Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim all the usual stuff.

Many thanks to The Betas Three, not just for editing this time, but for comfort and support.

WINDS OF MORTALITY

by

Owlcroft

They had nothing to say to each other. Judge Hardcastle stood listening in the hallway for any sounds coming from the den, but all he could hear was a faint rustling. McCormick was hidden behind the newspaper and Sonny was idly paging through a magazine. Hardcastle sighed, then straightened and pasted a smile on his face. Slapping his hands together, he marched into the den and looked around.

"So," he beamed, "almost ready for dinner?"

McCormick threw the paper aside. "Yeah. You need some help?"

"Actually, I need some hamburger."

"What?" Mark was incredulous. "We've got two pounds of hamburger in the fridge."

The judge shrugged. "I didn't think the green spots would taste so good."

"Oh, ma-an." McCormick crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't believe this. What about steaks or chicken? Or we got some pork chops in the freezer," he said hopefully.

"No chicken, no steaks and the grill's already fired up, so the pork chops would take too long to defrost." Hardcastle spread his hands apart. "Look, it'll take you, what, maybe fifteen minutes? And pick up another six-pack of beer."

Mark grumbled all the way to the front door. The judge and Sonny waited until they heard the muttering purr of the Coyote fade down the driveway, then as Hardcastle turned to face him, Sonny spoke first.

"That was pretty obvious, Milt. Even I caught on." He threw the magazine aside. "So, you wanted to talk?"

"Well, yeah." Hardcastle leaned a hip on the edge of his desk and folded his brawny arms. "I did."

"It's about Mark, right? Well, fire away." Sonny leaned back on the couch and stared at the judge.

"Okay, look. I'm happy to put you up for a few days, and it's ah, great to ah, have you here and all . . ." Hardcastle stopped, sighed, then shook his head. "Sonny, what's up with you two? I'm coming up with all these reasons for leaving the two of you alone and you just ignore each other. Why are you here? Is it just the free room and board or did you want to be here because of your son?"

Sonny Daye sighed himself and levered up off the couch. "Yeah, I guess you gotta right to ask." He wandered over to the iron railing around the steps and leaned against it. "At least, I'm not trying to bribe the kid with a bar this time, right?" He smiled tentatively at the judge.

"So . . ." Hardcastle spread his hands interrogatively.

"Okay. A guy I know died. Young guy, younger than me." Sonny shook his head. "Wife, kids, friends. Had a heart attack or stroke or something and that was it. So, it got me thinking." He rubbed the side of his neck and looked at the judge. "It could've been me. And suppose it had been."

The judge shrugged and said, "So, you figure it's time to get to know your son before it's too late?"

"Yeah, kinda. Something like that." Sonny stood up straight for a moment, then went back to the couch and sat heavily. "And then there's the new gig I told you I got."

"That's right. You never said exactly where it is."

"It's right here in L.A. At least, once in a while." The familiar Sonny Daye grin appeared briefly. "Every couple of weeks." He shook his head. "I got lucky with this one, Milt. It's a cruise ship. Runs up the coast to Alaska and back every two weeks, and I've got two shows every night in the "Starlight Lounge". It's a four-month gig, then, if they like my stuff, I transfer to the East Coast for the Caribbean season. Sweet, huh?"

"Yeah, if you don't get sea-sick." Hardcastle sat thinking for a few seconds. "So, you'll be here in L.A. every two weeks and you're thinking that'll give you a chance to catch up with Mark."

"You got it. Maybe it won't work out, I dunno. But I'm gonna give it a shot." Sonny leaned back and rested his head on the back of the couch. "That is, if he'll let me. What do you think? I got a chance or not?"

The judge tilted his head and thought. "Maybe. He's a pretty forgiving guy. But I'd go slow if I was you. And you gotta realize he's gonna be busy now. See, there's this legal clinic just opened--"

"Yeah, I know." Sonny sat up straight again and rubbed his forehead. "I was here for the audition and saw an article in the Times about it. Picture of Mark and you in front of some building with your name on it."

