Justice- The Gull's-Way Collective

Rating: PG 13

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, for entertainment purposes only. These are not our characters, and we make no profit from them.


Authors' Notes:

For my part, the only thing to say is, "Thanks." Thanks to Judy for giving us this framework to explore, and for the opportunity to try something new; it was loads of fun. And thanks to L.M. Lewis for being an amazing writing partner. She is witty, insightful, and—perhaps most important—patient. I'd be honored to do it again. --- Cheri

As for me, this was a whole bunch of fun. Thank you for the opening pitch, Judy, it was a doozy. And thank you Cheri—oh, the midnight emails, the attention to detail: the weather in Ojai in March, the inner workings of a wood chipper, and for finding Frank's car. Never was there a better co-author and beta. Do another?—anytime my dear. L.M. Lewis

Well, without Cheri and L.M., this story would have been dead in the water. It was great fun to watch them work and I learned a lot about teamwork, writing faster than the speed of light, research and, of course, punctuation! I also made two new friends and I'm grateful for that. It's been fun. Speaking of another, I have this idea… Judy


Chapter One

The day was warm and sunny for that time of year in California. The beginning of March could be notoriously cool and rainy. A car came though the gate and the sun glinted off the windshield.

The judge, bent over and humming an old jazz tune, lifted his head when he heard the car pull up behind him. He wiped his hands on a rag and tossed it over his shoulder, mindful of getting any dirt or grease on his mint condition Corvette. Seeing who it was caused him to turn back to the engine of the car and begin working again.

"Hey, Frank," he muttered as he reached for a wrench.

"Hi, Milt," the other man replied with an amused lilt to his voice, "don't tell me you still won't let Mark work on this thing?"

"Nope," the judge said. "He may know his way around that souped up tomato of his, but this needs the attention of someone who really knows what they're doing."

Just as he finished speaking a figure came puffing around the garage pushing a silent lawn mower.

"Look, Hardcastle! I realize that I have to work from sunup until sundown here on the plantation, but I'm not going to cut forty acres of grass by hand!" McCormick was sweaty, flushed, and more than a little aggravated. "The mower quit again over on the south lawn!"

"I told you to have it fixed from the last time, McCormick!" the judge fumed over at him.

"I did!" exclaimed Mark. "I even drove halfway to Mexico for the parts once the guy at the shop stopped laughing at me and told me where I could find them. Nobody around here even carries them anymore. I'm telling you, Hardcase, we need a new mower!"

"No, we do not need a new lawnmower- - you're supposed to be the engine expert here, maybe you could just hot-wire it and get it started."

Irritation flared in the younger man's eyes and he started to fire back but was interrupted by Frank Harper's shouting.

"Gentlemen, please!"

The two combatants were momentarily averted from starting WW III right there in the yard. They stopped and stared at the detective, who had his hands in the air.

"You know, I drive all the way out here enjoying the quiet and the view, relaxing just a bit until I pull in this drive and start to tense up all over again," the detective said patiently, for he was all too familiar with the temperaments of the two who lived there. "Look, everybody's been working hard. Why don't we all just go sit for awhile and have something to drink?"

"Hummph," snorted the judge, still glaring at Mark. "McCormick, as you seem to be done for the day, why don't you get some? C'mon Frank." He turned and started for the house.

Harper looked to the sky, shaking his head. He had seen Hardcastle and McCormick's initial mistrust and awkwardness grow into a true and remarkable friendship during the last couple years. But he didn't understand how they lived together without killing each other.

00000

Mark walked into the study a short while later carrying a small tray with three beers. Balanced also on the tray were a bag of chips and a couple of packages of cookies. He set it on the coffee table, grabbed one of the beers and some of the cookies. Smiling, he plopped himself down on the couch.

Frank took a long sip and sighed. "Now, isn't this nice."

"Sure is," said Mark, earning him a grunt from the judge.

"What brings you out here today anyway, Frank?" McCormick asked, cocking an eyebrow. "It's not poker night, or are you just checking to see if the Lone Ranger here has anybody locked up in the pool house again?"

"Don't tell me, hot shot over there got a speeding ticket I should know about and don't yet?" the judge retorted.

