Mark flinched as heard the judge enter the gatehouse yelling.
"Yeah . . . I'm up here," he supplied reluctantly. He was really hoping the judge would let it go for the day and allow him to get some rest. He just wanted to postpone the inevitable lecture for a time when he was more able to deal with it.
"We need to talk about this, now," Hardcase ordered as he stomped up the steps to the loft. Mark sat on his bed, his pant leg pulled up exposing the damaged ankle.
"Judge, can we . . . "
"No, damn it, I want to get something straight right now . . . I don't think contact with Martinelli is a good idea anymore. It just caused . . . more problems, enough is enough. You got hurt this time, and there's not gonna be a next time, right?" Hardcase ordered loudly.
"Hardcase, come on, he's my uncle. He got me out of this mess," Mark almost pleaded.
"He's the one who got you into the mess in the first place, and he could've gotten you killed," came Hardcastle's harsh and scathing reply.
"The FBI were the ones who made me a target," McCormick balked.
"Now come on, McCormick, even you don't buy that one, and don't expect me to. The man is a gangster, a mafia boss, and when you are around him, then you will become a target," Hardcastle grumbled.
"And he's always gonna be my uncle, Judge," Mark continued. "I know you're not real thrilled me with me right now, and I'm sorry. I never wanted to disappoint you, but you've just got to understand . . ." Mark's voice faded out.
An uneasy silence hung in the room. Mark stared down at the bandage on his ankle. Hardcastle silently appraised him, seeing only regret and frustration, not defiance. McCormick was attempting to be open and honest with him, but at the same time was trying to limit the amount of pain he was causing himself. He always was adept at hiding his feelings, never one to admit them, even to his friend.
"Look, McCormick, I know he's your uncle but . . . I just don't see anything good coming to you from this relationship," Hardcastle's gruff tone rising with his frustration, "You don't even really know this guy. And you have worked so hard to get where you're at, why throw it all away, now?"
At this last comment, Mark's head jerked up, Hardcastle saw a brief flash of hurt in his eyes. But it was gone so quickly, was it really there in the first place, or was it imagined?
"You don't know anything about the guy, but that he is a killer; I'm sure you figured that part out," Hardcastle insisted.
Mark swallowed hard and looked at him silently.
"See, you're not even trying to defend him. The guy will drag you down with him, without a second thought," Hardcase shouted, keeping the pressure applied. Mark glanced away from Hardcastle's intense gaze, and then again allowed their eyes to meet.
"Or maybe he already has you in his pocket, maybe he's already gotten you to do something illegal. Or are you just waiting to do his bidding?" Hardcastle continued shouting.
"Judge, come on, you don't need to get nasty here, you know better than that," McCormick pleaded.
"Well, I thought I knew, now I'm not too sure," Hardcastle countered.
That statement finally severed a nerve.
"Fine, if that's really how you feel, you want me out, I'll move out. After all, I'm just sponging off of you anyway, right? Isn't that what some of your friends have been telling you for years? That I'm just sticking around to see what I can get out of you? I'll be out of here tomorrow. I wouldn't want you to keep my lazy, ungrateful butt any longer that necessary. Anyway, the slave labor clause of our relationship ended a long time ago. You got your kudos from the parole board for straightening me out and reforming my thieving ways," Mark exploded.
Trying to get away from the judge Mark jumped off the bed to his feet, his already weakened ankle gave way almost immediately.
Only Hardcastle's quick reaction kept him from falling. McCormick glared at Hardcastle, who slowly released his grip on his arm. McCormick wavered, a sheen sweat showing the effort it was taking for him to remain standing.
"You always were a king sized donkey, you know that," McCormick muttered through clenched teeth while trying to keep himself from passing out.
The news reporter interrupted the rest of their argument, with a late breaking special news segment. Reporting that an explosion downtown had destroyed a car, in the 600 block of Sycamore Street, in the area of Sammy's Restaurant, killing Salvatore Reese, a renowned mafia boss, and several unnamed associates, police were cordoning off the entire block, no suspects were being identified at this time but the investigation was under way. A jumpy, slightly out of focus video of the still smoldering automobile was shown. Anyone with information was advised to contact the police department. Vehicular traffic was advised to avoid the area, if at all possible.
"Oh my God, that was payback for them kidnapping me . . ." Mark whispered, his stomach clenched like a vise, as he slumped back onto his bed.
"None of this is your fault, you can't blame yourself for this mess, these guys were gonna take each other out no matter what. They were just jockeying for position, you had nothing to do with it," Hardcastle explained.
One glance at Mark's body language told Hardcastle that he was at his limit; he was on the verge of a break down, he needed to rest and recuperate or he was going to land himself in the hospital or worse.
"All right, enough . . . you need to get some rest, stay in bed now . . . This is just too raw a subject for both of us and we're both saying things that we really don't feel or mean, so we're gonna table the discussion for now . . ." Hardcastle softly offered. "Is there anything I can get you, anything you need?"
Not trusting himself to answer, Mark just shook his head.
Discussion. . . yeah, I'll bet . . . another lecture. He's just being a donkey as usual. And I'll probably never live down the fact that I just argued back, great, another one of his famous lessons / lectures. Again! I just can't deal with any more right now; I just want it all to go away.
The judge had left McCormick to his thoughts for the rest of the day, only interrupting to bring him some food for lunch and dinner, insisting that he stay off his ankle and to give himself some time to heal. Sleep became Mark's welcome friend; it was the only time that he seemed at peace.
