Project Attrition

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me. This is for entertainment purposes only. No money is being made from it.

Note: Please note that this story is a work in progress. That means that it is unfinished.

Feedback: Comments welcome at [email protected].

PROJECT ATTRITION

by Linda Reiche (November 2001)

Mark McCormick glanced at the pit-board. This late in the race the only information on it would be the number of laps left (5) and his position (3rd). He�d been battling it out with Hertle and Marleau for most of the race, alternating in the lead whenever one of the others was in pit row. He�d had one last unscheduled stop when his coolant light had come on. A piece of metal from the six car crash he�d avoided on lap 35 had caused a leak. They couldn�t fix the problem in that short pitstop, but they�d topped it up and it would be enough for the remaining laps. He hoped.

He�d been testing the limits of his Trans-am and watching his opponents for the last 45 laps. Now was the time to make his move.

Hertle and Marleau were inches apart as he followed them into Turn 7 - the hairpin turn. Their brake lights flashed briefly as they downshifted. Mark held the accelerator down a moment longer, closing dramatically on the slowing Marleau. Timing was everything right now.

~H~
�What?� yelled Frank Harper over the din that buffeted his ears. The earmuffs that he and Hardcastle wore blocked a lot of the noise, but were no match for the 16 snarling engines that seemed to be constantly passing in front of them.

Hardcastle leaned toward Harper, eyes flashing with excitement and a little hint of fear. �Mark�s making his move!� He pointed off to the left, �See! There! Turn 7 - he�s gonna stay on the rail and slip past them as they drift out!�

Harper had picked up some of the racing lingo in the past hour and a half and had some idea of what Hardcastle was talking about. His eyes were telling him a different story. The distance between the first two cars wasn�t changing, but Mark looked like he was intent on driving up and over the number 2 guy�s bumper. The crowd thought so too as they yelled and pointed in excitement. That was exactly where and how the Lap 35 crash had started.

Then the first two cars were sliding - no, drifting corrected Harper - to the outside of the hairpin. Mark seemed to be stuck to the inside of the track - the rail - until he too drifted toward the outside. But that extra second made the difference as he came out of the turn a foot in front of Hertle.

The crowd roared as the new leader was announced.

Hardcastle practically jumped up and down beside him. �See, I told ya! What a move!�

Harper let out the breath he was holding. The kid was good, alright. He seemed to thrive on the excitement and split-second decisions that was racing. Driving at 150 + mph, inches away from another car, was not something Harper would do for a living. The margin for error was just too small for his liking. He shivered a little remembering how Mark barely missed being part of the crash that had sent three of six drivers to hospital in serious condition.

He glanced at Hardcastle. �If Milt were 30 years younger, he�d probably be out there with Mark,� thought Harper. Fortunately, the occasional car chases that Milt and Mark got into while on their cases seemed to satisfy Milt�s desire for speed.

Harper shook his head slightly in wonder. This was the first time that he�d been in pit-row with Milt and Mark. It was an experience. The roar of the high-performance engines, the at-times choking smell of exhaust and the stifling heat radiating from cars and pavement surrounded him. The pit-crews seemed oblivious, concentrating on their cars and drivers, moving quickly when needed, without a wasted motion or comment.

He had accepted Mark�s invitation to watch him here at Riverside International Raceway without hesitation. Claudia�s choral group was in the last days of preparation for their three state tour. Robes, sheet music, humming singers seemed to swirl through every part of his house this weekend. The roar of car engines had been preferable to a group of 20 or so excited singers.

It certainly hadn�t been peace and quiet, but at least he didn�t have to comment on whether or not the group sounded alright.

Harper looked at the lapboard. Mark only had to hang on to the lead for another 4 laps.

~H~
Mark�s eyes flicked across his mirrors as he tore down the straightaway in front of the stands. The dogleg then a sweeping right turn and he�d be down to one lap.

He could see Hertle pushing his car as it crept closer. He�d managed to open almost a full car�s lead on the dogleg after Turn 7, but the others were doing everything they could to cut it down. He grinned to himself, �Not today guys, there�s no way I�m letting you past.�

The slower cars were strung around the track in front of him. He�d already lapped them, now he just needed to dodge them while blocking Hertle and Marleau from making a move.

Each part of the track popped into his mind as braked, shifted and accelerated, the motions fluid and precise. The car was a part of him and they were going to �

The checkered flag waved at him as he crossed the Finish line.

�WIN!

~H~
Hardcastle and Harper stood behind Mark clapping and cheering as he waved the flag for the cameras. The sports writers were having a field day with today�s race. Not only had Mark managed to wriggle past a major crash by the skin of his teeth and lightning reflexes, he�d managed to win the race by successfully using the same maneuver that had caused the crash.

~H~
Green-gray walls surrounded him. Except for the showers, everything was a dull green-gray. Even the exercise yard managed to look a washed out green-gray.

His thoughts, however, were an unending black. The morning paper had deepened his desire for revenge. The headline had read �Skill and timing. What happens when they work and when they don�t.� The men that had condemned him to this existence had been there, smiling, enjoying a life of freedom.

That would change.

He stared at the man sitting on the other side of the shatterproof glass. Grey blazer, dark blue golf shirt, blue pants, heavy silver watch. The colours weren�t bright, but they stood out against the green-gray.

�How is the project progressing?� He asked without preamble.

His visitor smiled. He had perfected the art of looking relaxed, particularly in places that did little to inspire relaxation. �You�ve given us a very unusual and complex project. The timing and materials required a considerable amount of research, but we�re now ready to proceed. If you have no changes to the design, we can start immediately.� He was careful to keep the conversation neutral. The visitations were supposed to be private, but he never believed that.

�No changes. You will provide cost and materials updates at the end of each construction phase?� He put a slight emphasis on construction. The word was the antithesis of what he wanted. But he knew the meaning was clear to the project co-ordinator for Torben & Associates Architects. They were experts in both legitimate and not-so-legitimate business.

�It was a pleasure to design. I am confident you will enjoy the results.�

With an abrupt �I hope so� the man dressed in prison gray stood and turned away. It was attrition time. He�d get his revenge a little piece at a time, and his victims would never know. But he would.

~ H ~
�Judge.� Mark�s voice was filled with exasperation. �I�m telling you I bought 2 pounds of popcorn on Monday. We can�t be out already. You�ve just forgotten where you hid it!�

�I don�t hide popcorn,� yelled Hardcastle.

�You hide everything,� muttered Mark.

Hardcastle, ignoring Mark, continued, �The popcorn�s supposed to be in that cupboard. And it�s not. Admit it McCormick. You forgot to buy it! You probably got distracted by some girl and forgot! How can I watch tonight�s John Wayne movie without my popcorn!� His voice had risen, ending in a bellow.

Mark lifted his eyes to the ceiling in a silent �why me� question. He held his hands up in surrender. �Okay, Judge. I�ll just run out to the supermarket and get some more. Anything for some peace and quiet.�

�You do that. And don�t dawdle, the movie starts in a half hour, and you�ve still gotta pop it, � growled Hardcastle.

Mark grinned mischievously. �I�ll be back in ten if you pay for the speeding tickets. I don�t think �Hardcastle wants his popcorn fix� will wash with the cops.�

�McCormick!�

Mark ducked out the kitchen door on Hardcastle�s last words - �and NO SPEEDING!�

~ H ~
�Where the hell are you McCormick?� ranted Hardcastle. The John Wayne movie was on, but Hardcastle wasn�t really watching it. He paced to the hall then back to his favourite chair. �It�s been an hour. It doesn�t take you an hour to go to the supermarket for popcorn.� He sat down and stared blankly at the movie for the tenth time in as many minutes.

Suddenly he jumped up and strode for the front door. �Damn it, McCormick. If I find you making small talk with some girl, you�re gonna cut the lawn with a pair of scissors!�

He pulled open the door and stopped in his tracks.

An equally surprised patrolman froze, his hand inches away from the doorbell.

�Judge Hardcastle?� asked the young officer.

�Yes, I�m Judge Hardcastle.� He paused for a moment, staring at the man. �Let me guess. McCormick�s got caught speeding one too many times and you�re here to tell me he�s in jail waiting for me to bail him out. I oughta leave him in there, maybe then he�ll slow down. The road isn�t a racetrack.� he growled. �Why didn�t he call?�

Startled, the officer wasn�t sure what to say. The judge�s eyes flashed in anger, his growling rattled the light. Intimidated, the young officer desperately tried to remember the academy training scenarios for this. �I�m Officer Grover, sir. Your name is listed as the next-of-kin for a Mark McCormick.�

Next-of-kin.

Shocked, Hardcastle flashed back to his early days as a police officer. You were trained to use rote phrases to help distance yourself from a person�s grief. He remembered using that phrase to tell families that some one they loved was never coming home�

With an effort he refocused on Grover.

Next-of-kin. The only words he could find were a quiet, �What happened?�

Grover hadn�t known what to expect from the Judge. He�d heard �Hardcase� Hardcastle stories throughout the Academy. Tough, demanding and uncompromising were the words most often used. He�d certainly been all that when he answered the door, but not anymore. He replayed his words. �Damn, wrong scenario. I should have used �Contact� not next-of kin.� Hurriedly he explained. �Mr. McCormick was injured while stopping a robbery at the Jiffy supermarket. He�s been taken to Memorial Hospital.�

Hardcastle changed in an instant. �Injured! You mean he�s not� Never mind! How bad is it? What are we standing around here for? Come on, we�re going to the hospital!� He practically dragged Grover down the walkway to the patrol car.

