xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx
Mark was sleeping, dreaming of what kind of relationship he could have had with Katrina when the door of the room opened, awakening him. Vince was standing there grinning broadly.
"Dang, Vince, you just ruined a really good dream," Mark complained.
"Hey buddy, you're gonna get outta here come morning. Your uncle is personally coming to get you," Vince explained.
Mark was quiet, he looked down at his hands, and then spoke, "And what did it cost my uncle to get me out of here? I'm sure it wasn't cheap."
Vince hesitated before answering, "Mark, I'm not sure, but believe me, these things have a way of working themselves out . . . trust me."
Mark slowly laid himself back down on the mattress, facing away from Vince. There wasn't much he could do now but wait.
Morning brought a more morose Mark; he kept thinking of all the trouble he had caused his uncle. He seemed to have a knack of doing that to people's lives. He was trying to think of one person that had gotten near him, that he hadn't caused a significant amount of grief.
Hell, Marky, that's all you've ever done, is cause problems for everybody that's ever been around you. Let's see, now you forced Pat to come back to the US and the FBI is trying to stick him in prison. Even Hardcastle, as tough as he is, all you ever do for him is aggravate him. As he always telling you, you can never just listen and do what he says. You're still sponging off of him after all these years. And now this mess, you know the FBI is going to be on your ass trying to figure out what went on, and why you disappeared for this lovely vacation. And how are you going to explain this to Hardcase? Well guess what, Judge, you're right again, as always. And the lectures he's gonna give you for this one ought to last for about a month. Hardcase is gonna be in rare form chewing your butt off for these shenanigans, and of course it's all your fault for not listening to him in the first place.
xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx
Breakfast came and went without a hitch. Mark was allowed to shower and change clothes; his personal items were returned. He was also given a pair of socks and sneakers, although they kept the ankle cuff and chain in place.
Several hours later, sounds of a car approaching could be heard. Then voices could be heard from the central room of the cabin. Eventually, hearing footsteps coming toward the bedroom, Mark's heart rate increased. This was it, either he was getting out of here, or it was the last thing he was to see.
Glad Hardcastle isn't here to go for a twenty, I'd definitely lose. Okay, Mark, settle down; you gotta be prepared for whatever is gonna happen here. If it's gonna go bad, it's gonna be now.
Finally the door of the bedroom opened, revealing Pat, grinning at Mark like he owned the world.
"You are getting to be a hard person to track down," Pat joked.
"Oh, real funny," Mark smirked. "Maybe we could get out of here now. Before someone else decides I should stay here longer."
Vince unlocked the ankle cuff, and tossed the chain aside.
"Thanks, Vince," Mark mumbled. He was worried about what was going to happen to these guys after they left.
"Come on kid, I have a car waiting for you, and a very impatient judge awaiting your arrival at home," Pat explained, as he slapped Mark on the back and ushered him from the room.
As they entered the central room, Pat turned to Mark's captors, "Thank you guys for keeping Mark safe. I understand that you were between a rock and hard place. But I do appreciate what you did. I believe there is a bonus coming your way."
Pat then ushered Mark from the cabin and to the waiting car. Mark began to put everything together, "Pat they aren't going to be hurt are they? They really did take good care of me." Mark questioned, pleading.
"Mark, what would give you that impression?" Pat answered as he signaled the driver to leave.
"Wait! Pat don't lie to me, please, these guys protected me. I don't want to find out that anything happened to them, please, Uncle Pat, I could never forgive myself, or you either, if something happened to them," Mark begged.
"Mark, I swear to you, those guys were actually working as doubles for a friend of mine. When he heard what someone had planned for you, he thought it was best if he stepped in and had control of the kidnappers himself. That way he could keep you protected. By the rules of the brotherhood, he had to allow the demands of the ransom to go down. But, I guarantee that someone will never enjoy the benefits of that ransom, and these guys will receive a hefty bonus for making sure that you stayed protected. Trust me," Pat assured Mark.
Mark was still tossing around the possibilities in his head. When Pat added, "How about, I arrange for you to see with your own eyes that these guys are okay, say in a week or two, okay?"
Mark nodded, accepting that his uncle was trying hard to please him. "And what is going to happen to the 'someone' who planned this whole usurp of power?" he asked.
"Now, Mark, that is even beyond my control at this point, he made his bed, now he must lie in it. That is the way of the brotherhood, even if I would try to stop what will inevitably happen, they would ignore me or take out their aggression on you, for my interference. Do not ask of this again," Pat ordered; his voice had become hard and without emotion. Pat again motioned the driver to leave.
Mark swallowed hard and closed his eyes. All he wanted now was to be home and to be able to put all of this behind him.
