Disclaimer: The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators. This is for entertainment purposes only.

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Mark McCormick squeezed through the throng of reporters and photographers. He attempted to answer brief questions, while continuing to nod, and smile; he was making slow progress towards his objective across the meeting room.

Before reaching his quarry, a stocky brunette stopped him with a smug question, "So your new law clinic with the honorable Judge Hardcastle will concentrate on getting criminals out of jail that have already been convicted and sentenced to crimes committed?"

Mark smiled while silently clenching his right fist, "Well, actually no, Andrea, our law clinic will concentrate on wrongly convicted individuals who could not afford proper counsel; we will also take on other clients."

McCormick threw in another of his famous Hollywood smiles that would make most women swoon, "Andrea why don't you try more of the hors d'oeuvres, the judge made a special effort to choose the ones you like." He continued the famous smile, while pointing to the large oak table covered with food.

Judge Milton C. Hardcastle was staking out the farthermost corner of the room away from the majority of the news media; he was desperately trying to keep his promise; a half smile was plastered on his face, while his eyes and clenched teeth told of the frustration he was feeling.

Finally Mark made it though the gauntlet over to where Hardcastle stood. "Boy these media people are vultures," Mark said quietly between his teeth.

"Oh, you have no clue yet," growled Hardcastle, "wait 'til they smell blood; they'll be trying to suck us dry."

"Judge, have I thanked you for throwing this party for my graduation? And opening the law clinic, it was a great surprise."

"Surprise, huh, you knew all along didn't you?"

"Well, maybe just a little," Mark admitted, grinning, and then added, "When can we get out of here? They took enough pictures to start their own magazine; I'm still seeing dots in front of my eyes."

"Pretty soon the food will be all gone, then they'll head for greener pastures."

Hardcastle had been right. The reporters and photographers began to vacate the premises shortly after the food supply ran out. Mark now had the daunting task of cleaning up the mess.

Hardcastle came over, putting a hand on Mark's shoulder, "I'm proud of you, kiddo. You never gave up on your dream, and graduating summa cum laude to boot."

"How could I let you down? After all, you were paying for the education. I figured if I didn't maintain my grades, you'd have me sitting back in lock-up for not studying hard enough."

"Now, kiddo, you know better," as he rolled his eyes. "Besides, how can you clean the pool, trim the hedges, and wax the cars in lock-up," he added grinning.

I think that was Hardcase's way of telling me that he wants the vehicles washed and waxed by hand this weekend, should've figured I'd end up paying for this party somehow.

Mark groaned silently while finishing the clean-up detail.

Within a half hour they were headed up the Pacific Coast Highway toward home. Once parked in the driveway, both exhausted men separated -- Hardcastle to the house, and Mark to the gatehouse, to each fall into their respective beds.

Mark awoke with the sun streaming in the gatehouse window and Hardcastle bellowing outside that it was time for new lawyers to rise and shine.

Pulling on his jeans and a t-shirt, Mark stumbled out of the gatehouse to the porch where Hardcastle was already eating his breakfast while reading the paper.

Mark grabbed a plate of pancakes and sausages and looked across to the back of the newspaper. He saw the picture of himself and Hardcastle cutting the ribbon to the new law clinic and the subsequent headline and story about Mark's graduation from law school with top honors.

Breakfast was progressing slowly when the telephone rang. Hardcastle raised his eyes from his newspaper to make eye contact with Mark, indicating that he should be the one to answer the phone. Mark frowned but got up and answered the telephone. Frank congratulated Mark and then asked to talk to Milt.

Hardcastle answered the phone with his normal "Yeah", then got quiet, making a few glances at Mark while he listened to Frank's explanation. Finally the phone call ended with Milt stating, "So they didn't tell you anything -- just wanted information? . . . Yep, I'll check into it and let you know."

Hanging up the phone, Hardcastle appeared to be mulling something over. Mark continued to eat his pancakes until the judge cleared his throat. Mark looked over caught Hardcastle's eye . . . and the look on his face. Chewing and swallowing his last bite, he asked with his usual smirk, "Okay, so what's wrong now?"

Hardcastle struggled with how to begin. "That was Frank."

"Yep, I know that, Judge, I answered the phone remember?" he answered with a grin, using a little humor to see if that would loosen Hardcase up a bit.

"Always a smart answer with you," Hardcase snapped in return.

"Judge, just spit it out, okay?" Mark almost pleaded.

After a resounding sigh, Hardcastle replied, "Okay, Frank said that an agent from the FBI was just in his office . . . asking about you . . . something I should know about McCormick? . . . I mean you didn't do anything stupid recently that I don't know about . . . anything that might be construed as being illegal?"

Mark looked confused and stunned at the same time. "Judge, I just took finals. You know as well as I do that all I've been doing for weeks, four weeks to be exact, is studying every waking moment, and now I'm trying to get ready to sit for the bar exam. When would I even get any time to do anything but study? I haven't left the estate other than for classes, tests, or graduation ceremonies. Why would the feds be interested in me?"

All of a sudden my radar is hammering into full gear giving off that tingling feeling at the back of my neck which I can feel down my spine and around to my stomach. Pay attention, Mark, this usually is not a good sign.

Nah, come on, I didn't do anything the feds would be interested in. It's gotta just be something stupid. Enough of these crazy thoughts for God's sake, you're gonna be a full fledged lawyer soon, quit acting like an ex-con, thinking everybody and everything is out to get you!

"You're telling me that you haven't left the estate for anything else . . . you're telling me the truth now?" Milt studied Mark's face, trying to see any hint of a deception or falsehood.

"Judge, I swear those are the only times I've been away from the estate, and when I'm not doing my chores I'm studying, you know I wouldn't lie to you. And besides that, do you know the percentage of people who flunk the bar exam on their first attempt?" the pitch of Mark's voice rising slightly.

"Well, actually the meat loaf the other night was a little dry, seeing as how you had your head buried in a law book when you were supposed to be cooking. . . . But I just don't understand how you got the attention of the Bureau and why? You don't think Sonny did anything do you?" Hardcastle added as he ran his hand through his hair.

