Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own the characters and no profit is being made.
CHAPTER 7
The wrench slipped and his hand smashed into the carburetor. Instinctively he drew back and, in the process, smacked his head on the hood. "Dammit!" he yelled. Extracting his hand and the wrench he examined his knuckles. Blood was oozing out through the grease. He carefully flexed his hand. Painful but not broken. We took a semi-clean shop rag from his coveralls and wiped the blood off, wrapping his hand. He rubbed his head, a small lump was forming, then went back to working on the GMC.
Judge Hardcastle walked up the driveway to where he was working.
"There you are. I was looking for you. You skipping breakfast again?"
"I was hoping to get this fixed before breakfast but this truck has been neglected so long as soon as I fix one thing I find something else that needs my attention. You know, Judge, you have to take care of your vehicles if you want them to treat you right. She didn't run out gas, she gave up from exhaustion."
Hardcastle scowled. "You ran out of gas because you didn't do what I told you to do."
McCormick looked at the Judge with indignation. "I didn't do what you told me to do? What are you talking about? I did exactly what you told me, right down to the minute. The gas gauge showed half a tank but it was empty."
"I don't need a gas gauge to tell me how much gas is in my truck. I know how much there was and there was plenty to get you there and back. You just didn't follow directions."
"Listen you stubborn old donkey, are your ears not working? Maybe they are not working from hearing too much braying. I did exactly what you told me and I ran out of gas. Then to add insult to injury I got to catch a ride from the Spanish inquisitor."
Hardcastle's voice was rising as he pointed a finger at McCormick. "I hear you just fine but you keep singing the same tune. You did NOT follow my directions. You know how I KNOW that? Because, Hotshot, if you had, you wouldn't have been hoofing it. And I thought you and Frank were getting along fine last night?"
McCormick took a step forward and threw his hands up. "What are you talking about? I went to the garden store, the post office, the locksmith and the bank, just like you instructed. Exactly what you told me to do. No side trip to Disneyland, did not pass Go, did not collect $200. And yeah, I suppose Frank was okay last night. He plays a pretty mean game of air hockey." McCormick relented.
"See? That is what I mean, you did NOT do what I told you. I knew it." Hardcastle harrumphed to put an exclamation on his statement.
"Huh? Have you been eating peanuts again? What do you think I did that wasn't on your agenda?"
"You said it. You went to the garden store, the post office, the locksmith and the bank. I TOLD you to go to the post office, the locksmith, the bank and then the garden store. You did it in the wrong order. That's why you ran out of gas. If you'dve listened to me you woulda had plenty of gas to get home."
Mark stared at him with his mouth open. He felt his temper rising. Frank Harper had quietly joined them, amused at the exchange. Mark knew he should tone it down but didn't care.
"Are you kidding me? You are telling me it is MY fault? You gave me a truck with a broken fuel gauge knowing full well it was on empty, sent me all over town, and now you say if I had done things in a different order I wouldn't have run out of gas?"
"Now you got it. Look, I told you to go the garden center last. That way you wouldn't be driving all over town, as you put it, with all that extra weight. Especially heading up the PCH. You would have had plenty of gas if you'd done it my way. When you gonna learn, Kid, I'm only looking out for your best interest? Besides, you're the big-time race car driver, didn't they ever teach you about fuel economy when you were driving around in circles?"
Mark couldn't believe his ears. How could the old coot actually blame him? There was nothing he was going to say or do to change the donkey's mind. And if he thought about it, the old coot was right, the extra weight did eat up more fuel and he had almost made it back to the estate. He just shook his head noting the growing headache and turned his attention back to the truck.
"Well the gas gauge is working now. I cleaned out the fuel lines and the carb. It's not good for these old relics to run down to empty. Next time we're downtown pick up a filter and some plugs and I'll give her a full tune-up. Here's what I need." He handed the judge a piece of paper.
Hardcastle took the paper and noticed a fresh blood drop on it. "Hey, you bleeding?"
"Oh, sorry, yeah it's nothing." McCormick pulled the rag tighter around his hand as he collected his tools and turned to put them away.
