Chapter 4
"You look like hell, kid." Harper's observation from earlier this afternoon echoed in McCormick's head. He had uttered some comeback that was undoubtedly snappier in his mind than in reality, but the truth was, he wanted out of this cell. He was facing his fifth night in the small room, and his patience was wearing thin.
Since Sarah's visit two days ago, McCormick's days had gone back to the routine of seemingly endless solitude, only broken three times a day by Lieutenant Harper. He wondered if the man didn't ever take a day off. On the other hand, if he did, who would stop by and see him then? No other officers had even poked their head in the door all week, and McCormick had the very definite idea that he was well insulated in this small room.
He thought again of the lieutenant's comment, and wondered how much longer he would be here. He remembered well the weeks it had taken him to learn to sleep in Quentin, though he wouldn't say he really rested the entire time he was inside. He desperately hoped these last few days were not the first of many more to come.
As he considered his situation, he also remembered the promise he had made to himself the day he was paroled: he wasn't going back inside. Ever. Of course, he had hoped to get back to racing full time, and that would have given his life some direction and kept him out of trouble.
But even if that didn't work out, he had sworn he would sweep floors or flip burgers for the rest of his life before he would even come close to crossing the line again. He wondered sometimes if Barbara Johnson fully understood the sacrifice she had asked him to make, but that wasn't fair, and he knew it. All he would've had to do was explain it, and she would never have asked again. But how was he supposed to say no to something like that? They both needed some kind of closure with Martin Cody.
Besides, he wasn't supposed to get caught. Damn fool cop, anyway, trying to out-drive a racecar. Trying to out-drive him. They should've just let him go; it was only a car, after all. But there they were, God knew how many of them, trying to be heroes. Unbelievable. But being stupid was no reason to die, so he had stopped to free the officer from the burning car. It was supposed to be a good thing, but it had landed him back in jail. And back in Hardcastle's court. And, ultimately, right here in this infernal cell. How such unrelated events could come together to create a rather haphazard whole was a mystery. Life was funny that way sometimes.
He mulled over that thought for a minute, and was hit with an idea. There was a connection to Cody. He didn't know what prompted the idea, and he certainly didn't know what the connection was, but he was suddenly certain the connection was there. Somewhere. Somehow. He just had to find it.
He glanced at the clock—and a smile formed as it always did—and stretched out on the cot. It would be at least another hour before Harper was here with dinner; he hoped he could either think of something useful or rest for just a bit. At this point, either choice would be welcome, because he was certain that he felt worse than he looked.
00000
McCormick looked up blearily as the door opened. He hadn't come up with any brainstorms, and he hadn't really rested, but he had dozed off for a few minutes, and it was taking his mind a moment to clear. He sat up slowly to greet Harper.
"Hey, Lieutenant."
"I didn't mean to wake you," Harper apologized. "You need the rest."
"Agreed. But I'm not getting much more rest asleep than I am awake, so don't worry about it." McCormick flashed a grin. "Besides, I'd never want to sleep through meal time."
The lieutenant held up a large pizza box and a six-pack of soda. "I thought you might be ready for a break from the cafeteria menu." He placed the meal in the middle of the table and placed himself in one of the chairs. "And I thought you might be ready for some company. Mind if I join you?"
McCormick approached the table warily. "I never say no to the man who's buying," he said, trying—not entirely successfully—for a light tone, "and I never turn down a chance for company when I'm in jail."
"But?"
"But…what are you after, Lieutenant?" He leaned on the back of the chair and gazed at Harper intently.
Harper laughed. "I'm not 'after' anything, McCormick. Just sit down and eat."
But McCormick didn't move. "This wouldn't be your version of a last meal, would it?"
The lieutenant shook his head. "Why are you so suspicious?"
"Why?" McCormick was amazed. "Maybe we haven't met, Lieutenant. Mark McCormick, ex-con. Two to five courtesy of a good friend of yours." He gestured around the room. "Currently under lock and key for something I didn't do, courtesy of that same friend. You tell me why I shouldn't be suspicious."