"Not my name. He named it after my wife; it's the Nancy Hardcastle Memorial Legal Clinic and Mark's the Managing Director. He actually put the whole idea together and set it all up himself," said the judge proudly, exaggerating a little.

"And I had to find out my kid's a lawyer now by seeing it in the paper. Ain't that swell." Sonny's tone was dispirited.

"Well, we all make decisions. Some of them are the right ones, and some of them jump up and bite us in the elbow." Judge Hardcastle was surprised to find himself starting to feel sorry for McCormick's father. "Do you want me to talk to Mark for you?"

"Nah. Thanks, though." Sonny took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "He's my kid. I have to figure this out myself, I think."

"Okay." Hardcastle started up the steps to the hallway. "I gotta get the potatoes in the oven. You want a beer or something?"

"Hey, if you've got another bottle of that red wine around going to waste, I'd take a glass off your hands." Sonny's irrepressible good spirits were making a fast comeback.

"Sure. I might even have a glass or two myself." The judge headed for the kitchen, tossing over his shoulder, "Be just a couple of minutes."

Hardcastle stopped abruptly at the door to the kitchen.

McCormick, leaning against the counter, held up a two-pound package of ground beef. "Looks okay to me." He dropped the package onto the counter and continued, "'Course being thrown in the trash didn't help it any."

"Whad'ya do, drive to the mailbox and leave the car there?" The judge picked up the hamburger and started removing the plastic wrap.

"Yup."

"Well, even Sonny thought I was pretty obvious. Okay, I just thought I could maybe help a little. None of my business, I guess."

"It is your business, Judge, because Sonny's staying in your house and he's making you uncomfortable." Mark took the plastic from Hardcastle and put it in the trash under the sink.

"Yeah, well," the judge opened a lower cabinet door and took out a wine bottle, "he's not making me that uncomfortable, and he is your dad. The two of you might have more in common than you think, ya know."

"Here." McCormick handed him the corkscrew. "Judge, what we have in common is a blood type, that's it."

"I don't know, you got his dimples, his hair, his charm. And underneath all that show biz glamour, there might be a sense of humor. I know about your history with him, but if the guy wasn't related to you, what is there about him you wouldn't like?"

Hardcastle had the bottle open and was taking glasses out of the upper cabinet. "You want some, too?"

McCormick shook his head, then answered, "Besides the fact that Sonny is irresponsible, unprincipled, abandoned my mother to a life of poverty, has ties to the mob, is a coward and a liar and lazy--"

"See, aside from that, what's not to like?"

Mark laughed briefly, then picked up the package of hamburger. "Look, I'll get these started. I already put the potatoes in the oven. You go bring Mr. Wonderful out to the patio." He started for the back door. "We're never going to the Father and Son Picnic together, but maybe I can think of him as another one of your rehabilitation projects."

ooooo

Sonny asked Mark for specifics about the clinic during dinner, and Mark obliged. Then, Mark asked Sonny for specifics about the new gig and Sonny expounded. The judge then asked both men for kitchen duty volunteers and there was a conspicuous silence.

"Hey, Milt, come on! I'm a guest here!" was Sonny's excuse. Mark shot him a derisive look and rose to collect dishes and cutlery. "And besides," Sonny snagged him by the arm, "I was just gonna ask Mark to show me the beach. I've never been down there, you know, and a nice little walk after dinner helps the digestion, right?"

"Okay, but I'm not getting breakfast tomorrow for either of you bums," said Hardcastle with what McCormick could identify as pseudo-huffiness. "Go on, take your walk." He cast a hopeful glance after them as they left.

"So, Sonny," Mark led him to the gate at the top of the beach steps, "You good with eggs or would you rather do pancakes?"

"Hey, French toast! That's my specialty!" Sonny preceded his son through the gate and started down the steep steps leading to the beach.

