Chapter 12

"So, you feeling up to telling us about that last day yet?"

When McCormick didn't answer right away, Hardcastle forced himself to take a breath and count to ten. He was trying hard to be patient. After all, the kid had been near death just a few weeks ago. And, in truth, it was far too easy for the judge to remember those agonizing days when he had been almost certain McCormick wouldn't survive. And he also remembered the vows he had made—both to himself and to God—that he'd treat the young man better if only he had the chance.

But now that recovery was also bringing a return of the familiar, infuriating hard-headedness, Hardcastle was finding it difficult to keep his promises, so he kept counting. He had almost reached fifty before McCormick spoke.

"You sure I shouldn't get a lawyer?" the ex-con joked.

"Hah!" Hardcastle grumped. "I'm the only lawyer you need."

"I think most courts would consider that a conflict of interest, Hardcase. Too much history for you to represent me fairly; the judge would throw your butt right out of the courtroom."

"Oh, that's what you think is it?" Hardcastle asked the young man. Then he added dangerously, "I have a different idea of how things are gonna turn out."

McCormick knew instantly the comment wasn't completely in jest, and figured he should probably be worried. But the entire exchange was just so damned typical he couldn't be bothered.

As McCormick's health had slowly improved, Hardcastle's temperament had slowly deteriorated, and it seemed harder and harder for the jurist to control his irritability. So, as the days wore on , McCormick had become increasingly certain that Hardcastle had some unpleasant surprises in store for him eventually, even though the judge was trying to treat him with kid gloves here in the hospital. But, honestly, the kid gloves were getting a little old. It felt good to actually be threatened again.

"What are you grinning at?" Hardcastle demanded.

"Nothing," McCormick answered, but the grin spread across his face.

"Don't antagonize him, Mark," Harper complained.

"And don't try to distract me," Hardcastle ordered. "I asked you a question."

On second thought, the kid gloves might be better, McCormick thought, but he answered the judge. "I know you did, Judge, and, yes, I'm ready to tell you what happened." McCormick spoke confidently, hoping he was doing the right thing. The truth was he didn't want to talk about that day at all; he sure as hell didn't want to talk about that day with Hardcastle. But he had run out of stall tactics, and Hardcastle's patience was obviously dwindling. He glanced at Harper. "It's your show, Frank. What do you want to know?"

The detective pulled a notepad from his jacket pocket. "Well, everything, really. But let's start with what happened when you first went to see Garza that morning, and then we'll just work our way through the day."

"But tell us if you need to take a break," Hardcastle added, back to the kid gloves.

"You know I will," McCormick answered with a smile. He took a breath.

"Okay. Garza wanted us all there by seven to have one last run through of his big caper. He'd given us all like a critique of our work the day before, and he wanted to make sure we were making the changes he suggested. I got there about five minutes before seven and I was the first one there. I knew then there was gonna be trouble."

"What do you mean? Why trouble?" Hardcastle asked.

"The rest of the team Garza had put together was a bunch of young kids, Judge; lots of talent, but not a lot of experience. They were all starry-eyed just to be working with Garza, fawning all over him." McCormick shook his head. "Hell, they were even impressed with me; thought doing time was like some kind of badge of honor." He rolled his eyes. "I hope I was never that stupid."

"Not likely," Hardcastle muttered, with just a hint of pride.

McCormick grinned his thanks, and continued his story. "Anyway, they were always early for everything, trying to make a good impression. When I realized none of them were at the house yet, I knew something was going on."

"So why stay?" Harper asked, hoping he wouldn't start another string of self-recriminations from Hardcastle.

"No choice by then," McCormick explained. "I already had to pass through Garza's security, so he knew I was there. Leaving would've only made things worse."

Hardcastle rubbed a hand across suddenly tired eyes. How many different times could this disaster have been prevented?

Noticing the expression, McCormick turned his attention to the jurist. "Still not your fault, Judge," he said gently. "You promised, remember?"

"I promised I'd try," Hardcastle clarified. He met McCormick's eyes and offered a small smile. "I'm working on it. Go ahead."

"So I rang the bell, and Morrissey answered the door. He took me into Garza's study...

- - - - - - - - - -

"Hey, Tony," McCormick greeted cheerfully. "Where is everyone?"

Garza looked up from his desk. "There's been a slight change in plans. Sit down and we'll talk about it."