Harper held his prisoner's gaze. "Because if you had been one hundred percent innocent, you never would've ended up in San Quentin. Because whether it was two years ago, last month, or this week, my friend has cut you more breaks than you probably deserve. And… because I brought pizza. You can be suspicious if you want, but let's eat." Not bothering to wait for a reply, he grabbed a slice from the box.
McCormick had the grace to look abashed as he seated himself at the table. "I don't mean to take my frustration out on you, Lieutenant," he said apologetically. "But I hope I don't have to agree with you in order to eat your pizza." With a slight grin, he reached for a slice of his own.
"No," Harper answered with a laugh, "you don't have to agree." He cast an appraising eye on the man across the table. "You still look like hell, by the way."
"Maybe real food will help," McCormick replied, his mouth full of pizza.
"Maybe. Personally, I think it's rest you need. What's with the not sleeping, anyway?"
McCormick shrugged. "I don't like it here," he said simply. "Makes me uptight, and it's hard to sleep through uptight."
"You're telling me you didn't sleep the entire time you were in Quentin?"
"Eventually I slept," McCormick answered, still wondering what was going on with the detective. "Just not well. I managed then; I'll manage now. Unless you'd like to convince Hardcastle to let me the hell out of here?"
The lieutenant made a face. "You been having any luck convincing him of stuff so far?"
"Not so much," McCormick admitted with a small smile.
"Yeah, well I wouldn't expect that to change much, either. He can be rather—"
"Stubborn?" McCormick interrupted. "Hardheaded? Mulish? Inflexible? Pig-headed?"
Harper laughed at the litany in spite of himself. "I was only going to say adamant," he told McCormick. "Or maybe, firm but fair."
"Adamant, I'll buy. I'll even settle for firm. But I'm not budging on fair."
"You know," Harper remarked, "you're gonna have to let go of that 'wrongly convicted' melodrama one of these days."
McCormick's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the comment. What, exactly, did this man know about him? And what was he trying to find out? Aloud, however, his only comment was, "I thought I didn't have to agree?"
"True enough. But it's going to be hard for you to be with him if you don't lose the attitude."
"You mean hard for him," McCormick corrected. "It's not bothering me at all."
The lieutenant shot him a perverse grin. "Which one of you do you think goes away when the situation gets too difficult?"
McCormick popped open one of the cans and considered the question. "Is that your way of telling me it's gotten too difficult already? Should I be packing my bags for an extended stay somewhere?"
"Not that I know of," Harper replied. He paused. "At least, not yet."
They ate in silence for a while, and McCormick discovered that he really did appreciate the company, even if he was still convinced Harper was up to something.
Finally, he spoke. "Do you know about Martin Cody, Lieutenant?" Might as well give the man something to take back to Hardcastle.
"The car guy from the Vegas deal?"
"Yeah. Anyway, whatever's going on right now, I think he's connected."
Harper looked at him speculatively. "You think Cody's setting you up?"
McCormick shook his head. "Not exactly. Although, come to think of it, why wouldn't he? I'm sure he's not happy with me, and he certainly knows about my connection with Hardcastle. But what I actually meant is that I think it's connected to that whole case somehow. I don't know why; it's just a feeling I had earlier. Can you ask the judge to find out if there's any connection to Cody at either one of the jobs?"
"I'll pass it along," Harper promised.
The men resumed their meal, and again, McCormick broke the silence. "Got a question for you, Lieutenant." He waited for the lieutenant's attention, then went on. "Tell me the truth. After we're done here, are you taking me over to central booking?"
"You seem awfully fixated on that idea, McCormick. Have a guilty conscience, do you?"
McCormick smiled slightly. "No, Lieutenant Harper, I do not have a guilty conscience. What I have is a very personal understanding of Hardcastle's sense of right and wrong. I think the man might literally be incapable of looking the other way when he thinks a law has been broken. Call it my melodrama, if you want, but that's precisely the character flaw that landed me in prison for two years, and it's not all that hard to believe it will land me there again."
