2.

Leo Lipman had friends and allies everywhere, including the police department. That circle of contacts helped him gather information whenever he was hired to do a job.

"His name is Mark McCormick. Isn't he the cutest thing?" Carla de la Fuentes gave a long sigh. "I love watching him with the Judge, they're so cute together."

"Cute? You mean like a couple?" Leo asked the records clerk, a perky redhead who knew nothing about his illegal acts.

"Couple?" She blinked at him before erupting into peals of laughter. "You think Hardcase Hardcastle and that dishy Mark McCormick are…doing the wild thing?" Carla was wiping tears of laughter from her grass green eyes as she struggled to regain her composure.

Leo grinned in response. "Guess that's a no, huh?"

"Oh, Leo honey, I'd sooner believe you were gay than Judge Hardcastle."

"I've gotta agree with you, I've never seen a guy less likely to be gay, but that McCormick kid always seems to hanging around him." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Made me wonder, that's all."

"Well, I can certainly understand that. Not everyone understands why the Judge took Mark in, much less how their relationship evolved."

Leo's smile was authentic this time. He knew Carla could tell him everything he needed to know about the relationship between the two men. "Sounds like it might be quite a story."

"It certainly is."

"Tell me all about it."

And so she did.

-- H&McC --

"That doesn't make sense." Carlos Guzman paced the den of his hideout, having begun shortly before Leo concluded his report. "Hardcastle was instrumental in McCormick being sent to prison. And apparently holds another, longer prison term over his head as a club, a threat to keep him in line. How could they be friends?"

"Don't know, boss, but unless McCormick is one hell of an actor, they really are close friends. I've had them under observation for a couple of weeks now and I can tell you it's true." Leo had no answer for the other man.

"So despite being an ex-con at the mercy of a retired judge who essentially has the power of life or death over him, we have no chance of enlisting Mark McCormick into our plans?" Guzman stopped, propping his fists on his hips.

"Not only no chance, but…" Leo hesitated.

"But what?"

"I asked around, listened to a lot of stories about the exploits of Hardcastle and McCormick, and I've come to the same conclusions."

"Which are? Don't drag it out, Leo."

"I think…I believe that any attempt to kill Hardcastle up close and personal will require going through McCormick first."

"They're that close?"

"Yes, I believe they are. If I had to guess, I'd say their relationship is that of father and son."

Guzman shook his head as he resumed his seat. "A great pity. I hadn't planned on anyone dying except for those responsible for my conviction."

-- H&McC --

Hardcastle watched with great interest and no little amusement as Mark pulled down the newest window shade installed in the house, this one in the kitchen. The shades were thick, blocking almost all the sunshine. "Do you have any idea what my light bill is gonna look like?"

Mark ignored the dig as he flipped the overhead lights on. "At least you might live long enough to complain about it."

"McCormick…"

"Frank called," Mark said flatly.

"When?" The Judge didn't remember hearing the telephone ring.

"While you were taking a shower this morning."

"And?"

"Three more members of the jury were murdered."

"Damn it! I thought everyone was under guard, particularly the jury."

"They were, but this sniper is good. He took out one of the jurors through their kitchen window. Best they can figure, the sniper climbed a tree and hid, waiting for his opportunity. Because there were no hills or taller buildings nearby, the guard detail assumed it was safe when she was inside." Mark finished cleaning up the kitchen counter of the surplus screws and tools from installing the shades. "Now do you understand why I've gone to such, what did you call it, ridiculous lengths to cut the line of sight of the sniper?"

Hardcastle didn't like to admit that he might be wrong, but he also realized that McCormick's concern was valid and sincere. "Yeah, okay. You might have a point."

The obvious reluctance in the Judge's voice brought an answering smile from Mark. "Whoa, where's the calendar? I've got to jot this down. Judge Milton C. Hardcastle admits that I'm right and he's wrong."

"That's not what I said, kiddo. There was no mention of right or wrong."

"Uh huh, that's what it sounded like to me."

"Delusional as well as paranoid."

"Right." McCormick opened the refrigerator door, staring inside. "How do you feel about turkey subs for lunch?"

"Good. Slice up some tomatoes, too." The Judge calmly accepted the change of subject.

"You want a salad?" The younger man pulled turkey slices, cheese, half a head of lettuce and two plump, rosy tomatoes. After placing them on the cutting board, he returned to the fridge to retrieve mayonnaise.

The Judge searched for the rolls, opening the numerous cabinets in the kitchen without success. "McCormick! Where's the bread?"

"In the bread box, Judge. The white box over by the microwave." Mark took the bread from Hardcastle, splitting the hoagie-style rolls and slathering them with mayonnaise. He grimaced when the Judge waved the jar of mustard in front of him. "With turkey?"

"Why not? I've always had them with mustard and mayo, just like my burgers."

"Yeah, another strange eating habit."

The Judge's laugh huffed out. "This from a man whose last girlfriend convinced him to dip French fries in a mixture of mayo and ketchup."

"It tastes good," Mark admitted sheepishly.

"There you go. So does mustard and mayo."

As they ate, Mark tried to get the Judge to agree to leave town, even when he knew there was no chance of it happening. "Guzman is dangerous, crazy dangerous. If you'd go away for a while, it might give the cops time to catch him."

Hardcastle glared at him. "I've said it once and I'll say it again. The threats of a lowlife like Guzman aren't gonna make me tuck my tail between my legs and run."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that."

"McCormick, did you ever meet Guzman while you were at San Quentin?"

"I don't know every con that's done time there, Hardcase," the younger man protested.

"Never thought you did, but you might've heard about him." It wasn't much of an apology, but served as one in Hardcastle's mind.

"Yeah, I'd heard about him, but he was considered dangerous even for that place, so he was kept out of the general population. Suited me fine, but considering people like Weed Randall were unrestricted, I can just imagine how dangerous Carlos Guzman must be."

Hardcastle saw the shadow pass over his friend's face at the mention of the man he had been forced to kill. He desperately wanted to wipe that horrible event from McCormick's memory, but Hardcastle knew that would never happen. All that could be done had and was being done.

"You aren't going after this nutcase, are you, Judge?" Mark asked fearfully.

"Not personally, no. Although I'm willing to give Frank any help that I can, I don't know much about Guzman." Hardcastle ignored the sigh of relief at his reply.

"I'm kinda surprised. You don't have a file on Guzman in the basement?"

Hardcastle sipped his beer before replying. "Oh, there's a file, kiddo, a thick one filled with the various crimes Guzman was suspected of committing. But I have almost nothing on his background or other personal matters."

Both men having finished lunch, Mark began clearing the table. "Is Frank putting the jurors in protective custody?"

"That's the plan, although how long the District Attorney will authorize the expense is anyone's guess. It won't be long, that's for sure."

"Half the jury is dead, Judge. They can't just abandon the others. That kind of thing could make it impossible to find a fair and unbiased jury pool. The chance to be killed for your community service would tend to lower the number of available jurors."