Chapter 39
"Are we ready?" Doctor Guthrie asked as he caught up with Hardcastle who was walking down the corridor to Mark's room.
The judge looked up at the doctor. "WE better be ready. You're the surgeon," he joked.
"I was coming by to tell you that there'll be a slight delay. The previous surgery ran a little longer than they thought, and they're sterilizing the room."
Milt stopped walking. "Hurry up and wait," he muttered. "Okay, about how long?"
"Probably not even an hour. I take it he's a bit anxious?" the doctor asked.
"A bit. We both are. It's the not knowing if the surgery will be successful or not," the judge told him.
The doctor crossed his arms. "I wish I could tell you he'll absolutely hear again. The fact is there is a slight chance he won't. It's good to know he's got you to help him if he doesn't. A good support structure is important to have."
The judge nodded his head. "He's got that."
"Also, like I told you, he's going to be very dizzy for a day or two, maybe longer. I know he doesn't like hospitals, but he's staying here a couple of days so we can monitor him. Think you can talk him into that?"
"Won't be easy. We'll be getting an argument out of him as soon as he shakes off the anesthesia. Anyway, I'll go tell him it'll be a little while before you take him in."
The nurse had already started prepping Mark for his surgery, including some rather unfortunate shaving of his curly hair near where the surgeons would be performing the operation. That had been the first step. Now he waited for whatever was to come next. The Judge came bounding into the room, carrying his trusted notepad with him.
"THEY'RE RUNNING LATE," He had already written down.
"That figures. Luck hasn't been exactly on my side lately. Look what they did to my hair."
The Judge's face showed a brief couple of sympathy, "REMEMBER, YOU NEED TO KEEP BOSITIVE. THIS IS GONNA VORK. YOU IALKED WITH CLIFF. HE WENT THRU THE SAME IHING."
"It's gotta work, 'cause I don't think I can handle reading your notes much longer."
'WISE GUY."
This time the silence between them was more unnerving than usual.
"Um, we haven't really talked about the other option here," Mark tried to break the tension.
"AND WE'RE NOT GOING TO NOW. ONE STEP AT A TIME REMEMBER?"
"But what if…."
"NO, POSITIVE! IT'S GONNA WORK."
"Milt, come on. Cliff's surgery didn't work. He said we need to be realistic."
"THIS IS REALISTIC."
"So you're not gonna let us talk about the flip side to all this?"
Milt shook his head no, just as a nurse came into the room. He quickly jotted down a note and held it up for Mark's eyes only. "HA, SAVED BY A PRETTY NURSE."
"That's not fair, Judge."
"IT ALL EVENS OUT KIDDO."
The nurse carried a tray and came up to Mark's bedside. "Excuse me, Judge, Mr. McCormick. I'm going to start an IV now and give you a mild sedative to get you started. We'll be taking you up to the operating room shortly. Would you mind stepping out for a minute while I do this, Judge?"
"Not at all," he said, getting to his feet. Before he left, he wrote, "SHE'S STARTING AN IV AND GIVING YOU A SEDATIVE, YOU'RE GOING UP SOON. I'LL BE BACK IN AS SOON AS SHE'S FINISHED."
Mark nodded his understanding. As the Judge was leaving, McCormick decided to get even with him as he spoke to the nurse. "My friend there thinks you're cute. He's too shy to ask himself, but would go out on a date with him?"
Hardcastle stood at the doorway, turned back and McCormick could hear the growl coming from his mouth and he let out a hearty laugh.
"Sorry, Judge, but you're right, it all evens out."
OOOOO
It was about ten minutes or so later when the Judge went back into the room.
The nurse met him at the door. "Mr. McCormick will drift off any time now. It's perfectly natural so don't let him fight it."
Milt pointed toward the bed. "This guy hates being knocked out for anything. He'll fight it, but I'll try."
As he got closer to the bed, he immediately noticed just how groggy the kid was already. The sedative wasn't exactly mild in his view. The kid was fighting hard to keep his eyes open. Typical McCormick, being stubborn all the way. Hardcastle could tell that his alertness was diminishing fast as he approached his bedside.
"You just missed your nurse, she gave me another shot of something or another. You came back, huh?" he said to Milt. He even seemed to be having a hard time talking.
Milt picked up his pad and jotted a quick note, he made a point to write as clearly as possible. "OF COURSE I DID. WON'T BE LONG NOW."
"What won't be long?" McCormick was hovering between entering la-la land and utter unconsciousness.
"SURGERY."
"Oh yeah, forgot about that. Feel pretty good right now. Actually don't feel much of anything. It's good. Almost numb all over." He somehow managed to laugh, though it sounded rather odd. "Feel sleepy though."
"NURSE SAYS YOU CAN SLEEP."
He had a moment of lucidity. "Did she say yes to the date?"
"NOT YET, WISE GUY." The Judge smiled at him.
"I'll hook you up yet, Hardcase."
"DON'T BET ON IT. WE DON'T HAVE THE SAME TASTE IN WOMEN."
"I know. I like all of them. You are too choosy," he stumbled in trying to get the words out. "Besides, it's just a date. Not like you have to marry her…"
He watched the kid's eyes flutter a bit and then close and thought he had fallen to sleep as predicted, but then he opened them up again. This time he didn't say anything, he merely looked up at the Judge, though now he seemed to be cross-eyed and unable to focus.
"IT'S OKAY TO SLEEP, MARK."
