Chapter 4

As McCormick approached the exit for Topanga Beach, he grabbed the radio off the passenger seat. "All right, Frank, I'm going to be there in just a couple of minutes. Are you guys ready?"

"We're set, Mark. Richter checked in a few minutes ago, and he's in place, too. Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yep, things are going to be fine. I'm gonna switch to full transmission now, and hopefully this will all be over before anyone wants to search me. Just remember, Frank, I'm trusting you to get him out of there." McCormick flipped the switch on the handset that allowed the device to serve as a non-stop transmitter, and stuffed it securely inside his jacket. Soon, he reached his exit and turned off the highway.

McCormick drove slowly down the deserted road, his eyes searching for the police cars. Not that he expected to see them. He pulled through the open gate, wondering briefly if anyone really ever heeded NO TRESPASSING signs. He rolled past the first warehouse on the dock, noting that all the doors were closed, even though it was clearly abandoned.

He pulled up to the second building, which had loading doors open at either end. Shadows filled every corner of the large, open space, but McCormick could tell there was another vehicle at the other end. He drove in slowly and flipped on his headlights.

"I see him," he said calmly as he made out Hardcastle's shape in the glare of the low beams. "They're in a late model Chevy, four doors, red. Looks like Ricky and the same two guys who came to the house. I don't see anyone else. They've all got handguns; there's no sign of any other weapons. But, Frank, let's not forget that I'm delivering them an arsenal."

He stopped the car about ten yards from the other, put it in neutral, set the parking brake, and opened the door. McCormick pulled himself from the car, but he stayed behind the open door, and his hand didn't leave the wheel.

"Judge?" he called out, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, McCormick."

"You see, Mark," Lattimer shouted. "I am a man of my word."

"Go around to the other side of the car, Hardcastle, and get in," McCormick directed. He saw Lattimer put out a restraining hand.

"I don't think you're the one giving the orders around here, Mark."

"Ricky, if you think I'm going to turn this stuff over to you while your goons still have their guns pointed at his head, you're crazy. He's handcuffed and in no condition to run; he's not going anywhere. But I want him safe."

Lattimer yielded to the logic and removed his hand from Hardcastle's arm. The judge rounded the car as quickly as his leg would allow and crawled into the passenger seat.

"Before you move, Mark, I'm sending one of my guys to check the trunk."

"Fair enough," McCormick replied with a slight grin, "but I hope you have a key; I had to pick it."

As it turned out, the other guy had to pick it, too, but he was proficient and made quick work of it. "Looks good, Ricky," he called back across the building.

"What about the files?" Lattimer asked.

"Passenger seat," McCormick said to the guy at the trunk. He watched him warily as the guy opened the door and grabbed the folders.

"All right, Ricky," McCormick called as the goon backed away from the car, "let's finish this up. I need you guys away from that car." He climbed back into the Chevelle as the two men moved away from their car. He hit the gas and made a beeline for the sedan. Just before reaching the other car, McCormick jerked the wheel hard to the right and stomped on the brake, coming to a stop right next to the driver's side door. He shut off the Chevelle, pulled off the jumper wire he'd been using for ignition, and moved quickly to the other car.

"We're done here, Ricky," he shouted as he started up the car, "don't try to follow us." He glanced at his passenger. "Almost home, Judge," he said with a grin. He slammed the car into drive and stomped on the accelerator.

"Now, Frank!" he yelled as they cleared the warehouse. He drove the car to the far end of the loading area—leaving plenty of room for the police vehicles that were converging on the warehouse from every direction—and slammed on the brakes. "And get that ambulance over here!" he shouted as he jumped out of the car and ran around to the other side. He yanked open the passenger door, helped Hardcastle out of his seat, and pulled the older man into a bear hug.