Over on the couch, Mark rolled his eyes.

"Well it was nice while it lasted..." mumbled Frank.

The detective put his beer on the table looked at Hardcastle and said, "Samuel Tilton." At the name the judge pursed his lips. Frank continued, "With his retrial starting Monday and you needing to testify again, the D.A. wants to see you tomorrow morning."

"Who's Samuel Tilton?" Mark asked, looking at Frank as he reached for more cookies and popped one in his mouth. "And why didn't you tell me about the trial?" He glanced at Hardcastle, confusion written all over his face.

"He's a Wall Street wizard- -" Frank started.

"Wall Street Wizard-HAH!" exclaimed Hardcastle.

"-who was arrested for murder four years ago," continued the detective. "AND, who's case got thrown out when he wasn't properly handled by a rookie cop when he was arrested." Frank reached for the bag of chips. "We suspect his involvement in two other murders but got nothing to go on." Glancing over at the judge, "You didn't tell him?" indicating McCormick with a nod.

"A snake, that's what he is!" spouted Hardcastle. Shaking his head at Frank's question, "I didn't get around to it," he said evasively. "Can't believe that with all we had on him, that case was thrown out!" He gave McCormick a nauseated look and said, "Beer and cookies?"

"Why's he going back to court?" asked Mark to Frank through another mouthful of what he was eating. "And why didn't you tell me about the trial?" he repeated, ignoring the look he was getting.

"His former driver said something smart to the cops while he was being questioned about something else. Seems Tilton had threatened the cop who arrested him and the cop lied on the stand. Now that that's all finally straightened out, he's back in court. And he's not real happy about it either," Frank finished with a pointed look at the judge. He paused before continuing, "Then there's the missing evidence in the form of the statements you and Doug Riley gave, so the D.A. wants you to go over everything again before the trial," he added quickly, averting his eyes from Hardcastle.

"Missing evidence?" Hardcastle frowned. "Who had it?"

"Yeah," Frank said disgustedly, "the statements, some of the crime scene photos, and the financial information. Some of it was in our hands and some of it at the D.A.'s. Nobody knows what happened or how long any of it's been gone. I do know I'm going to get to the bottom of that!"

The judge leveled his gaze at the detective and said, "Evidence just doesn't disappear, Frank."

"I know, Milt, an inside job, but we haven't figured it out yet."

Reaching for more cookies on the table, McCormick feigned shock and lifted both his eyebrows until they disappeared under his unruly hair. "What? Crooked cops? Here in LA?" He went on, "Who's Riley? And WHY didn't you tell me about the trial?" impatiently again to the judge

"Enough already, McCormick! Don't talk with your mouth full!" said the judge with a glare. "I didn't tell you about the trial 'cause it's not a big deal."

"No big deal, huh? Hmmm, murder? Missing evidence, threats, crooked cops? Sure sounds like it's a big deal to me, Judge," replied Mark. He was angry and even a little hurt that the judge had kept this from him. He didn't understand why. Hardcastle had, over the last year or so, dragged him into all sorts of situations with his own personal 'need to know' policy, but if this was no big deal, what was going on?

"I'm just going in to testify, for crying out loud! Probably won't even take a day to do it."

"Which is another thing I wanted to talk to you about, Milt," said Frank, knowing full well where this discussion was going to end up.

"Talk to me about what?"

"Well, word's out that Tilton isn't planning on going to jail. With that missing evidence and the threats the first time around, we're putting protection on you and Riley till it's over." The detective mentally braced himself.

"That's ridiculous!" exploded Hardcastle "I don't need protection!"

"Unfortunately, the D.A. and I don't agree with you and they're probably already parked out front," he replied, keeping his tone neutral.

Mark was sitting up now. "Hardcase, just what did you have to do with all this? I mean you were a judge-judge then, right? Not a cop. And who exactly was murdered?"

"It's a long story, kid."

"Yeah, well I got the time—it's not like I can cut the grass anytime soon or anything," Mark said with a slight smirk.