"Oh man, I didn't even think about him; of course it was him, have you ever known Sonny to stay out of trouble for more than ten seconds? God, you don't think he got me in trouble do you? . . . Do you think we should contact the feds?"

"Let me make some calls to my contacts and see what they want with Sonny this time," he stated gruffly as he got up to trudge into the house.

Mark cleared the dirty dishes off the table and carried them into the kitchen where he started clean-up duty, while contemplating what problems Sonny could have caused for him this time.

Sonny, that stupid idiot, what did he do now? I bet the feds think I have an idea where he is; hell I don't even care where he is. I just wish everyone would leave me alone.

Just as Mark was drying the last plate and placing it in the cupboard, Hardcastle entered the kitchen quietly with his eyebrows furrowed together.

"So what did you find out? What did Sonny do this time?" Mark chimed.

When Hardcastle didn't answer, Mark repeated, "Judge . . . what did you find out? . . . Is anything wrong?"

Milt raised his worried eyes to meet Mark's. A long silence seemed to stretch between them. Mark swallowed hard, bracing for bad news.

Finally Hardcastle sighed, rubbed his hand across his face, and responded in a quiet monotone, "I didn't find anything out, even with all my contacts. They tell me it's off limits or they can't discuss it with me."

Mark studied Hardcastle briefly, sensing his discomfort and confusion. Mark knew from experience that Hardcase liked to be on top of things and particularly didn't like when he was kept out of the mix, so to speak. And why would they be keeping anything from him, especially if it had anything to do with him or Sonny, as Hardcastle was his former parole officer and now his mentor, friend, and law partner.

"That just doesn't make any sense, why couldn't they tell you what's going on?" Mark asked, getting more anxious as the sinking feeling in his gut started to take over.

For the next hour, Hardcastle and McCormick discussed all kinds of possible scenarios of Sonny's possible involvement, and speculated on the Bureau's sudden silent treatment. Finally Hardcastle concluded that he would go and see some old friends that owed him favors and apply a little more pressure in person, while McCormick was supposed to go study his civil law torts.

Mark balked at the idea, saying that he should be accompanying Hardcastle as the FBI was asking the questions about him, adding that civil law torts were boring.

Milt cut him off, reminding him, "The way to pass the bar exam is to really know the material, now go study and let me use my resources to get the answers to some questions."

Mark reluctantly returned to the gatehouse as Milt was exiting the driveway in the pickup.

Okay, you know he's right study, study, study, show Hardcase you can do it and pass the bar exam on the first try. Show all the doubters that this ex-con is making something of himself. No, most important, show the select few of Hardcase's fancy friends that never approved of me that they were wrong. Yep, I'm gonna show them, bet they're gonna like having me as a peer and equal. Yep, an equal.

Out of sight, hidden behind some trees, sat a dark colored four door, larger model Ford with two male occupants. As soon as the pickup turned onto the Pacific Coast Highway, the male in the front passenger's seat picked up and dialed a car phone which only rang once and was answered. He stated, "Hardcastle just left . . . yes he's still at the estate . . . we'll keep watching and inform you if he makes any moves."

Mark attempted to study; he starred at his civil tort textbook, but was unable to concentrate on any of the words; he was desperately trying to read.

This is useless, come on, Mark, try harder; you can do this.

After forty-five minutes of trying to read the same paragraph, he tossed the textbook aside and grabbed the telephone. He dialed the familiar number, and after two rings a gruff, "Lieutenant Harper," sounded through the telephone. "Hi, Frank, it's Mark, hey, what did this FBI agent say today?" Mark questioned.

"Hey, Mark . . . not too much actually, I tried to pin him down to what he wanted exactly, but he didn't do much talking at all, he just mentioned your name and asked what I knew about you. Then he just listened to my speech; he really never said too much of anything after that. I told him we could help if he needed our assistance; he nodded his head and left. No thank you, no nothing. It was actually kind of weird, so I called the Bureau and they told me they couldn't even confirm to me that they were involved in a case here. I even tried the old inter-departmental cooperation spiel and it got me absolutely nowhere."

"Wow, that does sound a little strange," Mark pondered. "Hey, Frank, thanks for the info," as he disconnected the call.

Man all this thinking, I'm hungry; breakfast didn't last too long.

Frustrated from not being able to study, and the inability to gain any information, Mark decided to head down to the local market to pick up some food for lunch before Hardcastle returned from his expedition. After all, food always made him think better and all of a sudden he was hungry again. He thought he had better go and return before the judge found him gone and not studying, to avoid another lecture from Hardcase about not applying himself and kids today having no commitment. God, he could hear the lecture word for word in his head. He quickly jumped in the Coyote and headed down the highway, unaware that the dark Ford was following him.

At the market, Mark grabbed several bags of munchies, along with some salad fixings to make chef salads for lunch. While debating what kind of salad dressing to buy, he turned and looked up into a set of beautiful blue eyes. As his eyes scrolled down and then up, he determined those eyes came with a gorgeous and shapely blonde bombshell who was smiling in return.

Thump, thump oh my God, she's gorgeous.

"Hel-lo," he began, trying to maintain some sort of male bravado.

She giggled while responding, "Well, hello. I see someone else didn't have anything in the refrigerator to eat; now I don't feel quite so stupid."

"Stupid never, hungry always." He extended his hand, "Hi, I'm Mark, and you are?"

"Katrina . . . and are you from around here, Mark?"

The two quickly became embroiled in a stumbling conversation while attempting to get to know each other, until Mark realized how much time had elapsed. Hardcastle would probably tear into him if he happened to return and find him gone. Mark quickly explained to Katrina that he needed to leave and asked for her telephone number.

She again shyly giggled, telling him to follow her to her car. Leaving the market, Mark was so caught up in her distracting beauty that he was oblivious to the three huge goons who smoothly came up behind him, and quickly and almost effortlessly forced him into the black stretch limo that had slipped behind the Coyote.