The stories were true and then some, thought Grover, as he found himself speeding along the highway with siren blasting and lights flashing. He hadn�t gotten past the first seven words of why they couldn�t go Code 3, when the Judge speared him with a steely eyed glare. With a hasty �yes, sir� he�d flipped the switches on.

He�d take a reprimand over Hardcastle�s wrath any day.

~ H ~
Grover heaved a sigh of relief as Hardcastle slammed the car door and charged toward the Emergency entrance. Then he cringed as he saw Lt. Frank Harper staring at him. �Here comes the reprimand,� he thought dejectedly.

Harper took in the sight of Milton C. Hardcastle charging at him and the face of the young officer detailed to pick him up. Knowing Milt, the sirens had been at his �insistence�. Very few people could take on Milt when he was in that state of mind - the irresistible force and immovable object all in one.

Harper caught the officer�s eye and waved him away.

Then he stepped in front of Hardcastle.

�Now hold on Milt. Mark�s alive. Unconscious, somewhat worse for wear, but alive. Concussion, cracked ribs, some pretty bad bumps and bruises. They�ve admitted him.�

The sentences were short, but filled with information that Hardcastle needed. The tension left his body as he drew in a slow breath. �I want to see him.�

Frank nodded. He had expected that, and had already set it up with the attending physician. �The Doc says he�ll be in Observation until he regains consciousness but you can see him for a few minutes in half an hour.� He didn�t add that the doctor had no idea how long it would take for Mark to come to.

�Well� Okay. Good.�

Harper hid a smile. Hardcastle had been geared for a battle with the doctor. Now that he had nothing to rant over, he was a little lost. Better give him a distraction, otherwise someone might see through the tough guy facade Hardcastle worked so hard to cultivate.

Digging out his notebook, Harper read off the information he�d collected. �A couple of two-time losers named Sammy Strand and Nick Baylor entered the Jiffy Supermarket at 8:10 pm. They threatened the checkout with baseball bats, demanding the money in the till. Mark -� Harper looked up at Hardcastle. �What was Mark doing at the supermarket? Isn�t this John Wayne night?�

Hardcastle looked away and grumbled. �He was buying popcorn.�

�Oh.� There had to be more to it, but Harper knew better than to press for it right now. �Well�Mark was at the checkout and - �

�Tried to be a hero! He should know better! Two against one! And they had baseball bats! Over a couple of hundred dollars!�

�Now, hold on Milt. It wasn�t like that at all! The clerk was so scared, she couldn�t open the till. Strand took a swing at her. Mark blocked it with a basket, then tackled them. The clerk ran out into the street screaming for help. A couple of truckers at the coffee shop grabbed the guys as they left the store. They�d smashed the till �� Harper�s voice trailed away.

Hardcastle paled as his mind filled in the rest of the sentence - �and Mark�. He moved toward a waiting room chair. His eyes were fathomless as he looked into Harper�s face. �Frank. Tell me. How is McCormick?�

Harper paused and grimaced. �Mark was lucky. The checkout lanes are narrow, so they couldn�t put too much force into the swings. And Mark is pretty agile. Still, they managed to crack five ribs, severely bruise his shoulder and collarbone, and, well -� Harper fidgeted. �It looks like one caught him on the side of the head. There�s no skull fracture, but it�s a pretty bad concussion. The doctors won�t know if there�s any permanent damage until Mark regains consciousness.�

�When will that be?�

Harper shook his head. �Twenty-four hours? Forty-eight hours? They can�t say.� Not knowing what else he could say, Harper fell silent.

~ H ~
�Come on McCormick! You�ve been goldbricking long enough! You were already a day behind in your chores, and now it�s two days!�

Hardcastle�s low growl finally penetrated through the layers of wool that shrouded Mark�s mind. A moment later he wished the wool was back. Every part of his body screamed in pain, but first place definitely went to his head. It felt like it had been used as the ball in one of his and Hardcastle�s guerilla basketball games.

Mark moaned as he tried to open his eyes.

Hardcastle stopped his monologue, reaching quickly for the call button. �McCormick! Mark! Don�t you dare go back to sleep. Stay awake, kid! The doctor�s on the way.� He gently shook Mark�s uninjured shoulder. �Come on, open your eyes!�

�I�� Mark wanted to tell the Judge to stop yelling. That he hurt. But it was so hard to think about the words. Maybe I�ll just go back to sleep until the pain stops, thought Mark.

Hardcastle felt the slight slackening of muscles in Mark�s shoulder. Terrified that Mark would slip under again, he shook him harder. �Mark! Mark! You�ve got to stay awake! Damn it kid, I�ve been waiting here for a whole day! If you don�t stay awake, I�m going to make you work so hard, you�ll wish you were back in San Quentin!�

Yah, sure Judge. I already do all the yard work and house work. I get beat-up and shot at. What more can you do to me?
Suddenly a new voice took over Hardcastle�s commands. A lovely, voice that chimed instead of growled. Curious, Mark tried to open his eyes again. Where�d the Judge go?

�Well, it�s about time you opened those eyes for the Judge and me. The nurses were getting tired of tip-toeing around him.� A smiling face with brown eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair looked down at him. �I�m Doctor Evans. I�ll bet you�re in pain, right? So I�ll make a deal with you. If you stay with me and let me do some tests, I�ll give you something for it. Okay?�

Whoa, she�s pretty. If she can take the pain away, I�ll do anything she asks. I�ll even ask her to marry me.
~ H ~
Hardcastle paced impatiently outside the Observation Room. It was a relief that McCormick was awake, but there was still that fear of potential brain damage. And it would be his fault. He was the one who had sent McCormick to the supermarket.

Ten minutes later the Doctor stepped in front of him and motioned down the hall.

�How is he?�

�He looks good. Reflexes, pupillary response are normal. He�s in quite a bit of pain, but we can now medicate him for that. There may be some memory loss. We won�t know how much until he�s a little more coherent. He may never remember the attack, but that�s normal with a head injury. We�ll schedule him for some tests and keep a close eye on him for another day or so. He�s lucky. That baseball bat could easily have killed him.�

Hardcastle let out the breath he�d been holding. �McCormick�s lucky he was born with a hard head.�

The doctor smiled at the gruff tone. She�d seen Hardcastle spend hours talking and cajoling, doing everything he could to get Mark to respond. �The Demerol is going to put him back to sleep for at least 12 hours. But this time it�ll be a healing sleep. We�ll be moving him to his room shortly. Now it�s time for you to go home and get some sleep. He�ll be fine, but he�ll have to take it easy for at least a week after he�s released.�

Hardcastle rolled his eyes. �Don�t worry, Doc. That part of your prescription won�t be hard. McCormick has developed �taking it easy� to a fine art.� Still guilty at having sent Mark into danger for popcorn, he fell back into the old familiar pattern of grumbling. �I�ll just stay until he�s settled in his room, then I�ll head home for a few hours.�

Hiding her amusement, Dr. Evans simply nodded.

~ H ~
Hardcastle quietly walked back to Mark�s bed. The last 24 hours had been hell. His medical knowledge was pretty basic, but he�d known the longer Mark remained unconscious, the greater the possibility of brain damage.

The doctor had reassured him that the memory loss wasn�t unusual, but still�

Guiltily he let the thought hang as he pulled the visitor�s chair back beside the bed. The kid looked like hell. The left side of his face was swollen and bruised, his left arm was strapped snuggly against his side, immobilizing both the shoulder and the ribs.

�Hey kid, you�re going to be in rough shape for a while,� murmured Hardcastle, careful not to wake him. He sunk into the chair. �I�m sorry I sent you into that.�

He stared at Mark, remembering 24 hours ago and the image of Mark leaving for popcorn. His mind cringed. His demand for popcorn could have cost Mark his life.

He knew the kid would just wave it off, jokingly reminding him that it was all in a day�s work to get roughed up or shot at. And yah, they�d taken a few injuries over the years, but when they were on cases they expected trouble and usually managed to avoid serious consequences. This� attack� was different.

He�d sent Mark out for popcorn plenty of times in the past few years. It was so routine that he hadn�t really been concerned when Mark hadn�t returned. Sure, he�d been irritated and impatient, thinking that McCormick�s dawdling had disrupted movie night, but not concerned. Even when the young cop arrived at the door, his first thought was that Mark had got into trouble.

With an effort he refocused on the present. Given some time Mark would be alright. Still, he�d find some way to make it up to him.

~H~
A low moan pulled Hardcastle�s attention away from the morning newspaper. �Hmm,� thought Hardcastle, glancing at his watch. �The Doctor pegged it just about right.�

He was still tired. Six hours sleep hadn�t been able to make up for the night he�d lost waiting here. �I guess I could have grabbed that extra hour or two.� But he hadn�t wanted to risk not being here when Mark woke.

Stifling a yawn, he watched Mark�s eyes flutter open and focus on his surroundings. �So kiddo, it�s about time you woke up. I�ve almost finished reading the paper.�

Mark turned his head toward Hardcastle�s voice. �Wha -?� he thought.

Before he could finish his thought, pain flared through his head and body.