"Judge, I am so glad to see you! Are you all right?" McCormick released the older man and held him at arm's length. "Jeez, you look like hell, what were you thinking, anyway, I told you I was going to get you out, God, I can't believe they hurt you, I am so sorry, I never meant for any of this to happen—"

"McCormick! I'm fine!" Hardcastle finally had to raise his voice to stop McCormick's babbling, but there was no anger in the tone. He looked around as the police completed their arrests. "You brought the cavalry," he said, the pride obvious in his voice.

"Well, yeah, of course," McCormick said, grinning. "Isn't that the way you taught me…set 'em up and knock 'em down?"

Hardcastle's face split into a toothy smile. "Now you're cookin'!"

McCormick couldn't wipe the stupid grin from his face. "Judge, let's get you over to the paramedics."

"Do you think we could get these things off first?" Hardcastle asked, wriggling his hands in McCormick's face.

"Jeez, sorry, Judge." McCormick pulled the radio from his jacket. "Frank, can you come get these cuffs off him, please?"

"At your command," Harper replied from behind McCormick.

McCormick spun around and clapped the lieutenant on the back. "Thanks, Frank…for everything."

"My pleasure, Mark," Harper replied as he removed the handcuffs from around Hardcastle's wrists. He was wearing his own dopey grin as he looked at the two men. "Anything to keep Tonto and the Lone Ranger together." Leaning close to the judge momentarily, he whispered, "He did good, Milt."

Hardcastle winked at him. "I never doubted it."

"Okay," McCormick said as he took the judge by the arm, "time to get you taken care of. Let's get you situated with the medics and then I need to tell you something."

"What? Gonna tell me you deserve a raise now?"

McCormick laughed; it was good to have him back. "No, Hardcase, not a raise. Though we might be able to negotiate some kind of bonus plan..."

Hardcastle snorted as he allowed McCormick to help him climb into the back of the ambulance.

"You believe this kid, Frank? One of his friends goes whacko and kidnaps me, and I'm supposed to give him a bonus just because he pulls me out? Apparently he's forgotten that I specifically told him not to pay this particular ransom."

"Funny you should mention that, Judge," McCormick began, but he broke off to let the paramedic start his examination. While the medics worked with Hardcastle, McCormick pulled Harper aside. "Do you think you can ride to the hospital with him, Frank?"

Harper looked at him quizzically. "Of course, but what about you? You're coming, too, right?"

"It's kind of complicated," McCormick answered slowly. "I'll explain it in a minute when the judge is done." He walked back to the open doors of the ambulance, ensuring Harper wouldn't ask more questions. Also, he wanted to stay close for as long as he could. He laughed when he heard the almost inevitable argument going on inside the ambulance.

"No, I don't need to go to the hospital," Hardcastle was insisting.

"Judge, don't argue with the man, just—" He broke off as he saw Richter approaching. "Just let them take care of you," he finally finished the thought as the detective joined their group.

"You ready?" Richter asked.

McCormick nodded, and turned so that the officer could secure the handcuffs.

"What's going on?" Hardcastle and Harper spoke almost in unison.

"This is kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, Judge, but we'll talk later. Frank's going to ride with you to the hospital. We'll talk when the doctors say you can leave, okay?"

"No, McCormick," Hardcastle replied firmly, "it absolutely is not okay. We can talk now. And, Frank, get those cuffs off him."

McCormick took a step back away from his friends. "Don't worry. Frank, you promised you'd take care of him. I need you to do that for me. You know where I'll be when he's done at the hospital. I'll explain everything, Judge, but later. Just let them take care of you. I need you to be okay."

Without further comment, he allowed Richter to lead him away.

00000

McCormick looked at his hands as he lay on the worn-down mattress. The booking process was tedious and he hated how the fingerprint ink stayed on practically forever. Such a small thing to be obsessing about, but that seemed to be the only thing his mind was capable of holding on to at the moment. That, and the fact that Hardcastle was safe. Nothing else mattered.

He squirmed around on the bunk. The gatehouse would've been better, but he was exhausted after the past couple of days, and even this jail cot would probably seem comfortable tonight. But he didn't want to sleep yet. He knew Hardcastle would be here tonight—regular visiting hours weren't likely to stop the judge—and he had no idea how he was going to explain any of this.

