Chapter 35
"What's the head count, guys?" Frank asked.
"Lieutenant, suspects two, three and four are down. We have two and three in custody and Mel is working his way up to the roof. We believe suspect four up there is dead."
"This is Unit 1. The suspect on the beach is still alive and in federal custody."
"That's four of them," Frank told Milt.
Milt took a deep breath. "But we still don't know how many are inside the house."
OOOOO
Morris and Bookman heard the thud on the roof. "What the hell was that?"
"Commando two to roof, come in, Bubba?"
There was no answer on the radio. Morris tried the beach, "Commando two to beach. Talk to me?"
Still nothing. "Shit in hell," Morris yelled as he pulled off his headset and threw on the floor. "We got a real situation here, Bookman. Our communication is gone."
Just then Mark reached out from under the desk and swept their legs, sending both armed men tumbling to the floor. He raised the gun and shot out one of their knees and placed the other shot at the second man's chest. The soldier moved awkwardly and took a bullet in the shoulder instead. He fell to the floor stunned.
OOOOO
"Shots fired inside the house, Lieutenant! We're moving in. Sounds like an automatic weapon."
"That's my gun. Maybe McCormick's doing the shooting," Milt said.
"Let's go!" Frank yelled to his group.
About fifteen of Harper's swat unit began to converge on the house with Milt and Frank close behind, as well as the thirty five federal agents coming up from the beach.
OOOOO
Bookman remained writhing on the floor, clutching at his knee cap. "You son of a bitch! Under the desk the whole time?" He went for his gun once again. Both fired at the same time. Mark put a bullet in Bookman's chest that stopped him cold, Bookman's bullet hit Mark in the leg.
McCormick's body twisted and snapped back against the desk from the force and proximity of the blast. Instinctively, he grabbed down to his thigh where the bullet had entered and he saw the blood beginning to ooze out of the rather small holes where the bullet went through his leg. Regular bullet, not a cop killer. Maybe luck was with him for a change? For a moment he only thought of himself and that was a mistake. Morris was still alive and coming after him. Mark tried to scramble away by crawling on the floor.
It wasn't nearly enough though. Morris was on his feet in a heartbeat and he charged at Mark. "You want to make this painful, huh, kid?" He grabbed Mark off the floor in one fell swoop and using his uninjured arm, he laid a powerful hook into McCormick's gut, twisted his arm painfully behind him, forcing Mark to drop the gun. "I can make it so painful, you'll beg me to kill you." Mark's still sore ribs caused him to scream out and collapse to a knee. "You can talk, huh? You just can't hear?" Morris picked him up again and grabbed him by his collar. "Maybe I should shoot out your knee, too? Would you like that, you piece of crap? Bookman was an idiot, but he was my idiot and I decided whether or not someone lives or dies."
McCormick had no clue as to what he was saying. He was trying to read lips and somehow manage to also contain the burning pain radiating from his leg. "Who the hell are you?" he asked him, without thinking that he'd be unable to hear his answer.
"Morris, 8560981, United States Army Green Beret and your worst nightmare." He dragged Mark to the front door and once more attempted to radio his other team members. Instead, he met up with a small platoon of his enemies. "You're coming with me, my friend. I need some insurance."
Mark remembered he had Officer Al's gun tucked in the back of his pants. With his sore arm, he was able to quietly retrieve it. Maybe, just maybe…
Morris saw the move and wrenched Mark's arm behind him again. He grabbed the gun and pushed it right against Mark's temple. "Standard police issue. Belonged to your friend in there, huh? Maybe this will be the gun that kills you. Let's go." And he pushed Mark ahead of him.
"You're surrounded, Morris." It was Gallagher speaking from a megaphone. "Let McCormick go. It's all over for you and your men. We've got all six of you."
"Gallagher, should have known," he muttered to himself. Then, he yelled, "Like hell you do, Gallagher!" Morris was calling his bluff. He dragged Mark outside.
Suddenly, Milt's front lawn was lit up like a Christmas tree from a couple of hovering helicopters and federal agents hauled the members of Morris' unit into view for him to see, including the two dead men.
There was a noise behind him. Two agents carried out the body of Bookman from inside the house. They had crept up on him by coming in the back door.
Morris was surrounded.
"Give it up, Morris, I'm only saying it this one last time. You know I can put a bullet right through your head."