Oh, smooth move, Mark; just let some beautiful girl lead you right into a trap, hell you made it so easy for them they didn't even need to put forth any effort.

Inside the limo he was quickly frisked and relieved of the keys to the Coyote. One of the goons exited, keys-in-hand, to follow the limo with the Coyote.

"Hey, what do you guys want?" didn't even reward Mark with a glance from these goons. "You know, I think you really got the wrong guy here," he continued, which brought him emotionless stares. As he continued to try to use his verbal gift, he soon realized that he was getting nowhere, as the limo continued its journey.

He was quite aware that the goons had not bothered to restrain him in anyway, which could mean two things: either they really did not want to injure him in anyway or they knew that they could handle him if he tried to escape. The latter idea left a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. The darkened windows of the limo made it difficult at best for Mark to try to ascertain where they were heading.

Okay, Mark, keep it together, keep trying use your gift of gab since you can't tell where they're taking you; let's see what you can learn about what's happening here.

After approximately forty-five minutes, the limo slowed and turned into a long gated driveway. When the vehicle came to a stop, the doors were immediately opened and Mark was pulled from the limo. The strength of the goons holding onto both of his arms gave him little choice but to walk where they guided him, up the steps into the front of a stone mansion.

Once inside, he was guided across the foyer and up steps and shoved, stumbling, into a large bedroom. The door closed behind him and he heard the click of the lock as it snapped in place. Mark glanced around the room, his eyes quickly settled on the windows. He strode quickly across the room and rapidly pulled the drapery aside. Steel bars across the windows effectively blocked his escape route.

"Damn," he muttered to himself as he again scanned the room for any possible assistance. The door was solid wood, probably oak, and gave no indication of a hint of weakness. Neither the bedroom nor the attached bathroom supplied anything he could use to pick the lock, or use as a weapon to escape. Whoever they were and whatever they wanted, he was stuck here until they let him out. Mark eventually settled to sitting and then lying on the bed, contemplating how ticked off Hardcastle was going to be when he got home and found McCormick gone.

Oh shit, he's gonna be ticked off, how am I gonna get out of this one, and what the hell do these guys want anyway?

Meanwhile, back at Gulls Way, Hardcastle arrived home to find the Coyote and Mark missing. Growling to himself that the kid would never learn, Milt entered the house, grumbling the entire time.

Throwing his keys on the desk in the den, he picked up the phone and dialed Frank. At least Frank would listen while he grumbled about McCormick not listening to him. And he needed to discuss what he had learned from his contacts with someone to help him sift through his thoughts. It concerned him that he really had to apply pressure to obtain the tidbit of information on what the FBI wanted from McCormick. Maybe discussing it with Frank would give him some idea of where to proceed next, especially since Mark was currently among the missing, probably out wasting his time on a bimbo, Milt thought with a grimace.

Mark awakened from his brief nap when the lock disengaged and the door opened, slowly rising to a sitting position as to not alarm the goons that now stood just inside the room. One of them indicated the he should come with them.

Mark ran a hand through his hair and asked, "Look, guys, what do you want with me anyway?"

Goon #2 then proceeded across the room to grab Mark by the arm and pull him along.

"Okay, okay, I get the hint . . . but honestly, guys, I think you have the wrong guy here," Mark said, trying to appear cooperative.

"Shut up," snapped Goon #2, as he forcefully guided Mark down the stairs.

"Shutting up now," muttered Mark almost under his breath, as he quickly navigated the stairs and was guided through the large house into a room that appeared to be an office.

Behind a large oak desk towards the back of the room sat a man talking on the telephone. Quickly assessing him, Mark determined he was approximately forty-five years old and dressed in a very expensive silk suit. Mark's impression was that he appeared to be in good physical shape. As Mark was pulled to a halt in the center of the room, he contemplated that this guy could probably kick some serious butt.

I just hope it's not gonna be my butt he kicks.

Mark tried to appear calm, stuck between the two huge goons who had released his arms. The man behind the desk glanced up at Mark briefly, but continued his conversation quietly.

Mark made an attempt, but was unable to catch any of the phone conversation, but was intrigued as the man behind the desk seemed vaguely familiar. Mark was running through his memory database trying to come up with how this man seemed familiar to him. It wasn't from Hardcase's files, or any of their past cases; he had a feeling it was from TV, actually a news broadcast in the past.

But why was he on the news? Was it a trial for something? Why can't I remember?

As he contemplated this thought, the gentleman concluded his phone conversation.

He looked up at Mark, stared at him really slowly, looking him up and down. This examination made Mark very uncomfortable; he suddenly felt self-conscious, almost like a bum caught stealing from a fancy restaurant's garbage can, as he realized he was dressed in his jeans and a t-shirt.

Gee, Mark, you gotta really be losing it, you are worried that you aren't dressed appropriately for this guy, who, by the way, just had his goons kidnap you. This is intelligence; no wonder you can't think of a way to get out of here.

After a few moments of sizing each other up, the boss motioned for the two goons to leave them; they obeyed without hesitation. Mark glanced over his shoulder at their retreating backs, then back at the boss.

"Okay, not to be rude or anything, but who are you and what do you want with me?" Mark questioned.

"No pussy footing around . . . get right to the point, I like that, Mark," he commented as he stood up and came around the front of the desk to lean back and sit on it. He still studied Mark as he added, "Understand you did two in Quentin for GTA?"

Mark silently appraised his appraiser.

"Pretty dumb, don't you think? . . . Then ended up with the judge who sent you up . . . playing yard boy . . . was that some type of extra punishment, or what?" he slowly lit a cigarette and drew on it, all the time studying Mark's face.

Mark had already put up his wall, closing himself off, showing no emotion, no reaction to the man's comments.

"And now a big time lawyer ready to take his bar exam, huh . . . what no smart assed comeback? I hear you're pretty famous for them, eh, Mark?" prodded the man.

He still received no reaction from Mark, who just kept looking straight ahead, giving nothing up, bottling up his emotions, as he had learned from experience how to survive.

