A/N: Originally printed in Who Rides for Justice? #2, sometime in the mid to late 1980s. This was one of a series of Journal Entries from Mark and Milt, usually commenting on a particular episode or event in the men's lives. They would respond to each other's entries. I wrote all the Mark journal entries while Rowena G. Warner did those of the Judge.
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Well, well, well. I must�ve had a good idea if the judge is doing this stuff now. I only started writing these things �cause it was a form of therapy recommended when I was in prison. Channel your hate and agression and pain to paper rather than letting it out to other prisoners and guards. It�s a lot safer, for both sides. I know Hardcase didn�t want me to find this one, it was well hidden in his desk. And I probably never would�ve if he hadn�t gone away for the weekend and called me for some information. It was stashed in the same place. Guess he forgot. Or maybe the ol� marshmallow wanted me to find it, but wouldn�t come right out and tell me about it. He puts up this steel, John Wayne exterior, but I�ve learned better; it�s all a big sham. He cares, sometimes too deeply. But that�s another subject. We�re talking about my �father� now.
Yeah, I put quotes around it. That man may be my biological father, but he�d never done any of the things that a real father does. He wasn�t there when I needed him, but it was by his choice. Okay, fine. I looked him up, gave him a chance to explain. What did I get? Rejection. Something I�m getting used to.
I still don�t understand why the judge let me drag him clear to Atlantic City without an explanation. There aren�t lots of people who would do that, not even friends. Three thousand miles on a whim? That�s a bit much for anyone to swallow. Especially when Harcase was footing the bill, as usual. I needed him there, and I think -- I hope, he realized that.
My feelings for Hardcastle never waned, despite the search for my dad. I didn�t mean to hurt him when I said �blood is blood�, but somehow I thought it was important to find Sonny.
It took seeing the loser I had for a dad to make me appreciate just how special Hardcastle was to me, how much he filled that void in my life that wanted a father figure. Flip didn�t make it, he was too close to my own age in attitude. I had just about given up with my �father fixation� when Hardcastle roared into my life. I didn�t want it, but now I�m glad we met. A two year jail term and Flip�s death was a rough way to get introduced, but meeting Hardcastle was the best thing that ever happened in my stupid, stinking life.
Yeah, I cried that night. Bitter tears for the loss of a dream that I had sheltered in my heart since I was five years old -- that I would find my dad, discover his leaving was a mistake, and that he�d welcome me with open arms. A kid�s fantasy dies hard when it�s been nurtured for all those eyars. It hurt. Bad. So did the truth of my rescue.
Yeah, I knew, even while I was outside that club spouting off about my �dad�s� name being up in lights. I was trying to get at the truth, but Hardcastle was closemouthed about it, the cops wouldn�t tell me squat, and I knew Sonny, if I talked to him, would play the hero for his adoring son. Ha, some adoration!
Hardcastle once said I was a pretty good judge of character, and so I am. I knew the minute I met Sonny he was no good, but what your instincts tell you and what you want to believe are two different things.
Oh, Hardcase, you�re so tough. Didn�t you know that my dad, even if he had been the kind of man I was hunting for, wouldn�t have broken us up? Even if you ignore the parole thing, my dad and I hadn�t seen each other for 25 years. We might�ve become friendly, still might, but it would never be the same as what we�ve built up over the months.
Yeah, I hurt when that letter was handed to me. It was the final act. There were no more illusions left to me, no more hopes about a fairytale ending. I wish�hell, I don�t know what I wish, but I was hurt by the Judge�s obvious sigh of relief at Sonny�s leaving. I understand it, but it doesn�t mean that the jealousy, the pettiness that I thought I saw in his face didn�t disappoint me.
Then I thought about how I�d feel if the Judge�s son was suddenly back to life, back in Hardcastle�s life, living in the gatehouse�and I understood.
It took a lot of work, a bit of charm, and a hell of a lot of my own money to get the truth of what happened after I was snatched, part of the story coming from a secretary in the Federal building and some from dear ol� dad, when he hit me up for a loan (something the Judge doesn�t know about), but it thawed the last frozen part of my heart. I did find my dad that weekend. I�ve been living with him all along. I�m really home. Just a shame it took this to wake me up. I never wanted Hardcastle hurt, not since the first night I found him watching me like a mother hen just before I went undercover. I never thought the feeling was mutual.
Still and all though, Hardcastle was wrong about two things. One, I�m not that good a kid, though I�m getting there. And second, the late night basketball game didn�t do me any good. I think I broke some ribs on that last jumpshot.
Home. It sure sounds great. Even if Hardcase throws me out someday, I�ll have a few good memories to take with me. That�s more than I�ve had most of my life. Yeah, home. Has a nice ring to it.
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