Morris sneered at him. "You never learn, do you, Gallagher? The people I work for don't accept failure." He pressed the muzzle of the gun against Mark's temple even more. "You want him alive? Then I go free."
"Not gonna happen, Morris," Gallagher yelled back.
Frank spoke quietly into his radio. "Do we have a clear shot?"
The answer, "Not without hitting McCormick."
Frank looked over at Gallagher who said, "McCormick is not the priority here."
A rifle was suddenly trained at Gallagher by one of Frank's men. "Sir, meaning no disrespect, but McCormick is our priority. He's one of ours."
Milt let Frank handle Gallagher as he watched the Morris. The army commando had complete control over Mark, grasping onto him tightly around the neck with his massive upper body of strength. He could see Mark had been shot in the leg, as he was hobbling and stumbling to stay upright, wait, what was the kid doing? Mark was motioning with his hands, two fingers tapping his thumb…
Milt grabbed the radio and said in a low voice, "You're about to get a clear shot. Be ready."
"What's the answer, Gallagher?" Morris yelled. "You want him dead?"
Mark moved quickly. He grabbed Morris' gun hand and shoved it up, causing him to fire the weapon. With his other elbow, he slammed it into Morris' gut and instantly dropped to the ground.
One shot, and Morris was hit through the shoulder and on the ground. Agents and officers moved in double time removing his weapons while holding their own locked on him.
OOOOO
Hardcastle came sprinting over to Mark who had tumbled out of Morris' grasp and was lying very still for the moment on the grass. Milt quickly pulled out a writing tablet and grasped the kid's shoulders. He didn't need to write anything.
Mark quickly answered all his questions. "I'm okay. Just help me up. I'm not going to the hospital. I'm fine."
"YOU'RE SHOT. YOU'RE NOT FINE."
"I'm not going back to the hospital." He followed it up with the sign that Milt still hadn't bothered to look up.
"FINE. CALLING CHARLIE. IF HE SAYS SO, YOU'RE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL. NO ARGUMENTS."
"It's over for tonight right?"
Milt wrote down, "I THINK ITS OVER, OVER."
"How many were there?"
"SIX COMMANDO'S. HOW'D YOU MANAGE TO GET OUT OF THIS ALIVE?"
"You know that old desk of yours? The one we never move to clean under 'cause it weighs half a ton? Well, it's staying right where it's at. That old piece of oak saved my life. I hid underneath it. I could feel the phone's vibrations. I knew you were calling and that you were on your way. I waited for a good opportunity and went for it, kinda like when I met you."
"NOW YOU'RE COOKIN' KIDDO."
An officer rushed over and helped Milt get Mark into a standing position. Both men put one of Mark's arms over their shoulders and were slowly walking him back into the house when Mark suddenly stopped and waved at someone.
Milt looked around and saw the Drinkwaters standing outside in their pajamas and robes and talking to one of the police officers. When Elliott waved back, Milt did so as well. The police officer turned to look at Milt and asked, "Don't your neighbors mind all this, Judge?"
"They're used to it," Milt answered.
Chapter 36
"He needs a hospital," Charlie told Milt as he took a look at Mark's wound. "He's lost some blood, and the bullet went straight through, from the looks of it, it might not have done any permanent damage, but I've no way to know without X-rays. And I certainly don't want to risk his health over him being mad at me for insisting he get it taken care of correctly. We need to get those paramedics in here and let them cart him off."
"He's being stubborn," Milt told him. "He doesn't want to go to the hospital."
"Can't blame him for that," Charlie said as he grabbed the pen and pad. "Good thing he won't be able to object for long."
"YOU NEED A HOSPITAL."
"I need a lot of things, Doc, but that ain't one of them. I don't want one," Mark told him as he seethed. "Just do what you have to do here."
Charlie stared at him. Mark stared back. Mark blinked first.
"Okay, fine I'll go, but I don't want to stay in a hospital," Mark reluctantly admitted.
"FINE. WE'LL GO TO THE ER AND HAVE THEM PATCH YOU UP AS AN OUTPATIENT. I'LL ASK THEM IF THEY HAVE TO KEEP YOU THERE BECAUSE I'LL KEEP AN EYE ON YOU HERE. IF THE WOUND IS WORSE THAN WHAT I THINK IT IS, YOU'RE STAYING. DEAL?"