"So, let me get this straight. His sense of right and wrong is a character flaw?"
"And you can tell him I said so," McCormick answered firmly. "But you're avoiding my question."
Harper glanced at him quizzically; he had almost forgotten. "Oh, yeah…central booking. You are definitely too damn suspicious for your own good. Okay. Let me be clear: I am not booking you tonight. I am not processing you in any way into the system officially. Nothing has changed. You will be staying right here until Milt is satisfied, one way or the other. And for the record, if he does decide to put you back inside permanently, you can bet he'll be down here to do it himself."
McCormick picked at his pepperoni and contemplated the answer. "You're probably right about that last thing," he decided finally.
"You're supposed to be relieved," the officer told him.
Keeping his attention focused on the pizza, McCormick answered quietly. "I don't know how to be relieved when I still don't know what the hell is going to happen." He glanced up at the lieutenant. "I really need to get out of here."
Harper examined the young man closely. What had happened to the light-hearted banter? He had intended to give the kid a little diversion, not make the situation worse.
"You know," he said lightly, "you shouldn't say things like that to a cop. Believe it or not, we can be suspicious, too."
McCormick laughed, somehow guessing that had been Harper's intention. "You don't have to tell me that, Lieutenant. I saw your face the other day, remember? I was thinking you might've shot me if Sarah hadn't been here."
Harper waved his hand in the air, brushing off the idea. "Nah, too much paperwork. I woulda just clobbered you."
McCormick cackled at the thought. "Yeah, regular he-man stuff. I can see why you and the judge are friends, Lieutenant."
The lieutenant grinned at him. "This is a pretty unofficial situation, you know, McCormick, so you can drop the title. The name's Frank."
The slice of pizza in McCormick's hand froze halfway to his mouth as he gaped at Harper. What was this man up to? But he couldn't find even a trace of duplicity in the detective's features, so he decided to play along.
"Okay, Frank," he replied as he finished his bite, "and you can call me Mark. We'll be buddies just like you and old Hardcase."
Harper chuckled at the tone that somehow managed to be conspiratorial and patronizing all at once. "Yeah," he agreed, "that's what we'll be, all right. You and me, we'll be like Tonto and…" he thought for a long moment, "...Sancho Panza," he finally finished.
McCormick slapped the table in sudden glee. "Right. Sidekicks 'R' Us. First we'll write a book: How to Find Your Very Own Super-Hero Wannabe. Then we'll do the lecture circuit. 'You, Too, Can Help Save the World'. We'll be the talk of the town, out promoting Truth, Justice and the Hardcastle Way."
Despite his best intentions, Harper burst out laughing. Damn, but the kid could paint a picture. And it seemed he was well on his way to really understanding the Hardcastle mentality, which was one of a kind, he had to admit. But still, probably wouldn't do to let the kid think he'd won him over.
Still grinning, the lieutenant said, "I'm guessing your mouth was running like that last weekend, shortly before you ended up here."
McCormick thought immediately of the angry outburst that had probably caused—or at least accelerated—all of this, and his own grin faded slightly.
"Not exactly like that," he answered slowly, "but I think it's safe to assume my mouth was involved." He shrugged then, and put on his best long-suffering expression. "But what I can I say? The man says he's all about honesty. I'm just trying to be a good stooge, do as he asks. Not my fault the old donkey can't handle the truth."
The detective could tell there was some true bitterness behind the wisecrack, but the ex-con really did seem to be trying to fight it. And at least for the moment, McCormick seemed content to let his humor carry him through the situation.
Harper thought that might not be such a bad approach, especially when it came to keeping up with Milton C. Hardcastle.
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"Milt, you have got to quit harassing my men," Harper was saying into the phone.
"I'm not harassing them," Hardcastle huffed. "I'm just checking in with them."
"Two or three times a day? That seems excessive. I told you we'd let you know if there were any developments. Trust me, I know how important it is to you."