In an instant Hardcastle was beside him. �Take it easy kid. Just relax and don�t move too much. You�ve managed to get yourself a little beaten up.�

Mark blinked, trying to take in what Hardcastle had said. �Beaten up?� he croaked.

�Yah. Concussion, five cracked ribs, bruised shoulder and collarbone, a pretty decent shiner and various other bruises.� Hardcastle recounted reluctantly.

Mark raised an eyebrow. It was the only thing that didn�t hurt. �A�LITTLE�beaten�up?�

Hardcastle pursed his lips slightly, �Well, I guess it was more than a little. But I didn�t want to get you upset.�

Mark started to roll his eyes in disbelief, then stopped, puzzled. �How did I get beaten-up? We were eating dinner - meatloaf.� He looked at Hardcastle and repeated his thought out loud.

The Judge looked uncomfortable. �Er.. well� ya see,� Hardcastle stopped to take a very visible deep breath. �You went to the Jiffy Mart for popcorn Friday night and got caught in an attempted robbery.�

�Robbery?� asked Mark hoarsely. �Hey, hold on a second! Friday night? Thursday is meatloaf night.�

�Yah, well� The doc said you�ve got some memory loss. The concussion, you know.� Hardcastle grabbed the glass of water off the nightstand and held the straw for Mark. �Here, have some water.�

Stunned, Mark did as he was told.

�What day is it today?� he asked suspiciously.

�I knew he was gonna ask that,� thought Hardcastle. �It�s Sunday morning.�

�Sunday? What happened to Saturday?� He stared at Hardcastle, �You mean to tell me I�ve lost two days?�

�Well, technically it�s only one day. You were unconscious for almost 24 hours. You came to last night.�

Mark closed his eyes, searching his memory for any hint of what happened. He remembered trying to spice up the meatloaf with chopped walnuts. And the Judge hollering - �Meatloaf is made with ground beef not walnuts!� when he ate it. The next memory was the hospital room. No. Wait. He remembered a woman asking him questions, and not being able to answer all of them.

Opening his eyes, he saw Hardcastle watching him anxiously. �Judge. Please. What happened?�

The judge sighed. �It was all my fault,� he started, holding up his hand to stop Mark�s question. �Don�t. Just let me tell you what happened, then you can ask questions. Okay, kid?�

Mark nodded, careful to avoid moving anything too far or too fast. His body and head were clamoring for attention, but he was ignoring them. He had to find out what happened, and more importantly, why it was the Judge�s fault.

Hardcastle continued, �It was about 8:00 Friday night. There wasn�t any popcorn for the John Wayne movie. I lit in to you for forgetting it until you went out to get some.� The Judge�s face reminded Mark of a little kid confessing to his parent. �According to the witness, you were at the checkout paying for the popcorn when two guys came in demanding money. The girl couldn�t get the till open so one of them took a swing at her with a baseball bat.�

Mark�s eyes widened.

�She�s okay, kid. You blocked it with the shopping basket then ya tried to take him out. It might�ve worked, except that his buddy had a baseball bat, too.� Hardcastle stared at Mark�s face. �You�re lucky that there wasn�t room for a good swing. Otherwise��

Mark winced, filling in the rest of the sentence. Jeeze, if half-assed swings could make his body feel this bad, a good swing would�ve had him knocking at the pearly gates. He suppressed a shiver.

When the Judge didn�t continue he asked, �Why was this your fault?�

�I told you. I yelled at you for forgetting to buy popcorn. The only reason you went to the store was to shut me up.�

�Judge,� said Mark. �You always yell at me about something. I�ve gotten used to it. It sounds like I made the decision to go.�

�Nah,� argued Hardcastle. �I should�ve checked the groceries after you did the shopping Monday. Then you wouldn�t have had to go on Friday.�

�But I did buy popcorn. I know I did -� Mark stopped when he saw how his words affected the Judge. �At least, I think I did.�

Hardcastle shook his head. �It was my fault. You got hurt because I wanted some damn popcorn.�

�Damn it Hardcase, you�re a stubborn donkey,� thought Mark wearily. �Okay, I�ll drop it for now, but some how I�m going to make you see it wasn�t your fault.� To distract the Judge he asked, �Why can�t I remember what happened?�

�The concussion was moderate to severe,� replied a soft voice from the doorway. �The blow from the bat �sloshed� your brain around your skull. The area that controls recent memory got quite a knock. Fortunately, the swelling seems to be subsiding quickly.�

The doctor followed her words to Mark�s bed. �I�m Doctor Evans.� She eyed Hardcastle critically, �Good morning, Judge.�

�I remember you,� said Mark hesitantly. �You talked to me before, didn�t you?�

Dr. Evans smiled, �You�re right. I talked to you last night when you regained consciousness. You were in a lot of pain and I promised relief if you answered some questions.�

�Yah, I remember that,� nodded Mark.

�Good. We�re going to see exactly how much you do remember and do some other tests. I know hospitals aren�t your favourite places, so if everything looks good, you�ll be out of here late tomorrow or early Tuesday.�

She laughed at Mark�s quizzical look. �I learned a lot about you by listening to the Judge. He was here talking to you, trying to get you to respond, since they brought you in. If everything he said is true, then you and the Judge lead very interesting lives.�

The Judge shuffled uncomfortably.

�Yah,� answered Mark. �The Judge and I are like Batman and Robin or the Lone Ranger and Tonto.�

�Well,� said Dr. Evans. �The Judge is going to have to dash around alone for a little while. Your ribs need a chance to heal. And so does your brain.�

Mark expected to hear the Judge comment �What brain?� When he didn�t, he started to worry.
�Will I get my memory back?�

�It depends. It might come back now, tomorrow or next week. Or maybe never. The human brain is very complex. We�ll just have to wait and see.� She could see that her answer hadn�t completely reassured Mark or the Judge, but it was the best she could offer. �In the meantime, we�ve got some work to do. And the Judge is going to go home and rest.�

�But I did rest,� protested Hardcastle.

Dr. Evans pinned him with a steely look. �At the most you had six hours this morning. That isn�t enough. You were here for over 24 hours and you probably were awake for 16 hours before that. I don�t care how good a shape you�re in, you�re still in a deficit situation. I�ll bet that if I checked your blood pressure it would be sky high.�

Hardcastle opened his mouth to argue, but she wasn�t finished. �You�ve been under stress, and you need to rest. You�re going to go home and relax. You can come back this evening for a visit, not before. That�s an order. I don�t need another patient.�

�Whoa, this is one tough lady,� thought Mark. �Hey, Judge, you�d better do what she says. I�m going to need your help getting my memory back. Not to mention doing the yardwork.�

Hardcastle tried to stare them down. But he knew they were right. He was tired.

�Okay, okay,� he said, giving in. �If I don�t leave, you two will probably drive me crazy with all your nattering.� He rubbed a hand across his forehead. �I guess a few more hours of sleep won�t hurt.�

~H~
�Are you sure you�re okay?� asked Hardcastle, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. Mark�s body was wedged into the corner of the front seat, head tilted back and eyes clenched tight. Careful to move only his lips, he answered, �Ya-ah, I�m fine, Judge. The sunshine is giving me a doozer of a headache. The Doc said I should wear dark glasses for a couple of days.�

�You should�ve told me. I would have brought them with me,� admonished Hardcastle.

�I was going to, Judge, but Sheri came in in the middle of your call and I sort of got distracted.� A smile spread across his face. �I did remember to get her number though.�

Hardcastle rolled his eyes and tilted his head to one side muttering, �Of course. Heaven forbid that your love life take second place to your health.� His voice suddenly increased in volume, �What the hell were you thinking McCormick?�

�Aw, Judge. Don�t yell. My head is already pounding,� whined Mark.

�Well whose fault is that Mr. I-got-distracted-by-a-pretty-face McCormick? Hmm?� retorted Hardcastle.

Despite his pounding head and aching ribs, Mark smiled to himself. Hardcastle had returned to his gruff no-nonsense demeanor. He�d missed the word games and sniping. While he would normally have jumped at the chance to legitimately whine and complain, he couldn�t stand to see the Judge feel guilty. Even if he couldn�t remember that day, he knew it wasn�t the Judge�s fault he got hurt. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, is all.

Mark let a smile creep across his face again. �Ah, but what a face. The face of an angel.�

Hardcastle was hard pressed to keep from mirroring the smile. The kid would probably be chasing girls until the day he died.

~H~
"Hiya Milt. Hey Mark, how�re you feeling?" asked Frank Harper. "I was sure surprised when Milt called for an appointment." He motioned them into his office.

"Hi Frank," replied Mark, carefully lowering himself into the only visitor chair. Normally he'd have perched on the edge of the filing cabinet, and let Hardcastle take the chair, but walking was painful enough. Perching would have been impossible. "I wish I had another body� any other body...even the Judge�s."

"Hah, hah, very funny McCormick," retorted Hardcastle. "Remember this was your idea, not mine." His finger pointed at Mark for emphasize.

Harper looked quizzically at Mark. "You know this could have waited another few days."

"I told him that," growled Hardcastle. "But as usual, he didn't wanna listen. He thinks seeing the guys will help with his memory."