"You don't have to bother with that," Mark mumbled. "I already got a round the clock nursemaid full-time."
Charlie looked over at Milt. "What he needs is a really good vacation, Milt. Not your usual kind either. One where he can actually relax. How about after his operation, you take him someplace where he doesn't have to worry about someone shooting at him for a while?"
"That's a good idea," Milt said, his mood not any better than McCormick's, and he started to raise his own voice at Charlie by adding, "Only thing is that a vacation will have to wait until after he has his operation to restore his hearing though, if that's okay with you? And what do you mean he won't be able to object for long?"
"Look at him. He's pale, a little shaky, he's lost blood – he'll be passing out soon enough and he won't be able to argue about going to the hospital. I'm just not going to do more than put up a token argument with him. Kid's been through enough tonight as it is. He doesn't need to argue with me about something he won't be able to object to in a little while."
"You sure?" Milt asked angrily.
"Doctor, remember? I know these things."
"Hey, what's all the attitude in here for? We're all alive, fellas. We're supposed to be happy. Frank came bounding into the room. "Ya know, I think this is the only room in the house where we're not surrounded by cops and feds. They're crawling over everything out there! Milt, your neighbors probably won't forgive this one."
Milt moved over towards Frank while Charlie finished up with Mark. "What about Morris and his group?"
"They're being transported to a federal facility with a hospital. Gallagher thinks he'll be able to get a lot of information from them, but I doubt it. Not without something big to offer them…"
"Like witness protection," Milt finished for him. "Just like Anderson and Katz. Think they'll do it?"
"They've got these guys on too many things, and they're a direct link to the Greater Good and U.S. Exporters. I think the best deal these guys can get is if they get a swift execution."
"Now," Frank looked at both Mark and Milt, "exactly what happened out there? How did you know what Mark was going to do?"
Milt laughed, made a motion with his hands and Mark grinned. "Sign language, Frank," the Judge told him. One of the words we learned was 'duck,' and Mark said he was going to duck."
Charlie helped a very pale Mark stand and even take a few steps. "Fine, he ducked. Milt, he's still bleeding and he HAS got to go to the hospital right now. So can we move? This is more than a first aid kit can handle."
Milt took the pad and scribbled down a quick note.
"HOSPITAL. YOU'RE GOING. CHARLIE SAYS YOU GOT NO CHOICE."
"Only if I'm not staying the night, and I don't want to ride in an ambulance," was the answer. "And if we're sure this is over with, maybe we need to call Doctor Guthrie and schedule that surgery. Better yet, maybe I can get a special, three for one, leg and ears, whatta ya think?"
Chapter 37
Two officers managed to help a limping Mark McCormick out of the house and into the back of Frank's police car. McCormick would have rather taken the truck, but it was still in the shop after the car chase they had been in and he out and out refused a ride in an ambulance. Reluctantly, he opted for the police car, but even he couldn't talk Frank out of using the sirens and lights. He somehow had it played out in his mind that if he showed up to the hospital in an ambulance, he'd be forced to check in. The trio of Milt, Charlie and Frank could only step back and enjoy the kid's stubbornness and tenacity. He was hurting, lost a lot of blood, had a very eventful evening and he was still jokingly arguing with the cops about going to the hospital. Frank was sure that one of the cops was about to let him try to stand on his own and fall flat on his rear in the driveway to prove he HAD to go to the hospital when Milt quickly stepped in, gave Mark the 'quit trashing the gatehouse' look and McCormick backed off from his mock tirade.
Once they got him to the car, he was insisting on riding up front. This time, Charlie came forward and wrote down a note to him in no uncertain terms would he ride in the front. Instead, he was going in the back, stretched out on the seat, where his injured leg could be elevated. As they drove off, he didn't hear the car's siren that Frank used to move people out of their way on the road.
"HOW YOU DOING, KID?" Milt wrote.
"I'm tired, leg hurts, arm hurts, and I just helped take out the leader of an international commando unit," Mark said. "It's been a busy day."
"YOUR ARM?"
Mark rubbed his shoulder. "That guy, Morris, he wrenched my arm back to get the guns. It's just sore."
Frank laughed. "And he didn't tell Charlie. Imagine that. How's he look?"