As he lay on the bed, examining his hands, his mind drifted back to the night he had accepted Hardcastle's crazy offer of partnership. So many similarities: lumpy mattress; scratchy denim clothes; felony conviction hanging over his head. It had never crossed his mind at the time that the judge really was making him the deal of a lifetime. He smiled to himself.

"No regrets, Hardcase," he said under his breath.

"McCormick! Ready for exit."

The guard's voice startled him out of his reverie, but McCormick knew the drill. He dropped down off the bunk and waited against the back wall of the cell, hands open and at his sides. He had assumed Hardcastle would come here —like the other time—but he would never turn down a chance to be out of the cell. McCormick stepped out of the cell in front of the waiting guard and turned away, enabling the guard to stay two steps behind as they walked. God, he hated that he fell into the routine so readily.

The guard opened the door to a small interrogation room, motioned his prisoner inside, and then pulled the door closed. McCormick had expected to see Hardcastle, but Frank Harper waited at the table.

"Frank, where's the judge? Is he okay?"

Harper motioned him toward a chair. "He's fine, Mark. The hospital cleaned him up and patched up his leg, then let him go. Now, he's talking to your buddy, Lattimer, trying to convince him to testify against Pedane."

McCormick chuckled. "Should've known. He'll probably get him to go for it, too." He sat down opposite the lieutenant. "So, what's up?"

Harper shook his head. "Milt wants to talk to you. He asked me to get you up here. That's all I know."

McCormick raised his eyebrow quizzically. "I doubt that."

"Well…I also know that he's pretty pissed. He's accustomed to getting his way, you know. What he wants right now is to get you released, but you've made that fairly difficult."

"You should take him home, Frank. He needs to take it easy for a while."

"You think that's an argument I can win?" Harper demanded.

"Entice him with a John Wayne film and some hot popcorn," McCormick shot back.

Harper opened his mouth to retort, but the door suddenly flew open, saving him the trouble.

"You signed a confession?" Hardcastle demanded as he slammed the door behind him.

McCormick looked around and laughed at the sight. Hardcastle still wore the same tattered sweat clothes from yesterday morning, though the right pant leg had been cut off to an almost indecent length to accommodate the bulky bandage around his thigh, and he held a wooden cane to help support his weight. His left wrist was covered in a thin bandage, protecting the skin that had been broken by the handcuff; there were several stitches above the judge's left eye; and both eyes held the particular glaze that could only be achieved with really good pain medication.

"This isn't a laughing matter, McCormick," the judge responded angrily.

"No," McCormick agreed. "But I gotta tell you, Hardcase, you come in here with all your huffing and puffing and hobbling around on a cane, it sure does lighten the mood just a bit."

Hardcastle stared at the young man, his eyes ice cold. McCormick took the hint.

"Okay, Judge," he said, rising from his seat. "You're not in a joking mood. I got it." He indicated his vacated chair. "Sit down, and we'll talk."

Hardcastle limped over to the offered chair, glad to be off his feet. He looked across the table. "Frank, could you give us the room?"

Harper rose immediately. "I'll be in my office, Milt. I'll drive you home whenever you're ready."

Hardcastle nodded. "Thanks."

As Harper left the room, McCormick rounded the table to sit opposite Hardcastle. "Scary as it is, Judge, you look a lot better than before."

Hardcastle ignored the comment. "You signed a confession, kid. What were you thinking?"

"I wanted to tell you about it earlier, but there wasn't time."

"That's not an answer."

"There isn't an answer, Judge, except that I did the crime. You're the one always preaching about people taking responsibility for their actions."

"I think this is a slightly different situation, McCormick. What I can't figure is why I'm the one having to point that out. Ordinarily you'd have a list of excuses a mile long. You want to tell me what's really going on? Then, after we straighten that out, we've gotta get you a lawyer down here."