Mark glanced sideways at Hardcastle, careful not to move his head too much. The solitary kettle drummer inside his skull had found some friends. �Ju-udge. I told you that looking at mug shots isn�t the same as seeing them in person. Pictures� mug shots� don�t show the real person. I know mine never did.�

A grin flashed across Hardcastle�s face. �I don�t know about that McCormick. The moment I saw yours, I knew you�d have a smart mouth. And I was right, too.�

�Just like I always saw a donkey in your pictures,� Mark shot back, forgetting his aches for a moment.

Frank shook his head in amazement. �Ya know, Milt, if Mark had lost his entire memory instead of just a day, your life would be miserable. No one to argue with or yell at.�

�Nah, even with no memory, he�d still be a wise guy. He�d just have to think up new material.� Hardcastle was talking to Harper, but keeping his eyes on Mark. The return of the old McCormick spirit had been brief. He thought Mark was looking paler.

Mark wearily tried to keep up his end of the game, �Wouldn�t be hard.�

Hardcastle and Frank exchanged a concerned look. This was definitely a mistake.

�Well, Mark, � said Frank. �We�ve got the two guys in a holding cell awaiting transfer to Parker Center. They�re being arraigned tomorrow. The Assistant DA�s got a solid case without your testimony. There�s no need for you to push this.�

Mark looked at them with shadowed eyes. �This isn�t about whether or not these guys go to jail. I�m missing a day of my life. I may not have done anything important, but I want it back.�

Silence.

�Okay, Mark. I�ll have the guys brought to an interrogation room. We can�t question them without their attorney, but you can watch them through the glass for awhile.�

�Thanks Frank,� Hardcastle answered for Mark.

�Just give me a few minutes to set it up,� said Frank as he stepped out of his office.

Hardcastle stared at Mark for a long moment. �I can understand you wanting to remember, but you haven�t been out of the hospital for even an hour. You know the doctor said to take it easy.�

Mark shifted slightly in the chair, trying to ease the persistent aches in his side and shoulder. �Judge, there are a few days in my life that I�d love to forget, and others that I have. But those were my choices. Loosing a day because some bozos smacked me in the head with a baseball bat wasn�t my choice.� He gazed at Hardcastle, hoping that he�d understand.

Hardcastle pursed his lips, thinking. He�d had his share of concussions, fortunately none of them serious enough to loose more than a few minutes of memory. So he really didn�t know what the kid was going through. But if it was that important, he�d help him anyway he could.

�Okay, kid. We�ll do this your way. If it doesn�t work, we�ll figure out some other way. But after you see these guys, you�re going straight home to bed. No arguments.�

Mark smiled weakly. �Thanks, Judge.�

�Yah�well,� mumbled Hardcastle uncomfortably before finding something else to say. �I�ll see about finding you some sunglasses for the ride home. Don�t you move until I get back.�

�Hey, you don�t have to worry about that. I�m only moving this body when I have to.�

~H ~
Hardcastle, sunglasses in hand, met Harper at the office door. At Frank�s questioning glance he explained, �For McCormick. The bright sunshine makes his head hurt.�

Frank nodded understandingly as he opened his door. �Mark,� he said softly. �We�re in Room 3 just down the hall. Whenever you�re ready.�

�Now is as good a time as any.�

Hardcastle had moved silently to his side to help him out of the chair. Once Mark was up and moving, he hovered near him, ready to support if necessary.

Frank led the way through the duty room, adjusting his normally quick pace to accommodate his injured visitor. Out of habit he surveyed the area. It was quiet with most of the detectives out on cases. The few that remained were working on reports or interviewing witnesses.

A typical day.

As usual the corridor outside the duty room was anything but quiet with uniforms, lawyers, suspects and other people moving from one area to another.

A scream cut across the myriad of conversations, startling everyone into silence.

�Get away! Leave me alone! Leave me a-l-o-n-e!�

Heads turned, eyes searching for the source. Moments later there was the sound of a body hitting a wall, then�chaos.

People madly scrambled for walls and doorways. Slower ones were sent flying by the wind-milling arms of the wild-eyed giant charging down the hall. The uniforms struggled to keep track of their scared or opportunistic prisoners while trying to figure out how to take down the lunatic. Gunfire was out of the question - too many people. And besides, the guy wasn�t handcuffed, so wasn�t an escaping prisoner.

Harper and Hardcastle instinctively separated, moving to either side of the corridor, ready to tackle the rapidly approaching man. Mark froze momentarily, indecisive. Part of his mind wanted to help, but the other part reminded him that he was in no shape to wrestle a pre-schooler, let alone a 6 foot, 250 lb giant. Awkwardly, he started to back-step toward the duty room.

�Now!� yelled Frank, diving for the man�s legs, while Hardcastle aimed for the waist.

The giant seemed to read their minds. One arm swept out, catching Frank across the chest while simultaneously kicking out at Hardcastle.

Mark heard the distinctive crack of a steel-toed construction boot hitting, and breaking, bone.

�Judge-!� His call ended abruptly when the detectives from the duty room boiled out of the door behind him. Eyes intent on the giant reaching for Harper, they charged past Mark, sending him staggering. Mark yelped as his bruised body made contact with the unyielding wall and then the floor. His breath came in gasps as he fought the renewed pain in his side, desperately trying to stay conscious.

He had to see what had happened to the Judge.

~H~
Damn, thought Frank, staring into the face looming over him. This guy�s wacked out on something. What the hell is he doing in here without cuffs on!

The giant�s hands reached for his throat, closing on it like a vise before dragging him to his feet. Frank choked as his air supply was cut off. He reached for his attacker�s face, fingers ready to jab into his throat or eyes. They met empty air inches away from their targets.

Now desperate for air, he did the only thing left - clutch at the massive hands and try to break the grip.

The roaring in his ears threatened to engulf him and pull him into darkness. He could just make out the faces of his detectives as they tried to help.

The hands didn�t slacken.

The roaring got too loud to ignore and the world faded until darkness took over.

~H~
Mark watched the giant slowly choke the life out of Harper. His feeble attempts to get off the floor had been short-lived. The pain of moving had almost brought on the unconsciousness he had struggled so hard to fight off.

All he could do was watch.

The six detectives were trying, but the guy seemed immune to their efforts. �Come on guys,� urged Mark silently. �You need some drastic measures right about now! Hit�im with your guns or something!�

He was concerned about Frank and frantic about the Judge. If he was able, Hardcastle would have been up and in the thick of things by now. But he wasn�t.

Frank�s struggles stopped.

�Damn it!� raged Mark. �Take the jerk out now!� He wanted to scream out those words, but could only manage a painful whisper.

The giant screamed, releasing Harper and dropping to the floor in pain.

Surprised at the sudden victory, the detectives froze momentarily, then piled on top of the fallen giant. The people hugging the walls began to move again. One group descended on Frank and another gathered just beyond him.

�Hardcastle!� Mark managed to whisper as he too was surrounded.

~H~
�Mark. Didn�t I tell you to take it easy for at least a week?� Dr. Evans� voice was stern. �Now three of those cracked ribs are broken. You�re lucky that you didn�t puncture a lung.�

�Doctor, please, how�s Hardcastle?� Mark looked at her with anxious eyes. �And Harper?� No one had been able to tell him anything. He hadn�t been able to see anything either before the others had been whisked away.

Dr. Evans stared at him, considering. The last thing she had expected was to have Mark return to the hospital less than two hours after she�d released him. �Both of them will be fine. Judge Hardcastle has an oblique fracture of the left tibula. He�ll be in a cast for two months. We�ve treated him for shock. Lt. Harper has severe bruising of the larnyx. He�s being given cortico-steroids to minimize any swelling inside his throat. Both of them will be admitted for observation. If no complications develop, they�ll be released tomorrow.�

Mark sighed in relief, then tensed as the Doctor continued.

�As for you - �

�Honest, it wasn�t my fault. I tried to get out of the way. I just�� he lifted his free hand up helplessly.

�Hmm. I �m not sure if I should believe you or not. You were supposed to go home and rest and wear sunglasses outside. You did neither. You have broken ribs and, unless I miss my guess, a pretty bad headache. I�d love to put you back into a hospital bed.�

Mark shifted uncomfortably on the gurney. He wanted to see Hardcastle.

�But I can�t justify that. So, I�m going to send you home, and trust you to follow instructions this time.� She softened at Mark�s hangdog expression. �After you visit your friends, of course.�

~H~
Man, thought Mark as the orderly pushed his wheelchair into the room, that Doctor could probably whip all the cons in San Quentin into shape with one hand behind her back. He certainly wasn�t going to do anything to get her mad at him again.

The detective standing between Hardcastle�s and Harper�s beds stopped talking and turned at the interruption.

�Hiya Saunders. Judge, Frank, are you guys okay?� Mark motioned the orderly to put him at the foot of Hardcastle�s bed and nodded a silent thanks.

The Judge looked a little pale, but otherwise seemed okay. Well, as okay as you could get with a broken leg bone. Frank�s throat was mottled with bruises. Mark grimaced, �Looks like someone�s going to be on a diet of soft food for a few days.�

�Hey, kid, we�re okay,� answered Hardcastle. �A broken leg, a sore throat, nothing serious. It�d take more than one hyped up guy to take us out of action.�

Harper rolled his eyes and mouthed a �Fine� at Mark. It was just like Milt to downplay something like this. From his point of view, the guy had had them. If the guy hadn�t mysteriously collapsed when he did, Frank wasn�t sure that the detectives would have been able to stop him.

�What are you doing in a wheelchair? You didn�t do anything dumb, did you?� asked Hardcastle suspiciously.

