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A man in an old jeep drove frantically up a winding dirt road. The tropical ocean could be seen breaking onto the beach in the distance. He came to a skidding halt by a gated driveway entrance. Yelling at the guards behind the gate, he explained that he had a message and needed to be admitted immediately. One of the guards climbed into the jeep with him and they drove the rest of the distance to the house.
Stopping at the front steps, the man jumped from the jeep, and took the steps two at a time. He paused briefly and rapped the door knocker twice. As soon as the door opened, he explained in broken English that he had news for the Don from America.
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Mark had begun to complain about getting a shower and a change of clothes after the second day of his captivity, joking that they would soon release him, as they wouldn't be able to stand the smell.
Finally, they had allowed him to shower in full view of a guard. They brought him a change of clothes, jeans and a t-shirt. Mark had entertained the guard with comments about attempting an escape, by going down the shower drain. Mark could tell the guards were beginning to loosen up a bit around him. He didn't attempt to resist them in any way, and they began to expect his cooperation.
His days were beginning to mesh together the only way he was able to tell the passing of days was the meals that he was brought, breakfast showed him what time of the day it was. He was using the soda tab to mark the wall behind him, after each breakfast was delivered. The ever-present burning light bulb in the room and lack of windows, did not allow him to tell when it was night or daytime.
Overall, he was being treated fairly decent. His main concern was the fact that they had never hidden their identities from him, which made him think they were not concerned that he would or could identify them. Another problem was the increased soreness of his ankle from the cuff and chain, which at this point was beginning to cause an ugly wound.
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Hardcastle and Frank had come up with absolutely no leads as to McCormick's whereabouts in the past five days. They had put out feelers on the street, for any information. Frank had immediately issued an APB with McCormick's description after his disappearance. They had even reluctantly checked all the local hospitals.
The FBI had visited the police station, Special Agent Morris, of course was very interested in any developments in the case. Hardcastle was practically living in Frank's office, only going home for brief periods and returning almost as soon as he had left.
Frank was beginning to not only worry about Mark, but also the judge, as he could see that he was not getting much sleep, as the days wore on without even a tidbit of information. Many of Mark's street contacts had come forward to offer their services, telling the judge and Frank that they were trying to dig up any information, explaining that most of them owed Mark. But, alas, no information was forthcoming.
Hardcastle had enlisted the help of another friend, an attorney, to take over the pending jury selection for McCormick. He wanted the client to have good counsel in McCormick's absence, and the judge himself would not be distracted from the search.
"God, Frank, this feeling keeps getting worse by the day. McCormick would have called by now, if he could have," Hardcastle fussed. "Five days, where could he be? He couldn't have just vanished and we know it was against his will, he would have called me," the judge repeated, speaking more to himself than to Frank. He slumped down in a chair and ran his hands through his hair. He was beginning to look extremely tired and a little worse for the wear and tear.
"Milt, why don't you go home for a while and get some sleep; I'll call you if anything comes up," Frank suggested.
"I can't go home, I've got to figure out where he is, Frank," Milt retorted. "He's counting on me to bring him home." Hardcastle dropped his head to his chest, and covered his face in his hands.
"Milt, you're not doing anybody any good. You're exhausted. I'll call you as soon as I get any information. I'm worried about him, too, but I gotta tell you that he's gonna be pissed if he returns, and I've let you run yourself into the ground. Now please go home and get at least seven or eight hours of good sleep, then maybe we can start fresh and figure this out.
"You know as well as I do that when a case has you stumped like this one, you need to step back, get some sleep, and start at it fresh. I'm gonna go home myself. I haven't seen Claudia in a couple days. I'm gonna get a shower, get some sleep and then we . . . we, both will start fresh in the morning," Frank ordered.
"But . . ." Milt started as he rose to his feet.
"No buts," Frank crossed the room and gave Hardcastle's shoulder a squeeze and guided him out the door. "That's what we're going to do, now get. I have Officer Wilcox waiting to drive you home, and he's gonna be back at eight in the morning to pick you up and bring you back so we can start on this again. That's an order," Frank added forcefully.
Hardcastle looked Frank in the eye, then gruffly added, "Okay, but don't get too used to giving me this kind of treatment."
Frank grinned, knowing the jurist was giving in, without acknowledging that he knew Frank was correct in his assessment of the situation. Hardcastle had been around long enough to know that you had to back off and start fresh, maybe with a different angle, when a case had you stumped. The problem was that Milt was too emotionally involved with this particular case, to be able to step back and objectively assess that he was pushing himself too hard.