The tone wasn't exactly inviting, but Morrissey was standing immediately behind McCormick, ready to herd him in the right direction, so sitting was really the only option. McCormick sat.

"How's Hardcastle?" Garza continued conversationally.

McCormick didn't like the question, but he shrugged nonchalantly. "Big a jack-ass as ever. Why?"

"Just wondered what he thought about your extra-curricular activities yesterday."

"Well, it's a pretty good bet he wouldn't be too happy about it. But, it's also a pretty good bet he's still in the dark, or I sure as hell wouldn't be sitting here now."

Garza stared across the desk. "I'm not sure I really believe that, McCormick."

McCormick forced himself to look surprised, and offended, but definitely not scared. "What the hell are you talking about, Tony?" he demanded. "I told you how it is with us. I've got a pretty good gig going, you know." He allowed a slightly menacing tone to enter his voice. "I hope you're not planning on doing anything to mess it up." He felt Morrissey's fist cuff the side of his head and knew he was pushing his luck.

"Don't threaten me, Mark." Garza's low, even words were almost sinister in their simplicity.

McCormick shook his head, wanting to get back on track. "Of course not, Tony," he said in a conciliatory tone. "That's not what I meant at all. Sorry, man."

When Garza didn't respond, McCormick continued. "So what about this change in plan, anyway? Do you have more work for me?"

Garza was silent for another long moment, then jerked a thumb in Morrissey's direction. "Give him the list."

McCormick took the offered sheet of paper, then sat silently, absorbing the information. Finally he looked up at Garza. "Three banks?" he demanded, as calmly as possible, mindful of the muscle standing at his side. "In less than twelve hours? Did you actually mean for me to make it back with the cash?" He was surprised to see Garza shrug carelessly.

"The money will just be an added bonus," the thief replied. "What I'm really looking forward to is watching that old hard-ass judge have his world ripped apart."

"What?"

"I did some more checking, Mark, and I don't think Hardcastle is the one you've been conning; I think it's been me. It looks like your relationship with him is real."

"Of course it looks real," McCormick answered reasonably. "If it didn't, he'd never fall for it."

Garza shook his head. "Seems like more than that. You guys hang out, go on trips together, play poker. Most people think you're real important to Hardcastle."

McCormick snorted. "Well most people would be wrong. I'm a convenience to him; handy to have around, but easily replaced."

"And what's he to you?"

"A meal ticket," McCormick answered coldly.

But Garza wasn't buying it. "I don't really think so, Mark. But even if that's all it is to you, it's definitely more than that to him. I'd like to take something away from him for a change."

"Even if you were right about that, Tony, I mean, even if he would care, you're talking about him finding out about these jobs."

Garza raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Yeah. So what's the problem?"

"Me spending the next twenty years in a cell comes to mind," McCormick snapped. "I'm not sacrificing myself just so you can get some kind of warped revenge against a judge."

"Mark, Mark, Mark. I'm not talking about sacrificing you." Garza's attempt at reassurance missed the target badly. "You get that money back to me, and I'll make sure you've got enough to live on for the rest of your life. You can disappear."

McCormick shook his head. "This isn't what I signed on for, Tony. I'm not looking to be on the run for the rest of my life, either. In less than two years I'm a free man. Just let me do my time in peace. I'll do these jobs for you if you want, but let's leave Hardcastle out of it."

"I think you're missing the point, Mark," Garza said, his silky voice turning to stone. "I'm not asking."

"You can't exactly force me to rob a bank," McCormick replied logically. "What're you gonna do? Hold me at gunpoint while I crack a safe?"

"Of course not. If you don't agree, I'm just gonna kill you. We'll dump your body out on that nice private beach in Malibu, and Hardcastle will still lose his pet convict."

"Dead's probably better than the rest of my life in prison," McCormick said slowly, "and Hardcastle isn't gonna care one way or the other."

Garza took a moment to observe the man across the desk, watching him closely, and he almost believed him. He put forth one final test. "And, I figure after he's had a month or two to grieve, I'll kill him, too. I'll even tell him about your scam right before he dies, just so I can see his eyes when he finds out you betrayed him."

