A/N: The first of a few flashback sequences appears in this chapter. I would like to have offset those passages, but, of course, indentation isn't really possible, and I didn't like the way the dialogue looked centered. So, I have settled for italics, with the flashback preceeded and followed by dashes. ( - - - - )

Chapter 3

Hardcastle sat in the darkened room, silently staring at McCormick's unmoving outline beneath the sheet. The slight rise and fall of the chest was the only indication that life remained in the body, and the judge knew that even that tiny movement could cease if McCormick was removed from the tubes and hoses running into his body. The nurses in Mark's room had offered further assurance that the assistance would only be necessary for a short time, but he understood that wasn't a guarantee of recovery; the machines would be removed in a few days...one way or the other. But, the doctors were confident they had repaired the damage to McCormick's organs, including his lungs, they just wanted to give his body the opportunity to heal without the stress of functioning at full capacity.

So, McCormick had been attached to a myriad of machines to help the recovery process, and the sight chilled Hardcastle to his soul. For such a young man—especially one so normally full of life—to be lying here in this condition was an abomination, and Hardcastle was consumed with the injustice of it all. And, more than that, the judge was consumed with guilt. In his lifetime, Hardcastle had lived through many tragedies, and he knew that a certain amount of guilt was unavoidable. Regardless of the circumstances, a survivor would always wish they could have done more—done anything, really—to prevent the loss they lived through. Often they would even feel guilty for actually surviving when others did not. Hardcastle knew all of this, and he knew it from first hand experience. But this was different. This time, his guilt was warranted, for this was a tragedy he had created.

What had he been thinking when he decided to embark on his retirement project? What made him think he could do what an entire legal system could not? How could he have been so arrogant? And how could he have been so irresponsible? At least he understood the risks. He'd been trained as a soldier and a police officer; he could take care of himself. When he had decided to use an ex-con as his partner, why had he not realized the dangers? Or, even worse, had he realized and dismissed the concern because a criminal was expendable?

He considered the idea carefully. But, no, he didn't really think that was the case; he did have a strong respect for the sanctity of life. But here, in this shadowy room, silent except for the eerie beeps and hums of medical technology, the judge had nothing to do but reflect on his behavior. And it bothered him to discover he wasn't all that proud of himself.

If anyone had ever asked him to elaborate on his relationship with McCormick, he undoubtedly would have answered that the kid was damn lucky to have the chance to work with the Honorable Milton C. Hardcastle. Oh, he would've admitted that McCormick had some good qualities. And he probably would've even confessed to an unexpected fondness for the young man. But mostly, he would've said that without his presence, McCormick would be sitting in a cold jail cell by now, and the kid should be grateful the judge had been willing to save him from himself.

Hardcastle knew that's how he would have answered because that's the way he felt. Or at least, that's the way he had allowed himself to feel. And, he could clearly see now that those feelings had come through loud and clear in every interaction he had ever shared with the kid.

He sighed heavily and leaned his head back against the chair. When faced with the realization that he had always acted a little—or maybe a lot—superior to McCormick, he was surprised the kid had put up with him as long as he had. It hadn't quite been a year yet, but it occurred to him now that the time may have seemed eternal to McCormick. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer that he would have the chance to do better.

"Any change?"

Hardcastle turned to face the voice. "No, Frank, no change. But I thought we agreed you would go home tonight?"

Lieutenant Harper pulled an empty chair in front of Hardcastle and dropped into the seat. "Actually, I think you ordered me home; I'm not sure there was ever an agreement."

Hardcastle managed a small smile. "You could be right about that. But you were here last night for the surgery and most of the morning, then went to work. You need to take care of yourself. Go home. There's nothing you can do here anyway."

"There's nothing you can do, either," Harper countered, "but you're still here. Besides, technically, I'm still working. The brass wants an official statement from you, so I thought I'd come down here and save you from the bureaucracy."

The tired blue eyes flashed with a sudden anger. "You're joking. They want a statement? Well, my statement is that if the people who were being paid to keep the criminals off the streets could do their jobs properly, then civilians wouldn't have to be picking up the slack, and McCormick wouldn't be laying over there, hooked up to every contraption known to man, fighting for his life. Go ahead and type that up, and I'll sign it in triplicate."