He understood that he had pushed his uncle as far as possible. He prayed that Vince, Harry, and Tom would be protected, as his uncle promised. But, he also realized that someone was probably going to pay the ultimate price for his forced vacation, and this was the part of his uncle's life he had tried to ignore.
xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx
Once back in the city, their car pulled over in a convenience store lot. Pat explained, "I can't take you home, the FBI is watching everywhere for me. Tell the judge that everything worked out okay. And that I am keeping him to his promise to bring you down to visit. I am sorry that you got drug into this power struggle, I assure you that it will not happen again," handing Mark some money, he continued. "Call the judge and he'll come pick you up. Take care, Mark, I'm just glad that you are safe," Pat reached over and pulled Mark into a hug, releasing him with a slap on the back, saying, "please stay out of trouble for awhile."
"You spoke with Hardcastle?"
"Yep, we had a heart to heart conversation about you. You really had him worried. You'll have to ask the judge about it some day, but for now get going, I must go, Mark. I'm sorry, I don't have a choice."
Mark climbed out of the car and watched as it took off down the street. Mark walked into the convenience store and asked where the pay phone was.
xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx
The judge's truck came squealing into the lot of the convenience store. It didn't even appear that the truck had come to a full stop as Hardcastle jumped from the interior. He caught Mark, and held him at arms length, searching him from head to foot for any visible injuries.
"You're okay, right? Did they hurt you? Do you need to go to a hospital?" Hardcastle questioned quickly.
"Yes, no, and no," Mark answered. "Judge I'm fine, okay, just take me home," as he started walking toward the truck.
"McCormick, damn it, are you sure you're okay?" shouted the judge.
"Yes, Judge, I'm fine, now please take me home," Mark insisted.
Hardcastle jumped behind the wheel of the truck. He watched as Mark leaned his head back against the window and promptly went to sleep.
Well some things never change, he thought, smiling to himself. Thank you, Patsy Martinelli, for bringing him home in one piece. I wasn't sure that you could pull that one off. I just might make sure that we get to go on a vacation soon, and we just might end up on the Isle de San Pietro.
xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx
Hardcastle really wasn't surprised to see Frank's car waiting for them, when he pulled into the driveway, however the other nondescript police car, spelled FBI.
Mark looked up and moaned, "Aw, not again."
"Hang in there, kiddo, we'll get past this," Hardcastle muttered softly as he climbed out of the pickup.
Frank walked over to Hardcastle asking, "Is he okay?"
Hardcastle then realized that McCormick was still sitting in the truck, his head slumped forward in his hands.
"Yeah, just leave him alone for a while, he'll be okay," Hardcastle explained to Frank, as Agent Morris walked over to them.
"Looks like he's been through the wringer," Agent Morris observed.
"Agent Morris, may I ask why you are here, again?" Hardcastle questioned gruffly through clenched teeth.
"You know why I'm here, and please don't tell me that Mr. McCormick here was on a vacation in the Bahamas. 'Cause if he was, he sure lost his tan quickly," Morris countered.
Mark slowly sat up straight in the truck, looked back at the men who were observing him closely. He flexed his shoulders and then painstakingly climbed from the pickup, seemed to hesitate a second, while he sucked in a deep breath, and gathered himself after closing the door to the pickup. He then turned and faced the three waiting men.
"Agent Morris, I can't say that I am glad, nor actually surprised to see you. However, I can tell you that you are currently trespassing on private property, and unless you have a warrant, I suggest you leave immediately," he harshly spat out.
"Mr. McCormick, I am here to investigate a crime, as you well know, your kidnapping," he retorted.
"No, Agent Morris, you were the cause of my kidnapping. Now I expect you to be leaving immediately," McCormick snapped.
"How was I responsible for your kidnapping?" the Agent asked, stunned.
"You made my connection to Patsy Martinelli known, the reason for my kidnapping, as you put it, was to actually protect me, from the real kidnappers that were hoping to get me to reveal something, anything, about my client," he sucked in another deep breath and continued.
"Now, since I am not pressing any charges against anybody except maybe YOU, I would suggest that your presence here becomes a thing of the past, before I become irritated enough to call the Federal Prosecutor's office and request an investigation into the improprieties that you and your office have created here. And by the way, I would suggest that the illegal phone taps that you have on the phones here at Judge Hardcastle's estate be removed immediately, before I add that to my ever growing list," Mark's voice had been rising with the increasing stress, finally he turned and strode towards the house.
"Agent Morris, I think he's right; I think you'd better leave while I can still keep him under control," the judge calmly added.
Agent Morris angrily returned to his car and spun from the driveway.
Hardcastle and Frank followed Mark into the house to find him in the kitchen, chugging a bottle of beer.
He looked up wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and asked, "Did he leave? Please, tell me that he left."
"Yeah, I think you scared the crap out of him," Frank answered. He reached over grabbed one of Mark's wrists and held it up for inspection, the rope burn showing prominently.
"They aren't too bad, the ankle's worse," Mark shrugged, "and the neck," as he pulled his t-shirt down to show the raw rope burn.
"God, why didn't you say something, I asked if you needed to go to the hospital when I picked you up," Hardcastle shouted.