�Are you kidding, Judge? Six of LA�s finest couldn�t take that guy out. I might be the Lone Ranger�s sidekick, but I�m not Superman! I�m okay. The Doc saw me waiting in Emergency and ordered me into it. Said she�d put me in with you guys if I didn�t do as she said. She�s worse than you are, Hardcase.� Mark hoped his con would work. The Judge had been through enough worry. �So, what�s up?� He tried to sound as normal as possible, which was getting easier since the Doctor had given him a new, stronger, painkiller.

�Saunders was just updating us on the guy,� explained Hardcastle.

�Really? What I�d like to know is who let a maniac like that loose,� demanded Mark.

�If you�d be quiet, Saunders will tell us,� growled Hardcastle. �Go ahead, Saunders.�

Saunders nodded. �I�ll just recap what I�ve said for Mark. The guy�s name is Micky Manowick, construction worker, no priors. He came in to identify some stolen property. Matheson over in Burglary thought the guy was a little keyed up, but then, a lot of citizens seem to act strange when they visit the station.�

Mark snorted slightly, careful to support his ribs. �Yah, I�ll bet. It must be the warm, inviting atmosphere. Gets them every time.�

�Hush up McCormick!� ordered Hardcastle. �You�re interrupting.�

Saunders wondered how these two managed to work together as a team. Every time he ran across them, they were railing away at each other. They sounded like his ten-year-old twin sons. But then, they had a damn good record of catching criminals. He glanced at Frank sympathetically. It�s going to be a long day if McCormick sticks around. And Frank couldn�t even tell them to shut up.

�Er..,� said Saunders, trying to get back on track. �According to the doctors, Manowick had popped some meth-amphetamines before coming in. It seems he�d broke up with his girlfriend and was depressed. Matheson was just escorting him back out when he flipped out. We still don�t know what sent him over the edge, but he kept mumbling about �bugs� and �getting them� before they got him.�

Mark gawked at Saunders, �You mean this guy put Frank and the Judge in the hospital because he was high and thought they were giant bugs?!�

�Looks that way,� shrugged Saunders.

�Hey,� said Mark suddenly. �What made Manowick collapse? No offense, but you guys didn�t seem to be making any headway with getting the guy off Frank.�

Saunders shook his head, �We don�t know. I�m hoping the doctor will be able to tell us that.�

Hardcastle cleared his throat, �Hmm�.you might say that it was me.�

Three pairs of eyes stared at him.

�You? What do you mean, you?� asked Mark. �From what I remember, Manowick kicked you and you never got off the floor until the ambulance guys picked you up.�

Hardcastle threw Mark his �You don�t know anything, do you kid� look before explaining.

�Well, ya see, it went sorta like this. After he clocked me on the leg, I hit the floor right beside him. I was a little stunned, lying there with a broken leg and all. By the time I got the old brain straightened out, Frank here was out of it. So I did the only thing I could think of� I kicked�im.�

�Kicked him?� repeated Mark in disbelief. �With a broken leg? You were injured and you took him out with a kick when six other guys couldn�t phase him?�

�I didn�t use the broken one!� Hardcastle�s voice rose to a near-shout. Glaring at Mark he continued in a normal tone. �I couldn�t just lie there. I had to do something. So, I� well, ya might say I got him in a sensitive area, if you know what I mean?�

His audience looked puzzled, then they cringed reflexively.

�You kicked him in the -?!� gasped Mark.

Hardcastle nodded. �Yah. It was the only spot that would guarantee a take down. I was pretty sure that I wouldn�t have another chance. I was right, too, �cause it jolted my broken leg and I blacked out.�

�Whoa, I always knew you had a vicious streak. � said Mark. �I�m gonna keep an eye out for that when we play basketball.�

Hardcastle grinned, �Don�t worry kid, I wouldn�t do that to you, no matter how much you deserve it.�

�Thank-you, Judge,� interrupted Saunders. �That clears that up. Now, the doc said I could only stay a short while �cause you guys some rest, so I�ll be back this afternoon to take official statements. Maybe Manowick will be coherent enough for questioning by then.�

�I�ve gotta go too,� said Mark. �Doc Evans gave me 20 minutes. If I don�t check out with her and head home, she threatened to update my shots. One at a time, with the biggest needles she could find.� Mark shuddered, �I hate needles.�

Hardcastle�s laugh turned into a giant yawn. �Go ahead, McCormick. Dr. Evans isn�t one to mess around with. You look better than you did this morning, but not by much. They say we�ll probably be outta here tomorrow, so I�ll hitch a ride home with Frank.�

�Whew,� thought Mark as Hardcastle hit the call button for an orderly. �It worked. Hardcastle doesn�t suspect a thing, and with a little bit of luck, Dr. Evans won�t tell him about my ribs.�

~H~
He smiled.

His project co-ordinator would be in this afternoon with a progress report. If the information in the paper were accurate, Torben & Associates would be giving him a favorable one.

He re-read the brief paragraph.

�A man, apparently high on Speed, created chaos at the Bay Division Police Station. Thirty year old Michael (Micky) Manowick was at the station to identify stolen property when he suddenly went into a rampage. Three persons were sent to hospital. Police Lt. Frank Harper and retired Superior Court Judge Milton C. Hardcastle are in good condition at Memorial Hospital. Mark McCormick was treated and released. Manowick is charged with two counts of aggravated assault and assault causing bodily harm.�

Phase one complete.

~H~
Mark blinked blearily at the ceiling, trying to find the energy to get up. He�d slept for six hours yesterday, called the hospital to check on the Judge and Frank, ate a sandwich for dinner then went back to sleep. Not exactly his normal routine.

He turned his head to look at the alarm clock. His eyes widened. One o�clock?

�That can�t be right. It�s light outside, � he thought as he moved his legs to the side of the bed. �The clock must�ve stopped.�

With a groan, he dropped his legs to the floor and slowly rolled to the right to stand up. His headache was pretty much gone, but his ribs insistently reminded him that moving should only be done under the influence of painkillers.

�I know, I know,� he muttered. �But I gotta get up to get them.�

�You�re on your own for one day and you�re already talking to yourself,� commented a familiar voice.

�Ju-udge!� gasped Mark as he stumbled to a halt at the top of the stairs. �What are you doing here?�

Hardcastle raised an eyebrow. �Last time I checked, I owned this place.�

�That�s not what I meant�I mean what are you doing here when you should be in the hospital?� explained Mark as he eased his way down the stairs.

�They released Frank and me two hours ago. I�ve been sitting here waiting for you to wake up.� He stared balefully at Mark, �Why didn�t you tell me you got hurt again?�

�You had enough to worry about, and besides, it was my fault that you got hurt,� said Mark quietly.

�Your fault? How was it your fault?�

�I insisted on going to the station. If we�d come home like you wanted, we wouldn�t have been there when the guy went berserk. And you wouldn�t have a broken leg.�

Hardcastle shook his head slowly, �You didn�t force me to try and take the guy down. It was my choice. I got hurt because I underestimated the guy.�

Unconvinced, Mark tilted his head to one side, staring at the Judge. �Why is this any different from you blaming yourself for last Friday? You keep saying it was your fault I was at the Jiffy Mart. Well, it was my fault we were at the station.�

Hardcastle opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. The kid had a point. They were beating themselves up over� what? Fate? Bad luck? It wasn�t as if someone was setting them up. They�d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just plain bad timing.

He focussed on Mark standing stiffly at the bottom of the stairs. �Okay, kid, I�ll make you a deal. I�ll stop feeling guilty about the Jiffy Mart and you�ll stop feeling guilty about the station. It was just plain bad luck. We didn�t make them rob the store or pop Speed. It wasn�t your fault and it wasn�t my fault. Deal?�

Mark stared at the Judge�s face for a long moment. �Okay. Deal.�

�Good,� said the Judge. �Now, tell me why I had to find out about your broken ribs in today�s paper?�

�The paper? You mean Doctor Evans didn�t tell you?�

�Well, the paper said you were quote �treated and released� unquote. I had to track down the Doc to find out why.�

�Oh, what else did the paper say? Did they spell my name right?� asked Mark, attempting to sidetrack the Judge.

�Quit trying to change the subject. Remember, I was a cop and a lawyer before I was a judge. I�ve had lots of practice keeping people on track. Now answer the question.�

Mark stood beside the Judge�s chair. �I�m sorry, Judge. I just figured that after sitting up with me in the hospital and then landing in the hospital yourself, that you didn�t need something else dumped on you. The doc was sending me home, so the ribs weren�t that bad. Cracked ribs. Broken ribs. Not much difference, at least not from my point of view. They both hurt.�

�There is a difference. Broken ribs can move and puncture something.� Hardcastle twisted his mouth to one side. �Promise me you�ll be careful until they heal.�

�Don�t worry, Judge. Every time I move, my ribs remind me to be careful.�

�Hmmph� see that you do.� Hardcastle said gruffly. He watched silently as Mark swallowed some painkillers and sank into the sofa. �So, what are we going to do about your chores? The housework�ll wait. The yard�s a different story and you�re out of commission for two weeks now, instead of one.�

At Mark�s look of surprise he continued, �You obviously weren�t going to tell me anything, so I got the low down from Dr. Evans.�

Mark thought for a moment. �Well, unless you want to hobble around on crutches pushing that ancient beast you call a lawn mower, we�ve got two choices. We either let the place go wild or we hire a lawn service. My vote is to hire someone, or -� Mark�s face lit up, �Or we could buy one of those riding mowers.�

�You�d like that wouldn�t you?� growled Hardcastle. �Racing around the estate, tearing up the grass, running over the hedges. No way McCormick. You can drive anyway you want on the roads, but not on my lawns.�

Mark�s face fell. �Damn, cutting the grass would be so much faster with one of those.�

�Aw, come on Judge. I wouldn�t do anything like that. I�d just have to fix anything I damaged. Why would I add to my chores?�

Hardcastle shook his head emphatically. �No.�

�Listen to me Judge, � wheedled Mark. �Just think of what else we could do with it. Attach a little trailer to haul around the manure for the roses, paint for the fences. There�s even a spreader for fertilizing the lawn. I could get things done in a flash.�

�That�s what worries me,� said Hardcastle. �Besides, why should I spend a couple of thousand bucks on that when I could hire a service for two weeks for less than two hundred?�

�Umm�because it�s a good long term investment?� offered Mark lamely.