The judge relented…somewhat. "Okay. I'll try to keep my calls to one a day. But, honestly, Frank, I don't know how there can be so little to go on. I've talked to everyone I know at least twice. I've talked to everyone Wilde knows. And I've had that poor kid out at all hours of the day and night just trying to attract attention. I swear, I've thought about having him actually break in someplace just to see if we get a reaction from anyone."
Harper chuckled lightly. "Wouldn't it make more sense to just take the kid home and quit worrying about it?"
Hardcastle was startled by the question. "What?"
"It's just that the longer he's been here, the more convinced you seem that you're definitely looking for someone else. If you know he didn't do it, why don't you get him out of here?"
"What are you talking about, Frank? I don't know anything for sure. That's why I left him there, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember," Harper replied. "Forget I brought it up."
Hardcastle heard the masked disappointment in the lieutenant's voice. "Frank? What's going on?"
"I don't know what you mean," Harper countered.
"I mean," Hardcastle said distinctly, "what is going on? Why do you want me to bring McCormick home?"
"I didn't say that's what I wanted," the detective argued. "I said, since you clearly don't believe he's guilty, it doesn't make sense to leave him here."
Suddenly concerned, the judge wanted answers. "Has something happened, Frank? Is McCormick all right?"
Harper sighed. "Nothing has happened, Milt, but I don't know if he's exactly all right. I told you he's getting antsy, and he sure as hell isn't sleeping much. You know, it's Sunday, one week since you dropped him off here. That's a long time to go without any sleep to speak of. He's trying to keep a stiff upper lip about the whole thing, but he's becoming more and more convinced he's down for the count. If you're going to take him back home, you should just do it. And if you plan on sending him back to Quentin, you should do it sooner rather than later, because it's the not knowing that's killing him. He wants an answer."
"He wants an answer?" Hardcastle repeated slowly. He considered the comment, and realization struck. "You've been spending time with him!" he accused Harper.
"Of course I've been spending time with him, Milt. You told me not to let anyone else in there with him."
"Uh-uh, that's not good enough. I'm not talking about just dropping in to bring him food a few times a day. You've actually been hanging out with him, haven't you?"
Harper laughed, feeling slightly guilty. "I wouldn't exactly say hanging out, Milt, but we had dinner a few nights ago. Remember, I told you about his whole idea about Cody?"
"You didn't tell me you got all buddy-buddy with him to come up with that crazy theory."
"Why, Milton Hardcastle," Harper teased, "I do believe you're jealous!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Hardcastle snapped. "It's just that I should've warned you, is all."
"Warned me about what?"
"About McCormick. It's kinda weird the way he seems to get to people."
"People like you, you mean?"
"I actually meant people like you, Frank, and Sarah. And you know, his young friend, Miss Johnson, practically worships him. It's just a little unusual."
"Yeah," Harper agreed, "and this cranky old judge I know seems to have developed a surprising soft spot of his own."
"Hah! Don't go jumping to any conclusions, Harper. At least I can see through his charmer act."
"Whatever you say, Milton, whatever you say." Harper was still grinning when he heard the line click closed in his ear.
00000
Judge Hardcastle bolted straight up in bed with the very first ring of the phone. Taking a deep breath, he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the receiver.
"Hardcastle."
"Your prison rat is away from home again, Judge," the voice told him. "You really should keep a closer watch on him."
"What are you—" But just as each time before, the mysterious caller was gone without further comment.
Hardcastle replaced the phone on the hook and sat silently in the dark. That was the call he'd been waiting a week to receive, and yet he found himself wishing it had been the other kind—the kind with a crime to talk about. He realized that he would've found that somehow more definitive. Still, the caller clearly was trying to report McCormick for being away from the estate, and since it was Wilde currently cruising around in the Coyote, the caller just as clearly didn't have accurate information, which meant it was time for the kid to come home. First thing tomorrow morning, he'd drive down to the station and pick him up.
He laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. Unfortunately, rather than immediately drifting back to sleep, he found himself thinking about his earlier conversation with Frank Harper. The detective had been telling him for the past few days that McCormick was starting to look a little worse for wear, though the judge had dismissed his concerns. Today, though, Harper had truly sounded worried. At the time, Hardcastle had chalked it up to McCormick's inexplicable charm, though, in truth, Harper wasn't really that easy to fool.
Hardcastle glanced over at the clock, and then forced himself to stay in bed. It was well after midnight already, and there was just no sense driving all the way to town at this time of night. The kid was probably already asleep, anyway.
But what if he wasn't?
The first time Harper had relayed his concern about McCormick's look of exhaustion, Hardcastle had laughed him off, saying the kid could sleep anywhere. But in the subsequent days, as Harper repeated his report, the judge had been forced to reconsider his position on the topic. Maybe it would make more sense to bring him home tonight so he wouldn't sleep the entire day away tomorrow. At least that way, he could start catching up on some of his chores right away.
Yeah, he decided, as he swung himself out of bed. It's not that he was worried. And certainly not that he felt guilty for putting the kid through it. It's just that Wilde hadn't been all that thrilled about doing any of the yard work this past week, and things were starting to pile up. Better if he at least got some work out of McCormick tomorrow, and he wouldn't be able to do that unless he brought him home tonight. Yeah.
00000
"You've got to be kidding me," Hardcastle yelled at the nervous young officer standing before him.
"No, sir," the officer replied. "I'm sorry, sir. But Lieutenant Harper said absolutely no one was to be allowed to visit the prisoner."
"I'm not gonna visit him, I'm gonna take him out of here. I put him here, and I can sure as hell take him out again. Check his file; you'll see that he's in my custody."
"That may be, sir," the young man said with no attempt to check anything, "but I have to follow the lieutenant's orders."
"Oh, for pity's sake, then, let me use your phone." Without waiting for permission, Hardcastle grabbed the telephone and swung it around, punching furiously at the numbers.
It took a few rings, but finally the line was answered. "Frank," he growled, "it's me. What? Yes, I know what time it is. Listen. I'm down here at the station, and your officer…" he looked closely at the name badge on the young man's chest, "…Miller won't let me have McCormick. Says he's under strict orders not to let anyone in. You wanna take care of this for me?" The judge listened for a moment longer. "Yeah, I'll fill you in completely tomorrow."
He thrust the receiver over to the desk officer. "Lieutenant Harper would like to speak with you," he said, taking immense pleasure in the sudden fear that came into the man's face.
"This is Officer Miller," the man said into the phone, but that was the last thing he said for several minutes. Hardcastle watched the physical changes play over the officer: his eyes widened, his cheeks reddened and his shoulders slumped. Finally, Miller muttered, "Yes, sir," and hung up the phone.
The judge smiled at the young man sweetly, then followed as Miller led the way toward the holding cell. The officer unlocked the door, and then wisely disappeared back to his desk, leaving Hardcastle to conduct his business as he saw fit.
Hardcastle entered the darkened room slowly, and stood quietly for a moment, silhouetted in the doorway. He was going to feel pretty silly if he had to wake the kid up to take him home to sleep. The hesitant voice from the darkness quickly assured Hardcastle he needn't have worried.
"Judge?"
"McCormick. I thought you might be sleeping."
"You were hoping for the pleasure of waking me?" Hardcastle could hear the grin in the tone, and marveled that the smart-ass attitude also seemed to be wide-awake, even at this hour of the night.
"Not likely, kid. If you recall, I've already had that experience a time or two, and there is nothing pleasurable about it."
McCormick smiled in the darkness, ignoring the comment. "You planning on making a habit of these late night jail visits, Judge?"
"You planning on making a habit of being here?" Hardcastle snapped back, effectively silencing the younger man. He paused for a moment, then asked, "Mind if I turn on the lights?"
Assuming the answering grunt gave consent, the judge flipped the switch on the wall. He drew a sharp breath as he saw McCormick in the harsh fluorescence.