"I have a lawyer, Judge, I talked to him earlier. In fact, he brought good news. He says the only charges being filed are the assault and the weapons possession. Apparently, Citizen Pedane never reported a burglary or a stolen car. And they seem to think traffic violations are superfluous." Mark grinned, hoping the judge would lighten up. It didn't work.

"I know about the charges, McCormick," Hardcastle replied, exasperated, "but when I said you needed a lawyer, I wasn't talking about some kid from the PD's office. I mean someone who can help you out of this hole you've dug for yourself. In the meantime, I'll talk to some more people and see what I can work out."

McCormick shook his head. "There's nothing to work out, Hardcastle. The arraignment is scheduled for tomorrow, and my attorney says we can squeeze a sentencing hearing in early next week."

"Now, see, that's exactly what I'm talking about. You're already talking about sentencing and we haven't even had a trial yet. What is going on with you?"

"There's not going to be a trial, Judge. I signed the confession because I'm pleading guilty."

Hardcastle gaped at him. "No, you're not," he said firmly. "Even with your confession, this is winnable. All sorts of extenuating circumstances going on here, McCormick. Besides, I still plan on getting these charges dropped."

"You're not listening to me, Judge," McCormick complained.

"Actually," Hardcastle corrected, "I am listening…you are not talking. And, in case you've forgotten, this whole mess began because you didn't come clean with me about something to begin with."

McCormick winced. Sometimes the truth really did hurt. "I am sorry about everything, Judge," he said softly. "And you're right, it was my fault. That's why I had to get you out, no matter what."

"What—exactly—do you mean, 'no matter what'?" the judge asked slowly.

"Oh, all right." McCormick threw up his hands in exasperation. "I got sloppy and I got caught. There was no way I could go to lockup before the exchange, so we made a trade: a guilty plea for a couple more hours of freedom."

"Are you telling me the confession was coerced?" Hardcastle's barely contained anger was about to reach its boiling point.

"No," McCormick insisted, "not coerced. Mutually agreed upon."

The idea was finally sinking in for the judge, and his breath caught. He was not sure if his heart was breaking from guilt or bursting with pride. "You shouldn't have done it, Mark," he said solemnly.

"What was I supposed to do?" McCormick demanded. "Let Lattimer kill you? I don't think so."

"Frank could have worked something out."

"Frank wasn't there."

"Yeah, I've been thinking that maybe I should have a little chat with your friend, Detective Richter."

"No, Hardcastle, you can't be hassling him. He was just doing his job. God, Judge, I almost killed him! He certainly had a right to file charges."

"Don't make excuses for him, McCormick. You know how I feel about dirty cops."

McCormick shook his head again, surprised to find himself defending the detective. "I'm not making excuses, Judge, I'm trying to explain what happened. You know I have a history with Richter. That might have made him a little over-eager, but it doesn't make him dirty." He leaned forward and gazed intently into Hardcastle's eyes. "He didn't have to let me go to the meet, Judge. I will always be grateful that he did."

Hardcastle held his gaze for a long moment, again feeling that strange combination of guilt and pride, and suddenly realized that this was a situation he could not change, no matter how much he wanted it to be different. He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke. "What can I do for you?"

McCormick smiled gently. "Make sure you find someone else to help you chase down the bad guys. You're not safe on your own."

Hardcastle turned away from his friend's eyes. "Been bringing in the bad guys since before you were born, kiddo," he said thickly. "I certainly don't need a babysitter now."

"No," McCormick agreed as heartily as possible, "of course not."

The men sat in silence for several long moments, each quietly contemplating a future without the other, and each realizing that future would be bleaker than he had imagined.

Determined to end this visit on a lighter note, McCormick finally spoke. "Hey, Hardcase, can you bring me a jacket and tie for tomorrow? I knew this crazy man once who said judges were important people, so I figure I should dress to impress."

