." Hardcastle's voice had its usual gruffness, but his blue eyes gave him away.
"Don't wan' 'em," Mark slurred in return.
"And I don't want to drag you back to the hospital, so you just do what you're told. Got it?"
"Yeah, yeah." McCormick grabbed the pills off the table and tossed them into his mouth, washing them down with the last of his lukewarm coffee. "But I'm not going back upstairs."
"Fine, have it your way."
"It'll be the first time in over three months." With that, Mark got to his feet and left the room, heading for the pool.
"Mark's not doing well, is he, Milt?"
"He'll be fine. He just needs some rest."
"Neither of us ever did any undercover work, but Joe has. He said to tell you to be patient. Mark's going to have a few problems throwing off the persona he had to assume."
Hardcastle glared at Frank. "Patient? I'm always patient!"
"Of course you are, Milt."
After a moment, Hardcastle spoke. "What kind of problems?"
"He's had to be someone entirely different for 24 hours a day three long months, it's gonna take him time to decompress."
"He's done it before for a lot longer time. He'll make it."
"What are you talking about? Mark's never been undercover for so long before."
"Yeah? I'd say his last time lasted almost two years."
"What are you talking about? He's never…you're talking about his time in prison?"
Hardcastle nodded. "Do you think this McCormick, the Mark McCormick we see every day, would've survived in lockup without assuming another persona?"
"Damn."
"Exactly."
