Chapter 9

"Morning, sleepyhead," Hardcastle greeted cheerfully.

"Morning?" McCormick looked curiously between Hardcastle and Harper. "But I was just talking to Frank a minute ago."

"That was yesterday, kiddo," the judge said with a small smile. "You've been a little out of it. Are you feeling better?"

McCormick thought for a moment. "Actually," he said with a small grin, "I think I am. I mean, I really still hurt like hell, but I don't feel like I've got marshmallows in my brain any more."

"Well..." Hardcastle began with a laugh.

"Don't start, Hardcase," McCormick threatened, his grin spreading across his face. "In fact, I even think I might be kind of hungry."

Hardcastle rolled his eyes at Harper. "Now I know he's gonna be okay," he grumped, but he was thrilled to hear that some of the strength had returned to the young man's voice. He turned his attention back to McCormick. "They'll be around in half an hour or so to see you, and you can ask for breakfast then. In the meantime, hotshot, since you're feeling a little better, I think we have some things to talk about."

The grin faded from McCormick's face as he heard the stern tone. Should've known old Hardcase wouldn't waste much time getting down to business. He shot an accusing glare at Harper.

"I didn't tell him anything," the detective objected.

"Frank's already gotten the lecture about the evils of keeping secrets...especially yours. When I was out yesterday I stopped by to see Garza."

McCormick shook his head. "Why would you want to go and do something like that?" he demanded. "Now that he's in jail, couldn't we just let the cops handle it?"

Harper smirked at the familiar sentiment. "That's what I said."

"I don't want to hear any of your whining, McCormick," Hardcastle instructed firmly, completely ignoring the detective, "just tell me about the job."

"Is it too late to say I don't really feel all that well?" McCormick asked, only half jokingly. When he didn't receive an answer, he took a breath and spoke. "Jobs," he corrected fearfully. "Plural."

"How plural?" Hardcastle demanded. "Your boss seems to have left out that little detail."

"He's not my boss, Judge," McCormick answered sullenly.

"How many?"

"Three."

"THREE?" The judge's bellow was a stark contrast to McCormick's softly spoken answer, and Harper shushed him and reminded him he was in a hospital. "Three?" he repeated in a more reserved yell. "In one day?"

"Well, I- -" McCormick didn't get to finish his thought.

"Three jobs in one day," Hardcastle was huffing. "First of all, that's just arrogant; you're just asking for trouble when you go doing something stupid like that. Second, I would've thought you could use that big mouth of yours to get you out of trouble almost as easily as it gets you in. Hadn't we just discussed the fact that I did not intend for you to actually commit any crimes? And thirdly, has it slipped completely out of that marshmallow brain of yours that you are still on parole? What in the hell were you thinking, McCormick?"

"I was thinking he might kill us," McCormick snapped back, annoyed that he didn't have the strength to really lay into the judge.

Hardcastle halted his tirade and exchanged a puzzled look with Harper. Neither one had anticipated that response.

"Us?" Hardcastle asked, genuinely confused.

McCormick hesitated. He thought Garza had told them everything, but obviously not. "Did I say 'us'?" he asked in his most I-Am-Absolutely-On-The-Level voice. "I must be groggier than I thought. I meant 'me'. I was thinking he might try to kill me." He smiled slightly. "Turns out I was right."

The judge examined him closely, and then shook his head. "Uh-uh, not buying it, kiddo. You said us and you meant us. Why would you think Garza would kill me? And why would Garza think you would care?"

"I don't know, Judge," McCormick replied, exasperated. "He's crazy, or hadn't you noticed?"

Hardcastle merely stared at the young man, but Harper laughed aloud. "Okay, Mark," the detective said, "even I'm not falling for that. Why don't you tell us what really happened?"

"You blew your cover, didn't you?" Hardcastle said suddenly.

McCormick laughed at the astounded tone. "Gee, Judge, you catch on quick." He grinned ruefully. "Why did you think I was laying in a bloody heap on his office floor?"

Hardcastle shuddered at the image that flashed into his mind, and McCormick immediately regretted his flippant attitude. "Sorry, Judge. But really, why did you think he was trying to kill me?"

"Garza said it was because you ripped off his money," Hardcastle said blandly.

McCormick almost laughed at the accusation until he saw the two somber faces staring back at him. "He's lying," he said simply.

"Then why don't you tell us the truth?" Hardcastle suggested.

McCormick shot a quick, pleading look at Harper.

"Maybe this could wait until he's a bit more rested," the detective immediately spoke up, and McCormick let out a huge yawn.

"He's plenty rested," Hardcastle answered. "He's been sleeping for four and a half

days."

Harper tried again. "Then maybe he'd be more cooperative on a full stomach. Why don't you run get him a breakfast tray?"