Hardcastle glanced at his friend and saw that the laughter in his tone hadn't quite made it to his eyes, but he played along. "Yeah, McCormick, I'll bring them," he answered gruffly, "but don't expect miracles. Remember, I've seen your courthouse routine, and it's not going to carry you that far."

McCormick grinned. "Most people have more of an appreciation for my natural charm and grace than you do, Hardcase. But don't worry, no matter what, you'll always be my favorite judge." He forced himself to stand. Not that he wanted to go back to the cell, but the judge needed to leave. "You need to get some rest now, Judge," he instructed. He started toward the door, but Hardcastle's quiet voice stopped him.

"I haven't had a chance to thank you, Mark. For so many things."

McCormick turned back slowly. "I'd do it all again, Judge," he said honestly. He turned quickly then and crossed to the door, knocking to get the guard's attention, not trusting himself to say anything more.

Hardcastle watched him go and felt a loneliness he had thought forgotten settle deep into his soul.

And in the adjoining room, a lone police detective watched silently.

00000

"You're sure my tie is straight?" McCormick asked for the fifth time. He turned more completely around from the defendant's table so that Hardcastle could get a better look.

"It's fine, McCormick," the judge answered for the fifth time. "Will you quit worrying?"

McCormick grinned slightly. "Well, this is the last time I'm going to be in normal clothes for a few years. I thought it would be nice if I wore them well."

Hardcastle was trying to keep up his end of the light-hearted banter, but the thought of McCormick spending the next ten years behind bars was wearing on his last nerve. The kid was putting on a good show of bravery, but the judge knew that was for his benefit. He must have forgotten who he was dealing with if he truly believed it was working.

"You know, McCormick, you still have time to change your mind—"

"Juuudge," McCormick interrupted, "you promised."

"I know, I'm sorry. But of all the stupid things I've known you to do, this is right up there at the top of the list."

"That's just because I try to keep the really stupid things from you. Trust me, there have been bigger mistakes."

Hardcastle did laugh at that, and they both relaxed a bit. Then the judge saw just a shadow of anger cross the younger man's face, and he turned to see Richter entering the courtroom.

"I guess I should have expected he would be here," McCormick muttered. But he was surprised to see that the detective did not take a seat.

Instead, Richter walked directly to the district attorney, whispered something in her ear, and placed an envelope on the table. Then he turned and left the room.

"That was weird," he commented to Hardcastle. "I would've thought he would stay to gloat."

"I don't know why you won't let me have a little conversation with that young man," Hardcastle complained.

"I appreciate the thought, Judge, but you can't take care of me forever, remember?"

Hardcastle leaned over the railing separating him from McCormick and whispered, "Don't be a smartass, kid."

McCormick laughed lightly, but the bailiff had just entered to call the room to order, so he didn't get a chance to reply. He turned to face the front of the room, and rose from his seat as the bailiff introduced, "The Honorable Leslie Williamson presiding."

"Please be seated," Judge Williamson invited, as she took her seat.

"Mark McCormick," she continued, glancing at the file in front of her, "I understand that you have waived your right to a formal reading of the charges and specifications before this court?"

McCormick stood, buttoning his jacket as he rose. Standing beside his attorney, he addressed the judge. "Yes, Your Honor, that is correct."

"Very well, then, on the charges of aggravated assault and illegal possession of a firearm, how do you plead?"

He took a deep breath. "Guilty."

Williamson looked at him speculatively. "Mr. McCormick, would it surprise you to know that I have a passing familiarity with your recent parole agreement?"

"No, ma'am," McCormick answered uncertainly, "I don't suppose that it would."

"In addition to your plea, would you like to make any other statement concerning these current charges?"

McCormick felt Hardcastle jabbing him in the back, urging him to speak, but he shook his head. "No, thank you, Your Honor. I don't believe that will be necessary."

"You may be seated."

As McCormick regained his seat, he heard Hardcastle muttering, "Never that polite in my court."

McCormick covered his mouth to hide his grin, and turned briefly. "Yeah, I'm kinda sorry about that, Hardcase," he replied quietly.