"Well, Mark, I've been watching you for a long time. I actually thought Judge Hardcastle was doing all right by you, or I would have intervened. If that is not true, you let me know and I'll take care of him. Everyone was telling me that he was an okay guy, straight forward and honest; that true?" again the man paused.

Finally Mark had enough, "Just who the hell are you anyway? Take care of the judge. You have no right to talk about Hardcastle in any way, shape, or form; you're not even in his league. He is the most honest and upfront guy, he's given me more than I can ever repay," Mark angrily spat out.

Mark's sudden outburst brought the two goons running, who were obviously just outside the door.

Laughing, he waved them away, "Good . . . " came the barely controlled chuckling reply. "You do have some balls, even going to take me on? For a while there I thought maybe someone had used and abused you into submission, and that just wouldn't do. Well since you finally asked nicely, my name is Pat Martinelli," as he extended his hand, "It's nice to finally meet you."

The name sent a shiver down Mark's spine, Pat Martinelli, commonly known as Patsy Martinelli or Pasquale Martinelli, was one of the biggest crime lords in the country. He had heard a lot about him while doing his stretch in Quentin, and the news media had a field day making complete jerks out of the feds, with the way he had slipped through their fingers so many times. The last report Mark saw was a news report on how he had actually sued and won a large settlement when the feds had tried to set him up.

Mark looked down at the extended hand but did not attempt to take it, then asked, "What do you want with me Mr. Martinelli?"

"Well, first I want you to shake my hand and give me some respect," Mr. Martinelli said quietly, the threat hanging in the air.

Oh, good one, Mark, smooth move, really piss him off so he uses you for fish bait while you're still breathing.

Mark slowly accepted the handshake and was quickly pulled into a hug by the Boss of Bosses. Mark went rigid trying to figure out what was going on.

O-kay! This day just went from being majorly weird to certifiable.

Mr. Martinelli gave him a slap on the back and released him, smiling. To say that Mark was stunned was an understatement.

Oh boy, brain shut down. What is going on?

"Your father, Sonny Daye . . . is a complete blubbering idiot. Do you know that?" came part of the answer, or so Mark thought.

"Oh, God, what has Sonny done this time? Mr. Martinelli, honestly whatever he did or said I have nothing to do with, I swear to you. I haven't seen Sonny for three maybe close to four years," Mark reluctantly submitted, bracing for the worst.

Oh shit, here it comes.

"Please call me Pat . . . and Sonny hasn't done anything. I have been trying to keep him busy and out of trouble. I understand he has caused you some problems in the past, correct?" again he searched Mark's face for the truth.

"Mr. . . ." Mark began

"Pat, please," cutting him off.

"Okay, Pat, look, Sonny is an idiot; I'm truly sorry if he caused you any problems, but I still don't see what this has to do with me," Mark stated, trying to find a way to talk himself out of this situation, whatever it was.

"What if I told you that idiot Sonny . . . is a relative of mine?" Pat stopped and waited for Mark's reaction.

Mark paused as this revelation hit him like a ton of bricks.

WHAT did he just say? Run that one by me again, please!

The implication of what the man standing before him had just lain on his shoulders was a weight he wasn't sure he could bear. Suddenly his knees felt weak and that nagging cramp in his stomach turned into a roaring volcano. He reached for the chair in front of him and slowly slid into it. He looked up as he heard a soft chuckle.

Pat was watching him intently with a whimsical expression. "Well, I see I finally got a reaction from you. I was worried; you are more like me than maybe you care to admit, you can hide your emotions and feelings very well. . . Now that I have your attention: As I told you before, I have had my eye on you for quite some time. The one good thing that Sonny ever did with his life, or so it would seem. At first I didn't want to know where Sonny was or what he was doing; I paid people to keep him away from me. I didn't know he had gotten your mother pregnant. I didn't know that you and your mother needed help, or I would have supplied it. For that I apologize. . . I actually lost track of Sonny for a while. And, of course, I was not aware you existed.

I actually found out about you after the fiasco in Atlantic City. Of course, in the end, I had friends who kept Sonny safe and then told me about you. That's when I started doing some background research on you. And from the looks of things . . . I would have to admit that Judge Hardcastle did a good job with you. Summa cum laude too, one of your professors told me that you put such effort into law school that he actually enjoyed having you in his class. How did he say it . . . you were a bright young man, with a great deal of talent and the tenacity to make a better life for yourself. He spoke very highly of you.

This guy actually talked to one of my professors about me, oh God. How did I not have any clue that this guy has been watching me, gathering information about me? I'm supposed to be Tonto, for Christ's sake.

Mark sat quietly listening to this man who he just met moments before describing his life; he wanted to pinch himself to see if this all was a dream, no make that a nightmare, that he wasn't waking up from. He slowly shook his head, trying to clear his befuddled and fogged mind. Then he had a flash: Hardcastle sitting at home wondering where he was and what he was up to; oh, God, how was he going to explain all of this to Hardcase? The fact that he was related to a mob boss would certainly put him over the edge. He let his head fall down in his hands and rubbed his head with both hands, moaning aloud without realizing it.

Oh shit is this really happening? Why me? What's Hardcastle gonna think about this mess?

Pat watched Mark's reaction; he felt for the young man. He had done extensive research into Mark's background. He knew of the problems of his childhood, the abandonment by his father, the death of his mother, the abuse at the hands of his uncle, being bounced around in foster care, juvenile detention, reform school, San Quentin, and finally the custody arrangement that landed him with Judge Milton C. Hardcastle. He silently waited until Mark again raised his head.

"Mark, I realize that this is a lot of information to digest in a short period of time. I actually had no intention of letting you know that we were related . . . however . . . recent events have changed my plans . . . "

"What recent events? . . . And how are we related? . . . So you had me kidnapped. Oh, man, this is just way too much," Mark again shook his head slowly.

"Sonny was my half-brother; unfortunately we had the same mother, although I will always deny him . . . enough on the subject of Sonny . . . . That would make you my nephew . . . you have made something of yourself from a very difficult background, a lawyer, and to me that is very much worth acknowledging. I wanted to meet you in person while I still had the chance. That is why you're here . . . end of story."