Milt turned back to the front. "Pale. He's breathing a little hard. How much longer to the hospital?"
"About ten more minutes," Frank pressed down a little harder on the accelerator. "Maybe seven."
Milt glanced back and saw Mark had leaned his head back against the edge of the seat and had his eyes closed. He could see the young man's shoulders rise and fall with his breathing. "Kid's been through the wringer on this one," the judge said. "Charlie's right. He needs a vacation."
Frank pressed down on the accelerator a little more. Mark felt the speed of the car increase. "I really don't think there's any need to speed," he said, opening his eyes.
"POLICE LIEUTENANT REMEMBER? HE SAID YOU'RE GETTING TO THE HOSPITAL QUICK AND HIS CAR HAS THE LIGHTS AND SIRENS. NO ONE WILL ARGUE WITH HIM."
"Ya know, you guys are getting way too much mileage out of your titles," Mark joked.
They all managed to arrive at the hospital intact, even with the occasional joke being told to pass the time. Each time Mark spoke, Milt could hear a little more fatigue creeping into his voice. Yeah, the kid had had it. He was running on fumes.
Frank pulled up at the Emergency Entrance, and Milt went to get the door of the backseat as McCormick was already scooting his way out.
"Would you take it easy?" Milt said to him without thinking.
"Would I what?" Mark asked him tiredly as he attempted to read his lips? "I don't know what you're saying. It doesn't matter. Look, I know I can't walk too well, but I might be able to at least stand with some help. Just give me a hand getting out of here, okay? I don't think I can do that by myself," he muttered.
Milt obliged and helped him get to his feet, which lasted for all of about a second. As McCormick got to his feet, he immediately began to crumble to the ground, succumbing to shock and blood loss in one fell swoop. As he was going down, he weakly called out, "Ju…" The Judge noticed him falling and reached out right away by catching him in his protective arms, hauling him back up in an attempt to steady him until some additional help arrived. He sort of held him against the side of the car and glanced at his face, which currently rested on Milt's shoulder, to see that the kid had passed out right there as he held him.
With his free hand, he gently patted the back of the kid's head and whispered in his ear, "It's okay, kiddo. I gotcha, hang on." The kid would probably never admit it, but he had the word "hero" written all over him, and just like the heroes in fiction, he wasn't going to ask for help if he thought he could do something on his own. When was he going to learn that the judge was there to help him out, no matter how big or small the problem was? Hardcastle called out to Harper. "Frank, get a gurney will ya? He's dead weight on me here." Milt called out. "Passed out cold. And he didn't think he needed a hospital."
Charlie quickly pulled up in his own car and ran to give Milt a hand while Frank found some orderlies and a gurney. They lifted up McCormick and took him into the Trauma Room.
As they wheeled him in, Charlie explained that he was Mark's doctor and that he had a gunshot wound to his leg, and he'd lost some blood. He turned and said to Milt. "Told you he'd pass out. Actually, I'm surprised he stayed awake as long as he did. Maybe it's a good thing it worked out the way it did. This way we got him right into the trauma room. I'm going start an IV on him right away, and we'll get this thing cleaned up in no time." He turned to the nurses in the room and said, "Let's start an IV D5W, TKO, draw a blood sample, hang a unit of whole blood – he's A positive - run a CBC and get a portable x-ray machine in here to get some film of that wound. I want to confirm it didn't hit any bone."
Frank excused himself out into the hall to make some calls while Milt chose to wait in the room.
Within an hour, the IV began to work its magic and Mark began to regain consciousness and Milt stepped forward with pen and paper in hand.
"HEY THERE KIDDO, HOW YOU FELLING?"
Still groggy yet able to read, he had to jab at the Judge. "Felling I don't know about. Feeling, honestly, a little woozy. Tired. Think I could fall asleep."
"DO THAT LATER," the judge wrote. "CHARLIE NEEDS TO TAKE A LOOK AT YOU."
Charlie stepped into view with his own notepad, "BLOOD LOSS, SHOCK, I TRIED TO WARN YOU. THAT'S WHAT IT DOES TO YOU. NEXT TIME, LISTEN TO YOUR DOCTOR."
"Great. Another lesson." McCormick lifted up his hand to his head and noticed he was connected to an IV. "Hey, what's this? You guys promised, no hospital. Do I gotta stay here now?"