�Sorry, kid. The answer�s no. Even if I bought one of those mowers, you won�t be able to drive the thing for two weeks. They aren�t designed for comfort ya know. I�m sure Dr. Evans would love to see you after jolting around on one of those. So, I�d still have to hire someone.�

�Yah, well, I thought you�d drive it for me. Your cast wouldn�t get in the way,� mumbled Mark.

�Ya did, did ya?�

Hardcastle�s smile reminded Mark of a shark circling for the kill. No chance for the little guy to win. He sighed, �Oh well, I thought it was worth a shot.�

�Hey, I�ll give you an A for effort. Now, that that�s settled, we�re going to have to find us a lawn service. Where�d you put the Yellow Pages?�

~H~
�I see that the project is ahead of schedule.�

�Yes, there was an unexpected bonus with the choice of materials for Phase 1. We managed to use it on two sections instead of the original one. We now have additional material available that can be reallocated. Do you have any preferences?� The consultant was holding an architectural drawing up for his client to see. And the guards, of course.

�Surprise me. So far the design and execution have been excellent.�

�Thank-you. We won�t be altering the timetables, so we�ll use the extra material where it will provide the most impact.�

�Excellent. The next progress report will give me something to look forward to.�

~H~
�Don�t you dare, McCormick!� ordered Hardcastle sternly.

�What??� asked Mark, dropping his hand back to the table.

�Don�t you dare take that sling off,� answered Hardcastle. �It�s there for a reason.�

�Yah, to make it impossible to eat anything resembling normal food,� grouched Mark as he picked up his fork. �You try chasing your food around the plate and see how you feel.�

�That�s what the mashed potatoes are for. Don�t tell me that you never wrapped your food in mashed potatoes when you were a kid.�

�Well�yah, but mostly so I didn�t have to look at the lima beans my mom made me eat.�

�So, this time you use it to make your food stick to the fork. Simple.�

�I guess so,� agreed Mark reluctantly. �But we�re not going to have mashed potatoes every night, are we?�

�No. I was thinking lobster and wild rice sounds good for tomorrow night.�

�Judge! I can�t eat lobster with one hand.�

Hardcastle grinned evilly, �You can�t. But that doesn�t mean that I can�t have lobster while you have macaroni and cheese.�

Mark made a face at Hardcastle, �Very funny. Just for that, I�m not going to do the dishes.�

�Huh! Do you think I�d let you wash the dishes with only one hand? I�d hafta buy a whole new set.�

�Well, every cloud has a silver lining,� thought Mark.

�You know, Judge, I never realized how hard it is to do normal stuff with just one hand. Even squeezing toothpaste on the toothbrush took planning.�

�Amazing how much you take for granted, isn�t it, kid. These crutches aren�t exactly making things easy for me either. I can�t hold anything unless I�m standing still; carrying stuff is impossible unless it�s in a bag.�

�You could try using your teeth,� said Mark mischievously. �Fetch, Judge, fetch. Good boy. Woof!�

�Maybe I will have that lobster after all,� threatened Hardcastle.

Preparing dinner had required co-operation - Mark moved things from fridge to counter to stove to table while the Judge sliced, diced and stirred. �We make a great pair, don�t we, Judge? Batman and Robin with three hands and three legs. We can�t even drive ourselves around until you get a walking cast next week and I, � Mark glanced at his sling. �Get rid of this - thing. They, at least, had an Alfred to fill in.�

Hardcastle nodded his agreement. �Just remember, the Doc said not to use your left arm more than necessary until Friday.� He pointed his knife at Mark, forestalling his protest. �And no, holding a knife and fork isn�t necessary.�

�But Judge -� pleaded Mark.

�No. Those pills of yours are making you forget that your ribs are broken. The sling stays on for two more days, or until the Doc says the ribs have started knitting. Got it?�

�Yah, I got it,� muttered Mark glumly.

�Hey, look at the bright side - at least they don�t put a cast on broken ribs. My leg�s gonna look like an underfed chicken leg after two months.�

Mark�s eyes widened as he pictured himself with a pale 90 lb weakling chest, �Jeez, I never thought of that. It would take months to get back in shape! My social life would go down the drain!�

Hardcastle rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, shaking his head slightly. �The kid�ll never grow up,� he thought.

~H~
Mark settled into Hardcastle�s favourite chair and clicked the remote. He figured that the thump of crutches would warn him if the Judge left the kitchen. It was getting easier to move around. Sleeping was better too, except when he rolled to his left. Then he�d wake with a gasp as shoulder and ribs reminded him that that was a bad idea.

He flicked through the channels until he found LA Today. Good, they were doing the local accident and crime round-up. He still had a couple of minutes before the Sports Scoreboard came on.

�McCormick, where are you!?� Hardcastle�s yell startled Mark. �Breakfast�s getting cold and I wanna eat!�

�I�ll be right there, Hardcase. I wanna catch the baseball scores. Start without me.�

�I�m not gonna eat my breakfast standing at the counter. You�re supposed to carry the stuff to the table. I cook it, you carry it. That�s the deal.�

�Okay. Okay. I�ll be right there!� Mark�s attention was split between the newscast and the den�s doorway. He didn�t hear any telltale sounds of crutches moving his way.

�McCormick!� bellowed Hardcastle.

�Alright, already,� muttered Mark as he pushed himself to his feet. He took one last look at the screen hoping to see the Scoreboard summary. Instead, he blinked in surprise.

�Judge! Judge!� yelled Mark. �Come here! Quick!�

�What? You�re supposed to -�

�Ju-udge, just get in here. And hurry.�

�I�m moving as fast as I can, McCormick,� yelled Hardcastle as he maneuvered into the den. �What is it?�

�Look,� pointed Mark. �Isn�t that Frank�s house?�

Hardcastle squinted at the television. The camera shifted from the reporter to a close up of a gravel truck sitting inside a two-storey house. �Looks like it. Did they say where -�

�Shh! Listen!� Mark waved at the Judge to be quiet.

The reporter was closing his sequence. �This is Cal Dawkins, reporting live from the corner of Shutter and Terrance.�

Mark stared at the screen for a moment before turning to look at Hardcastle. �It is Frank�s house. Or what�s left of it.�

�What�d he say?� demanded Hardcastle, gesturing at the TV screen.

Mark looked at him with wide eyes. �I don�t know -�

�Whad�ya mean you don�t know? You were watching it.�

�I wasn�t..I mean I was, but..� Mark stumbled over his words. �I couldn�t hear anything over your yelling.�

Hardcastle glared at Mark for a moment before jerking his head toward the phone. �Well, don�t just stand there McCormick,� he growled. �Get on the phone and call the precinct. Frank was supposed to stay home today.�

Mark paused halfway across the room, �When was Claudia leaving on that tour?�

�Last night. Frank convinced her that he was okay and would be going back to work on Friday. He didn�t want her to miss the tour.�

�Good thing,� commented Mark as he dialed. �Looks like the kitchen was totaled.�

Hardcastle nodded, as he swung toward his desk chair. �Yah. She would�ve been in there watching that New York talk show she likes.�

�It�s ringing.� Mark held out the phone for Hardcastle.

Hardcastle sank into his chair, leaning the crutches against the arms, before grabbing the phone. �Hello! Hello! Saunders? This is Milt Hardcastle. Is Frank okay? What happened?�

Mark watched Hardcastle�s face intently, trying to figure out the unheard answers from the Judge�s expressions. He breathed a small sigh of relief when the furrows disappeared. �Good, Frank must be okay.�

�Okay. Thanks Saunders. Tell Frank to call me as soon as he can, okay?� He handed the phone back to Mark before leaning into the backrest.