He had ordered Officer Wilcox to take the judge straight home and then make sure he stayed home. He would send a night shift car out to relieve him at eleven. Wilcox was to return at exactly eight a.m. to bring the judge back to the station. He also ordered the young officer to ignore any and all threats from the judge, to do anything other than those strict orders, knowing full well the judge's desperation.
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Mark was now getting a shower every other day with a change of clothes, jeans and a t-shirt. Mark continued to complain about the chain and cuff, which at this point had the ankle bleeding and rubbed raw. At the suggestion of changing the cuff to the other ankle by one of the goons, Mark agreed, telling them to 'get the other ankle bleeding and they soon wouldn't have to worry about him at all when he got gangrene and both legs would have to be amputated.' The guards were starting to feel a good deal of sympathy for him. He had learned the two goons had names, Tom and Harry, while the boss, the guy in the flannel shirts, was Vince. Vince seemed to be a very intelligent man who soon realized the cuff and chain had to go, and set about to gather bandage and first aid materials for the ankle.
Mark managed to clean the wound; get the bleeding stopped and bandaged the ankle. He smiled; he had convinced them to remove the cuff and chain. He would continue to bide his time trying to find a weakness, so he could plan his escape.
Mark had attempted on numerous occasions to ask why he was being held. Vince and the goons refused to answer, Vince just continued to tell him 'to be good and soon he would be out of here.' But Mark continued to ask, hoping that someone would slip and give him a tidbit of information that would help him to solve the puzzle.
Keep trying to figure it out, Mark, but don't irritate them, recognize when you got to leave off. At some point you're gonna catch them off guard and something is gonna slip out. You just got to be persistent and use your famous charm and finesse, but be careful not to push it too far, remember you're the perfect cooperative captive.
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Arriving home, the judge grumbled as his fished his keys from his pocket. That wet behind the ears Officer Wilcox had refused to take him anywhere but home, then he insisted on sitting in the driveway to assure the judge would stay at home, maintaining that he was there to protect him. The judge again looked back at the Coyote sitting in the driveway. He had retrieved it on Wednesday from the parking garage after the forensics team had dusted for prints, and checked for any signs of foul play. He shook his head and entered his dark house.
The light was on in the den, in his exhausted state the judge was wondering how he could have left it on, and he tried to remember if he had checked it, before he left the last time he was home. The days were all starting to run together on him. He again shook his head, as he entered the den; he quickly realized that he was not alone.
A voice stopped him from finishing the reach for his gun. "Easy, Judge Hardcastle, I'm just here to talk to you," supplied the voice, from in front of his desk.
Hardcastle felt a presence come up behind him, and a hand remove his gun from his holster. He studied the man who sat across from his desk, as he slowly made his way around to sit in his chair.
"Pat Martinelli, I presume," the judge countered.
"Very good, Judge Hardcastle," Pat commented. He extended his hand, as he rose from his chair, "I wanted to thank you for all you have done for Mark, he has turned into an extraordinary young man."
Hardcastle looked at the extended hand briefly, then accepted the firm handshake. "How long have you been back in the US?" Hardcase asked gruffly.
"Just flew in tonight. I heard about Mark's disappearance, so I figured I would come and see if I could help out."
"Why do I having a feeling that you know more about Mark being missing than you're letting on?" Hardcastle countered.
Martinelli smiled, "Now, what would give you that impression, Judge?"
"Because I highly doubt that you would return to the States unless . . . you had a pretty good idea of how to get to Mark, which means that you have been in contact with the kidnappers, or vice versa, either way, you know who has Mark or at least how to get Mark back, right?" Hardcastle questioned.
"You are very perceptive, Judge Hardcastle. I guess that is why it has been so good for Mark to be around you. By the way, I do want to thank you for all that you did for Mark. He was heading in the wrong direction and you seemed to have straightened him out. And now he is a promising attorney. I wish, I could have been able to get to know him better, but alas that was not possible," Martinelli reluctantly submitted.
"I really don't want your thanks or appreciation. What I did for Mark, I did for him. He's a good kid that never had the right breaks in life, and he got sucked into the wrong ways of doing things, he just had to realize that it was taking him nowhere fast," Hardcastle explained.
"And he learned from those mistakes, but some people never let you live down mistakes. . . He was lucky that you saw the good in him and now he's making his own breaks in life," Martinelli thoughtfully added.
"Well sometimes it only takes someone to show you, that you can be trusted, to prove that you can do it on your own."
"Judge, I'm only asking that you not inform the FBI that I am here, I am here to get Mark out of this mess, which I am currently in the process of arranging. Believe me, it's going to be a lot less of a problem for me to get him out, than if the law gets too involved, then it becomes a real good possibility that he could end up dead."