"THE PROMISE WAS ONLY GOOD IF THE DOCTORS SAID YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO STAY IN THE HOSPITAL. THEN YOU DECIDED TO TAKE A SWAN DIVE ON ME." The Judge wrote. "YOU WERE OUT COLD IN THE PARKING LOT KIDDO. YOU'RE HERE FOR A WHILE."
Charlie saw Mark's eyes close in frustration. He didn't want to put the kid through anymore, but medical needs took precedent. He quickly jotted down, "DON'T WORRY MARK, YOU'VE GOT TO HAVE THESE I.V.S AND A TRANSFUSION TO REPLACE YOUR FLUIDS. IF YOUR VITALS ARE STABLE, THEN MILT MIGHT BE ABLE TO TAKE YOU HOME BY MORNING. IT COULD BE AS SOON AS A FEW HOURS. I CAN'T PROMISE, BUT I'LL TRY TO NOT KEEP YOU HERE LONGER THAN YOU HAVE TO." Charlie wrote out and glared at Milt.
McCormick took an uneasy breath. "How long's all this gonna take?" He all but pouted.
Hardcastle was quick to write. "AS LONG AS THEY WANT IT TO TAKE, QUIT YOUR BLLEY ACHING AND DO WHAT THE DOG VANTS."
"Can you see if he can do anything about your spelling while we here?" McCormick lightly laughed as he saw the frustration level rise exponentially in the Judge's face. "Doc, can I sit up a little? Whatever this stuff is," he held up his arm, "It's working, I feel better, really, I'm not just saying that. How's my leg look?"
Charlie nodded and had the nurses raise the back of the gurney a notch. "GOOD NEWS, NO BONE DAMAGE, BUT YOU MANAGED TO MANGLE UP THE MUSCLE IN THERE, IT'S GOING TO BE VERY PAINFUL AND SORE FOR A FEW WEEKS. AND YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO USE CRUTCHES FIRST, THEN A CANE AND THERAPY. NO ARGUMENTS, YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"If crutches or a cane means me going home sooner, fine. I'll do it."
"Check his arm," Milt told Charlie.
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOUR ARM?"
"My arm?" Mark asked.
"LOOKS LIKE YOU PULLED A MUSCLE."
Mark gave Milt a dirty look. "The bad guy yanked my arm back to get the guns away from me. It's just a little sore right now, that's all."
Charlie rolled his eyes. "CRUTCHES MIGHT BE A LITTLE DIFFICULT TO USE THEN. RELAX FOR RIGHT NOW, WE HAVE TO PUT SEVERAL BAGS OF FLUIDS INTO YOU BEFORE YOU GO ANYWHERE. I'LL CHECK THAT ARM OUT TOO."
Mark took a look at the bag and saw that it was only down about a quarter of the way. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep in a heartbeat.
Charlie looked over to Milt. "He's wiped out, Milt. Would you seriously consider a vacation? If not for you, for him? Think of all the stuff he's been through this past month."
Milt was in no mood to argue or have this discussion, "I will, I will. Right now, can we just get through tonight?"
"Well, it's good that's he's sleeping. Maybe we can sneak two bags into him before he wakes up and starts arguing with me again."
"I'm gonna go try to find Dr. Guthrie to see if we can get this ear surgery scheduled while we're here. If he wakes up before I get back, just tell him I left him. Ha!" Milt cracked.
OOOOO
Milt went up to the surgical floor and found Dr. Guthrie personally.
"What the devil are you doing here this time of night?" Guthrie asked Milt.
"I don't think you'd believe me if I told you, Doc," Hardcastle shook his hand.
"Not Mark again?"
"Yep, he's down in the ER. He took a bullet through the leg. Doctor Friedman's got him patched up and is putting a couple of IVs into him before I can take him back home. They don't think it's all that bad. The real good news is that we caught the guys that were after us. Well, McCormick caught them actually."
"You're kidding me?" Guthrie asked surprised. "By himself?"
Milt gave him an affirmative nod. "He had a little help with the LAPD and some federal agents," Milt almost laughed. "But no, not kidding. The kid definitely has a knack for catching criminals."
"And for getting injured too," the doctor added.
"Listen, can we get him on the schedule now for the ears? He was almost hoping you could do it today."