The officer simply stared silently at his friend, waiting for the anger to pass. It didn't take long.

"I'm sorry, Frank," Hardcastle said with a heavy sigh. "None of this is your fault. What is it that you want to know?"

Harper shook his head slightly. "Don't worry about it. I told you I came here to save you from the bureaucracy, not be a part of it. When you feel up to it, you can tell me what happened with Garza. In the meantime, I certainly know how to stall the brass."

"Nah, that's okay. You have a job to do, and I'm not doing anything, anyway. We might as well talk about it now."

Hardcastle took a breath. "Okay. You know Garza's history—robberies of every shape and size, but mostly bank jobs. And, I'm pretty sure he killed one of his guys about ten years ago. But the only thing we ever nailed him for was a small string of burglaries a few years back.

"Anyway, I get this call one day—an anonymous tip that Garza's getting ready to pull a series of heists soon; that he's putting together a team."

"Why would someone call and tell you that?" Harper asked.

Hardcastle shrugged. "Who knows? Professional rivalry? Someone with a grudge? Hell, maybe just a concerned citizen with information. I don't know.

"Anyway, I dug out the file and figured we'd try to get this guy once and for all. But when I mentioned it to McCormick, he wasn't so keen on the idea. Turns out he knew Garza from prison..."

- - - - - - - - - -

"Tony Garza, huh, Judge? What'd he ever do to end up in the Hardcastle cross-hairs?"

"He's only stolen just about everything you could ever think of, hotshot. That, and he probably blew away one of his goons one time. Rumor has it the guy shorted Garza after a heist. I guess you don't get to do that with ol' Tony."

McCormick grinned. "Probably not. He's kinda crazy. But, on the other hand, Judge, he's not always such a bad guy. Why are you worried about him now?"

"Some guy called today and said Garza's about ready to go back into business. Said he's looking for a few people to help him out. You've been bored with the yard work lately; I thought you might want to apply for the job."

McCormick looked up sharply. "You want me to work with Tony Garza?"

"Sure, why not? I didn't know you knew him. That should make it easier to get inside."

"It's not like we were buddies, Judge; I only knew him in passing. But I did know him well enough to know I don't want any part of this."

"What's the matter? You don't want to be the one to send your old friend back to camp? I thought you worked for me now?"

McCormick frowned. "This isn't about wanting to protect Garza, Hardcase, this is about wanting to protect me. I told you, he's crazy. He seems all fine and good most of the time, but then something happens and he just snaps. Usually he just goes into this weird kind of frenzy with a lot of screaming and yelling and not really making a lot of sense. But a couple of times I saw him just beat the hell out of some guys. Then, after a little while, it's like he gets it all out of his system and he's back to normal. And he just blocks out whatever just happened. Maybe he really forgets it, I don't know, but he won't talk about it, even if you try. It's like it never happened. It's kind of creepy.

"I'm telling you, Judge; he's unstable, and we should leave this one to the professionals."

"Don't be such a baby, McCormick," Hardcastle grumbled. "I'm not asking you to pick a fight with him. I just want you to go in and get some information so we can figure out what's going on and put this guy back where he belongs."

"Judge..." McCormick began to object again, but the look in Hardcastle's eyes stopped him. He had come to think of it as the judge's 'hunter' look, and it meant someone was going to jail. He would certainly rather it be Garza than him, so he kept the rest of his fears to himself.

McCormick sighed loudly. "All right, Judge, you win. As always. So what do you want me to do? Call him up out of the blue? 'Hey, Tony, long time no see. Got a job for me?'"

Hardcastle grinned and shrugged slightly. "Why not?"

- - - - - - - - - -

"And that's how this whole nightmare started, Frank. You wanna tell me again how this isn't my fault?"

"Milt," Harper began softly, but Hardcastle interrupted.

"From the beginning, Frank! The kid told me from the beginning it wasn't safe, but did I listen? No. I had to have it my way; had to prove that Milton Hardcastle is the one in charge." He buried his face in his hands and spoke in a muffled voice. "If he doesn't wake up, how will I ever tell him how sorry I am?"