Mark again attempted to digest all this information then a thought struck him. "What do you mean while you still had the chance to meet me?"

This just keeps getting weirder and weirder. And what's he mean by that? Man my brain is just not functioning well. I think I'm getting a migraine.

"Well," Pat started, giving another soft chuckle, "I shouldn't have told you that part, but you are very easy to talk to," stalling slightly.

"Well you are the one who brought me here, remember, so spill," Mark replied, a little agitated.

"You always want to get straight to the point don't you? . . . Well the feds are getting a little too close, so I'm moving out of the US, probably on a permanent basis to a non-extraditable country. I will have my own villa and you can visit whenever you would like, but somehow . . . I figured this was my chance to meet you on my terms."

He continued, "I am sorry for the way it had to be accomplished, but I figured you might not be too thrilled with the prospect of meeting me, and I thought Judge Hardcastle or the feds might try to intervene." Pat let the explanation drop to give Mark time to process and respond.

Mark looked down and studied his hands. After a long pause, he admitted, "Well you're probably right; I wouldn't have been real thrilled, your goons showing up out of the blue and asking me to come and meet with you without any type of reason . . . but now that you've explained, I guess I can handle your method, after all I'm here already," he motioned with his arms. "Only next time, can you wait until after I have the date with the beautiful girl sent to lure me in," he remarked, rolling his eyes.

Okay, back to cutting up, give me some time to let this all make a little sense. But it figures she was just being nice to me to lure me into a trap, I was just starting to really like her. Of course you were thinking with another part of your anatomy weren't you, Mark?

"There is one more thing, Mark," he added quietly

"There usually is," Mark answered with a slight shrug.

Okay now the other shoe drops. What's he want me to do, kill someone for him? Steal a car?

Pat smiled at his honesty, "You have to swear to me that you will not tell the feds that I am planning on leaving the country, and of course, you will need to stay here until I leave. I think you can figure out why."

"And when are you planning to leave?" Mark asked.

Sure he wants to meet me then he's skipping out, story of my life; nobody ever sticks around for old Marky.

"Tonight . . . don't worry, I don't want to keep you here permanently, that would definitely put a crimp in your love life," he added smiling.

"Don't worry I don't have a love life . . . just studying . . .and then more studying," he answered sarcastically with a shrug, "but how do you know that I won't run straight to the feds even after I promise you that I won't?"

"I have gathered a good deal of research about you, and one thing I know is that when you give your word, you will keep it, so all I need is a promise to keep quiet. I'll soon be gone then you can walk out the door," Pat gestured toward the goons. "My men brought your car, and will give you the keys, after I am gone. I had thought at one time about buying you a sports car to make up for not being able to assist you when you needed someone, but you have a very nice one already and I'm sure that car is very special to you. And of course I thought you would think I was trying to buy you, correct?" he asked, studying his face for a reaction to prove him correct. "You see, I do know you pretty well, and this way you can tell the feds that I kept you under lock and key so you couldn't have gone running and told them, so it keeps your head off the chopping block as well." He briefly paused while watching Mark for a reaction. "Also, if you would do me the honor and eat dinner with me, maybe we could get to know each other a little better, your choice though."

Mark smiled broadly, knowing his uncle understood him fairly well; the only other person who could do this better was Hardcastle. "Yep, you're probably right," he acknowledged, "and no, I won't tell the feds that you've left the country, and I do like the out, wouldn't want the feds to have me as a bone to chew on after you're gone. And I will eat dinner with you if you don't mind that I call Hardcastle and tell him that I'm okay so he's not sending out the cavalry after me with an APB."

After a short pause, Mark continued, "I really would like to get to know a little bit about you. Wow this really feels weird, I never had anyone but my mom," Mark stated quietly.

"He would really put out an APB on you?" Pat asked thoughtfully.

"Oh sure, and it wouldn't be the first time either," Mark answered sarcastically.

And probably not the last either. Wait until he finds out about this whole mess; he probably won't let me out of his sight for months.

Milt jumped and answered the phone after the first ring. "McCormick, where the hell are you?" he yelled into the phone.

Mark had the earpiece of the phone approximately a foot from his ear when he heard Hardcastle yelling. With a smart-alecky smirk, he settled the phone back to his ear and spoke. "Judge, hey, look, I ran into this beautiful girl at the market and now I'm getting dinner. I figure I deserve a little time away from the books you know, and it will make me study harder, okay?" He again whipped the phone away from his ear.

"God damn it, McCormick next time you decide to go gallivanting around the countryside, tell someone so they don't . . ."

well Milt you about told him something you wouldn't want to admit here ". . . have to make extra dinner that no one is going to eat!" came Hardcastle's harsh and scathing response. Almost let that one slip.

"Okay, Judge, look I'm sorry that you cooked extra; I'll make sure that it doesn't go to waste. I'll be home later . . . ahhhh make that much later." Mark hung up the phone before Milt could get another word in edgewise.

Wow guess he didn't pick up too well on that one or he would have recognized that I was giving him a line.

Milt looked across the desk at Frank Harper and the FBI agent that sat in the den with him. "Well, it looks like he found some bimbo at the market and she's cooking him dinner, so I guess you guys jumped to a lot of conclusions for nothing. He'll be home, as he put it, 'much later'." Smiling, he directed his comments to FBI Agent Brunner. "Now can you tell me what the hell this is all about? I told you he's a good kid, and I'm sure whatever you think he did, it's just some sort of mix-up."

"Well, Judge Hardcastle, I'm glad to hear that, but if you don't mind, I'll just stay here and talk to Mr. McCormick myself when he comes home. How much later did he mean? He didn't mention who this girl is or where he is right now did he?" Agent Brunner questioned.

"Nope, he didn't, and sorry I didn't think to ask," came Milt's terse reply.

Dinner with Uncle Pat. Wow that's something I never thought I would call a mobster, 'Uncle Pat', thought Mark.