Hardcastle fixed the lieutenant with a stern glare that he typically reserved for wayward ex-cons. "I thought I told you not to be covering for him." He turned back to McCormick. "Whatever it is, you can't keep it from me forever."

McCormick sighed, then realized that was painful. He pressed his free hand against his ribs and tried to ignore the fact that Hardcastle was waiting for an answer. It didn't work long.

"Spill it," the judge ordered.

"He was on to me, Judge," the young man began quietly.

"How?" Hardcastle demanded.

"I don't know, but after that first job, he figured it out. I don't know what I did to give it away, but he knew, and- - -"

"After the first job?" Hardcastle interrupted. "You mean after the first of the three you did the other day?"

McCormick was tempted to lie, but he knew that would only be a short-term solution at best. "No, Judge, the first job. I swear, we were just talking like normal, and I was spinning the same line of crap I'd been giving him for days. You know...Hardcastle is a donkey; too blind to know what's going on under his nose; kill me if he found out or at least give me a life sentence..." He grinned. "You know, that kind of stuff."

Hardcastle wasn't amused. "And?"

"And, I don't know. Somehow he knew. Really, I didn't say anything any different than I'd ever said to him." McCormick thought for a moment. "Maybe it was just too true right then," he finally suggested.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

McCormick tried to shrug, realized he couldn't, and winced at the effort. He drew in a raspy breath. "I don't know. I knew you were gonna be mad about the heist, and I was wishing there was a way not to tell you. But even more than that..." McCormick trailed off, debating the wisdom of voicing his thoughts.

"What is it?" Harper asked gently.

"I'm not sure," McCormick answered slowly, unable to meet the eyes of either man. "We had just pulled the job, and there was all that money, and it was so easy. And it would've been even easier not to tell. It kind of scared me." He shook his head slightly, then finally raised his eyes. He directed his comments to Harper, still avoiding Hardcastle. "Somehow, Garza saw something, I guess. He started asking questions about living with the judge, more details about my time in prison and my arrangement with Hardcastle. I was talking as fast as I could to undo whatever damage I had done, but I guess it didn't work."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Hardcastle asked softly, his face drained of color.

McCormick was not prepared to admit how hurt he had been by Hardcastle's earlier accusations. "I was going to, but then...well, then I didn't. I don't know. It was dumb. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Hardcastle said in a low tone. "God, Mark, I'm the one who should be sorry." The judge rose quickly from his chair and left the room without another word.

"Judge! Judge!" McCormick called after him. "Frank," he said breathlessly, "go get him. This isn't his fault. God, I didn't want him to know how stupid I was." He rose as far in the bed as his bandages and his pain would allow, his face reddening from the exertion.

"Hardcastle!"

Harper had started toward the door to go after the judge, but McCormick's sudden agitation had begun to set off the alarms on the machinery still connected to the young man. He turned back in to the room. "Mark, calm down," he said quickly, pushing the weak form back onto the bed. "It's not going to make things any better if you get all worked up and end up back in la-la land. I'll go bring Milt back, but you've got to take care of yourself. He won't- - - "

"McCormick!" Hearing McCormick's room number called over the intercom had sent Hardcastle back through the door immediately. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" He moved to the bedside, and Harper gladly stepped aside to let him get closer.

"I'm fine," McCormick said weakly, allowing his head to sink back into the pillow. "Don't run out like that again, Judge. At least not until I can run out after you." He tried a small smile, though he felt it might've come out more like a grimace.

"McCormick- - - "

Hardcastle didn't have a chance to say anything else before a nurse burst into the room. She was immediately at McCormick's side, checking readings, looking over her patient, testing connections. But the alarms were already growing quieter, and she could see that McCormick was in no immediate danger. She gave him a warm smile. "Not the best way to meet, but welcome back to the real world, Mr. McCormick."

She was still looking him over and found the dampness on his arm. "Okay, it looks like I'll need to re-start your I.V.; you've managed to pull it out. Is everything okay?"

McCormick glanced over at Hardcastle, who had made room for the nurse, but showed no signs of bolting from the room again. "Everything's fine," he answered. "Sorry to be so much trouble so early." He forced strength into his voice. "But, listen, unless the stuff in this tube is actually keeping me alive right this minute, can this wait? Not to be rude, but I need to finish a conversation with my friends here."

"Let the woman do her job, McCormick," Hardcastle growled. "We're not going anywhere."

The nurse looked slowly between each of the men and took in their shared tension. "No," she said finally, "it's not actually keeping you totally alive. How about if I go get my supplies and grab you a breakfast tray, and come back here in about fifteen minutes?"

"That would be great," McCormick answered sincerely. Under other circumstances, he might have flirted with the pretty brunette, but right now his heart was pounding just from the strain of trying to sit up in bed, every muscle in his body ached, and he needed to talk to Hardcastle. Flirting would have to wait. "Fifteen minutes would be perfect."