Harper stared at his friend, unsure how to give the comfort he needed. "Just how many times has Mark actually agreed with you on something?" he finally asked.

Hardcastle looked up at the unexpected question. "What?"

"How many times has he just said, 'Sure, Judge. Whatever you think.'?"

"Not nearly enough," Hardcastle grouched, then felt immediately guilty for the sentiment.

"But then he always does what you want, right?"

Hardcastle sadly nodded his agreement. "More or less. What's your point?"

"My point, Milt, is that Mark arguing about Garza was par for the course. There was no way you should've been expected to think anything about it because it was so damned typical. Hell, I doubt if even he really gave it a second thought. He was probably just arguing on principle, not because he truly had any problem with the idea."

Hardcastle smiled slightly. "Well, I certainly wouldn't put that past him." The smile fell from his face. "But I still wish I had paid more attention, maybe asked a few more questions."

Harper shook his head. "Milt. I don't know how to get through to you... You have to let this go. If Mark wakes up and finds you moping around like this, he'll kick your ass. And probably mine, too, for not making it better."

Again the detective succeeded in putting a smile on the judge's face. "Well, he could try."

"Right," Harper laughed.

"Okay," Hardcastle continued. "I'm all right now; we can go on. So, anyway, McCormick contacts Garza and they arrange a meet, and it goes pretty well..."

- - - - - - - - - -

"It wasn't so much an interview as an audition. Garza didn't want me to tell him what I could do; he wanted me to show him. He had me break into his office, crack two different safes, and boost three of his cars. All the while, he's talking to me and trying to distract me, and timing me. Can you believe that?" McCormick grinned. "Of course, he was terribly impressed with my abilities."

"No doubt," Hardcastle replied blandly. "What else?"

"Then we had a nice little talk about you—he's not your biggest fan, by the way—and I spun him the tale. Told him all about the nice little gig I've got going here, and how you're so blinded by my charm that you can't see the con I'm running. Told him that every once in a while I might even be able to get him some inside information that would be helpful to him."

Hardcastle shook his head. "I can't believe he would fall for that. I still think we would've been better off going with the idea that we had a falling out and you're suddenly on the run."

"Yeah, but then I end up having to live in some dive of a motel while we work this case, it's hard to meet up with you to give you information, and it just basically sucks. This way, I get to come home, no one thinks a thing about me sitting here on the patio having a conversation with you, and I get the added bonus of telling someone what a donkey you are."

"Taking the easy way out doesn't usually work out so well, McCormick. Besides, you've been here almost a year now. Does Garza really think in all that time I wouldn't have figured out what was going on?"

McCormick laughed. "Judge, you gotta think about this from someone else's point of view. This little arrangement we've got here is just plain weird, and you know it. No matter which side of the law you're on, it's easier to believe that I've got some ulterior motive...even beyond staying out of prison. Hell, half the people you know think I'm scammin' you, why wouldn't the people I know think the same?"

Hardcastle thought for a moment. The kid almost had a point. It was actually the logistical argument that had caused him to allow McCormick to try out his own version of the cover story, but he still couldn't get over the idea that no one would fall for it for long. Besides... "My friends don't think you're scammin' me, kiddo."

"Some of them do," McCormick contradicted with a smile, "even if they won't say so to you. But that's okay. A lot of them don't, and that makes up for it. But listen, don't you even want to know if I got the job?"

"McCormick, the way you've been sitting here with the Cheshire Cat grin all over your face regaling me with tales of your criminal aptitude, I just assumed you got the job. If you tell me now that Garza booted you out on your butt, I'm going to be sorely disappointed."

McCormick laughed again. "You won't be disappointed, Judge. I gotta go back tomorrow to meet the rest of the team and start learning my part of the plan. I don't know any details yet, but it sounds like he's planning on moving pretty quickly."

"Good," Hardcastle answered. "The less time you have to spend with him, the better."

"I thought you weren't worried," McCormick reminded him.

"Just playing it safe, McCormick. You are in my custody, you know. It looks bad if I let anything happen to you."