McCormick forced himself to read the note and tried to smile, "See, there? That's how I know you're worried. It's the only time you call me Mark." He swallowed hard and took a very deep breath. "Called me Mark too many times since all this happened. 'Mmmname's McCormick, don't forget it."
"WHEN YOU WAKE UP IT'LL ALL BE OVER MCCORMICK. BET ON IT." There, he'd used his last name.
"Bet 20 and steak? Lucky man I am, no doubt 'bout that. That's one bet I'd be glad to lose to ya, Hardcastle."
"GET READY TO PAY ME THEN."
"Going away soon here, so tired, can't stay 'wake, stuff she gave me…" He couldn't even complete the sentence. His voice was now getting softer and weaker by the second.
"CLOSE YOUR EYES SPORT."
"Can't. Want to hear."
Hardcastle was confused by what he was trying to say. "YOU WILL, AFTER SURGERY."
McCormick wanted to make him comprehend. "No, want to hear the…now" he paused, trying to find the word in his foggy brain, "This, the quiet," he explained. He mustered up some strength to finish his thought with some sort of understanding to the Judge. "Quiet now, really appreciate all the beautiful noise after."
Milt got it and gave him a pat on his shoulder. "YOU WILL."
"Even your yelling."
"I DON'T YELL." He wrote out, then he crossed it out and wrote, "MAYBE A LITTLE."
"Want you to…." He barely said above a whisper, then he eyes drifted back into his head and his eyelids fluttered close. This time he was out. Within five minutes the orderlies came and took him up to the OR.
OOOOO
Frank walked into the hospital room and saw Milt surfing through the television channels. "Any news?" he asked.
"They took him into recovery about fifteen minutes ago. Guthrie said everything went smoothly, but they won't know if it worked until he wakes up."
Frank sat down in another chair and leaned back. "Been a hell of a case, hasn't it?"
"And then some, and not one I want to repeat, I wish it had only been 'a case,' I can sure do without all this stuff, I'm really tired of hospitals, and I can't even imagine what McCormick thinks of 'em right now," Milt told him. "I don't think he wants to stop going after the bad guys though."
"You asked him?"
"Not really. He gave me this song and dance routine this morning about this being a good thing and something about karma."
"You didn't ask him straight out. Think he'd want out if he thought about the times he got shot or beat up or tossed around?"
"Wouldn't you?" Milt asked.
That brought a smile to Frank's face. "We're not talking about me. What made you think he would?"
"The kid's a race car driver. He's good at it. He could go back into it with the Coyote. Get Flip Johnson's name down as the designer…"
"And leave you alone to play Lone Ranger? He wouldn't do that. Besides, I think racing doesn't mean to him what it used to anymore."
Milt turned the volume down on the television. There was nothing on anyway. "What do you mean?"
"I mean he still loves racing and probably wants to do it as more of a hobby, but what you guys do is more important to him. You gotta know that, right?" Frank leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "He's seen a lot of good come out of what you two do. You've helped save innocent people and put the real bad guys behind bars."
Milt leaned back and remembered what else Mark had said that morning, that he was never one of the bad guys even if he did do some shady things. All those years as a cop, a lawyer and judge had shown Milt two paths to walk, one with the good guys, one with the bad guys. Mark, however, saw it all differently. Given how and where he had grown up, his time in prison, his definition for 'bad' was different than Milt had ever considered. There was no fine line drawn, no stark contrast when deciding the good guy vs. bad guy argument, but there were lines you didn't cross. Mark had never crossed it because he wasn't one of the bad guys. The ones they went after, the murderers, the gun runners, the kidnappers, those were the real bad guys. Those were the ones they were helping protect innocent people from. "I never really thought about anyone getting hurt when I started this, but it sure seems like it's all I've been thinking about lately."
"I know. But you know that you're the closest thing to family he's got, and you know what that means to him. He gave you his word to help you out with these cases, and the one thing Mark McCormick will never do is go back on his word. You know that, and what you two do, hell, Milt, you guys have got to be racking up the good karma. Have you thought about that?"
The judge could only laugh. "That almost what he said this morning. Still, he's been shot more than once, beat up," he waved his hand circularly around the room, "had all this happen to him – why would he want to stay?"
Frank shrugged. "Why do you?"
Why did he? That made Milt stop and think for a moment. Maybe he once had an egotistical need to go after all those who walked out of his courtroom on a technicality, but afterwards, after he helped Mark go after Martin Cody for Flip Johnson's murder, a case that hadn't walked out of his court, it all changed. There was a bigger picture than nailing everyone that skipped off his docket.
"Because if we didn't, who would?" he asked Frank.
"Now you've got it," Frank told him.
Chapter 40
There was a buzz.
Not a loud buzz.
Not an annoying buzz.
It wasn't even really a buzz.
It was more of a soft hum. Nothing solid, nothing concrete, just the presence of something.
Mark felt something on either side of his head… right, there was a special pillow to keep him from moving his head after surgery. They had showed it to him, something about fluid in his ears, keeping his head still. He tried to open his eyes, that wasn't a rousing success either. He tried again, and this time, through barely opened eyelids, he could see the television on the far upper corner. It was on. In fact, the news was on, but there was no sound.
The newscaster was talking, but there was no sound at all. Even that soft murmuring he thought he'd heard – it stopped. There was nothing. No sound.
It was the quiet. It was still there.
No, it couldn't be. It was supposed to work. He was supposed to hear everything again.
Mark closed his eyes, trying to keep the tears from coming.
The anesthesia still had hold of him, and he felt himself fall asleep again in the deep quiet that surrounded him.
