Snapshots: Rolling Thunder
Part 3
Mark was still staring in that direction after the door had closed and there was nothing more to be seen. He didn't move until he was startled slightly, and that was by the sound of Miller clearing his throat.
"What happened this afternoon after you went back in chambers with the judge?"
Mark turned slowly toward the P.D., now sitting across the table from him. He shrugged. "The guy offered me a deal."
Miller frowned. "What kind of deal?"
Mark was frowning now, too. "A crazy deal. He said he wants to go after a bunch of guys who got off on technicalities. He wants me to help him." He shook his head. "Is that legal? It doesn't sound legal."
"Does it matter?" Miller said. He leaned forward slightly. "You're looking at a long stretch inside. You said so yourself. If he's offering you any kind of deal you oughta take it." He eased back a little with a questioning look. "How come it took him so long to call me?"
"'Cause I told him no this afternoon. He came back tonight—he said he'll help me nail that guy Cody."
"The one you stole the car from?"
"It wasn't his. Weren't you listening to me at all this morning?"
Miller stared at him. After a moment he pinched the bridge of his nose and said, simply, "Take the deal."
Then he got to his feet and headed for the door, leaving Mark sitting at the table. It was only a second or two after Miller's departure when the door opened again. This time it was Hardcastle leaning on the jamb.
"So it's settled?"
"I said it was," Mark said testily. "Nobody listens to me." He sighed. "Okay, what now? Do I have to sign something?"
"Would it make a difference if you did?"
Mark opened his mouth, then shut it again. He was suddenly tired of sparring with this man. He's gotten practically no sleep the night before, and none at all the night before that. He really couldn't remember the last night he'd done more than stare at the ceiling in either excited anticipation or dread despair.
"Just tell me what happens next."
00000
Despite his exhaustion, stepping out into the warm Los Angeles night lifted his spirits. For a moment he'd even lost track of the signal fact that had guided him to this place: Flip's death. It came back to him quickly enough, though he thought it was like the waves of a receding tide. Eventually they might lap against the shore of memory rather than pound.
And Hardcase—he studied the man more closely—he was dressed like a vagrant. The vehicle he'd led them to was a beat-up truck, too reputable to be called vintage. There were stray papers and more Lone Ranger comic books strewn on the front seat. The judge had already climbed into the driver's side.
Mark hesitated. They were well away from the jail complex, at the far end of an empty parking lot. There was a poorly-lit park across the street, just a half block down. He gazed off in that direction. The darkness almost beckoned him.
He heard the echo of Hardcastle's off-hand remark from a few minutes back—Would it matter if you did? He'd signed nothing but he had given his word . . . twice, as he recalled. It suddenly mattered very much, though he wasn't sure exactly why. Maybe it wasn't so much that he had given it, but that Hardcase had accepted it.
He turned back to the truck and climbed in, trying not to notice the long hard stare the judge was giving him.
00000
He'd never quite gotten that decent night's sleep. The first one at the estate had been cut short by his attempted kidnapping. The second one, in Las Vegas, was spent plotting and arguing with Hardcastle. Now—the third day into "indefinitely"—he was woken by a tap on the door of his new digs.
He pulled on a t-shirt and resisted the urge to shout something rude to his early-rising slave driver. At least the guy was knocking, which he somehow didn't think came naturally to Hardcastle.
He opened the door and saw Barbara on the stoop.
"Hi," she said, and then, taking in his disheveled appearance, added, "sorry, I know it's early. The judge said you were awake."
"Wishful thinking," Mark muttered. Then he smiled a little more kindly. "But you're up, huh?"
"Couldn't sleep," she confessed. "I brought this." She handed over the nondescript black binder. "One of Cody's engineers brought it over last night. It's dad's."
Mark stepped back inside the gate house and dropped into the nearest chair. He opened the binder carefully, his eyes lighting on a page near the front. It was filled with Flip's neat, technical hand—so painfully familiar. The words blurred and he swiped at his eyes.
"It's the notes, for the Coyote," she said quietly. "His copy. You know he'd been dreaming about that car for years. Planning for it"
Mark nodded silently then looked up. "You sure you want me to have it, to have these?" He lifted the notebook slightly.
She nodded. "It's what dad would have wanted. He wanted you to drive it."
He set it back down in his lap, still carefully, and leafed through a few more pages. Then he glanced up again and saw Barb looking around curiously. She gradually became aware of his considering look.
She smiled, almost nervously. "It's not such a bad place, is it?"
"This?" He gestured around himself lightly. "Are you kidding? It's beautiful." He dropped his voice to a confidential murmur. "The guy who owns it is nuts, though."
To his surprise, a sudden look of real concern shadowed her face.
"It's okay," he added suddenly. "I've bunked with crazy people before. At least this time I have my own room, right?"
She nodded, still nervous. "I rode home with him yesterday. He didn't seem too crazy."
Mark nodded, thinking hard about how long a drive it was from Las Vegas to Los Angeles and wondering how much of it the judge had spent interrogating Flip's daughter.
"Don't worry," she smiled again, as though she were reading his mind, "I only told him the good stuff." Then, as if to contradict that, her smile was gone and the look of concern was back. "How long will you have to stay here?"
Mark forced his own worried expression back into the box.
"'Indefinitely'," he said, in what was intended to be a humorous version of Hardcastle's gruff bark. Then he was back in his own voice, with an edge of doubt to it. "Any idea how long that might be?"
Barb shook her head. "I can find out for you. I'll be in law school starting January."
"That's great," he said, his own problems suddenly forgotten. "You're going to make a terrific lawyer. Flip'll—" He drew up short at that, flustered for a moment, and then preceded on, more soberly. "Your dad would've been so proud."
"I'd like to think he's up there somewhere," she gestured vaguely, "and he knows what's going on—"
"Yeah," Mark said fondly, "my mom, too—only not some of the time," he added quietly.
"Right," Barb smiled. "Not along on dates." She gazed up at the ceiling. "Sorry, Dad."
They sat for a moment, lost in thought. Mark felt the tide receding just a little more and hoped it was the same for Barbara. He heard her sigh.
"It'll get better," he said. "It takes a while but it does."
"Oh, I know that. I was pretty young when my mom died, but I remember. That wasn't what I was worried about." She paused and then started up again with more intensity. "It's you, being here. I hope it works out. I mean," she furrowed her brow, "this is my fault. I'm the one who put you up to getting dad's car back and all that. I feel responsible"
Mark smiled. It was less forced than he'd thought it would be. "I'm okay." And almost as soon as he'd said it he realized he believed it.