Hardcastle just closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing that Mark wasn't going to move till he got some information and maybe not even then. In the past years, the kid got pretty good at reading between the lines. He was going to tell him about the trial, but not until a day or two before so the kid wouldn't worry. He had an irritatingly persistent way of hovering when something was going on.

"Here's the short version so you can get back to work doing something around here. Seems like Tilton was involved in some deals that weren't exactly 'up to snuff' on Wall Street or anywhere else for that matter. Nobody could ever really prove anything until a sharp IRS agent picked up on a few things. He gave me a call and I met with him and Riley, who was the prosecutor's investigator at the time. He handed over some of the evidence, but before he could get me the rest, he was found floating off a pier in LA harbor. The poor guy never really knew what he was getting into. Left behind a wife and four kids."

"Yeah, but Tilton was sloppy," interjected Frank, "he left two fingerprints, and that evidence we still got."

"At least that's something," growled the judge. "Any ideas who the inside man might be?"

"Nope," said Frank, shaking his head, "I put Millward and Stern on it; I can trust them."

"Well, Frank, I'll find the copies of the records I made and I'll bring them along in the morning."

"COPIES?" exclaimed Frank. "You have copies?"

"Sure, they're in a box in the garage." Hardcastle didn't understand Frank's incredulous look. He had all kinds of copies in old case files.

"Milt, the D.A. is gonna kiss you when he finds out!"

"I wanna see that!" laughed McCormick, getting a dirty look from the judge. The D.A., Dean Thompson, was not one of Hardcastle's favorite people.

"The D.A. may not be able to use them in court by Monday, but at least he'll know where to go and get something more concrete. That settles it. The squad stays. If Tilton even had a notion that you have those records, he'd be all over you and this place like cats on fish," said Frank.

"I don't need protection!" bellowed the judge. "I'm more than capable of taking care of myself!"

"Hardcase, that's what you said the last time, right before we had to replace most of the windows and plaster in here, not to mention having you bunk in the gatehouse till the work was done. And what about me?" Mark said. "Every time you don't need protection, I'm the one who winds up dodging the bullets!" He was still trying to understand why the judge hadn't even mentioned the upcoming trial, and now he was more concerned because of what Frank was implying with the need for police protection.

"McCormick!"

Frank held his arm up and decided to end the discussion. "HOLD IT! Until the evidence is in and your testimony is done, the squad stays! No argument! That's it! Final, finis! We want to get this guy don't we?"

"But..." started Hardcastle

"No buts! I'm heading home now. I'll call Thompson when I get there and I'll call you first thing in the morning." Frank had gotten up and was heading for the door. As he was walking, he looked over his shoulder, adding, "And don't bother to try and get rid of the squad out front. I told those boys what I would be having them do for their next assignment if they left here." With that, he was gone.

The room was silent with unspoken tension.

"Look, McCormick, I was going to tell you about the trial but not until Sunday," the judge finally said, looking directly at him. "I just didn't want this turning into a circus like it is." Walking out of the den, he grumbled, "I'll be in the garage."

And then Mark was alone, an uneasy feeling surrounding him. Sitting thoughtfully for a few minutes, he reached for the phone.

A little over an hour later, in the garage, the judge was poking about in various boxes, looking for the copies. Mark walked in the side door, pulling a light jacket a little closer around him. He paused for a moment then headed toward the judge. Here we go, he thought. With a lighthearted tone he said, "Man I hate this time of year; it sure is getting cold out there." When there was no response he went on, "I made our boys in blue some coffee; sure am glad I'm not the one sitting in a car all night." Nosing around, he started peering and digging into the boxes. "How do you ever manage to find anything in this disaster?"

"What do you mean, disaster? I know where everything is out here! And leave that stuff alone!"

"Oh, so that's why you've been out here for over an hour."

"McCormick, if I would have needed your help, I would have asked for it. Don't you have something better to do?" Hardcastle knew by the look on Mark's face that he had something on his mind or something to say, and he figured it was both.

"Not anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just got off the phone and cancelled my plans for this weekend."

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"Well I can't very well be relaxing with a beautiful girl and babysitting you at the same time. As much as it might be fun to have you come along, I thought about it for three seconds and decided it wouldn't."

