Chapter 7

McCormick awoke more naturally the third time around. He glanced around the room and was a little surprised to see Frank Harper sitting at his bedside.

"Frank? Is everything okay?"

Harper grinned slightly. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

McCormick relaxed at the tone. Harper wouldn't be joking if anything was wrong. "Where's Hardcase?" He tried to reach for a glass of water on his bedside table, but realized his right arm was immobilized against a small board, and his left had an IV tube sticking out of it, making too much movement out of the question. Not to mention that he couldn't really sit up. He shook his head in disgust.

Harper smoothly placed the cup in McCormick's hand and gently helped the young man move it closer to his lips as he answered the question. "I sent him home earlier this morning; he was exhausted."

McCormick took a long drink through the straw, enjoying the cool liquid on his throat. "Thanks." Managing to hand the cup back to Harper, he sighed as he tried to adjust himself into a comfortable position. "What day is this, anyway?"

"Saturday," Harper replied, almost hesitantly.

"Saturday! But it was only Tuesday when..." McCormick trailed off, a look of sad understanding filling his face. "The judge must've been kinda upset. I didn't mean to worry him."

"Not you, too," Harper answered, shaking his head.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I mean," the detective answered in a long suffering tone, "you both need to get over the guilt. Milt never wanted you to get hurt and you didn't do it on purpose, so neither one of you should be blaming yourself for anything."

"I'm not exactly feeling guilty," McCormick argued, "though I do hate that he had to go through this. But he sure as hell shouldn't be blaming himself for any of this. I've been a little groggy, but I'm pretty sure I've told him that already."

"I have, too," the detective said, "but it hasn't done any good so far. Maybe he'll let it go when you're all healed up."

McCormick grinned. "Yeah, maybe. Once he starts working me like a slave again I'm sure any lingering guilt will vanish entirely." He sobered quickly.

"Please tell me we at least got Garza?"

Harper nodded. "Yeah, and most of his goons. There are one or two guys on his payroll we're still looking for to at least question, but we dropped a net over everyone who was at the office when..." he hesitated, unsure exactly what McCormick remembered and what he should say.

"When he tried to kill me," McCormick finished the thought softly. "It's okay, Frank. I know what happened. Or, at least, I have a general idea. Some of the details are a little foggy in my brain, but I certainly remember the broad strokes. As much as all this sucks," he waved his hand slightly to indicate his bruised, bandaged, and tractioned body, "I know it could have been a lot worse. I'm just glad you guys got there when you did. I'm not sure how much longer I could've lasted. And I don't even want to think about what Hardcastle would've done if..." He let the thought go unfinished.

"Me, either." Harper shuddered at the thought. He paused, then added, "He has been really worried."

McCormick nodded. "I'm glad you made him go home. When I saw him, I think he looked about as bad as I feel." He grinned faintly, but the grin faded quickly. "Besides, I need to talk to you, and it'll be easier without him around."

A brief flicker of mild suspicion crossed the detective's face. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I figure you need a statement from me if we want to keep Garza behind bars."

"That will certainly be helpful," Harper said slowly. He took in the ashen color of McCormick's face, the sunken appearance of his eyes, and the pain and exhaustion that radiated from the young man. "But I think it can wait until you're stronger."

McCormick shook his head, fighting the drowsiness he could already feel overtaking him. "There's something I don't want him to know, Frank."

Harper met the pleading blue eyes. "Is it about the jobs you pulled?"

"How'd you know?" McCormick demanded, surprised. "And does he?"

Harper almost smiled, but McCormick seemed so genuinely concerned, he thought better of it. "I know because Garza gave you up. Guess he doesn't buy into the whole honor among thieves bit. But, no, I haven't told Milt yet."

"What do you mean, yet?" McCormick asked, his voice rising slightly.

"He's gonna find out," Harper said quietly. "Besides, he is your parole officer."

McCormick forced his eyes to stay open for one final question. "Am I gonna face charges?"

"Nah, I think we can work it out once we get the money back where it belongs," Harper assured him.

Drifting off, McCormick didn't completely register the detective's response. "Hardcastle's gonna kill me," he mumbled as he finally gave in to the sleep again.