OOOOO
The next time Mark woke, he was in the same room, the same pillow cushioning both sides of his head. His ears, they hurt a little, but not like they did after the explosion. Was that good or bad? The television showed a football game in the far corner but it was as silent as before.
There was no hum. There was a rustle of something.
A rustle? A real honest-to-goodness rustle?
A page turning? Could it really be a page turning?
Huh? His struggled to open his eyes, but his lids seemed so heavy. That was enough sleeping. Was he dreaming the sounds? Strength -- he had to have some of that somewhere. One last push of the eyelids and yep, they were open now, blinking, focusing, and most importantly, he was listening.
"Milt," he heard someone… whisper?
Almost immediately, the judge was standing beside him, a fishing magazine in his hand. "McCormick? Hey, sport, welcome back," he whispered. He saw Frank stand up, heard the soft sole of his shoe touch the floor as he walked to the foot of the bed as well.
Frank was there?
Wait a minute, Mark had heard a whisper?
He HEARD a whisper! He heard the Judge, the shoe, the page rustling, all of it.
"McCormick, can you hear me?" the judge asked him, his voice low. Milt glanced over to Frank and neither one of them could tell by the kid's foggy stare. "He's not really awake yet, Frank," Milt whispered. "I don't think he's all there."
They both turned their attention to McCormick. Mark's eyes tracked to the television and squinted as he stared at it. Frank spotted his confusion and suddenly grabbed the remote and turned the volume up a few notches so the sound was barely coming through. He explained the situation to Mark, "The doctor said to keep noises at a minimum until you woke up. We had the volume all the way down. Can you hear it, Mark?"
He heard Frank.
He heard the sound on the television
"Mark?" the Judge had that worried look on his face. It was that same look he had carried for too long.
"Yeah?" he croaked, his voice a bit dry, but still uncertain in his drug-induced mind.
"You can hear us?"
"Yeah," he said with more strength. He tried to blink away the last vestiges of the anesthesia. "Don't forget, it's 'McCormick.' Just don't yell. Not ready for that yet."
Milt suddenly wore an ear-splitting grin on his face. "Right. Doctor said no yelling. We're whispering."
Mark almost smiled. "Didn't do you any good to yell before. Can't yell now."
Of course, Milt knew that was a bit of a challenge. "Short term only, wise guy," he whispered. "Doc said we might be back to our usual sound levels pretty soon."
"That's okay. I can live with that." He reached over and took the remote from Frank. He increased the volume just a little, decreased it, increased it, decreased it.
"Having fun?" Milt asked.
"I am now," was the sleepy answer. Mark played with the volume a few more times, then let the remote fall back down to the bed as he fell asleep again.
"He can hear, Milt," Frank said in a whisper.
The judge sat back down, relief almost cascading off his shoulders. "Yeah. Doctor said that he'd be out of it most of the afternoon. Give him a day or two, and he'll probably be yelling at the top of his lungs."
OOOOO
Mark sat up on the side of the bed, feeling the entire room spin around him. The judge held onto his arm until Mark got his bearings.
"Was this supposed to happen? The dizziness being this bad?" he asked.
"You had your ears operated on, kiddo. Remember what the doctor said? Your equilibrium is taking a tumble for the next couple of days. That's why you're staying in the hospital, so they can monitor it."
Mark didn't dare nod his head. He didn't want a repeat of the dizzy feeling that was starting to settle down. In the distance, he could hear the intercom, the sounds of carts being pushed in the hallway, the muttering of people talking…
And it was some of the most beautiful noise he'd heard in his life.
"Did I imagine it or was Frank here earlier?"
"Yeah. He stopped in to see how things went with the surgery and was here when you woke up. He got called back to the precinct. Seems like some federal agents had some news for him."
"Oh, fun. Poor Frank. I get the feeling he wasn't too thrilled about that?" Mark suggested.
"He wasn't. Some things happened at the estate that night that got Frank a little angry," the Judge told him.
"You never have told me what was going on out there. Were the Feds giving him problems?"
"A little bit. The feds wanted Morris. He was their first priority."
The room stopped spinning and Mark was able to sit up straight. "So I was expendable as far as the Feds were concerned."
There was a knock at the door and Doctor Guthrie walked in. "How are we feeling?" he asked in a low voice as he walked over to them.
Mark grinned. "The Judge is fine, I'm dizzy, how are you?"
"Don't be a smartass," the Judge told him. Then he turned to the doctor. "He's dizzy when he tries to sit or stand."
"That's normal. I wouldn't consider sitting or standing without someone to help you for a day or two. The dizziness should pass pretty soon. Other than that, how do you feel?"
"Hungry."
The Judge almost snorted. "He's fine. He's always hungry."
Guthrie smiled at the easy give and take in their conversation. "Doctor Pepper will be coming in later today to run some tests. We'll have to re-check your hearing a few times to see how well everything is healing. Until the dizziness passes, be careful sitting and standing. Your equilibrium should equal out soon. Try to keep away from loud noises until you get the go-ahead from Doctor Pepper. That also includes no yelling, Judge Hardcastle."
"I don't yell," Milt protested.
"Yes, you do," Mark contradicted him.
"Maybe a little."
"You enjoy it."
Guthrie began to realize exactly how hard the previous weeks' worth of difficult communication was on these two.
The doctor did a few more basic checks and then exited the room for what he called, "seeing really sick patients."
"So the Fed's were gonna let me go to the great big music concert in the sky, huh?" Mark said, allowing the Judge to ease him back to bed, resting his head against the cushy pillow.