Hardcastle's glare could have pinned McCormick to the wall but Mark didn't back down. The kid almost never did. That was one of the things about him that endeared him to the judge, and frequently infuriated him.

"Look, kiddo, I don't need you or anybody else sitting around watching me and holding my hand. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a grown up and…"

"Blah, blah, blah, Judge," Mark interrupted, "quit being such a donkey. If Frank and the D.A. are concerned enough to keep cops on your hide, then there's more to this guy, Tilton, than you're telling me. Although for the life of me, I don't know why. I keep thinking about that IRS agent and his family." Mark was trying not to let his worry for the judge come too close to the surface, knowing how the older man would react.

"I know they're the ones that deserve justice," there was a hint of sadness in the judge's voice, but that changed quickly when he turned back to the boxes, shouting at McCormick, "Well, you just call your girlfriend again and go ahead with your plans!"

"No can do, Kemo Sabe," Mark said with a frown, "she was a little upset and said something about changing her phone number before she hung up on me. Besides, there are three days till the trial starts; you'll just be sitting around here brooding and you'll probably need somebody to yell at," he finished off with a smirk.

Rolling his eyes, the judge groused, "You're not going to let go of this are you?"

"Nope."

Hardcastle sighed. His safety was in danger. Also, he knew that if Mark was with him and there was an attempt on his life, the kid was in danger too. Mark would try to protect him at all costs. Aside from having backbone, Mark was loyal to a fault. The kid had proved that over and over again. And if McCormick even had an inkling about the man he intended to get a conviction on, there would be something akin to the national guard on the front lawn, not just a couple of cops. That's why he hadn't yet told him about the trial. McCormick wasn't even around when the thing with Tilton started, but Tilton wouldn't care. The judge would never say it, but he was scared. Not afraid of Tilton, but afraid of what Tilton could do. Looking at Mark, the judge could see mixed emotions on the young man's face. But the blue eyes were crystal clear and determined underneath that mop of curly hair. It had been a long time since he cared about anybody, and that's what probably scared him the most.

He abruptly started for the door. "Well, I found what I need and I'm going back in the house. Look, kiddo, Tilton is slimy but we've come up against his kind of slime before. He's gonna get what's coming to him as we're gonna give it to him." Walking out the door he said, "If you're gonna come along in the morning, you'd better get some sleep. We've got an early appointment with the D.A.," as he walked to the house.

Mark mumbled to himself, "Well that went better than I thought it would."

Right after he cancelled his date, he had called Frank Harper to get more of the details on Samuel Tilton. So the judge was wrong; he did have more than an inkling of what was going on. Harper was reluctant to give many details, but relented when Mark kept pressing. Frank told Mark that the other two murders Tilton was suspect in were both people who had been close to exposing him. He also told him details about Tilton's various other shady dealings that gave more insight into the man Hardcastle was up against. Harper was adamant in requiring that security stay with the judge so nothing happened to him, and Mark had agreed.

After a moment's hesitation, Frank had continued, "The agent's son, just a teenager, he was up in Milt's face right after the funeral. Accused him of getting his father killed. Milt just stood there and took it." Mark nodded to himself. He could understand that kind of anger—misplaced as it was—the feeling that the world was brutally unfair, the need to hit out at the nearest person. He knew the judge would've understood that as well, and that, one way or another, that kid would have justice yet.

McCormick hadn't liked what he was hearing and knew he'd be at the judge's side till it was over, whether he liked it or not. Knowing what he now knew, the judge's actions were pretty predictable. He's trying to protect me when he's the one that needs protection, he really is a donkey. He was also aware that the last thing Judge Milton C. Hardcastle wanted was to be seen as vulnerable. But underneath all that bravado, he knew the judge was uneasy.

Mark shrugged and sighed, "It's gonna be a long weekend."

00000

McCormick came through the kitchen door the next morning again pulling at his jacket as the judge was putting some breakfast together.

"Brrr, it's still cold out."

"Eat up and let's get going," groused the judge.

"What? No usual cheery 'Good Morning, McCormick'?" he asked, as he picked up a cup of coffee. Looking over the table he saw the usual morning paper and a large envelope. He assumed it was the file that Hardcastle had found the day before. Looking toward the chair, he noticed the Judge's handgun hanging next to his jacket. Well looks like he's ready, Mark thought to himself.