As soon as the door closed behind her, McCormick turned his attention back to Hardcastle. "What the hell was that all about, anyway?" he demanded, trying unsuccessfully to turn to fully face the judge.

"Don't get smart with me, kid," Hardcastle answered roughly as he moved himself back into McCormick's line of sight.

His tone softened immediately. "You almost died just to keep me from thinking you had crossed the line."

"Nope," McCormick contradicted. "I almost died because I was too stupid to know when to pull out. But," he continued pointedly, "I haven't crossed any lines, and I don't want you thinking that I have...not then and not now. I don't have that money, Judge." He looked at the detective standing quietly at the foot of the bed. "You guys didn't find anything in the offices?"

Harper shook his head. "And not in the Coyote, or Garza's house, either."

"Well, since you did find me in the office, and since I've been here ever since you took me from there, just where do you think I'm keeping it?"

Hardcastle didn't answer. His face was still white, and his blue eyes were filled with sorrow and regret. Harper wasn't sure the judge was really following much of the conversation.

"Garza says you never came back with the cash," the detective replied. "Says they picked you up late that afternoon and were trying to make you give up the stash."

"Yeah, right," McCormick said sarcastically. "I don't know what he thinks he's gonna gain by telling you guys that crap, though for some reason, it did seem really important to him to discredit me. Anyway, I suppose he failed to mention that I wasn't working alone? His goon, Morrissey, was with me every step of the way, so I couldn't have kept that money if I'd wanted to. Unless he thinks his buddy is in cahoots with me."

Harper raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I don't know about in cahoots with you, Mark, but it may be that Morrissey decided to go into business for himself. He's one of the guys we don't have yet," he explained.

"Well that's a neat little package, isn't it?" McCormick asked. "But I'll tell you the truth, Frank; I don't think Morrissey ripped Garza off. We went back to that office together, but he didn't stick around for the festivities. My guess is Garza had him stash the money somewhere, and when you guys showed up, Morrissey just stayed gone. I'm telling you, that man didn't spit without Garza's permission; he wouldn't double-cross him."

"Well," Hardcastle interjected in a strangely dull tone, "whether he's working on his own or not, I guess if we find Morrissey we'll find the money."

"Yeah, Judge, I think you will." McCormick examined Hardcastle closely, not liking what he saw. The judge was pulling further and further into himself, tension etched in every line on his face. He glanced back toward Harper. "Frank, could you give us a minute?"

Harper nodded and started for the door. "I need to report this information about Morrissey, anyway. Looks like he needs to be bumped up the ladder of importance." He paused in the doorway and turned back to his friends. The horrified and withdrawn demeanor of Hardcastle worried him; he let his eyes meet McCormick's. "You guys work this out." He vanished through the door, saying a silent prayer that McCormick would be able to get through to the judge.

"All right," McCormick said without preamble, "let's have it. Yell at me, curse at me, threaten me. Hell, hit me. Just get it out."

Hardcastle continued to stare. "What are you talking about?"

McCormick sighed in exasperation and earned another stab of pain. "Look, I know you're pissed. And I know you've been worried. And now you're mad at yourself because you think you could've stopped all this somehow. But, Judge, you didn't cause this. None of this is your fault."

"Did you or did you not go back on that last day because I accused you of taking that money?" Hardcastle demanded.

"Not," McCormick said flatly. Not entirely true, but he was beyond caring.

"Listen, I was upset about what you said; I won't pretend that I wasn't. But by the next morning I knew you had just been running your mouth and I knew you would've calmed down." That was mostly true; he just wouldn't mention the tiny lingering doubt that had kept him from going into the house and simply asking.

"And," he continued, "I decided I had overreacted to the thing with Garza, anyway. I thought if he really had me made, he wouldn't have let me leave at all, so I figured I didn't have anything to worry about." Okay, that part was an absolute lie, but it was the same lie he had told himself in order to work up the courage to walk back into that madman's home, so he figured it would be okay to use it again. He would not have Hardcastle blame himself for this.

"You didn't make this happen, Judge," McCormick said earnestly, "and I doubt if there's anything you could've done to stop it. Please don't blame yourself."

Hardcastle looked into the shining eyes of the man he had never intended to care about, and his heart ached at the pain he saw. The physical pain was beyond his influence, but the emotional pain was quite another story. He pulled the chair close to the bed and dropped into it, never taking his eyes from McCormick.

"Okay, kiddo, I'll tell you the truth. I feel real bad about what happened, and I'm not sure I can change that. But since it seems to matter to you, I'll try. Maybe it will help if I start with an explanation."

"Judge," McCormick began, "you don't have to- - -"

Hardcastle placed a hand gently on McCormick's arm. "Yes, Mark," he contradicted firmly, "I do have to.