"That's what Feds do," Hardcastle said. "Everything's about them, the hell with the rest of the world."
"You know, I don't even get half of this case yet. I think you're going to have to piece it together for me."
"Okay here goes, bad guys kill people, lots of people, all over the world in fact. We hunt them down, then they try to kill us. We win."
McCormick laughed during the whole explanation. "That helped a lot, thanks."
"It's long and complicated and involves the FBI, the CIA and the IRS. I'll tell you when we get out of here."
The door to their room opened. It was Frank Harper once again. "Aren't they ready to check this kid out of here yet?" He said in a low voice with an ear to ear smile on his face.
"Probably a few days Frank," Mark beamed back at him. "And before I forget, thanks for everything on this one," he paused and added sadly, "And I'm really sorry about your guys, especially Big Al. They all put their lives on the line for us. There's no way I can repay that. Won't forget it either."
"Yeah, that goes double for me, Frank."
Harper's smiled faded and he gave them a nod. "They were a good bunch of characters and you're right Mark. We won't soon forget any of them." He sniffled a little and pulled out something from behind his back. "Hey, I got ya something," he brightened up.
"Me?" McCormick asked.
"You're the one in the hospital bed, right?" He handed over a wrapped box to Mark. "Claudia did the wrapping by the way, but I picked out the gift."
Mark grabbed for the bed control first and slowly lifted up the mattress to a more upright position and then he waited for his head to follow. The dizziness was slow to pass. "Frank, you did not have to get me anything."
"I know, but I wanted to, but I figure this is something you'll be able to use for a long time to come."
"Spelling book for Hardcase?" he suggested.
"Why don't you quit talking, open it up and see what it is?" Milt reminded him.
Mark tore into the wrapping like a six year old on Christmas morning. "Oh, wow, are you kidding me Frank?" he started to say as he spied some writing on the box.
"What is it?" Milt tried to speak.
McCormick was quickly tearing the paper off completely to reveal a CD walkman.
"I heard you didn't have one of those yet. You like it, huh?"
"Frank, I, uh, I love it, I don't know what to say. This is like top of the line, new age technology, Frank, how'd you ever…. And I can even hear it now, too. What a great gift. Frank, thank you!"
Harper cleared his throat, "You still were using one of those cassette things. It's about time you stepped it up. CDs, Mark, that's where everything is heading. You could give that old one away, it's a relic."
"I, uh, actually have Frank. I gave it to the Judge for his Dixieland. They deserve one another."
"You can say that again," Frank took a poke at Milt.
McCormick was busy looking over the box. "Man, I wish I had a CD I could try out in here."
"Open up the box," Frank instructed.
"No way? Frank really? Is there one inside?" Mark was back to ripping the box open and checking out the contents. "The Stones? Out of My Head? Aw, Frank, I don't know what to say! Check this thing out, Judge."
"I already told ya, kiddo, I don't know the Stones from the Rocks."
"Yeah, yeah, keep your head in Dixieland will ya?"
Mark went to pulling out the CD player, the headphones and the CD, when there was another knock on his door.
Frank went over and opened it up. Cliff Dorger stood in the doorway, with a big smile on his face.
"Cliff?" Mark sat surprised, "Please come in."
Cliff stepped over to the bed and Mark eagerly stuck out his hand to shake. "A little bird told me that your surgery was successful." Mark gave him a smile and a nod, yet he felt more than a little sad that Cliff still deaf. Mark had walked a mile in his shoes for a month. He understood. "Hey, none of that. I'm happy for you and you should be ecstatic for yourself."
"I am, it's just…"
"It's just nothing. Just be happy. And I have a gift for you too!" He was carrying a rather large box that Milt and Frank gave him a hand with. "Something old and something new in there."
The box wasn't wrapped, so Mark simply opened up the lid to reveal a historic collection of LP's, most of which were titles he'd managed to trash as well as a couple dozen other records too. And stacked along the side were about a dozen brand new CD's. "Oh, Cliff, no, I can't accept this. This is too much. This is your collection right?"
"Most of it. I've kept a few for nostalgia, but I honestly want you to have them. Delores always more of an Eagles fan, and these records haven't been played in a long time. All they're doing is collecting dust. I know you'll take care of them and appreciate all of them. There are even a few Dixieland LPs in there for the judge. I also talked with the good Lieutenant here about the CDs so I went out and chose a few of those so you have a good start on a new collection."
McCormick was in shock. He looked over to Milt, "You told them, didn't you?"
"Me? What? I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Uh huh." Mark scanned his bed, now covered with CD's and LP's and the new portable CD player. "I don't know what to say."
"You already have," Cliff told him.
OOOOO
Three days after release from the hospital
The Pacific.
The gentle roar of the waves as they crashed on the shore.
The lilting sound of the seagulls as they flew overhead.
The sound of cars passing by on the highway.
The annoying crash of doors being slammed and judges yelling at people on the phone.
Mark had missed this. Hell, he had missed anything that had a sound, annoying babies crying, fingernails on chalkboards, even thunderstorms and gunfire, and only that because it was good to know when to be able to duck when the lead was flying.
He sat down on the sand and just listened. Things were getting back to normal. Hardcastle hadn't gone back to yelling at him yet, but that was only until the doctor said he could. The non-yelling had to be getting to him.