McCormick forced himself not to move, tried to keep his face from betraying his sudden terror. But he found he had no idea what words needed to come from his mouth now. If he pretended not to care, he knew Garza would carry out his threat, and both he and Hardcastle would end up dead. But if he argued to save Hardcastle, then Garza would know without a doubt that he'd been conned, and they'd probably end up dead, anyway. Finally, his silence said enough.

"That's what I thought," Garza said snidely. "You care what happens to him."

"I care what happens to me," McCormick countered, "and things are going okay for me right now. All these plans of yours are just gonna screw everything up.

"Besides," he continued, "I get the funny feeling that it isn't going to matter what I say; I'm pretty sure I end up dead either way."

"That hadn't been my intention in the beginning," Garza told him. "But now you're starting to piss me off."

"Well that sure as hell wasn't my intention," McCormick assured him. He tried again to redirect the conversation. "So let me make sure I have this straight. I do these jobs today, and you pay me enough to disappear forever? Is that the deal?"

"That's the deal."

"And I don't have to do anything else?"

"Nope."

"But you report me to the cops and to Hardcastle?"

"Yep."

McCormick hesitated. It was clear Garza didn't intend to give him the assurance he sought without a direct question, and the question would end the charade. But, he seriously doubted he was fooling anybody, anyway. Hardcastle was right; he should've used a different cover story. He swallowed hard and spoke.

"And Hardcastle stays alive?"

Garza laughed maliciously at the admission. "Yeah, McCormick, Hardcastle stays alive. But you know you might've just made it a hell of a lot less likely that you do."

McCormick slumped slightly in his chair, listening to Garza laugh. He thought he would remember that evil sound until the day he died. He tried not to dwell on the idea that day might be today.

- - - - - - - - - -

McCormick reached for the cup of water on his bed table, trying to discreetly study Hardcastle's reaction. He wasn't surprised to see Harper doing the same.

But the judge was carefully avoiding their gazes, and the horrified guilt that he'd been trying for weeks to hide had erupted to the surface again. McCormick exchanged a worried glance with the detective. His eyebrows shot up into his curly hair, as if to say, I'm out of ideas.

Harper sighed slightly. "Maybe I should talk to Mark alone," he suggested.

Hardcastle jerked his head up to glare at the lieutenant. "I don't think so, Frank. I'm not gonna- - -" He broke off, just barely stopping himself from blurting, 'I'm not gonna leave him alone again.' The time for that kind of emotional talk had passed. Well, maybe it hadn't really, but that's not how he dealt with things.

Seeing the others watching him curiously, he finished the thought. "I'm not gonna break into a million pieces, ya know," he huffed.

Slightly reassured, McCormick felt a small grin pulling at his lips. But still, it was clear that continuing his story was a bad idea. "Okay," he said, "so then me and Morrissey ripped off those three banks. But I think Garza really had intended I get caught, because I'm pretty sure he had called the cops about the second location."

McCormick paused, remembering his terror at the idea of getting arrested while committing any crime, but especially this crime. The thought of facing Hardcastle from behind bars had been unthinkable, and he had driven like he had never driven before to escape the unexpected police cars. He shook his head to clear the memory, and continued speaking.

"But we managed to escape and finished the third one, too. We took the money back to Garza's office suite, and he was pretty surprised to see me. Morrissey disappeared, and Garza had his other goons work me over some. That's when you guys showed up, and here we are." McCormick chanced a quick look over at Harper, hoping he would go along. He received a sly wink in return.

"Thanks, Mark," the detective said as he slapped his notebook closed. "That should about do it."

"Yeah, no problem. And I know it's a long ways down the road, but make sure the D.A. knows I can testify when it's time."

"That'll be great. I'm sure they'll- -"

"What the hell is going on with you two?" Hardcastle finally demanded, interrupting their conversation.

Young blue eyes looked back at him innocently. "What? Were you feeling left out of the official police business?" McCormick figured it would be easier to have one of their typical arguments than the very real one he could feel brewing in Hardcastle.

"Don't try flashing those baby blues at me, McCormick. I'm not one of those young nurses, ya know. Now what the hell happened to the rest of your statement?"

"Whaddaya mean? That is my statement."

"McCormick," the judge seethed, "I am not fooling around here. Frank's gonna need more details than that. And I am more than a little tired of you pulling this mother-hen routine on me. I am not the one layin' in a hospital bed, lookin' like something the cat dragged in, so I don't think you've got all your plugs wired right if you're worried about me. Now spill it."