"Anyway, that night you came home, you were so late, and I was getting really worried. These cases where you have to go in alone and without even a wire make me nervous."

McCormick was touched by the rare admission, and wanted to offer some type of reassurance. "I can- -" he stopped, started again. "Usually, I can take care of myself. You shouldn't worry."

Hardcastle smiled weakly. "It's not the usually part that worries me, kiddo. We're here now because of the unusual.

"At any rate, I was worried then. You were much later than I had ever anticipated, and I was getting pretty worked up. Then, when you came strolling in, all wide eyed and grins, instead of just being relieved, I got angry."

The judge took a deep breath. "But when you told me about pulling that robbery, that's when I really let my temper get the best of me." He shook his head sadly. "I didn't mean to drive you away, kid, and I was sorry before you were even out the door. But I was so mad I couldn't stop you from leaving.

"But understand this, Mark: I never for a minute believed you had taken money. I mean, you were right; you didn't even have to tell me you got it and I would never have known. Hell, you didn't even have to tell me about the job, and I knew that even when I was yelling at you. It's like you said; I was just running my mouth.

"And as for the cash from the other jobs? We did think maybe you had stashed it away from Garza for some reason, but we never thought you intended to keep it. No matter what I might have ever said, you have my complete faith, kiddo." He offered a weak smile. "Even when you do dumb things like breaking into the courthouse, you know? Nothing's ever gonna change that, and I'm real sorry I made you think otherwise."

Hardcastle stopped talking abruptly, his smile turning to one of embarrassment. "I've been waiting four days to say that stuff to you, kid. Don't ever put me through that again."

McCormick grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it," he assured. The grin faded from his face. "Can I ask you something serious?"

"Of course."

"Well..." McCormick hesitated, unsure how to frame his question. The pain and exhaustion weren't doing much for his thinking abilities. "I guess...it's about the robberies. Or mostly the first one. Like I said before, it was so easy. And it was even kind of...fun." He met Hardcastle's eyes directly. "Is there something wrong with me, Judge? I mean, it's not fair that the only things I'm good at are all the wrong things." He shook his head. "I absolutely want you to trust me, Judge, but what if..." He paused for a long moment, and Hardcastle allowed him the time to gather his thoughts. "But what if," he finally continued, "I don't always trust myself?"

Hardcastle smiled gently, thinking he might be more proud of McCormick now than he had ever been. "First of all, kiddo, there's nothing wrong with you. And you're good at more things than you probably even realize. The fact that it bothers you that you also possess some rather questionable skills says more for your integrity than you'll ever know. And, if for some reason you ever start to doubt yourself, you just talk to me. I've got more than enough trust for both of us."

Though McCormick smiled, he didn't answer, knowing he would never be able to find a way to tell the judge what those few words meant to him. So he settled for hoping Hardcastle could see that truth in his eyes, just as he could see the truth in the pale blue eyes that stared back at him.

And in their shared gaze, the friends could see the healing begin.

"Will you stop sloshing your spoon around in that stuff?" Hardcastle growled from behind his paper. "I thought you were hungry, anyway?"

"Yeah, for food," McCormick complained. He looked at the broth in front of him. "This isn't even good enough to be called soup. And it's getting a nasty film on it." He stirred more vigorously.

Hardcastle set the paper aside with a slight grin. "Well, you know, kiddo, you were banged up pretty bad, had major surgery, and you've been unconscious and pumped full of all sorts of drugs for days. Did you think they were gonna bring you a loaded pizza for breakfast? Besides, you've been stirring that broth around for over an hour. If you'd eaten it while it was hot, it wouldn't have a film on it."

McCormick rolled his eyes and pushed the tray away, muttering. "Cold broth, warm tea, not even any sugar. What kind of a meal is that to wake up to? They could at least give me some crackers, or something with substance."

The judge chuckled, though it was difficult not to feel bad for the kid. "Give it time, McCormick. You'll be back to your normal culinary experiences before long. They just want to make sure all that grease and crap isn't going to kill you at a quicker than normal rate."

"Well, I'm not eatin' that stuff, so I think I'll go back to sleep for a while."

Hardcastle's expression was immediately concerned. "Yeah? Are you okay?"

"I'm all right, Judge, I'm just really kind of beat." McCormick shifted slightly, trying to make himself comfortable. "For someone who's been asleep for days, I sure feel like I haven't rested in years."

Hardcastle lowered the bed slowly and helped rearrange the blanket. "I don't imagine it was exactly pleasant sleep," he said with a small smile. "You rest as much as you need." He flipped off the light over McCormick's bed, then settled back into his chair. "I'll be here when you wake up."

McCormick returned the smile as he closed his eyes. "I know you will, Judge."