Normal. Mark thought about it. He was back to where he was before the explosion, but where was he? That dreams he'd been having about being in a race only to be willing to leave it all to go work a case with the judge… did it tell him more than he had actively thought about? Sure, part of him still wanted to race, but in his dream, he was more than ready to leave the Winner's Circle and go chasing after some bad guy on a case with Hardcastle. Maybe his unconscious mind was confirming what his conscious mind was wondering about? If nothing else, the dreams got him thinking seriously about the path his future could take, and in the end, it was him and the judge doing what they do best. That's how the dream ended. Maybe somebody somewhere was trying to tell him something?
He was still giving serious thought to law school, and the lack of a real job notwithstanding, he was still financially strapped. What about those dreams he'd been having? Could he play Tonto, race part time and go to school at the same time? He'd done that a few times, but he always came back to the Hardcastle's cases. What if he got a real job he worked 40 hours a week? He was sure he could, but when would he tell the judge? He didn't want to disappoint him, and if he failed at school…
Oh, yeah, this was normal. He was already contemplating failure before he'd even taken the plunge. He did that with everything except racing. If anything the last three years had taught him, odds didn't matter. You do what you gotta do and do your best at it. You don't really fail as long as you try, right? He's survived getting shot, thrown off a train, beaten up, and like they said, that which doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. If he could get through that, how hard could law school be? And there was always his mother's reminder, "Life's not fair Mark, but it is your life."
Platitudes and clichés, Mark wondered when those became part of his internal monologue.
He heard the soft crunch of sand under old sneakers that he knew things really were getting back to normal.
"Hiya, Judge," he said without turning around to see that Hardcastle was walking up behind him.
"How far away was I when you heard me coming?" Milt sat down next to him and stared out at the waters. "Everything still seems a bit new, huh?" he asked, his voice kept low.
"No, more like it all went on a vacation and I'm glad it's back, and maybe it seems like it's all still a couple dozen steps away," Mark quipped in response. "Ya know, Judge, I've been thinking. Maybe you ought to give some thought to putting up a privacy fence."
That got Milt's attention. "Why would I want to go and do something like that?"
Mark jerked his thumb back toward the neighbor's yard. "The Drinkwaters are sitting in their back yard right now watching to see what's happening. At the very least, you need to spring for some good binoculars. The ones they have are the ones he brought back with him from Europe when he was in the war."
Milt glanced back over at his next door neighbors. Yep, there were the Drinkwaters, sitting on their veranda, having a picnic and watching Gulls Way through binoculars. "We've given them enough to wonder about this last month," Milt said. "Why spoil their fun?"
They were silent for a moment as they gazed at the horizon. "I would have missed this sound if I didn't get my hearing back," Mark said off-handedly as he pointed toward the ocean.
Milt listened to the ocean as the waves came in. Mark was right. This was a sound you didn't get tired of. He'd lived by the sea all those years, asked Nancy to marry him on that beach, taught his son to swim in that ocean, had watched sunsets time after time, but to just listen and appreciate the sound that had been part of the ocean's mystery for millions, no, billions of years, that was something he'd never really done. Now, he understood.
He would have missed it too.
"By the way, I found the notes."
Mark started to smile. "What notes?"
"The notes you been putting all around the house wise guy."
McCormick laughed and mocked him. "Judge, I con't now, vhat vou're ialking avout."
"Very funny. My spelling isn't that bad."
McCormick acted flabbergasted. "Are you kidding me? It's terrible! I wrote better than that when I was three years old."
"The teachers gave me an 'A' in spelling all through grade school. I can dig out the report cards to prove it to you."
"Why am I not amazed that you have your grade school report cards? Anyway, deciphering your notes just about made me crazy this past month. I thought a little payback was in order."
"Yeah, the first twenty were funny, but did you have to leave the one under my toothpaste cap?"
In a serious deadpan, "You only found twenty, huh?"
Hardcastle slumped down and pursed his lips, "Why? How many are there?"
"More than twenty," McCormick grinned. "Hey, I've got a question for you."
"What?" Milt asked cautiously.
"Kerns walked out of your courtroom because his name was misspelled on the warrant, right?" Mark was almost grinning.
"Yeah," Milt answered cautiously.
"So, when you were a cop, how many of the arrests you made got tossed out because you misspelled someone's name on some piece of paper?"
The Judge cleared his throat and grumbled something as he got back up to his feet, brushing the sand off his clothes.
"Ah, I knew it!" Mark almost shouted. "Who was it?"
Milt sort of shook his head in a gruff manner. "Judge Worrell had to let one of my arrests go because I spelled a defendant's name with an extra vowel."
"What was the defendant's name?" Mark asked, his voice showing his pleasure at the information.
"The guy's name was McElroy – M-C-E-L-R-O-Y. I spelled it with a M-A-C."
Oh, that hit close to home! But, Mark couldn't let it go. "Betcha never did it again, huh?"
Milt had that almost wicked grin on his face. "No way was I going to let that happen again. I made sure that defendants with names beginning like yours had the correct spelling on the paperwork."
"Yeah, just my luck," Mark quipped. "Well, you might have figured out names, but your spelling still stinks."
"Yeah, well, I still have the book on ASL and I know a few words that you don't know."
"Like what? I practically memorized that thing."
He took his fingertips and swept them on top of his other hand.
"That's easy Hardcase, send, right?"
Milt followed it up with the phrase, I'm, sending and you.
"You're sending me where?"
Now it was Milt's turn to have some fun. He made the sign for jail.
"You're sending me back to jail? For what? I just busted open a federal gun smuggling case. Very funny, Hardcase."