McCormick couldn't keep the grin from his face. "You always did have a way with words, Judge." He sobered just a bit, and met Hardcastle's eyes.

"Look, it's not just you I'm worried about here, okay? I mean, yeah, there's probably some stuff that happened with Garza that I don't want you hearin' about. But you know what? I don't really want to talk about it, either. Some of it I probably don't remember all that clearly anyway, and some of it I'll probably wish I didn't remember, but I sure don't want to keep dwelling on it and pouring out all the gruesome details." He paused a moment to let Hardcastle consider his words, then offered another small grin.

"And as for the rest of the day... Well, when it comes to discussing my—what did you call it? criminal aptitude?—I think I'd feel better leaving some things to the imagination. A true artist never reveals the tricks of the trade, you know, Judge."

For one terribly long moment, the two men simply stared at each other, neither quite sure what would happen next. McCormick was pretty certain Hardcastle would argue, but he was absolutely certain the older man would lose. He had tried to give his statement because the judge had insisted he was up to hearing it, but that obviously was not the case. It would be a thousand times better to put up with his anger than his sorrow.

But though he would never admit it, Hardcastle had long ago learned there were times when all the bullying in the world couldn't budge Mark McCormick, and he recognized quickly that this was one of those times. And, if he was completely honest with himself, Hardcastle would admit that the kid was probably even right this time. There really was no need for him to hear the damnable details, and it filled his heart to find McCormick so concerned with his welfare, even after all that had happened.

Finally, he smiled gently at the younger man. "All right, kiddo. But when you're out of here, if Frank needs more details..."

"I'll talk to him," McCormick answered quickly, immeasurably relieved that Hardcastle was going to let this go.

"But," the judge continued forcefully, "if you ever just need to get some of this stuff off your mind..."

McCormick smiled at his friend. "I'll talk to you," he promised.

And in the brief moment of honest affection, a few more wounds began to heal.

"Kiddo? You awake?"

If it had been anyone else, McCormick would've ignored the voice and continued his descent toward sleep. Not that it would be anyone else, of course, since no one else would ever care enough to sit at his bedside day and night. He smiled to himself, and spoke without poking his head out from under the blanket. "What's up, Judge?"

"I know you said you don't want to talk about this..."

McCormick didn't move, didn't speak. Hardcastle was rarely the one trying to force conversation about any topic, but he sure had picked a doozy to be stubborn about.

"But there's something I need to know," Hardcastle continued in a strangely subdued voice.

Still McCormick didn't respond, though he certainly knew there was no real point in trying to withstand Hardcastle once the jurist's mind was made up.

"That stuff you were talking about with Garza..."

Under the blanket, McCormick grimaced. But after just a second, he relaxed his features, uncovered his head, and gazed directly at Hardcastle. "I was working, Judge," he said softly.

"I know that," the judge responded, waving his hand in the air, dismissing McCormick's statement. "But, when he was threatening me..." Hardcastle paused again. Suddenly, his eyes blazed with an unexpected anger. "Dammit, McCormick, what in the hell were you thinking? Did you really think I'd rather you sacrifice yourself?"

McCormick stared. Had he been upright rather than lying in bed, he thought his jaw might've hit the ground. He'd stayed awake to be yelled at? Over this? "Hardcase, I thought you had something important on your mind," he complained. "I was trying to sleep, ya know."

"I'm serious, McCormick. How do you think I would've felt if you'd died?" Hardcastle demanded.

"Ummm....bad?" McCormick ventured.

As suddenly as his temper had flared it was gone again, and Hardcastle laughed. "Yeah, kiddo, I guess that about sums it up; I would've felt bad. In the future, will you please try to remember that we're supposed to tackle things together? It's not your job to have to take care of me. I don't want you feeling like you need to protect me all the time, okay? If I'm gonna send you out on these cases, I have to know you're gonna be safe. Don't try to be a hero."

McCormick grinned. "I wasn't exactly trying to be a hero, Hardcase, but I'll try to keep it in mind. Although, if I do have some kind of hero complex, it's your fault anyway."

"How do you figure?" Hardcastle snapped.

Gathering his blanket back up around his chin, McCormick turned away and closed his eyes. "I've got a lot to live up to," he mumbled, then allowed himself to fall into a comfortable sleep.