"I want to get something perfectly clear, Mr. Martinelli, my only concern here is McCormick," Hardcastle stated gruffly. "So, I take it that the reason he was kidnapped has something to do with you?" Hardcastle surmised.
"Judge Hardcastle, I would not be here, if it wasn't for my concern for Mark. He is in this mess because of me, and I fully intend to get him out of it. Just keep the law away for a little while longer, and let me work my magic. After all, this is my area of expertise that we are in now, please," Martinelli almost pleaded.
"Well, . . . I am obligated by being McCormick's law partner to not inform the FBI of your whereabouts, as you are his client. Therefore, attorney/client privilege actually keeps me from disclosing to the FBI anything concerning you," Hardcastle explained reluctantly.
"Good, now I will go and make some arrangements to retrieve Mark, as soon as I know something tangible, I will let you know."
"You do realize that a police officer is currently sitting in the driveway; let me get him to go get a pizza, to give you a chance to get out of here."
"We'll wait until you get him to leave; we don't want to cause a problem."
"Just make sure the Mark is not harmed during this power struggle, that I have a feeling brought all this into play. And make sure you call me with any and all updates about Mark," Hardcastle gruffly demanded.
"Oh, by the way, I understand that you use the same pool supply company as I used to. Does Andy still work there? He was a real nice guy," Martinelli added as he left the den and entered the hallway.
"Yeah, I believe he does," Hardcastle answered as he walked Martinelli and his body guard to the door. "Give me a couple of minutes to get Officer Wilcox on pizza retrieval duty."
I can't believe that now I'm trusting a mobster to get Mark back. How do I keep this from Frank? Frank would be obligated to inform the FBI and I don't want to stir any more of this up, until I can figure out that Martinelli can get Mark out without any problems.
Hang in there, kiddo, it sounds like he has a plan to get you out without further problems.
And what the hell was that about Andy the pool guy? That made absolutely no sense.
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Mark was still playing the cooperative captive, joking and bantering with his captives. He always made sure that he was away from the door when he heard them approaching. He would purposely remain still or made sure not to make any sudden movements, once they had opened the door. Slowly he could see that they were getting used to him cooperating.
One afternoon when Harry came to pick up his lunch tray, Mark asked, "Hey what the chance of getting some fresh air for a couple of minutes?"
Harry stopped looked at him, shrugged and left the room.
Okay Mark just keep playing nice captive and maybe, just maybe, you'll get somewhere here. You gotta make some progress by yourself; you can't always count on Hardcase bailing your butt out every time. This just might be the time that he can't figure it out. 'Cause you're here and you haven't figured out why they want you yet.
Later Vince entered the room and stooped down in front of Mark. "I hear you'd like to get some fresh air? You planning something I should know about?" he asked, studying Mark intently.
Mark grinned throwing his hands in the air and snorted, "Sure, I'm gonna escape by running for the helicopter that I have coming in to rescue me, see I have an invisible radio here and I've been in constant contact with the FBI. Then they're gonna question you and figure out why the hell I'm here!" his voice gained some volume toward the end of the statement.
Vince just stared at Mark, trying to recognize a sign of deception, or trying to make up his own mind if he would allow Mark outside.
Finally he stood up, "Okay, I'll let you get some fresh air, but I wouldn't try anything stupid or you will live to regret it," he threatened. He continued to stare at Mark, and then motioned for him to stand.
Mark stood up and allowed Vince to guide him through the house to the front door. Upon actually observing the rest of the building, Mark decided it was a cabin. Exiting the front door, he found himself surrounded by trees, a gravel drive leading up to the cabin took a winding course out of sight.
Mark gingerly stepped through the pine needles and over gravel as they dug into his bare feet, to get a little distance from the cabin.
Vince snapped, "That's far enough," when Mark was approximately twenty feet from the cabin. Mark immediately stopped. Looking up, he saw that Harry and Tom were flanking him another ten feet out. He sighed deeply and allowed his head to loll backwards looking toward the sky. He stood quietly, breathing deeply, enjoying the smells and sights of the surrounding forest.
After fifteen minutes or so, Vince ordered, "Okay, back inside."
Mark looked over toward Vince; he felt Tom and Harry tense, waiting for him to try something. He slowly and carefully turned and returned to the cabin without hesitation.
Once back in his room, he could feel his captives relax. He even saw a small smile, Harry flashed at Vince, from the corner of his eye. He had passed another test and earned a little more respect and trust.
Okay, Mark, you've gained some more ground, and Harry's the weakest link. He's not too bright and he's starting to trust you. He definitely talked Vince into allowing you outside. Time, Mark, more time, but how much more time do you got?
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