�Well?� asked Mark. �Frank�s okay. He�d just gone out back in the yard when the gravel truck crashed. Lucky. The truck took out one of the interior supports. Part of the second floor collapsed into the kitchen.�

�And?�

�According to Saunders, the driver swerved to avoid a cat and lost control. He�s got a few cuts and bruises, nothing serious. Those truck cabs are built tough. The house on the other hand is going to need some major work. At least two weeks once the insurance agent gives the go ahead.�

Mark leaned against the edge of Hardcastle�s desk. �Two weeks? How long does this insurance stuff take?�

�Two or three days, not counting weekends.�

�Claudia�s not going to be happy about that. Where�s Frank going to stay?�

�Frank�s going to stay here. Claudia, too, if the place isn�t fixed by the time she gets back.�

Mark looked at Hardcastle. �You think he�ll tell her?�

�Of course, he�ll tell her,� answered Hardcastle. Then he tipped his head to one side, �The question is, when will he tell her. You gotta be real careful when you tell your wife about this kind of stuff.�

�I wouldn�t know, Judge. I�m still a carefree bachelor.� Mark grinned as he moved away from the desk, �Well maybe not carefree. I gotta take care of you. Now you better get moving, breakfast�s getting cold.�

Hardcastle growled, looking for something to throw as Mark ducked out the door.

~H~
It was just after noon when Harper stopped his car outside Gull�s Way. He sat for a moment, thinking back over the last few days. Then he shook his head, muttering, �If bad luck comes in three�s, we�re safe for a while.�

He was still pensive as he pulled two suitcases out of the trunk.

The front door opened. �Hiya, Frank,� called Mark. �Got anything real light I can help you with?�

Harper looked up, his melancholy mood broken. Mark usually managed to surprise him. Today was no exception. Even with Mark�s sling, Frank could see the Road-runner �meep� meeping at the Coyote chasing it across the red muscle shirt. It made Mark look a lot younger than his 31 years. The cut-offs and sandals did nothing to change the impression.

Mark didn�t bound down the stairs with his usual enthusiasm, but he looked better than he did two days ago. �Sure, Mark. I�ve got a briefcase you can grab. Doesn�t weigh more than about 50 pounds.�

Mark approached the car, rolling his eyes. �Don�t tell me, you�ve been taking lessons from Hardcastle.� He became serious as he stopped beside Harper. �I�m sorry about your house.�

�Thanks, Mark.� Harper shrugged, �Claudia�s been wanting me to renovate the kitchen. You know, add in a breakfast nook, change the cabinets. Well, I don�t have any excuses now.� He thought about what could have happened if Claudia hadn�t gone on that choral tour. He�d be burying her instead of looking for renovators.

Mark saw the quick flash of fear in Harper�s eyes. �Hey, don�t even think about it. You�re okay, and Claudia�s safe and sound miles away.� He shook his shoulder lightly, �Now we�d better get a move on. Hardcase is waiting inside with lunch. According to him we�re gonna be the Three Musketeers. But just between you and me, we�re lucky if we have two and a half Musketeers.�

Harper chuckled, �Mark. It always amazes people that you and Milt can work together. They just can�t picture Hardcase Hardcastle with a��

�Smartmouth?� suggested Mark helpfully.

�Smartmouth,� Harper nodded. �Kid like you.�

�Hey, I�m not a kid. I�m 31,� protested Mark.

�You�ll always be a kid. You look at things with this strange kind of twist.�

Hardcastle met them at the door, �Yah, a looney-tunes twist.�

Mark pulled a face.

�No,� said Harper. �It�s more like a smart kid trying to figure out what else he can do with a new toy.�

Mark preened, �Hear that, Judge, Frank says I�m a smart kid.�

�I never said you weren�t smart, McCormick,� replied Hardcastle. �There are times when you are down right genius. But this isn�t one of them. Now get a move on, lunch is ready and I�m starved.�

Any of Harper�s remaining gloomy thoughts were swept away by his friends� verbal sparing. Dropping his luggage inside the door, he shook his head slightly as he followed them to the kitchen.

~H~
�Hey, Judge!� called Mark as he let himself in via the kitchen door. �The lawn service guys are here. Do ya want me to supervise �em?�

�We�re in the den, McCormick!�

�Yes,� gloated Mark when he walked in. Frank was lounging on the sofa and Hardcastle was ensconced in his favourite chair with his injured leg up on the foot stool. Beers and a platter of sandwiches sat on the table between them. A comfy scene if he ever saw one. No way Hardcastle�ll get up to look out the window.

�The lawn service guys are here,� Mark repeated. �Do you want me to show �em around and explain what to do?�

Hardcastle looked at him suspiciously, �What are you up to McCormick? Volunteering to work when you know you can�t?�

Mark put on an injured look, �I�m not volunteering to work, Judge. I�m volunteering to supervise. There�s a big difference you know. One uses muscles, the other uses brains.�

Hardcastle�s eyebrow shot up as he stared at Mark.

�Aw, come on Judge. You�re always ordering me around, telling me to do this and that in the garden. I just want a chance to order someone around for a change. I know how you want things done.�

�I should after two years,� added Mark sotto voice.

�Okay, go ahead,� said Hardcastle. �Remember, the grass is cut -�

�I know,� interrupted Mark. �The grass is cut at 3 inches, the roses need feeding - the stuff is in the shed - � gallon per bush, the trees need some mulch. I tell ya, Judge, I got it covered. I know exactly what to tell them.�

Hardcastle watched Mark leave the den, still vaguely suspicious, but unable to figure out why.

Harper, curious, moved over to the desk to pick-up some files, casually glancing out the window on his way. What he saw made him smile and roll his eyes. Of course. No wonder Mark is so anxious to �supervise the guys.� He headed back to the sofa, careful to wipe the smile from his face. He wasn�t going to interfere.

�So, what do you think Milt? Should I go for the center island like you�ve got in the kitchen, or stick with the wall counters? Claudia�s been switching back and forth between them.�

~H~
Mark couldn�t believe his luck as he waved good-bye. He didn�t know that they hired women for that type of work. Young, attractive women. Young, attractive, single women. �I wonder if I could get Hardcase to hire them permanently,� thought Mark. �That guy Bruce or Brice can do the heavy stuff while I help Marti and Sandi and Teri with the other stuff.�

He had their numbers, now all he needed was the okay from the Doc to lose the sling. All sorts of plans tumbled around his brain as he walked back to the main house.

Hardcastle and Harper had long since finished the sandwiches and were now watching the ball game.

�So, Mark,� asked Harper with a twinkle in his eyes. �Did you enjoy your stint as supervisor?�

Mark�s face lit up with a grin, �Oh, yeah. I made sure they did everything the way the Judge would have wanted. Kept my eyes on them the whole time. They�ll be back next week for the lawns and hedges.�

Hardcastle fought to hide his own grin. He knew what Mark was trying to keep secret. The Carroll�s had told him about the Garden King�s co-ed staff when they recommended the service. And he had specifically asked for a co-ed team. He figured it was a good way to keep McCormick from nagging him about the sling. Seems to have worked.

�We�ll see about next week once I�ve checked up on what they did this week,� said Hardcastle. �It cost almost a hundred bucks for an afternoon of work. I wanna make sure I�m getting my money�s worth.�

�Hey, you don�t have to worry about that, Judge. You definitely got your money�s worth. I guarantee it.�

�Hmph, we�ll see.�

~H~
Frank walked into the kitchen and into the argument. The combatants didn�t even notice his arrival.

�Judge, a cab is going to cost a fortune. I can drive the pick-up. It�s an automatic, remember? I don�t need to shift gears. Half the time you drive it with one arm out the window. That isn�t any different than me driving it with one good arm.�

�And how are you going to work the signals, huh? With your nose?� Hardcastle shot back at him.

Mark made a �you�ve got to be kidding face�. �Flicking the signal with my left arm isn�t going to stress my ribs.�

�Good morning, Milt. Good morning, Mark. How about I drive you guys in to see the Doctor?� Frank hoped his end run would settle things. �I�ve got to go in to meet the Insurance Adjuster anyway. It�s the least I could do. After all, you�re saving me a massive hotel bill, or worse, two weeks with the in-laws.�

His offer was met with stunned silence. In the heat of their argument, they had forgotten about Harper.

Hardcastle slapped his hands on the table. �That�s settled then. Thanks Frank. Now, let�s have some breakfast. It�s french toast today. Go ahead and set the table, kid.�

Mark murmured his thanks as well. He looked at Frank and Hardcastle before heading for the cupboards. �You know, I really don�t understand what the fuss is about this sling. I take it off in the shower and I haven�t hurt myself. The shoulder and ribs only ache a little bit. It just seems like overkill.�

Harper could see that Hardcastle�s patience was wearing thin. He jumped in quickly, �Believe me Mark, it�s not overkill. You don�t want to go through the joy of having tubes stuck through your chest and a ventilator down your throat, forcing you to breathe because a rib punctured a lung. I�ve been there and I�d have given anything to avoid it. Don�t rush it and don�t second guess the Doctor.�

Mark leaned back against the counter�s edge. �I never thought about it that way. I guess the sling�s the lesser of two evils.�

�You got that right,� agreed Harper.

�Okay, Judge. I�ll be a good boy and keep the sling on until the Doc says.�

Hardcastle looked at the ceiling and answered, �Finally, he understands.�

~H~
Mark led the way to Harper�s sedan, planning to open the front door for Hardcastle. He stopped a few feet away. A bright green puddle edged past the front bumper.