- - - - - - - - - -

"I don't know why I can never tell him the truth, Frank," Hardcastle complained. "I should've just said 'be careful', but, no. I always have to be so cool and aloof about everything."

"He knows you pretty well by now, you know. He understands even when you don't say it."

"I guess you're right." Hardcastle moved quickly back on topic. "Anyway, he comes home the next day, grinning like some schoolboy home from the best field trip ever. I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd think he was actually enjoying the time he spent with Garza. They were planning some pretty fantastic string of robberies, from the sound of it." He paused, and studied Harper. "What's with you?" he asked, seeing a slightly pained expression cross the detective's face.

"Nothing," Harper answered. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure, you just seemed a little...I don't know...worried, or something. For just a minute. What's going on?"

Harper shook his head. "Nothing," he repeated. "I was just thinking about Mark. Go on with what he found out with Garza."

Hardcastle cast a final, speculative look at his friend, then continued. "Anyway, Mark spent a few days with Garza, preparing. He was getting lots of details on what he would be expected to do, but nothing about actual targets; Garza was keeping all that to himself until the last minute. Mark and I spent some time going over different maps of the city trying to piece it together from some of the entry and exit information Garza had shared, but we weren't having much luck.

"Then, after the third day, I guess, McCormick said he thought Garza had an inside man somewhere. Someone who could help him with a lot of different types of financial facilities, not just one bank, or something. He didn't have a name, but he said he had the impression Garza had known him for a long time, and that he might be some kind of cop, or something like that."

"So that's how you found out about that treasury agent, Walton?" Harper interjected.

"Yeah. Turns out Walton was working a case way back when Garza was a kid, and that's how they hooked up. I don't really know too many of the details about that; I might like to talk to Walton sometime, though."

"How did you know about his connection to Garza's juvenile case?" Harper demanded. "The feds barely told me about that. I musta had about half a dozen lawyers in my office telling me why we couldn't open his sealed records."

Hardcastle paused thoughtfully. He wasn't in the habit of lying to his friends, but he was not about to tell Harper how McCormick had gone creeping into the court records office late one night and made copies of every scrap of paper he could find with Garza's name on it, including the sealed juvenile records. He opted for an indirect answer.

"It's only a problem if you want to use Garza's juvie record as evidence against him, you know. You can use the information to corroborate a case against someone else, as long as no detriment comes to the original defendant."

"So the department legals finally said," Harper replied. "But you didn't really answer my question. It seems a little strange that Garza would let the name of his primary contact slip, even to McCormick. And it makes no sense that he would tell him how they came to be acquainted. So how did you find out about the juvenile case?"

Hardcastle grinned mischievously. "I have my sources, you know," he said mysteriously, and would say no more. Not because he thought Harper couldn't be trusted—he would trust the detective with his life...and probably even McCormick's life. But he would not put his friend in the position of concealing an actual crime. Bad enough the kid had truly committed the felony...it didn't need to be compounded by leading a good police officer away from his sworn duty.

But Harper had known the judge a long time. "What aren't you saying?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what sources do you have that would give you access to sealed records that even the L.A.P.D. had to jump through hoops to get?"

Hardcastle shrugged. "You know the drill, Frank: Never reveal your informants, and all that."

"Yeah, right," Harper snorted. He thought for a moment. "I'll tell you what I think," he said slowly. "I think your informant is laying over there in that bed, and you're not giving him up because you know when he comes to he'd have an awful lot of explaining to do."

The judge shrugged again. "He is the one who started me asking the right questions," he replied, "so I guess I'll have to give him credit for that. But otherwise- - -" Hardcastle broke off as the door swung open slowly.

"Lieutenant Harper?" an orderly inquired as he stepped just inside the room.

"That's me."

"They asked me to let you know your delivery is here, sir."

Harper grinned at Hardcastle as he rose from his seat. "Saved by the dinner bell, Milt. I ordered us pizza." He followed the orderly back toward the nurse's station without waiting for a response.

Grinning slightly, Hardcastle reached out and patted McCormick's arm. "That was close, kiddo. Lucky for you Frank likes you." Then he turned his attention to making room on the small bed table for pizza.