"Let me see that. I'll decide if it's nothing." Hardcastle reached for the hand but Mark turned quickly to avoid his reach.
"I'm fine, Hardcase, leave me alone."
"Dammit McCormick, let me see that hand, NOW!" Mark stopped in his tracks and held his hand out. Hardcastle carefully unwrapped the shop rag revealing two scraped knuckles and a gash that ran from the top of the middle knuckle to the middle of his hand. Frank leaned in for a look and winced.
"Ouch. That's gonna need stitches."
Hardcastle nodded in agreement.
"C'mon Kid, get into the kitchen let's get it cleaned up and I'll trot you down to the ER."
Mark pulled his hand back and cradled it in his other hand. "I don't need stitches, its fine. I'll go wash it up myself and slap a bandage on it."
Frank shook his head. "I don't think so, Mark, Milt's right. That needs stitches."
"Well too bad, 'cause I am not going to the hospital. You can't make me," he said stubbornly. Milt and Frank looked at each other than both looked hard at Mark. Mark cringed. "Okay, I guess you can make me, but I'm still not going. I hate hospitals. I'm not going."
Milt sighed. "Okay, Kid. Get into the kitchen and wash it up. Then we'll see if we can get by with a couple butterflies, okay?" Mark nodded then quickly slipped out of his coveralls. He looked a little shaky as he walked towards the kitchen and Frank noticed Milt kept a hand resting lightly on the young man's back.
The clean-up was followed by an inspection by all parties and the vote was 2 to 1 in favor of stitches. They piled into Frank's sedan and headed to the ER. Mark got a lesson in the benefits of having a well-known and apparently well-liked police lieutenant as a friend since they were quickly taken to an exam room. When the doctor came in he looked at the two men hovering over his patient. "Uh, can I help you gentlemen?" He asked.
Frank put on his best professional look. "I am Lieutenant Frank Harper," he held out his hand for the doctor to shake. "This is Judge Milton Hardcastle. He," he pointed at Mark, "is with us." The doctor nodded his understanding and Mark rolled his eyes.
"Do you have to make it sound like I'm under arrest? Look doc, they can stay, but not 'cause they have to."
"McCormick stop your jabbering and let the man do his job," Hardcastle admonished. The doctor took it all in, wondering why Sunday's always brought in the odd cases.
As the doctor began his exam, Frank stepped back and watched the interplay. The doctor asked Mark questions, which Mark answered but not without frequent glances at Milt. Frank was surprised to see Mark seeking approval. Hardcastle hovered over the procedure standing very close to Mark's shoulder. He queried the doctor about aftercare and repeatedly asked Mark if he was in pain. Like a wrecking ball smashing into a fortress it hit Frank: this was not a parolee and his keeper. Frank braced himself and reviewed all that he had witnessed the past few days. Yep, no doubt about it, Milt was in deep. He was witnessing a fledgling father-son relationship.
"You okay, there, Frank?" Hardcastle broke him out of his bemusement.
"Ah, yeah, fine," Frank responded. The doctor was packing up supplies, the nurse was wrapping the wound and Hardcastle's hand rested lightly on Mark's shoulder. Frank realized his mouth must have been gaping. He closed it and quietly reviewed his plan to protect Milt from Mark and knew immediately he needed to do a 180. He needed to promote and nurture this unusual relationship.
A pizza lunch was followed by a raucous argument over whether or not Mark would take his medication. An accord was reached when Mark agreed to take the antibiotic, but not the pain pill, and he agreed to spend the rest of the day and night in the main house where Hardcastle could keep an eye on him. Mark rolled his eyes but obediently trudged over to the gatehouse to gather a few things, returning promptly 15 minutes later. Mark's face looked strained. The doctor had said the wound was not serious but the 14 stitches and the bruised knuckles would cause considerable discomfort for a few days. Hardcastle was already plotting to work the pain medication into the deal.
"Knock it off, Hardcase. I told you, I hate taking that kinda stuff. Makes me dopey."
"Who's going know? You're already dopey," Hardcastle quipped. Mark glared at him.
"Yeah, well what does that make you if you hang out with me all the time?" Mark asked.