Milt stopped signing and said, "I'm sending you back to jail for destroying my property by leaving stupid notes all over. Did you really have to leave the one in the kitchen sink. I accidentally ran it down the garbage disposal, I hope paper doesn't do any damage, otherwise you're going to be the one fixing it. But a smart guy like you that can learn to sign, oughta be able to tackle a kitchen sink without any problem. You did learn this signing stuff pretty fast kiddo." He was surprised by how much Mark had learned.
"I think I might keep it up, too. Heck, maybe even take a class or two in it. You never know when it might come in handy." Milt nodded his understanding. McCormick continued to talk, "Maybe you could take a refresher in spelling. You know the community college has all sorts of remedial classes."
"Remedial, I'll give you remedial," he made a fist and gave Mark an easy hit on the chin. "Hey, how about that steak tonight?" Milt asked.
"The filet?" Mark was grinning.
"Yeah, the filet. I know a place that makes a really good steak. And the dealership just delivered my truck. It's repaired and I want to road test it."
Mark stood up slowly, and Milt grabbed his arm to steady him. The dizziness was mostly gone but it still lingered if he moved too quickly. He took a breath. "Sure, let's eat!"
OOOOO
Mark sat in the passenger seat and admired the repair job on the GMC as Milt drove them back to the estate. The dealership had done a great job. He couldn't even tell that the windshield had been smashed out or that there had been bullet holes in the body.
"They did a good job," he remarked.
"I can't tell a difference in the steering," Milt commented. "Still runs as tight as she ever did."
Mark watched out the window as the trees sped by. "Ya know, we didn't have to go to the fancy restaurant. The steakhouse would have been fine."
"Nah," Milt said. "We're celebrating, that means we can go to a nicer place. Besides, that filet was delicious."
"Yeah, but it was expensive," Mark pointed out.
"It was worth it," was the judge's reply.
Worth it. It was still a rather novel idea that someone thought he was 'worth it.' How many times over the last three years had Hardcastle done something just 'because?' The aftermath of when he was shot replayed in his mind. The judge was there all the time, doing anything he needed, helping him out no matter what. No one besides his mother had ever thought he was 'worth it,' at least not to that extent. Having a friend who would go to the line for him and then go beyond -- Mark needed to say something, but he didn't know how. Finally, he decided that to just say it straight out was the best way.
"Judge, I never did thank you for all this. Everything you did for me."
He knew that Milt glanced over and saw that he was still staring out the front. Mark could say thank you for little things, he could show gratitude, but for someone to do everything that the judge had done, how could he say thanks for that?
"You don't have to, kiddo. Like you said, we're there for each other. Everything evens out."
"Yeah, but…"
"But what?" Milt asked.
"Hospitals cost money. Surgeries cost money. I was not easy to put up with, and you put up with me when I wasn't exactly acting like myself when this whole thing started. You were even willing to learn a whole new language just so I could understand what was going on, even hang up the silver bullets. That's a lot. Even when Falcon and Price shot me…"
Milt thought for a moment, then said, "Remember when Weed Randall shot me?"
"Like I'm going to forget that any time soon," Mark told him.
"You were right there for me when I was in the hospital, during my recovery, when I came home, you drove me to rehab and took care of the estate all on your own. You made sure I did all the therapy, you waited on me hand and foot. You were like an old mother McCormick."
"Yeah, but…"
"No, no buts, just even, you know? You were there for me the whole time. And if you're keeping score, it's been every time. Back in Washington, back in Arkansas, throughout this entire arrangement we got going. When you got shot, it scared the hell out of me, and there was no way I was going to let you be alone either. This is what we do."
"Yeah, and there's that too, the arrangement."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Milt asked him.
"Do you even realize just how generous you are?" Mark was blown away in thinking about it. "Other than when you buy things at the store like soap," he joked, "you 'offered' me this chance to get out of jail, Judge, which in and of itself is sort of nuts, any shrink would tell you so, too. Then you bring me home, let me live in your gatehouse, feed me, pay all my doctor bills which I've had too many of, insurance. It's crazy. I mean, what were you possibly thinking?"
"I was thinking that I wanted to put scum like Martin Cody behind bars, and you were a means to that end."
McCormick didn't believe him for a second but before he could add anything, Milt chimed in.
"Look, McCormick, I think we both know how this started and where it's come to right now. You wanna hear me tell you that I came up with this plan of mine for some saintly reason? Maybe somewhere inside I did. Maybe I even convinced myself that was why I was doing it, I don't know for sure. You know I'd tried it before and it didn't work. When we started, I was still the same old curmudgeon I was before when I got J.J. Beale for this gig, so maybe it's you who made all this work and not me. I do know that I wanted to continue the work I did in the courtroom. I love the law, always have." McCormick sought to interrupt him. "Just wait, McCormick, let me finish here. Now that you can hear it, I want to say it. I had the idea to try to do the right thing, get the bad guys, but you're the one who's always carried out the ideas. You're the one who goes in and risks everything to catch them. Now somewhere along the way, everything changed. I can't tell you when or how, but I don't think either one of us expected to wind up being best friends. But here we are. Neither one of us could be so brilliant as to plan that. That's, I don't know, fate, karma, the universe's idea of irony. The thing is that friends do for each other because they want to, not because they have to or they're owed something. You don't have to thank me for anything."
McCormick carefully thought over everything the Judge had said. He had to agree that them winding up best friends was out there, he wasn't convinced it was simply fate.
Milt kept his eyes on the road, thinking through the entire conversation, then he said, "But you're welcome."