"Look, kid, I just want to get this whole thing over with."

The phone rang before Mark could say anything and Hardcastle picked it up.

"Yeah!" he shouted into the phone.

"What no 'good morning'?" said the detective on the other end.

"Not you, too, this morning, Frank," said Hardcastle, looking annoyed.

"Milt, the D.A. is expecting you at nine," said Frank, turning a deaf ear to the judge. "The men out front are probably already done changing shifts and the new guys will follow you and McCormick down there. I'll be waiting out front."

"Frank, I don't think that Tilton is going to try anything."

"Look, Milt, like I said yesterday, we want this guy, and if it means listening to you gripe for the next few days, that's what I'm going to do. We're going to keep you and Riley safe."

"Any news on the missing evidence?"

Mark perked up when he heard this question and moved around pretending to need something, trying to overhear more of that part of the conversation. Hardcastle noticed his move and, irritated, turned away with the phone.

"No, and I got good people I can trust on this, but nothing's breaking." Harper sounded frustrated.

"Well if you want…" the judge started.

"Milt! The only thing I want right now is you down at the D.A.'s office!" Frank's voice came thundering out of the phone. The last thing he wanted right now was Hardcastle barreling into that investigation.

McCormick had no trouble hearing that, and grinned broadly behind the judge's back.

"Okay, Okay! We're going already," Hardcastle yelled into the phone and hung up.

He turned to McCormick, but before he could say anything, Mark was halfway out the door with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth. Under his arm was the large envelope that had been sitting on the table.

Back in his office, Frank called the D.A. and let him know that both his key witnesses were on their way and that he would be out front to meet them.

The judge walked out the door a few minutes later, his mood matching the red of the racecar parked near the door. Mark was sitting inside, waiting.

"Come on, Judge, don't want to be late," McCormick said breezily.

Hardcastle got in, grumbling about the fact that he was more than capable of driving himself anywhere he wanted to go. He held up another envelope, exactly like the one Mark had grabbed. "If you want to be helpful, at least make sure you grab the right stuff!"

Mark looked at the two envelopes, baffled. "If you've got the copies, what's in here?" He opened it and pulled out a bunch of receipts. "Huh?"

"Those are from the car parts I bought yesterday, idiot! Do you think I'd just leave those files out in the open?"

"Oh, um…."

"Just shut up and drive, McCormick!" the Judge snapped as he got in the car.

Mark started the car and pulled away from the house. Neither of them had stopped to speak with the new officers who had come on duty. The squad was right behind them as they left the drive and turned onto the highway.

Over the hum of the engine, the silence in the car could have been cut with a knife. Mark pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was tired, but would never tell the Judge that he had stayed awake all night watching for anything out of the ordinary through his darkened windows.

"Look, Hardcase, it's only for a couple of days," McCormick said, as he tried to placate the judge. "You'll testify, Tilton will get what he deserves, and justice will prevail for everybody."

Hardcastle looked at him out of the corner of his eye; something was up.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, somebody's got to be able to get this guy. From what Frank said…" McCormick suddenly stopped, realizing what he was saying.

"What do you mean, 'from what Frank said'?" The Judge turned his full attention to McCormick.

"Uh oh…" mumbled McCormick. He paused, thinking if he were five hundred miles away from Hardcastle right now, he might live through this conversation, but decided to just get it over with. "Look, I called him last night. You obviously weren't going to tell me anything and I wanted to know what we were up against."

"Oh, really." There was an ominous tone to Hardcastle's voice.

"Now wait a minute!" said Mark "I called Frank. So what? You're gonna get mad at me and sentence me to more yard work? Don't think you can do that, Hardcase; there's not much more I can do and still sleep three hours a night so I can get up and do it all over again."

McCormick looked over at Hardcastle and saw him staring straight ahead, his lips drawn tight.