The young man was sitting on the cot, his back leaned against the wall. His legs were drawn up to his chest, hands clasped together in front, with his chin resting on his knees. His eyes squinted in the sudden brightness, but even when they began to relax, Hardcastle could see the face remained drawn and tense. The layers of dark circles under his eyes made clear that Harper had not been exaggerating his reports of sleeplessness, and even in the short week he'd been here, McCormick's skin had already lost some of its healthy glow.
Looking at him now, Hardcastle thought that McCormick seemed both years older and yet immensely child like. He didn't like the contradiction one bit.
Most disturbing, however, was the slightly haunted look that lived in the usually lively blue eyes. He could see the ex-con sizing him up, trying to evaluate the situation and withdrawing further into himself as he feared the meaning of the early morning visit.
"You're looking a little ragged around the edges there, kid," Hardcastle commented. "Maybe if you were sleeping at two in the morning instead of sitting here in the dark you'd be in better shape."
"Can't argue with you there," McCormick answered dully. He stared at the judge, trying to read the older man's face, but it wasn't clear if the guilt in the eyes was caused by the current situation or something yet to come.
"So," he began as casually as possible, "is the verdict in?"
"I had another phone call tonight, McCormick."
"And?" McCormick forced himself to remain calm until he heard the whole story; no sense getting his hopes up for nothing.
"Just telling me you weren't in the gatehouse. I had Wilde out running around again tonight."
McCormick wasn't sure what to think of the unreadable, straightforward tone of voice. It certainly wasn't giving anything away, and that was a little worrisome. On the other hand, at least Hardcastle was here. He didn't think the judge would've made the trip tonight if all he intended was to move his prisoner to a different cell.
"And is that…." He swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. "Is it enough?"
"Should it be?"
"Judge." McCormick's voice took on a slightly pleading tone. "I can't tell you how much I don't want to play games right now. Don't make me ask, please, just tell me what I want to know." He leaned his head back against the wall and locked his eyes onto the older pair across the room, then repeated his request. "Just tell me, Hardcastle. Whatever it is, I need to know."
Hardcastle felt a twinge in his heart that he couldn't quite explain. "I would've liked to have something more concrete, kid," he admitted thickly. He hurried on when he saw McCormick's eyes cloud over. "But beggars can't be choosers, McCormick, and I'll take what I can get. It's good enough for me. Let's go home."
McCormick didn't move from his cot. "I need you to be sure, Judge," he said quietly. "I really don't want to come back here again. It would be much easier to never leave."
"Don't be stupid, McCormick," the judge growled. "I said it was good enough for me, now get up off your butt before I— -" He broke off his tirade and settled for a harsh glare at the young man.
McCormick managed a weak grin. "Before you change your mind, Judge?" he finished the thought. "My point exactly."
"McCormick…" Anger seethed from Hardcastle in the single word.
"Okay, Hardcase, okay," McCormick grumbled as he unfolded himself and rose from the bed. "I was just trying to be careful, but I'm sure as hell not going to argue the point."
He gratefully grabbed his own shirt and pants from the stack of clothing and took them to the small curtained bathroom area to change. He had to admit, for a cell, this one had some added features.
He returned a moment later, glad to be out of the standard issue denim. He seated himself on the cot again to put on his shoes. As he tied the Nikes, he cast a careful look over at the judge, wishing he could be more certain that Hardcastle was prepared to leave this situation behind.
"What're you staring at, McCormick?" Hardcastle yelled.
McCormick jumped guiltily, and finished with his shoes quickly. "Nothing, Judge," he mumbled. "Sorry." He stood and faced Hardcastle. "Okay, let's go home."
Hardcastle held open the door with an exaggerated flourish. "After you."
McCormick grinned, and started across the room. There was just no understanding this guy, he thought. He stopped suddenly and turned back into the room.
"What'sa matter, McCormick? Can't stand the thought of leaving? Think you're gonna be homesick?"
McCormick didn't reply, but threw a dark look back over his shoulder at the judge. He grabbed the travel clock and slipped it into his pocket before turning back toward the door.