�Hey Frank,� he called back. �I hate to tell you this, but your car isn�t going anywhere.� He moved to the driver�s side and pulled the hood release. �It looks like you�ve lost all your coolant.� A moment later he confirmed it, �Yup, there�s a hole in the rad. Looks like a rock or something hit it.�

�Great, just great,� muttered Frank. �Just what I needed. No house, now no car.�

�Don�t worry about it, Frank. We�ll take the pick-up. I�ll call Benny for a tow while I�m waiting for McCormick in the hospital. He�ll probably have the car ready late this afternoon.�

�Yah,� agreed Mark. �The rad�s standard; no problem at all to replace. Won�t cost much either.�

Hardcastle balanced himself on the crutches, then reached into his pocket for his keys. �The pick-up�s in the garage.�

A few minutes later Harper pulled onto the Pacific Coast Highway. His eyes automatically scanning the traffic, light as it was. Out of the corner of his eye he could just see Hardcastle doing the same on the other side of the truck. Smiling, he said, �Old habits die hard, eh Milt?� He waved his hand at the scenery.

After a moment Hardcastle nodded, �Yeah, I guess once a cop, always a cop.�

Puzzled, Mark glanced at Harper then at Hardcastle. Their heads moved slightly, eyes watching. �Ah,� said Mark. �I get it. The strong arm of the law checking for traffic violators or suspicious characters. Do me a favour guys. If you see anything, ignore it. We�ve got places to go and people to see. And a sling to lose. We don�t need to get side-tracked.�

Hardcastle chuckled, �Sorry, kid. It�s like Frank says, a habit. You should try it, keeps the mind active.�

�Judge, I�m a race-car driver. I know how to keep an eye on my surroundings. I just don�t look for trouble while I�m doing it.�

�Yah, I know. You look for girls.�

The traffic was getting heavier. The never-ending PCH road construction created what seemed like a rotating arrangement of bottlenecks. Frank slowed down to let a large tow-truck complete it�s turn onto the highway. He�d be stuck behind it for a couple of miles before the second lane reappeared. Sighing, he relaxed against the seat back.

Mark heard his sigh and understood. �I hate getting caught behind one of those monsters. They take forever to accelerate.�

�Yeah, but at least he isn�t hauling a tractor. He�ll be picking up speed faster.�

�Your car wouldn�t even touch the ground if Benny had one of those. That hook�s almost as big as your steering wheel. � Mark checked his watch. Still plenty of time. �How about some music?� He leaned forward to turn it on.

�Nah,� said Hardcastle. �Turn on the news station.�

�Get down!� yelled Harper, slamming on the brakes.

Hardcastle�s arm instinctively swung across Mark�s chest, stopping him from hitting the dash.

�Wha-� asked Mark, looking up to see the towing hook swinging toward him. Then he was pushed to the floor as both Harper and Hardcastle flattened themselves against the seat, hands covering their heads.

The windshield cracked, then shattered under the impact. Metal screamed in protest as the heavy chain sliced into the pick-up�s roof. A split second later they rear-ended the tow-truck.

~H~
�Hey, are you guys alright? I�m real sorry. The clasp musta broke.�

Glass slid off Hardcastle�s shoulders as lifted his head from the seat. A concerned face peered in at him.

�Careful, the hook�s right over your head. We�ll try to get the doors open. How�s the other guy?�

Hardcastle shifted slightly, taking in the massive hook that dangled a few inches higher than the dash. He felt Harper stirring beside him and nudged his side. �Hey Frank, you okay?�

�Yah,� came the muffled reply from the other side of the cab. �You?�

�Okay. Don�t sit up, that hook�s takin� up a lot of the head room. We�ve got to wait until they get the doors open.� Hardcastle tried to turn his body so he could see over Frank. �McCormick! Answer me kid, are you okay?�

�Frank, can you see McCormick?� asked Hardcastle worriedly when there was no reply.

�I�m � I�m okay Judge,� coughed Mark. �Things are a little crowded down here though. I can�t move more than an inch or two. Feel like a sardine.�

�Hang on kid. They�re working on the doors.�

The grating of metal on metal echoed his words. Seconds later there was a pop and then another as the door latches gave. Light poured into the cab, glinting off the hundreds of pieces of glass that covered Harper and Hardcastle.

The man that had first talked to Hardcastle reappeared. �Don�t move, the paramedics�ll be here soon. They�ll get you out.�

�I�m not hurt, just stuck. There�s a third person under the dash whose gettin� mighty uncomfortable. If you can move that thing,� Hardcastle pointed his chin at the hook. �Frank and I�ll be able to sit up and slide outta here.�

Frank voiced his agreement. He�d caught Mark�s snort at the phrase �mighty uncomfortable.� He could just imagine how Mark felt. He wasn�t too comfortable, and he was lying across the seat.

�Okay, give us a minute to rig up a sling.�

�Hear that, kid. It won�t be long. Do you hurt anywhere? Can you breathe okay?� Mark hadn�t been in the ideal position to weather the accident. The only thing he had going for him was that Frank had managed to almost stop the pick-up before hitting the tow-truck. If not for the hook, the crash would have been called a fender-bender, although Hardcastle was certain that his fender was bent more than the other guy�s.

�I think I�ve got some more bruises to add to my collection. And I�m getting a little claustrophobic, but otherwise nothing seems wrong. Just warn me before you move around. The safety glass isn�t gonna cut me, but I still don�t wanna get a mouth full of it.�

�Okay. We�re ready,� the tow-truck driver was back. �The chain�s jammed real good into the roof, but I�m gonna pull the hook back through the window and hold it until you�re clear. There�re some other people ready to help if you need it.�

�Hear that McCormick? When Frank and I are clear, you can crawl out from under there. Watch your head though, the roof�s a mess.�

�No problem Kemosabe, just hurry it up.�

Hardcastle watched as the hook moved backward through the window. He could just see the legs of the tow-truck driver balancing on his hood. �Okay Frank, let�s get out of here.� The pick-up shifted slightly as they pushed up off the seat; Hardcastle using the steering wheel for leverage. They kept their heads as low as they could while trying to re-organize their legs and bodies. Hands supported them; pulling them backwards out of the pick-up.

Hardcastle balanced himself against one of the helpers before calling to Mark. �Okay, kid, we�re clear.�

�Finally,� muttered Mark under his breath. He had his escape plan ready. Ditch the sling, pull himself up onto the seat, then slide out the passenger door. Simple.

�Maybe not so simple,� thought Mark, pushing his upper body off the floor. His ribs were starting to ache again, but he decided to ignore them. It would only be for a few seconds. He grabbed at the steering wheel and with a tug, got his knees under him. Now he could roll onto the seat, rest a second and get out.

�Jeeze, what a mess,� he thought as he turned his body and half-sat up. Hands reached in to pull him out. Grateful, he leaned toward the door, eyes tracking past the windshield.

The thud of the tow-truck driver falling drowned Mark�s strangled �Damn!� He threw himself toward the seat as the hook swung back into the pick-up. The rush of air moving past his head and the creak of the chain twisting seemed to fill the air. Then came the resounding crunch of the hook�s impact.

~H~
�Careful! Watch his ribs!� yelled Hardcastle at Mark�s rescuer. His heart had jumped into his throat when the hook had come loose. But quick reactions from both Mark and the rescuer had taken him out of the line-of-fire.

The stocky man nodded his close cropped head. He�d seen the sling tangling from the guy�s neck. There hadn�t been a cast on the arm, so his first thought had been a shoulder injury of some kind. He�d had a dislocate shoulder a few years back and remembered the six long weeks in a sling. He continued pulling the guy from the cab, making sure that the guy�s arm stayed against his side.

�Hey, man. Thanks,� gasped Mark. �That was close.�

�You said it,� he agreed, helping Mark stand. �I hope I didn�t hurt you.�

�Nah,� answered Mark, taking a quick breath to calm his nerves. �The ribs were already sore. Besides, anything�s better than that.� He looked back at the hook and the new hole in the back of the cab. �You saved my life. Thanks.�

�Hey, I�m just glad I could help.�

�So am I. Name�s Mark McCormick.� He held out his hand.

�Dave Gillespie,� answered the man, shaking Mark�s hand. �Now, I think you and your friends,� he nodded at Hardcastle and Harper. �Had better sit down. You�re all looking a little shaky.�

At their quizzical looks he added, �I�m a fire-fighter. Believe me, I�ve seen a lot of delayed reactions to accidents. Better play it safe, and let the paramedics take a look at you.�

Hardcastle nodded. �I�m Milt Hardcastle, and this is Lt. Frank Harper. We were headed to the hospital anyway for Mark�s checkup. Thanks for everything.�

Gillespie smiled, �Just part of being a fire-fighter. On-duty 24 hours a day.�

~H~
Hardcastle glanced back at Mark. �What�s the matter, kid? You�re awfully quiet.�

Mark stopped staring out the side window of the police cruiser. They were on their way to Memorial Hospital after convincing the paramedics that they were headed that way anyway. �Dr. Evans is going to kill me,� he answered bleakly.

�Aw, come on Mark,� said Harper. �This wasn�t your fault. She isn�t going to kill you for being in a car accident. Just tell her I was driving.�

�He�s right, McCormick,� Hardcastle agreed. �You didn�t do anything stupid for a change.�

Mark grimaced, �Except take my arm out of the sling.�

�It�s not as if you had much of a choice,� argued Hardcastle.

�Yah, I guess so.� Mark looked at Hardcastle and Harper, �But I bet she�s going to make me keep this sling on for another week. And I had plans for next week. Plans that didn�t include a sling.�

Hardcastle shook his head in wonder. �Were we ever like that?� He asked Frank.

Harper shrugged, �I can�t remember that far back, Milt.�

TO BE CONTINUED...

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