Chapter 41
"I don't know what he wants McCormick, all his message said, was to come down to the station. You heard it for yourself. I'm not making it up." Milt explained the situation to McCormick for about the fourth time during their ride downtown.
McCormick was angry. "You promised, that's all. You promised no police stations for at least a month. Did you forget already? I'm supposed to be convalescing, taking it easy… helping chop up that fallen tree…working on my tan."
"No I didn't forget, I'm keeping my end of the bargain, I can't help that the police called up and ask us to come down there. What am I supposed to say? Sorry, we can't do that till October? And if you get any tanner, you're gonna be a potato chip."
"I would have done it for you," Mark murmured.
"Too bad, we're here. Tell you what, we'll go in, see what it's all about, and that'll be that. In and out in no time, how's that?"
"You stink as a salesman, Hardcase," Mark said, rolling his eyes and getting out of the truck.
They walked into Frank's somewhat messy office.
"Man, who threw a party and why weren't we invited?" Mark cracked, as he looked at the glut of paper, the empty coffee cups, the food containers scattered around.
"Not funny Mark, and here I am trying to do you guys a favor and all I get is wise cracks, huh?"
"Sorry, Frank. I didn't mean it. I just haven't seen it this, well, messy before," McCormick added.
"Yeah, well, some of you are taking a break from crime and punishment, some of us are left to clean up the mess from the last international incident," Harper was not amused.
"Something we can help you with?" Milt asked.
"Nope, I just wanted to get you guys up to speed on the latest, if you have time, that is. I know you both have more pressing engagements, like beer and baseball."
Milt grinned. "Beer's cooling in the fridge and the baseball game doesn't start until 8:00 tonight. That's why we're here."
"Looks like whoever was here ate you out of house and home. Frank, can I maybe get you some coffee or a Danish or anything?" Mark asked, suddenly feeling like he needed to be a lot nicer to the Lieutenant.
"Nah, I'm good, Mark. Besides, it's nearly three in the afternoon. You're only about seven hours behind with the breakfast."
Mark took a chair and sort of slunk down into it.
Milt sat down next to him. "What is it? Do we need to testify, make some statements? You tell us." Milt was more animated.
"No to all of that, too. I wanted you two to know that we've pretty much wrapped this whole mess up, well, as far as you two are concerned anyway."
"Whatta ya mean? We're done with it?" Mark asked. He couldn't believe it, after the adventures they'd just been through.
"Yep."
"How'd you pull that off, Frank?" Milt wanted to know.
"U.S. Exporters is under federal indictment. It came through early this afternoon. That's why I called you guys at home. The stuff Mark uncovered in the warehouse was all the proof the Fed's needed to put it all together."
"Okay, but since we found the stuff, aren't they gonna want to ask us about it?"
"I told him the special prosecutor assigned to the case that we got the stuff anonymously. He bought it hook, line and sinker. You guys are cleared."
"Yeah, but what about your guys and Gallagher? They all know?" Milt wasn't totally convinced.
"They all know to keep their mouths shut. With all the crap you two went through the past month, it's the least we can all do."
"Yeah but still, Frank…" Milt pressed on.
Mark saw it as his cue to get Milt out of there fast. Frank had spent a lot of time to get them out of this thing this cleanly, and he wasn't about let it go sour now. "Come on, Hardcastle. We got a tree to chop up at home, remember? Save your energy for that." He started to pull Milt out of the office. "Thanks, Frank, we appreciate you keeping us out of it." Hardcastle tried to interrupt him again, but Mark kept talking, "We both want to thank you, Lieutenant, for keeping us out of this. Isn't that right, Hardcastle?" He put his hand behind Milt's head to make him nod yes, "See, the Judge agrees. Seriously, Frank, you're one in a million. Come on, Judge." He all but dragged him back to the truck.
As they stepped outside Milt began to speak. "I don't like it, McCormick, not one bit. We should be able to speak on our own behalf."
"Judge, we were in that warehouse without a warrant. It was trespassing even if there wasn't a sign posted. It's one of those technicalities you don't like but has a tendency to come back and bite you in the butt. You really want to set who knows how many commando types free to roam the world?"
"Of course not."
"Then let it go, let Frank do his thing. It's a good thing, right?"
"A technicality is a technicality McCormick. We could bring it to court and see how a judge would rule. Chances are he or she would rule in our favor. You have to trust the law to work, that's why it's set up the way it is."
"No, that's not how it always is. That's only in the John Wayne movies. Chances are someone's name would be spelled wrong, and I'd wind up back in prison or back on probation and dancing to the state's tune. Ain't gonna happen. I'm free and clear, free man, debt to society paid in full with interest. Trust me on this one, Judge. This is the best way. Just let it go."
"I'll think about it."
"You're such a donkey." He even signed it again for good measure. "Get in the truck. We've got a tree to chop up."
"I've got a tree to chop up. You're not supposed to overexert yourself, remember?"
"Yeah, and if you weren't so cheap to let those tree choppers come in and take the tree away, we wouldn't have to do it ourselves."
Milt tossed up his hands. "One day, you'll be impressed with the methods I use behind the things I do."
"Don't bet on it."
Chapter 42
Epilogue:
"McCORMICK!"
The judge marched out of the house – where did the kid get to anyway? He couldn't have gone far.
He walked to the gatehouse… nope, empty.
He checked the pool… no one there.