"Well, unfortunately, no, not today. I'll have to look at his chart for this latest injury, see if there's any sort of conflict with meds or anything, but we might be able to put him on the schedule in a week, ten days at the latest if there are no complications. How about if I have my charge nurse give you a call tomorrow at home and get him on the calendar then?"
"That'd be great, Doc. McCormick will appreciate that."
OOOOO
Mark sped into the next turn, changed gears and dropped in low on his competitor's side. He had slipstreamed behind him around the last turn, but this time, he was going to take the lead. He accelerated around his opponent, raced past at just the last moment and crossed the finish line with the checkered flag waving in front of him. He'd literally won the race by mere inches.
Mark got out of his race car, the crowd was on its feet roaring its approval of his taking the checkered flag. He could hear the hooting and hollering as he took the trophy… and then the stands were empty. There was no outpouring of adulation, no applause, no crowd, no one. Silence, that was it. He was alone on the racetrack. All the other cars had disappeared. He looked down at his race car and saw it change into the Coyote.
"McCormick!" he heard the judge yell.
Mark turned around and saw the judge standing at the top of the stands. "Yeah?"
"Come on! We've got a case!" He was waving a file at him.
A case! Mark hopped into the Coyote and drove it off the track… and he looked back in the mirror. Suddenly the stands were full of people again and another race was being run. Without him. But that was okay. He had a case to go on, an innocent to help, a bad guy to put away. That's what he did. Besides, he'd run his race and won the prize.
Mark felt his shoulder being shaken. He opened his eyes and saw the judge standing over him.
Right. Hospital. He'd been shot in the leg stopping bad guys. He wasn't racing at the track. That was an old dream, a fun pastime. Leaving the track for something else – it didn't hurt the way he thought it would have had it happened some years earlier. Even lying there in the hospital after having a fight with a commando, feeling like he was being peeled off the bottom of someone's shoe after being stomped on – he'd done good. It was a good feeling even if he did feel like roadkill.
"STAY AWAKE, SPORT. CHARLIE IS GOING TO EVALUATE YOU. IF EVERYTHING OKAY, THEY'LL BRING BREAKFAST AND THEN WE CAN GO BACK HOME."
It took Mark a few moments to process the information. "Wait, breakfast? We were here the whole night?"
"DON'T BLAME ME. YOU'RE THE ONE WHO GOT SHOT AND PASSED OUT IN THE PARKING LOT. SLEPT THE REST OF THE NIGHT THROUGH."
Some hours later, Mark McCormick, replete with crutches, hobbled his way out of the emergency room with a prescription for more antibiotics and painkillers, and back into Frank's unmarked squad car for a ride back to the estate. Charlie had gotten his way by giving the kid all the IVs he needed while he slept, complete with some pain killers that wouldn't knock him out but that would take the ache out of the bullet wound.
"You okay back there?" Frank turned and mouthed to him in the backseat. The kid was busy kneading the area around the wound.
He saw Frank mouth the word ok and knew right away what was being asked. "This thing itches. Yeah, just get me out of here," his voice had an edge to it.
Frank turned back and wondered why he'd just gotten his head bit off. He glanced at Milt and pulled away. "Don't take it personally, Frank. He doesn't mean it. He's not happy we stayed the night at the hospital."
"Aw, I know Milt, I just wish there was someone I could help him. I feel pretty useless you know."
"Join the club, but hopefully it'll only be another week or so, then maybe we can get things back to normal."
"I hate to tell you, Milt, but there's no normal where the two of you are concerned."
They both chuckled.
"Hey, would you two mind not talking about me? I'm sitting right here. It's kind of rude." He made the two hand gestures again that Milt saw out of the corner of his eye.
"WE'RE NOT TALKING ABOUT YOU WISEGUY."
Mark repeated the signs. The one that looked like a wave and the other like a wave under his chin.
Milt pulled out his pad, "YOU VANT ME TO VELL AT YOU AGAIN? IS IHAT WNAT YOU WHAT?"
"No, I want you to learn how to write in English."
"WE WEREN'T TALKING ABOUT YOU. AND JUST WHAT DO YOU KEEP SIGNING AT US?"
"It's time for poker again. You two are terrible liars, that's all."
Hardcastle mimicked the two signs, "WHAT DO THEY MEAN MCCORMICK, NO MORE LYING BY EITHER OF US."