"Alright, ENOUGH!" Frank said, standing between the two men. "You guys could wear down the patience of a saint. Milt, I know you're worried about Mark's hand…" Frank put up a hand to head off Mark's protest. "…but, he's a grown man. He's taken his antibiotic, if he doesn't want to take the pain med, that's his choice." Mark looked smug. "And as for you," Frank turned towards Mark who quickly wiped the smirk off his face. "You call him a donkey well who is being stubborn now? You know you're hurting so why don't you take the damn pill?" Frank waved off another protest. "Yeah, yeah, it makes you dopey. How 'bout this? You take a couple aspirin now just to take the edge off, and you take a pain pill before bed to at least help you sleep. Okay?" Frank looked from one to the other, both men wore sheepish looks. "Now, can we have some peace and quiet?" Both men nodded. "Good. How about we play some cards?"
Hardcastle clapped his hands together and smiled. "Great idea, Frank. Poker's no good with three of us but how about cribbage?" Frank nodded. Mark shrugged.
"You'll have to teach me how to play."
"Not sure anyone can teach you anything, McCormick." Frank rolled his eyes.
Three hours later Frank watched Mark peg out and exuberantly declare, "Hey, I won again? This is a great game, thanks for teaching me." Hardcastle picked up the paper and did some calculations. "Looks like you're buying dinner, Kid. With what Frank and I owe you, you'll still come out ahead."
"Nah," Mark waved him off as he gathered the cards with one hand. "It was just beginners luck. Consider it payment for the lessons."
Frank eyed him thoughtfully. "You couldn't have been a very good bookie on the inside with an attitude like that." Mark stopped cold. He glanced at Hardcastle and managed a weak grin.
"Bookie? Who said I was a bookie?" Frank raised his eyebrows at the kid's meek tone.
"Don't worry, Mark, I don't work bunko and I doubt even they would be interested in your action." Mark sighed as the two older men laughed. Frank gave Mark a playful shove. Mark visibly relaxed.
"Well, a guy's gotta do something to pass the time." Hardcastle looked up from his calculations. McCormick never talked about his time in prison. "But I don't do any of that now." Mark added quickly.
Frank chuckled. "Uh huh. Totally reformed, I am sure. What's the line on the Laker's tonight?"
"Against the Jazz?" Mark asked in mock shock. "Well, after that blowout on Friday I bet they don't even play Kareem or Magic. Probably'll start McAdoo and Scott. But, if you want to take a flier I'll give you the Jazz plus five."
"Plus five? You're on. Double or nothing on your cribbage winnings?" Frank asked smugly. Mark turned to Hardcastle.
"You want in on this, Judge?" Hardcastle looked from one face to the other in disbelief.
"Frank, I am trying to teach the kid to stay out of trouble and here you are encouraging gambling."
"But Milt, he's offering five points. I can't pass that up."
Hardcastle shook his head. "Five points? Really?"
Mark thought for a moment as if doing some deep calculations.
"Yep, five points. Oh, but then you have to buy dinner. I can't buy dinner and layoff that kinda bet."
"You're on!" Hardcastle clapped his hands and smirked.
Kareem and Magic started the game and the next morning at breakfast, both men grumbled and handed over the winnings to a falsely contrite McCormick.
"I'll see you guys later." Frank mumbled as he headed for the back door.
"Oh, you leaving already, Frank?" Mark asked. "We were just starting to have fun."
Frank turned and looked at Mark, then Milt. "Don't think I can afford any more fun." Frank noted the disappointment on Mark's face. How could a San Quentin hardened ex-con look so innocent and youthful?
"Look, Claudia will be going to her sister's in a couple months. Guess I can come back out and spend another weekend."
Mark's face lit up and the smile went all the way to his eyes.
"Maybe Hardcase can get us tickets to another game. I'll give you a chance to win your money back."
Frank shook his head and with a dismissive wave, exited the house. He could hear Hardcastle beginning a lecture on the evils of gambling and McCormick's interrupting that it wasn't gambling when you did the math. Yep, whether he was reforming an ex-con or raising a teenager, Frank was glad his friend was thriving under the challenge.