Williamson had turned her attention to the district attorney. "Does the state have any objections to this plea?"

The D.A., Sara Bell, rose. "No, Your Honor."

"Very well. The court accepts the plea of guilty, and it will be so entered. Let's talk about scheduling for sentencing."

McCormick's public defender rose. "Our only request, Your Honor, is expediency. We will call two witnesses only."

"The state concurs that this matter should be dispatched quickly," Bell added. "In fact," she continued, "we are prepared to make an immediate recommendation."

McCormick leaned toward his attorney. "Sam," he whispered, "what's up?"

"Don't know," he answered as he rose to face the judge. He addressed the court, "We would certainly be interested in hearing the state's recommendation, though we would like to reserve the right to a formal hearing, if necessary."

"Of course," Williamson replied. She motioned for the D.A. to continue.

Bell consulted her notes briefly, then spoke. "The actions leading to Mr. McCormick's latest arrest are of the most serious nature." McCormick felt his heart sink as she continued. "Not only was he in illegal possession of a firearm—not only deadly, but also a clear violation of his parole—but he is guilty of assaulting a police officer in an attempt to prevent the officer from completing his sworn duties. These actions cannot be viewed lightly, as they point to a pattern of behavior that could represent a clear public danger.

"However, the state also recognizes that there were, in fact, extenuating circumstances at work in this instance. We have a statement from the arresting officer indicating that Mr. McCormick was under extreme duress due to the kidnapping of Judge Hardcastle, and that McCormick was subsequently the key figure in securing Hardcastle's release.

"So, while we cannot overlook the gravity of these charges, we do believe some leniency would be appropriate. Therefore, we respectfully recommend a sentence of not less than five years."

McCormick didn't allow his emotions to reach his face. Five years was a long time. Truthfully, he had expected twice that, but knowing it was coming and hearing someone say it out loud were two very different things. He leaned over to confer with his attorney.

"I'm thinking that might be the best offer we're going to hear," he said.

"Quite possibly," Sam agreed, "but I still think we should request a hearing. Let Hardcastle and Harper testify on your behalf; we might get them down to three."

McCormick nodded. "You're the expert."

Sam rose to his feet, but before he could speak, D.A. Bell continued.

"Your Honor, we have further recommendations for the court's consideration."

Sam dropped back to his seat and shrugged at his client. "Let's see what she has to say."

"You still have the floor, Counselor," Williamson said.

"The state would like to make a recommendation as to the disposition of the sentence, as well. In lieu of incarceration, we would like to suggest probation for the full term of sentence, with Milton Hardcastle serving as special probationary officer. Assuming, of course, that Judge Hardcastle agrees."

McCormick didn't move; couldn't trust himself to speak to Sam; couldn't trust himself even to turn to look at Hardcastle. He could only sit, waiting to find out how this would end. He was pretty sure he must be dreaming, but given the last few days, it wasn't such a bad dream, and he wouldn't mind staying in it a while longer.

"Judge Hardcastle?" Williamson motioned him to his feet.

"Yes, Your Honor?"

"I mentioned earlier that I was aware of Mr. McCormick's arrangement. Rather unorthodox, to be sure, but the reports I have heard have been positive. Are you willing to continue your custodial responsibilities for an additional five years?"

"Yes, Judge Williamson, I am," Hardcastle answered without hesitation.

"And you can guarantee his continued presence? And his behavior?"

Hardcastle chose his words carefully. "His presence, absolutely. As for his actions…well, of course, he was in my custody this past week, and yet, here we are. So guaranteeing perfect behavior might be unrealistic. What I can guarantee, though, Your Honor, is his motivation. McCormick is committed to keeping his nose clean; he is not looking to wind up back in prison."

"And yet," Williamson replied, "as you pointed out, Judge, he was in your custody at the time of these incidents. Perhaps he is not as committed as you believe?" She turned her attention to McCormick. "Mr. McCormick, rather than letting the judge speak for you, perhaps you could answer my question yourself."