"This one," he did the hand/finger flutter under his chin, "is for Frank and it means pig. And this one," he held up his right hand by his ear and waved it, "Is yours and it means donkey. Get it, donkey and pig? I read up on animals one night." He grinned from ear to ear.
Harper busted out laughing in the front seat as he drove.
"I don't think it's funny Frank," Milt said, and he began to write down something for Mark. 'LOOK, WHEN WE GET HOME, YOU'RE GOING TO BED LIKE CHARLIE SAID, NO TIME FOR POKER."
"Fine, only I'm sleeping in the gatehouse, not in the house."
"NO YOUR NOT. CHARLIE SAID TO KEEP AN EYE ON YOU AND GATEHOUSE IS IN PIECES, AND I'M SLEEPING IN MY BED TONIGHT. YOU GET THE SPARE ROOM AGAIN."
"You just don't like that little television screen I've got," Mark joked with him.
"That figures," Frank said. "Who wants to watch John Wayne movies on a 19" screen? Ya know, you two are giving me a headache," Frank said, and then to Milt. "Pig and Donkey, that's cute. And write that down for him to read it too. He needs to know!"
Chapter 38
One week later…
Milt knew he wasn't going to get any more sleep that night, not with the surgery scheduled for the next morning at 11:00. He got up, put on his robe and wandered down toward the kitchen, and he saw Mark standing in the den looking out at the dark ocean. He was leaning heavily on the cane he used to help him walk until the bullet wound healed up more. The crutches had barely lasted one day.
He hadn't wanted to use those crutches any more than he'd wanted to stay in the hospital. Charlie had tried more than once to talk him into staying a full day, but Mark steadfastly refused to stay there. He wanted to get his leg fixed, get the pain killers, go home, HIS home in the gatehouse, and go to sleep. No argument. Case closed.
For once, no matter how much the Judge agreed with Charlie, he was going to agree with McCormick about not staying at the hospital. The kid had had it. He needed to be home. He'd even let him sleep in the gatehouse, even if it did have a gaping hole left in it by the Caprice if that's what it took, but luckily the kid didn't argue about staying in the main house.
He had a week to rest up for his ear surgery. Then, all they had done that week was wait, clean up the estate and try to get their lives back to some semblance of normal.
However, it looked like the judge wasn't the only one not sleeping that night.
Milt walked over to him and gazed out at the same scene. Last bits of starlight twinkled down onto the water as the pre-dawn hours had brought some relief to the heat of the last few days. The night had brought some cool drizzle and much lower temperatures, though it was still rather damp. The rain had cleared off some of the haze, but still, it left everything a rather dull gray. The ocean seemed to be kicking up some big waves though as a couple of seagulls sat on the patio squawking at each other. The gate house was in a state of repair – the construction crew had finished the wall and would be working on repairing the inside of the building when they came back, and, for the first time in a while, there were no police officers standing guard.
"Remember the first time you ever saw the Pacific?" Mark finally asked.
Milt nodded.
"I was so used to the Atlantic. I saw it all the time in Jersey and Florida. I loved going down to the beach, any day, any time, any reason, you know? Then, I came out here. Ya know, the oceans sound different. I can't really describe it. Maybe it's 'cause the Pacific seems so much bigger, I don't really know, but they do. I loved it. I even learned how to surf."
Mark looked at Milt who simply nodded, a grin on his face.
"I'm not that good, but I can stay on the surf board. I really fell in love with this ocean. I can remember what she sounds like, and when I look at her, it's like I can almost hear her, but…"
Both remembered what Cliff Dorger had told them about not remembering what the ocean sounded like. Milt placed his hand on Mark's shoulder.
Mark appreciated Milt's understanding, but felt he needed to explain things even more. "I did something that bothers me," he almost whispered. He looked over again and saw that he had Milt's attention. "I was making breakfast a week or so ago, I think, frying up some bacon, and I couldn't hear it cooking. There was no sizzle, ya know. And it was … normal. That really scared me that I was becoming accustomed to the quiet. I don't want to do that if this is only temporary, and there I was not realizing that I wasn't hearing it. I couldn't help but think that maybe that was some sort of sign."
Milt reached into his robe's pocket and brought out the pen and pad.
"IT'S BEEN LIKE THIS FOR OVER A MONTH, IT'S PROBABLY NATURAL"
"It's pretty scary."