Dinner was actually going fairly well. Mark asked a few questions with a flippant and carefree attitude about how Pat got into his current line of work. This actually made Pat laugh, and he was vague about a lot but gave Mark a shortened version without any illegal details about his career. Mark found himself actually liking his Uncle.

Man I gotta remember this guy kills people or has them killed without batting an eye.

Pat explained that he was divorced, a father of three grown children who no longer wanted much to do with their father.

After eating a ton of spaghetti, meatballs, garlic bread, and salad, they were served some mouth watering cherry cheesecake; Mark ate two large slices. Pat kept commenting about Mark's appetite and that maybe he should send Judge Hardcastle a monthly allowance just to feed his starving nephew.

Cute, can you imagine Hardcase claiming support income from a mobster to feed said mobster's nephew on his income tax? Yep, that would work.

After dinner, Pat showed Mark some family photo albums, shook Mark's hand, and thanked him for a wonderful evening, as he put it, allowing him to get to know his nephew in person. He motioned him into the office again. There he handed him two ten-dollar bills.

Mark's smile widened as he spouted, "Gee, Uncle Pat, I think you're supposed to tip the cook and waitress."

Pat chuckled, "Oh, good one . . . you definitely would keep me on my toes." He then gave Mark a light slap on the cheek. "If you need to get in touch with me, you just need to call one of these numbers," pointing to the serial numbers on the ten dollar bills. "I figured it's the one place no one would look, and still be in plain sight. You could carry one with you and leave another one at home and no one would be the wiser, eh? All their search warrants and agents will never figure this one out," he said with a broad grin.

Mark was stunned. His Uncle was very keen; no wonder he'd been running circles around the FBI for years. He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. "Uncle Pat, I now realize that you are an astute observer of human nature; you realize how the FBI works, and can obviously beat them at their own game, so what happened that they got too close this time?" Mark folded the two ten dollar bills and stashed then in a compartment of his wallet.

Even if someone does find the two tens, it will look like mad money, smart move, Mark.

"Well, unfortunately, they caught someone too close to me, and he is starting to tell stories after school, so to speak. So now is the time for me to disappear; after all, I should retire while I'm still young and good looking enough to enjoy it, right?"

Why do I have a feeling that Uncle Pat is aware of the FBI's current interest in me? Somehow this is a kind of warning that they are going to try to find him through me. Does the FBI know our connection? Maybe that's why Pat decided to bring me here and keep me under wraps until he's gone. Just so no one starts using me as their bargaining chip.

Mark had enjoyed his uncle's quick wit during dinner. Afterwards they said their goodbyes, Mark promised he would call and possibly even visit the villa someday. Pat gave Mark a hug and a slap on the back, and led him to the steps where the goons were waiting.

"Just think, with the wrong breaks in life, you could have ended up just like me, Mark, but with Judge Hardcastle's help and your own perseverance, you have turned your life into something you can be proud of. Start your own family, help those that need it, and keep making your mother proud." He nodded at Mark after indicating that the goons should again take him upstairs, he turned and walked away. Mark obediently walked up the stairs and went back into the bedroom; the goons again locked the door.

Sometime around ten, Mark you've definitely got to get your watch fixed; the stupid thing stopped again, the door opened and one of the goons handed him a phone. It was Pat, telling Mark that he was in his plane currently flying over Mexico, indicating that he could now leave.

"I'll keep in touch, Mark, I'm sure the feds will give you a visit every time I send you a letter," Pat added with a chuckle, and then the phone call disconnected.

The goons allowed Mark to leave. Mark paused on the steps wondering about the events of the day.

I think that was his way of telling me to stay on the path I have chosen. That a life of crime was only one turn away for me, but thanks to Hardcastle, I'm now looking at a different future. And that maybe he's just a little proud of me. Wow that's pretty deep. Now I just need to figure out how to tell all this to Hardcase, maybe in a day or two, chicken! Damn right, I know he's gonna go off the deep end and guess who will be standing in front of him.

Mark climbed into the Coyote and headed back to Gulls Way. The cool breeze blowing in the window and the sight of the moon high in the sky, along with the thoughts of the day, made Mark smile as he kicked the Coyote up another gear.

Arriving home, Mark noted the two non-descript vehicles in the driveway which spelled police in bold letters. One was Frank's vehicle, but the other one he couldn't put a name to. Casually walking up the sidewalk and into the house, Mark was still thinking about how he was going to tell Hardcase about today's events.

Mark strode through the house and into the den where he could hear Frank and Hardcastle talking. "Hey, I'm home," he called as he entered. "Hey, Frank, how's it going?" as he nodded at Lieutenant Frank Harper, who gave Mark a serious look. A tingle of the hairs on the back of Mark's neck told him that all was not well, as he spotted the FBI agent who was rising out of his chair in front of Hardcastle's desk.

"Agent Brunner, meet Mark McCormick," introduced Hardcastle.

Mark stepped forward and extended his hand to greet the agent, while pasting a smile on his face, hoping to hide any fears he was feeling.

"Agent Brunner, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Mark questioned smoothly. As if I don't know.

"Agent Brunner is with the FBI," Milt quickly interjected, "he wants to ask you some questions."

"Questions about what?" There go those alarm bells again.

"Where have you been most of the day Mr. McCormick?"

"Ahhhh, I was with a girl," as Mark glanced quickly at Hardcastle, his eyes returned to the agent "but why is that any of your business?" Mark allowed a little of his ex-con suspicions out.

They know something about my relationship to Pat, but what and how much do they know?

"Just answer the question, Mr. McCormick," snapped the agent crisply.

With this scalding, Mark clenched his jaw and closed down, he stared blankly at the agent, not daring to look over at the judge.

Hardcastle witnessed the change in Mark's body language. He became stiff almost rigid, his face went blank and cold, with his jaw set, Milt knew Mark was done answering questions fired at him in this manner. "Agent Brunner, this is most inappropriate," Milt attempted to intervene.