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The next morning, Mark had awakened early, but had stayed in bed contemplating how he should approach the judge, knowing that they had to discuss this situation and come to some type of mutual understanding. Looking over at his alarm clock he was stunned, he had lain there mulling it over for four hours. The real surprise was that the judge had not woken him with his usual basketball routine at six o'clock. Slowly sliding out of bed and gingerly placing some weight on his sore ankle, he limped over to the bathroom.
Mark practiced in his head the different opening lines he had thought of to use on Hardcastle. However, he quickly realized that none of the well thought out openers were good enough for Hardcase Hardcastle. After his shower, he applied the antibiotic ointment as Dr. Friedman had recommended, and re-bandaged his ankle and wrists.
He limped into the kitchen, gathered some breakfast together, and headed into the den. Hardcastle was sitting behind his desk studying a file. McCormick sat down in the chair in front of the desk and pushed the food around on his plate. Hardcastle stole several quick glances at McCormick, mulling over how to approach him about his uncle without inciting another shouting match. After several minutes of silence, they both started to speak at the same time.
"You go ahead," McCormick conceded.
"No, you start," Hardcastle motioned with his hands
After several more moments of silence, they both again tried to start speaking simultaneously, Mark and the judge both gave a slight nervous laugh.
Finally, Mark said, "Judge, I know you are not thrilled with me contacting Pat, but . . ."
"That is what scares me, you are going to jump and do anything for someone you don't really know, just because they are a relative, you don't owe anybody anything," the judge exclaimed.
"That's where you're very, very, wrong, Judge, I owe you . . . more than I can ever repay. I wanted to be able to keep in loose contact with Pat . . . but I want you to be comfortable with that. If you can't, then I guess . . . I can live with that, you have hauled my butt out of prison, paid for my law school, so I guess I owe you the benefit of the doubt . . . " he allowed his voice to fade out.
"Okay, don't start that injured party crap on me. You know that it doesn't work with me," Hardcastle growled. "And besides, you don't owe me anything, you earned it," he continued studying McCormick as he spoke.
"Okay, how about a compromise? How about we take a vacation? We both could use it, and hey, if we happen to stumble upon Pat, maybe it would give me a chance to get to know him, then maybe we could finish this conversation, or maybe just let things as they are. Just give me a few days to set up and finish the details. You can make your own decisions. I may not agree with them, but we both need to realize that this is a partnership."
The rest of the day went slightly smoother. Hardcastle was still harping on McCormick to stay off his injured ankle, but they seemed to come to a mutual agreement of avoiding the subject that held them at an impasse.
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McCormick woke to the sound of Hardcastle's gruff voice growling his name. He rolled over onto his side, trying to bury his head under the pillow.
"McCormick!" Hardcastle yelled; his voice now came from inside the gatehouse.
"Aw, Judge, it's way too early for this," Mark whined.
"We need to get your butt down to the courthouse, now move it, or I'll throw out your breakfast," Hardcastle threatened, as he made for the door. "Oh, by the way, I left a cane down here; it should help you to get around a little easier."
Mark limped his way down the steps to find a tray on the table in the living room. He realized how hungry he was, as he wolfed down the breakfast.
Limping back up the stairs, he began to get dressed. He thought about why they would have to go to the courthouse, certainly Hardcastle had placed all their cases on hold while he was missing. Obviously, he was taking too long to get ready as he heard the truck start, "McCormick, get your butt out here now! We are gonna be late."
"Hold your horses, Kemosabe!" he balked in return.
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At the courthouse, Hardcastle ushered his limping protégé through the winding throng of people.
"Judge, can't you tell me why we are at the courthouse? You keep telling me that it isn't a trial of ours, so why are we here?" McCormick questioned. As he noticed that Hardcastle was leading him into one of the court rooms.
"Did you forget that you still owe Judge Hamilton an apology for not showing up for that hearing? Or are you willing to sit your butt in jail for awhile?"
"But, Judge, for Chrissake, I was kidnapped. Certainly he's not gonna hold that one over my head, is he?" McCormick pondered.
"Well, nice of you to grace us with your presence, Mr. McCormick! I believe that there is an outstanding bench warrant, that I issued for your arrest, for a contempt of court charge; Bailiff, get your handcuffs ready," boomed the honorable Judge Hamilton's voice. "I am so glad to see that you have come into open court to settle my curiosity, or even better yet, to surrender yourself into my custody. This had better be really good, Mr. McCormick!" his voice turned sugary sweet, as he grinned from ear-to-ear.
McCormick actually shivered, as a chill ran down the length of his spine, and he broke out into a clammy sweat, as he faced Judge Hamilton.
Oh shit! I may end up a prisoner anyway, and for something I had absolutely no control over. Okay, stay calm and think like a lawyer; give him an answer he'll never forget. You've tiptoed past mafia hoodlums and the FBI this week, so a judge should be a piece of cake!
"Judge Hamilton," Mark flashed one of his most engaging smiles as he addressed him, "I truly apologize for missing court . . . to explain my absence, Your Honor . . . It was quite beyond my control . . . you see, it all started like this . . .
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--- Ha Ha, Sorry I couldn't resist ending it like that again, okay scream at me I deserve it.
I received a great deal of help with the location of Pat's Island (actually we had a vote on it, which turned into a lot of fun-thank you to everyone at Gullsway) and some other really great help (thank you, thank you!) but it actually gave me another story line, I just couldn't seemed to get the two separate stories to fit together in my mind (sorry can't help it I'm certifiable) sooooooo –
And now on to Part III and another adventure with Auggie, Hardcastle, McCormick, and of course Uncle Pat (maybe I'll take Katrina along too). What kind of trouble are these guys going to find this time?
Please email me with constructive cristism, comments, and ideas. I am trying to learn.
Thank you for reading,
Lyn