"IT'S UNDERSTANDABLE THAT IT'S SCARY WHEN YOU FIRST DO THAT. PUT IT IN PERSPECTIVE THOUGH. IS THAT THE MOST SCARED YOU'VE EVER BEEN?"
Mark thought about his question for a moment. "No. It doesn't even come close."
"SO, TALK TO ME. WHEN WAS IT?"
Mark kept gazing out at the ocean as he talked. "That night I was shot by Price and Falcon and dumped at the bottom of that hill. I was lying down there in the cold, damp darkness, and all I could think was that I knew I was going to die alone. I was laying there with a bullet lodged inside me, bleeding to death most likely, unable to move, didn't even have the strength to scream. Hell, it wouldn't have done any good anyway, no one was around. That's when I was the most scared, Judge. I had no clue where I was or even how badly I was injured. I just knew it was bad from every angle. No one knew where I was, not even Millie. I knew you were looking for me, but I was terrified you wouldn't find me in time. It'd probably be at least a year maybe, someone hiking or walking their dog would find a skeleton," he glanced back at Milt, "a very well dressed skeleton, and then the cops would come out, forensics, they'd check dental records and then you'd get a phone call that my remains were found. By then, you'd have found yourself a new Tonto and a year old APB out on me and the missing persons report would finally be shredded and tossed."
Milt remembered vividly how worried and scared he was that night. When he saw Mark lying at the bottom of that hill… "WOULDN'T HAPPEN. YOU KNOW I WOULDN'T GIVE UP."
Mark almost laughed. "I know. I knew then, but I was scared to death you'd be too late. I was going to die alone. That's the worst way a person can go. When my mom got sick, we were living in this two room dump. I made a pallet on the floor of the room she slept in so she wouldn't be alone. She never knew that I heard the doctor say that there was nothing more they could do. She didn't want to spend her last days in the hospital, we couldn't afford it anyway so she came home. Every night I listened to her breathing until one night, she started breathing really shallow. She'd take a breath, then she wouldn't. Then it sounded like her breathing would catch. I was ten years old, and I didn't have a clue what to do. I ran next door and got our neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins. She came over, but I wouldn't leave the room. I sat there on the bed holding Mom's hand until she stopped breathing, and the only thing I could think of at the time is that she didn't die alone. That was all I could do for her."
Milt had been holding Nancy's hand when she died. He remembered that she had held on tight until the very end because although she was tired of the sickness, weary from fighting the cancer, she didn't want to leave him. "THAT MEANT A LOT TO YOUR MOM."
"I didn't realize it until I woke up in the hospital and saw you there. It hurt so bad, I still thought I was dying, but you knew where I was and what happened and I wouldn't die alone. I wasn't scared anymore. I know I'm not going to die from being deaf, you know, but that night, all I could think of is that I was going to die alone at the bottom of that hill. It's not something I can forget."
The grand scheme that Milt had cooked up years earlier to put the bad guys behind bars had come back to haunt him, but it was Mark who bore most of the bruises. "I'VE REALLY PUT YOU THRU A LOT OF CRAP KIDDO, AND NOW THIS, I'M SORRY ABOUT ALL OF IT, I NEVER MEANT FOR ANY OF THIS TO HAPPEN."
"Would you stop, Hardcase? I've told you at least a hundred times I don't blame you for any of this. I'm a grown man, and I'm responsible for my own actions. You've never forced me into anything I wouldn't do. Well, not exactly. Maybe at the beginning, but even then, you helped me catch Flip's murderer. You've given me an opportunity to completely change my life around. I know I was never one of the bad guys even if I did do some shady things, but whatever wrong in my life I've done, maybe all this has helped balance the scales. If that means there are some dark spots out there, then that's what it is. I know I can count on you and in the end that's all that matters."
And that's what it all boiled down to. They could trust each other. "ALWAYS CAN COUNT ON YOU TOO."
They watched the murky dawn try to peek through the clouds, but all it did was give the day a brighter gray look.
"DOCTOR SAID YOU CAN'T EAT OR DRINK BEFORE SURGERY. HOW ABOUT A STEAK DINNER AFTER? MY THREAT?"
"If it works, I want a filet mignon," was his cheeky answer. "And it's treat, not threat."