Before he decided to break the sound barrier by yelling again, he turned around and hurried toward the garage. As he approached, he heard the rhythmic sounds of Creedence Clearwater Revival belting out the lyrics to Bad Moon Rising, but the volume was at a more 'normal' level than what the kid normally listened to. He walked inside and saw two denim covered legs sticking out from under the truck.
"What are you doing?"
Mark slid out from under the truck, saying, "Changing the oil. I told you this morning, remember?"
Right. The kid had mentioned that this morning. "Well, don't overdo it. The doctor said –"
"Don't overexert myself until after I go back for my last checkup in a week," he interrupted as he slid back under the truck. "This is me lying on my back under a truck. I'm not overexerting myself."
"Here, you got some mail from Cliff's office," Hardcastle thrust a letter in his direction.
Mark slid out and grabbed it.
"What's it say?" Milt asked.
"Can I open it first?" Mark looked at him like an impertinent child.
Hardcastle took a step back and let him read the contents. It appeared to be a typed letter of some sort. "You having some tax problems?"
Mark laughed at Hardcastle's humor but kept reading the letter. There was a business card inside too.
"Are you going to tell me what it is or not?"
"That would be the latter," Mark replied.
Not the answer the Judge wanted to hear.
"Alright, alright, it's just a letter congratulating me on the surgery and offering me any help if I ever need it."
"That's all, huh?"
"Yep," Mark sort of waved the letter out to show he wasn't hiding anything. In actuality, it was a letter of reference for Mark for when he decided to apply to law school and the business card was a friend of his who worked in assisting students with financial aid. Mark folded up the letter and tucked it in his back pocket. Hardcastle was now busy looking at the nearby radio. McCormick slid back under the truck.
"Not wearing the headphones?"
"Nope. I didn't want to hear you yelling at me for wearing them and cranking them up too loud. You paid for these ears, you know."
The judge affectionately kicked Mark's shoe. "Don't you forget it, wise guy."
"By the way, Frank's coming."
Milt turned and looked behind him, but didn't see anyone.
"Did he call?"
"Nope. I can hear his engine from here. He really needs to change his spark plugs."
Milt then heard the unmistakable sound of Frank's car as it pulled up into the driveway and toward the garage. The judge shook his head and smiled. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Oh, yeah!" was the enthusiastic reply.
Frank got out of his car and walked up to the garage. "Hi, guys. Not catching you at a bad time, am I?"
The way Frank said those words had Mark sliding back out from under the truck. Even the judge picked up that something was up. "What is it, Frank?" Hardcastle asked.
"Nothing bad. Don't worry about that. I just thought you two might like to know that the governments from several different countries have arrested or detained close to five hundred individuals linked to the gun smuggling operation as well as most of the members of the Greater Good paramilitary unit."
"Five hundred?" Mark asked. "So this was bigger than even the Feds thought."
"Much bigger," Frank told them as he handed them a file concerning the case. "And you won't believe how they were caught."
Both men looked at the lieutenant in anticipation of that answer.
"Every single one of them used the address on the bill of lading Mark took a picture of in the warehouse. All we had to do was backtrack the shipments. That one picture was the best evidence that linked them all together. It turns out that that was the location all the merchandise was smuggled through."
"We got a lucky break," Mark commented.
"And," Frank pulled out an envelope and handed it to the Judge, "the Governor of the state of California knows of your unofficial help in this particular situation and wants to give you two a commendation. Unofficially, of course. Under the table."
"Are you kidding me, Frank?" Mark was full of child-like glee. "We got a commendation from the Governor?"
Harper nodded and reached out to shake his hand. They both looked over at Hardcastle who still had not torn into the envelope.
"Go on, Milt, open it up," Frank prodded him.
"Why is the Governor suddenly recognizing us?"
"Um, here's a thought, Judge, we helped take down FIVE HUNDRED GUNRUNNING GOONS," McCormick said, trying to snatch away the envelope. "If you don't want to open it up, I will."
Hardcastle kept it out of his grip.
"Yeah, would you open it, Milt? It's a proclamation, you know. It'll look good on the kid's résumé."
"McCormick doesn't even know what a résumé is," the Judge cracked.
"Sure I do, I can even use it in a sentence. I'll resume eating dinner, when I'm finished here."
"See what I mean?" Milt said to Frank.
The Judge pulled something else out of his pocket and handed it over to McCormick. "This is something you might like better than a commendation from a guy you don't even know."
Mark took the envelope and opened it up to see a couple of plane tickets to Hawaii inside, along with two weeks at the Kalapuai Hilton Resort. In the meantime, the Judge was busy opening up the large envelope with two certificates inside.
"Are you kidding? We're going to Hawaii?"
"If you think you're up for it, kiddo?"
"Of course I'm up for it. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well, I'm not so sure you're fully recuperated quite yet. We'll have to make sure those precious ears of yours can handle the cabin pressure."
"Hey, I'll swim over there or take a boat if I have to. Two weeks at a Hawaiian Resort. This is fantastic. No, it's better than fantastic."
The Judge and Frank were busy looking over the certificates. Both of them cringed when they looked over McCormick's.
Mark stopped jumping around and carrying on just in time to see them set their faces to frowning. "What is it? What's up?"
"Well, you didn't really want the certificate from the Governor, did you, kiddo?"
"What? Why? Yes, I did, why?" He poked his head between the two of them and he let out a scream at the top of his lungs. 'THOSE IDIOTS! MCCORMICK DOESN'T HAVE AN 'A' IN IT! THEY SPELLED MY NAME WRONG!" He was livid.
"Easy going there, kiddo. All that shouting, and you're liable to make us all deaf."
The End