Frank was also on his feet; he had also seen the change in Mark and did not like it. "Agent Brunner, let me talk with Mark a minute. I'm sure he would be more than happy to answer all your questions, it's just you kind of ambushed him here and he's feeling a little violated."

"Enough time has been wasted," the agent snapped loudly as he pulled handcuffs from his jacket pocket.

Mark saw him pull out the handcuffs; rolling his eyes, he whined, "You've got to be kidding me!"

Agent Brunner started reciting Mark his Miranda rights as he grabbed Mark's arm and spun him around. He quickly frisked Mark and pulled his arms behind his back and snapped on the handcuffs.

As the cold steel snapped tightly on his wrists, Mark realized his gut had been warning him all day of the impending doom he was facing. The butterflies in his stomach made him swallow hard. He had held himself rigid as the agent had frisked and cuffed him to avoid resisting in any way. He finally let out a breath with the exclamation "Ju-d-ge!"

The honest plea from McCormick sounded just like the skittish kid he had rescued from prison more than seven years ago, a sound that shook Milton Hardcastle to the bone, Mark only used that tone when he was terrified, when the judge had gotten past all his smart-aleckiness, this was Mark at his core. "Don't worry about this McCormick, we'll get it straightened out," Milt reassured him.

"Agent Brunner, can you tell us what this is all about, I think we have tried to be cooperative, but now you are crossing a line, what are the charges? What you arresting him for?" asked Hardcastle as he physically blocked the agent's exit from the room.

"I'm taking him down to the Bureau for questioning, since he seems a little reluctant to answer my questions, now I am asking you, Judge Hardcastle, to get out of my way or find yourself on charges for obstructing justice," came the trenchant remark from the agent.

Hardcastle reluctantly moved out of the agent's path to the door, "But I am his attorney, and I am following you to the Bureau, so you had better make this good, Agent Brunner," he let his words drip with incisiveness as Frank came up beside him and touched his arm.

The trip downtown to the Bureau Building took a good fifty minutes, long enough for Mark to again calm himself.

You've got to think like a lawyer, pull yourself together here, Mark;Hardcastle and Frank will be there to help you as long as you don't dig yourself into a hole you can't climb out of. The game is on, try to keep the basketball in your end of the court.

Agent Brunner parked in the underground garage beneath the Bureau Building, and opened the back door of the car to assist Mark to get out. Riding up in the elevator, the agent again tried to ask Mark a question about his whereabouts during the day. Mark turned his head and looked directly at him with a "you've gotta be shittin' me" look.

Touch� two points for you, Mark! This guy may have won the tip off, but you drew first blood.

Agent Brunner guided him off the elevator and down a hallway to an interrogation room. Sitting Mark down in a chair in front of a microphone and tape recorder, Agent Brunner left the room, failing to remove Mark's handcuffs.

Now did he do that on purpose to try and rattle you? Probably so, stay on your toes here, this guy is good. Okay, two points for the agent man.

After letting Mark sweat a bit, Agent Brunner returned to the interrogation room with another agent in tow. He reached across the table and turned the tape recorder on. "Mr. McCormick, this is Agent Taylor, he's here to assist with your questioning."

"Sure," Mark tersely replied.

"Mr. McCormick, would you please tell us your whereabouts for today, August 19th," started Agent Taylor.

"I'm not saying anything until these handcuffs are removed and you explain to me what exactly you want with me, now!" As Mark's eyes moved up to the two-way mirror and fixed there. "I know the drill, Agents Brunner and Taylor, if these cuffs are not removed, there will be charges filed and they won't involve me, I guarantee it!" Mark added loudly.

Swoosh! A three pointer for me, tri-a-fecta!

Both agents glanced back at the two-way mirror.

Okay, so now you know for sure that whoever is calling the shots is definitely watching through the two-way.

Agent Taylor got up and left the room briefly, when he returned, he whispered something into Agent Brunner's ear. He then came around the table, pulling out a key to the handcuffs. Mark slid forward in his chair so the handcuffs could be removed. He then slid back in his chair and made a big show out of rubbing the circulation back into his wrists. Mark calmly looked up at Agent Brunner and asked, "Now what exactly is this about? And I will try and assist you in anyway I can," carefully emphasizing his words.

Okay, Mark, easy, you have them on the ropes, don't over do it now. Let them make the mistakes; make them come to you.

"Mr. McCormick, we need to know your whereabouts for today."

"Why?"

The two agents glanced at one another. "Mr. McCormick, we have recently received information that a known mobster has been having you followed. This is for your own safety," Agent Taylor added.

Well, well not too bad, Mr. Agent Man, for my safety bullshit, but I'll give you a foul shot-one more point, however I'm not buying. I guess they know a little about Uncle Pat, but it doesn't sound like they know a whole heck of a lot.

"Agent Taylor, how do you know that I've been followed? And secondly, it's probably not the first time that this has occurred, as I work with Judge Hardcastle and assist him with various cases, some of which involve, as you would say 'mobsters.' However, we have not been involved with any cases recently, as I have been rather busy with finals, and I can assure you that I would recognize a 'mobster' walking into one of my classes," Mark flippantly responded.

Didn't see that one coming, did you boys? Two more points for me. Keep the pressure on, Mark, a good defense is a better offense.

Again the agents glanced at each other.

Okay, now you got them pinned to the ropes, they are losing ground fast; they don't know what to say.

A knock came on the door. Agent Taylor got up to answer the door, effectively blocking Mark's line of vision to see who had knocked. Mark attempted to look bored and keep his face blank. After a moment, Agent Taylor returned. "Mr. McCormick, if you do not answer our questions and quit trying to interrogate us, we will be forced to hold you in lockup until you become more cooperative."

Mark's stomach butterflies went into high gear and he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, but he managed to keep his face blank. He smiled a bit but it did not reach his eyes.

Stay calm, think, Mark, you know that they can only hold you twenty-four hours for questioning; they don't have anything else on you, so they are just going to throw you into a cell to see if it will soften you up. Hardcastle and Frank are out there working to get you out, and if they find out you are in a cell, there's gonna be hell to pay cause Hardcase will tear this building down brick by brick. Okay, agent man, I'll give you a three pointer for this one, but you ain't gonna break me!