"You could have told me what an absolute slime ball Tilton really is," he decided to continue, figuring he was driving the car and probably was safe from the judge doing him any physical harm. "No wonder Frank is so worried about his two star witnesses." The silence continued. "Jeez, Judge, I know how important it is to you to get this guy, but your not telling me anything isn't going to help do that. That IRS agent and his kid deserve justice—and yeah, Frank told me about the funeral, too." He flipped his eyes back to Hardcastle.

"Watch the road, McCormick"

Never one to keep what was on his mind to himself, Mark kept on. "I thought what we did was a team effort." He rolled his eyes and continued, "Great, now I'm starting to sound like some whacked out basketball coach." Glancing at Hardcastle he asked, "Why all the secrecy?"

Hardcastle was still grim but sighed. "I just didn't want you to get too involved in this one, kiddo. Tilton's bad news."

"I'm touched; I didn't know you cared," Mark said with a grin.

"Yeah, well, even mediocre help is hard to come by and I don't want to have to start over." Hardcastle relaxed a little and was looking out the side window.

Shaking his head at the expected comeback, Mark said, "If I've learned anything over the past months it's that to get garbage like Tilton, sometimes it IS a group effort. Never thought you'd hear me say that hey, Hardcase? Well I am and I mean it. The most important thing for you to do is testify and get it right so this one's done. Let somebody else watch your back. It's not going to hurt you to do that. It's your word and Riley's against this creep right now. You've got to be there to say it."

The rest of the ride down to the D.A.'s office was subdued. Mark was keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings and keeping the squad car in the rear view mirror. Glancing at the judge occasionally, trying not to let him notice, he was amused to see Hardcastle doing the same.

Outside he was calm, but inside Hardcastle was still fuming. He was angry at the whole situation. Tilton was going to go to jail. He would see to that. But he didn't like being a target of a person he considered to be just a two-bit hood.

They finally pulled around the corner onto the street where the office was. Mark was none to happy to see that there was no parking anywhere. He slowed down, double-checked, and saw nothing.

"Look, Judge, there's Frank. Who's the guy next to him, Riley?" nodding at the guy standing there next to Harper. He was noticeably nervous.

"Yeah, that's him; he doesn't look too good."

Two uniformed officers rounded out the group on the sidewalk.

"I'll drop you off. You wait for me okay?"

Mumbling the judge said, "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Mark pulled the car over as close as he could. The judge climbed out and Mark said, "Hey, there's a spot opening up over there, be right back." He turned the car from the curb, executed the u-turn and slid into the open spot. Glancing down as he removed the keys, he saw one of the envelopes on the seat. Thinking quickly, he wondered if the judge had the right one. Not pausing to check the contents, he grabbed it, climbing out of the car heading across the wide street. He didn't want Hardcastle out in the open without him any longer than he already had been.

Seeing McCormick coming, Hardcastle turned, motioning for the others to follow. They had just started to walk toward the front entrance when they heard the squeal of tires. Spinning around simultaneously, they saw the squad that had been following them barreling down on Mark.

"Look out, kid!" screamed the judge, his heart in his throat. Everything was happening with lightening speed. Mark froze for a moment, then, leapt to one side, falling against the Coyote.

The squad car screeched to a halt within inches of McCormick and both doors on the driver's side flew open. A large man dressed in a police uniform, wearing a black mask jumped out of the car, grabbing Mark. He slugged him and roughly threw his body into the back seat. He seemed to ricochet back into the front seat and the tires smoked again sending the car forward. Nobody had any time to react. At the same time the rear window came down, showing the business end of a machine gun that started firing at anything and everything in the vicinity.

"GET DOWN! EVERYBODY!" Frank Harper threw himself at Hardcastle, knocking him down into cover behind his own car.

Car windows were exploding from the impact of bullets. They imbedded themselves in metal, tires and concrete. The bullets kept coming even as the car sped around the corner, finally stopping when it was out of sight.

The judge pushed himself off the ground just in time to see the taillights vanish. He was having trouble getting air as he realized just what had happened. "McCormick!..."

Harper made a move for his car, stopping when he saw the tires. It wasn't going anywhere. He reached in and grabbed the radio and began issuing orders.

The other officers had run for their squad, weapons drawn but immediately recognized the same problem. Even the Coyote parked across the street was riddled with holes the tires still hissing air.