"Judge, I don't need a hospital, just a little antibiotic cream and a few bandages," Mark explained.
"And these were the guys that were trying to protect you, for God's sake?" Hardcastle yelled.
"Yeah, would've hated to see the other guys get a hold of me . . . probably be dead by now," Mark murmured. "But hey that's all in the past, Uncle Pat made sure of that before he left," he added, watching the realization dawn Frank's face.
Hardcastle who had been standing there immobile finally spoke, "Well I think we got some antibiotic ointment and some bandages upstairs; I'll go get them."
"Maybe, I shouldn't put you in the middle here, Frank," Mark stammered.
"I didn't hear anything. He is your client, Mark, and any information is attorney client privileged, and would be received while you are under duress, as you know as well as I that it would be illegally obtained and inadmissible in court. Just don't tell me anymore about that part. Now are you okay?"
"Yeah, just a little shaky, wasn't sure, really . . . how this all was gonna work out, ya' know," again Mark's voice faded off as he studied the beer bottle in his hand.
Hardcastle returned to the kitchen carrying the medical supplies. "I called Dr. Friedman; he's on his way over now, so just relax until he gets here."
"Judge, I don't need a doctor," Mark protested.
"He's already on his way and I want to make sure that you're okay, no arguments," he ordered gruffly. "Now let me see all the damage," he ordered, as he pushed Mark into a chair. "And I'm gonna get you something to eat, it looks like you lost weight, as well as your tan; you look like a ghost," Hardcastle grumbled, leaving no opening for any type of protest.
"It's not that bad really, the ankle's chafed pretty good, but I already got it bandaged," McCormick offered to Hardcastle's back, as he was already removing enough food for an army from the refrigerator and placing it on the counter.
They were interrupted by the front door bell.
"Hey ,Milt, I'm gonna let the doctor in, be right back," Frank called as he left the room.
Frank returned with Dr. Friedman in tow. Dr. Friedman immediately went to work examining Mark, while motioning the other two men from the room.
In the den, Hardcastle paced the floor like an expectant father.
"Jesus, Milt, you're gonna wear a hole in your floor, if you don't relax; Mark's fine."
"I know, it's just . . . I really could've lost him this time, ya' know," Hardcastle revealed somberly.
"You ever let him know, that you care this much?" Frank questioned.
"Don't even start with me, you always did coddle him," Hardcastle grumbled.
"I just think you need to show him that you actually do care what happens to him," Frank offered.
"He's living here ain't he?" Hardcastle growled.
"Yeah and you constantly remind him, whose house it is, and who pays the bills, actually throwing it in his face, would be more accurate," Frank pointed out.
"Well, don't I?" Hardcastle gruffly demanded.
"Forget it, Milt, you'll just never get it," Frank answered reluctantly, resigning himself to defeat.
"Now what's that supposed to mean? Throw it his face, do I?" Hardcastle snapped
"Forget it."
Hardcastle shouted, "No I won't damn it . . ."
Dr. Friedman opened the door to the kitchen, cutting Hardcastle off. Both men re-entered the kitchen finding Mark chewing on a cookie.
"I bandaged both wrists and his right ankle, which, by the way, looks like a dog chewed on it. Although, he attempted a story about tripping in the woods," Dr Friedman offered as he rolled his eyes, indicating his disbelief.
"Just make sure that he keeps the areas clean, wash them with soap and water at least twice a day and apply the antibiotic ointment four times a day. Keep those areas bandaged, and I'll come back and check on him in two days. The antibiotic," Dr. Friedman shook the pill bottle for emphasis, "he takes four times a day, with milk or food, as they're hard on the stomach. I would suggest that he stays off the foot for a few days, but I would probably have to sedate him to get that to happen, but I can always hope. Any problems give me a call . . . Any questions?" he asked looking at all three.
As they all indicated no by shaking their heads, Dr. Friedman nodded, "Okay, see you in two days; remember to call if there is a problem."
"Thank you, Dr. Friedman, I'm sorry you had to run out here," Mark acknowledged his inconvenience.
Hardcastle returned to the kitchen after seeing the Doctor out, he and Frank exchanged a look of indecision.
"Well, Mark, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, you know . . . I'm always available if you want someone to talk to," he added as he gripped Mark's shoulder. "Well, I'd better get back to the office or the city will think they're paying me to goof around all day."
"Thanks, Frank," Mark answered, not meeting his eyes.
Mark slunk out the back door, as soon as Hardcastle and Frank left the kitchen, avoiding both of them out in front of the house; he made it quietly to the gatehouse.
He slowly limped up the steps to the loft, turned on his small TV set and gingerly relaxed on the bed. The local news announcer droned on, giving the weather forecast for the next day.
When Hardcastle returned to the kitchen and found Mark gone, "You ain't getting away that easily," he muttered as he stalked out to the gatehouse.
Bursting through the door without knocking, Hardcastle shouted, "McCormick!"