Mark followed, asking curiously, "You really ever fix French toast? Or is that just a throwaway line?"

"Are you kidding? I fixed French toast for your mother every Sunday." Sonny suddenly realized they'd gotten onto a treacherous subject and stopped abruptly at the foot of the steps.

McCormick stopped right behind him, silent for a moment, then said calmly "Oh, yeah? I don't remember that."

Then he stepped around Sonny and headed down the beach. "Come on, there's some rocks here you can climb up on and get a great view down to the pier."

Sonny bit his lip gently, then followed his son down the beach.

"Mark, look, I wanted to talk you about something." He caught up at the rocks and then stepped back a few feet to avoid the spray from the breaking waves.

Mark walked back to him and motioned to the higher ground behind the rocks. "How about up there?" He didn't wait for an answer, but clambered up over the kelp and rocks to a perch just above Sonny's head.

Sighing, Sonny climbed after him. Gingerly settling himself beside McCormick, he breathed deeply and then said, "I wanted to tell you something. It's not anything you really need to hear, and it's probably not a big deal to you, but it's something I need to say, okay?"

McCormick didn't look at him, just stared out at the ocean.

"So," his father cleared his throat and took another deep breath, "I just wanted to tell you I'm proud of you."

When there was still no reaction, he continued, "I mean, you being a lawyer now, and starting that clinic . . . that's really something. And I know I had nothing to do with how you turned out, so I probably don't really have any right to be proud of you or anything . . . but I am. You've done real well for yourself and . . . you know, when I rehearsed this speech it didn't come out anything like this."

Mark turned to look at him and said, "It's okay. Don't worry about it. You can be proud of me if you want. But all we're ever gonna be is just a couple of people who happen to know each other."

"I know, I know. And I'm not blaming you for that. But," Sonny reached out a hand toward Mark's shoulder, then drew it back, "maybe we could get to know each other a little better? Maybe when I'm in town, we could get together for dinner or see the sights or something? I mean, come on, maybe I'm not such a bad guy after all. We could have some fun together, and hey! You could bring the judge along, he's a great guy, and we could really get to know each other. I mean, better than we do now anyway. What do you say?"

McCormick stared silently out at the darkening sky for a few moments, then smiled gently and said, "Sure. We can spend some time together when you're in town. If I'm not busy at the clinic or on one of the judge's cases. Come on, it's getting too dark to see and those stairs are tricky at night."

The two men started back toward the steps, walking side by side.

"Did you really fix French toast for Mom?" asked Mark quietly.

"I really did," answered Sonny. "It was her favorite."

"Then you get to cook breakfast tomorrow." McCormick slanted a look at his father. "I'll do the bacon."

ooooo

When Sonny had gone up to the guest room for the night, McCormick drew the judge into the kitchen, ostensibly to check the number of eggs in the refrigerator. Leaning against the door of the fridge, he looked at Hardcastle with barely discernable amusement in his eyes.

"You knew I'd give in, didn't you? You knew I'd feel sorry for him, just like you do."

"Well," the judge rubbed at his nose, "Yeah, I guess I do kinda feel sorry for him. He's all alone, see? He's starting to feel the cold wind of mortality down the back of his neck."

McCormick snorted. "What? Are we talking about the old footprints in the sand thing again?"

"Yeah. I don't think it ever occurred to Sonny before that he doesn't have anybody who gives a damn whether he lives or dies."

"And you think I should?" Mark pushed himself away from the fridge. "I suppose it's like that old line about home being where they have to take you in. That's what family really is . . . somebody who has to care, whether they want to or not."

Hardcastle shook his head. "That's a sad definition, kiddo. A better one would be people who care because they have to, period."

"And I guess you think I have to."

"Yeah, and so do I," answered the judge. "Because you're his son."

"All right," McCormick sighed. "Sonny gets one more chance to make French toast and footprints." He smiled at Judge Hardcastle's quizzical look and added, "After all, I got a chance I wasn't expecting."

Finis