"What're you taking?" Hardcastle asked suspiciously.
"What do you think I could steal from here, Hardcastle?" McCormick demanded, and pushed past him. He didn't wait for an answer, but started quickly down the hallway.
"McCormick, wait," Hardcastle called after him, and the tone made clear it wasn't an idle request. He was glad to see that the kid understood that, and he reached him in a few quick strides. "Is there a problem, kid? I thought you'd be glad to be getting out of here. I didn't have to come all the way out here in the middle of the night, ya know."
McCormick straightened his shoulders and turned slowly to face the judge. "No, Judge, there's no problem." How was he supposed to tell this man that he was immeasurably relieved at leaving the cell, but still horribly fearful that he would be back? He couldn't make that kind of admission without sounding weak. Or guilty. Or both. He certainly didn't need that at the moment, so…. "And I am very glad to be getting out of here."
He forced a lighter tone and continued, "Of course, I told you from the beginning I didn't need to be here, but you had to have your own proof, so don't blame me just because you had an attack of conscience and lost a few hours' sleep."
Hardcastle recognized the ploy, even if he didn't understand all of the reasoning behind it, and he thought it would be okay to let the young man get away with it. "Yeah, I know, hotshot," he replied with a grin. "I'm supposed to always listen to you, right?" He clapped him on the arm and started down the hallway again.
"Wouldn't kill you," McCormick answered as he followed. "And I'm pretty sure it would be a hell of a lot easier on me," he added under his breath.
Hardcastle chuckled as he led the way outside, thinking McCormick might just have a wisecrack for every situation.
They reached the pickup, and McCormick laughed out loud. "This really is déjà vu, Judge. You and me leaving the jail in the wee hours of the morning, heading home in this old piece of junk. You got a real sense of irony, don't ya, Hardcase? Got any new comics in there for me to read on the trip?"
Hardcastle glared at the laughing eyes over the hood of the truck. Knowing the kid had a comment for every situation and wanting to hear them were two very different things. "Don't you ever just keep your mouth shut, kid?"
"Not often," McCormick answered truthfully as he ducked into the passenger cab.
"Well, you might wanna start working on it," the judge ordered as he climbed behind the wheel. "The smart-guy routine is wearing a little thin."
McCormick glanced sideways at him as Hardcastle slammed the truck into gear and tore out of the parking lot. He figured he should feel guilty for needling the old guy so much, but it had been a long week, and that was absolutely Hardcastle's fault, so he'd be damned if he was going to apologize.
It only took ten minutes of silence for McCormick to give in. He threw his hands up in exasperation. "All right, Hardcase, you win. I'm sorry about the attitude, and I'll zip the lip, okay?" When he didn't receive an answer, he slumped further down in the seat. He tried a different approach.
"I appreciate you getting me out tonight, Judge." He chanced another look over at Hardcastle and saw that his features had softened. McCormick smiled to himself. Even if the judge wasn't talking yet, he knew he'd been forgiven, and that was enough for now. He crossed his arms over his chest, got as comfortable as possible in the corner of the bench seat, and went promptly to sleep.
Hearing the even breathing, Hardcastle glanced over at his passenger, and reflected that sleep took years off the features and gave the young man a slightly innocent look. He sniffed to himself. Hah! Things are not always what they seem, he thought.
Still, he was glad the kid went to sleep. Not only did McCormick need the rest, but Hardcastle recognized that his own patience had been dwindling, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Compared to many of their conversations, the kid's attitude tonight had been pretty mild.
Actually, the judge thought, he probably did understand the reaction. He had been prepared for McCormick to be angry, resentful, and full of wisecracks and I-told-you-so comments. He hadn't really expected that he would be accepting, almost grateful, and—for all intents and purposes—pretty much himself. Something about the kid's behavior spoke volumes about trust, and Hardcastle had not been prepared for that.
He shook the thoughts from his head and drove on through the night, trying not to spend too much time checking on the sleeping ex-convict curled up in his truck.