McCormick rose slowly, and smiled his most charming smile. "I think the judge said it pretty well when he said I didn't want to go back to prison. I'm just trying to keep myself out of trouble as best I can; get my life back on track."

"You did just enter a guilty plea to earn yourself another felony conviction," Williamson pointed out. "So, just where does your commitment lie?"

McCormick only hesitated a moment. After all, if it was a choice between embarrassment or prison. . . "To him," he answered quietly, jerking his thumb to indicate Hardcastle. "My commitment is to him. It's why I will be here as long as he says I have to be; it's why I will do whatever it is he needs me to do; and it is why we are here today. He could have died... I did what was necessary to ensure that didn't happen."

Williamson studied him intently. "Thank you for your candor," she said with a small smile. She looked back at Bell. "Any further recommendations from the state?"

"No, Your Honor."

"Very well. Does the defense wish to disposition this case today, or do we need to schedule another hearing?"

Sam looked over at McCormick, who simply nodded. "We are prepared to accept disposition today, Judge."

"Okay. Will the defendant please rise?"

Again, McCormick stood with Sam.

"Mark McCormick, you are hereby sentenced to five years for assault committed on Rudolph Richter and illegal possession of a firearm. This court finds that a probationary sentence for the full five years will be served in the custody of Milton Hardcastle in lieu of incarceration. Failure to abide by the terms of probation will result in the remainder of the sentence being served in a maximum-security institution. Do you understand this sentence, Mr. McCormick?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Very well, I thank you all. Good luck to you, Mr. McCormick. We are adjourned."

McCormick heard the gavel pound, and heard the bailiff instruct the room to stand when Williamson left the bench, but it hadn't really hit him that it was over. He felt Hardcastle's hand on his shoulder. When he turned, the judge pulled him into a massive hug, which McCormick gladly returned. He could feel himself trembling and welcomed the chance to compose himself. The judge seemed to understand, and tightened his grip.

"I've got you, kid." The gentle words whispered into his ear calmed McCormick immediately.

"Thanks, Judge," he answered as he pulled away from Hardcastle. His voice regained some of its usual strength. "Really. Thanks for everything."

Hardcastle smiled. "All in all, you're cheaper than a maintenance man."

McCormick laughed. "You got that right, Hardcase, but only because you've found a loophole around the slave labor laws."

McCormick turned his attention to the attorney. "Sam, thanks for your help."

"I didn't really do much," Sam answered as he shook the other man's hand, "but I'm glad it worked out for you. Good luck to you, Mark." He grabbed his briefcase off the table and walked from the room.

McCormick scooted himself from behind the table, but the D.A. stopped him before he joined the judge. "Mr. McCormick?"

He turned back to face her. "What can I do for you, Counselor?" He felt the judge move up behind him, offering silent support.

"I have something for you." She handed him an envelope.

He met her eyes. "Thanks."

She smiled slightly. "Seemed like a win-win solution. We don't get that very often."

"No, I don't guess you do."

She shook his offered hand. "I hope it works out for you."

He watched her walk out the door, and caught Hardcastle watching him. "What?" he asked with a grin.

The judge just shook his head. "Nothing. What's with the envelope?"

McCormick shrugged and ripped it open. He read aloud:

I never expected you to agree, McCormick. I sure as hell never expected you to keep your promise. People don't surprise me often, but surprise isn't always a bad thing. I thought it might be best to leave the watching up to the judge now.

—Richter

He looked at Hardcastle in surprise. "Unbelievable," he said.

"Oh, I don't know," Hardcastle answered. "You do have that natural charm and grace, after all."

McCormick grinned at him. "Absolutely."

"All right, kiddo. Things are starting to pile up back at the house. What do you say we grab some lunch before we get you back to your chores? I might even give you a little help today so you can be finished in time for tonight's movie."

McCormick clapped him on the back as they headed out of the courtroom. "Now, Hardcase, that really sounds like the deal of a lifetime."