"Well, Agents Taylor and Brunner," he said with a slight sigh, "I believe you gotta do what you gotta do. But just remember than I'm gonna do what I gotta do," he added with a nod of his head.

Good, Mark, just keep your face blank, show no emotion, this is gonna be a piece of cake compared to Quentin; just keep holdin' it together, you can do this - okay I gotta hold off on my points 'til I get outta this mess.

"Are you sure you don't want to just answer our questions, Mr. McCormick? You might be saving yourself some grief," Agent Taylor calmly added.

"Grief, Agent Taylor, you don't know the meaning of the word, I assure you," Mark tersely replied.

Okay you have them sweating, someone told them to try to scare me by threatening to lock me up, now they don't know what to do again, of course that may get me thrown in a cell for awhile, but I can handle it."

"Okay, Mr. McCormick, if you will come with us, please," Agent Taylor moved to the door and began leading the way.

Here we go; well at least he's being polite about it.

Agent Taylor led the way down a hallway to another room, while Agent Brunner brought up the rear. In this room Mark was told to remove everything from his pockets and any jewelry. Mark sighed, but followed the directions, removing his change, keys, and wallet first and placed them on the table. He then removed his watch and finally the medallion from his neck; he looked at it briefly before placing it on the table.

Mark was ushered through another door; inside he was told to strip. He glared at the agents but he slowly complied. He was handed a cotton jumpsuit to put on.

Well at least they skipped the cavity search and the finger printing.

Mark was then ushered down another long hallway, to an elevator down several floors, another hallway, through several locked doors and finally to a solitary cell. It was a six by six foot cement block cell with a solid door except for the small observation window with a sliding panel so a guard could look into the cell without entering. A single cot bolted to the wall and floor covered with a thin mattress and a blanket, along with a small sink and toilet, were the only contents of the cell. Mark paused at the door, his stomach butterflies again kicked into high gear.

Hold it together, Marky boy, don't let them see that you're shook, act as if nothing bothers you.

Mark took a hesitant step into the cell, and then he got himself under control and walked in several, turned and looked at the agents with a calm blank face, his body language again cold and rigid.

Both agents realized they were probably not gaining any ground, and closed the door of the cell. Mark flinched slightly as the cell door banged closed, he heard the key in the lock and then latch slam home. Agent Brunner reached up and slid closed the small panel, effectively covering the small window in the door. Mark took a deep calming breath and slowly let it out. Looking around the cell, he sat down on the cot.

Okay, now you got yourself here, just stay calm and Hardcastle and Frank are gonna get you out as soon as they can. And believe me, I wouldn't want to be these FBI agents when Hardcase gets a hold of them, they'll probably end up pushin' paper in the mail room.

"Judge Milton C. Hardcastle and Lieutenant Frank Harper are here to see Agent Brunner and Mr. Mark McCormick, now! You have kept us waiting for hours," spat Hardcastle through his clenched teeth, to the pasty faced, under-aged agent behind three inches bullet proof glass at front the desk. After approximately five or six hours of making them wait after showing proper identification and making them sign in, Hardcastle realized that this agent was stalling for time. "Agent? What's your name, sir?" Hardcastle asked politely in his gruffest tone.

"Anderson, sir," the agent supplied reluctantly.

"Well, Agent Anderson, I can tell you right now that if I have to wait another five minutes, I will be making a phone call to a Jurisdictional Judge . . . and I guarantee they are going to be extremely upset with anyone in the Bureau that has been the cause of these difficulties that we are having," Hardcastle added with a frozen smile.

Agent Anderson suddenly looked as though he was becoming ill. He nervously picked up the telephone and in stuttering gibberish he explained that a judge and a police lieutenant were here to see Agent Brunner and Mr. Mark McCormick now. He didn't like the response he evidently received as he raised his voice and shouted 'now or the judge will be prosecuting someone and it isn't going to be me.' Slamming the phone down, Agent Anderson motioned for Hardcastle and Frank to enter through a door for which he activated a buzzer to disengage the lock. After they entered through the door, the agent gave them directions to the elevator and told them what floor to exit on.

Judge Hardcastle and Frank Harper made their way through the building to the floor young Agent Anderson had directed them to. Finding the first available agent, Hardcastle again introduced themselves and repeated the same threat he had given young Agent Anderson; quickly they were directed to Agent Brunner's office. Knocking on the open door, they both entered his office. Agent Brunner looked up from his computer as Judge Hardcastle started explaining the legality rules of interrogation, as well as the punishments for failure to properly execute said rules, in a harsh authoritative tone. Agent Brunner's face quickly shone with a sheen of sweat.

"Judge Hardcastle, I am just following my orders, as I was when I took Mr. McCormick into custody," he stammered.

"Then I would suggest that you introduce me to the person or persons who are making these decisions, before you get caught in the middle of something that might just end your career," he advised.

Agent Brunner guided them to the far end of the hallway, knocking on a closed door. A voice beckoned them into the room. Pushing past Brunner to enter the room, Hardcastle appraised the man within.

"Well, well, Special Agent Morris, I believe," Judge Hardcastle spat with contempt, "I thought you were busted down already for your unethical behavior."

Oh great, Hardcase, Hardcastle, this just keeps getting better and better. I think I'm about to find out if the rumors I've heard are true.

"I want to see Mark McCormick now or you might be looking at the inside of a jail cell yourself."

"He's fine, Judge Hardcastle; we were only trying to get him to answer a few questions."

"I want to be taken to him, NOW!" Hardcastle yelled.

Special Agent Morris led them down to the solitary holding cells, and opened the one in which Mark sat.

Hardcastle pushed past Morris and entered the cell quickly; Mark sat on the cot with his back up against the wall, his feet on the edge of the cot, his head rested on his arms that were crossed on top of his knees. Mark had heard the rattle of the key in the lock, the lock disengage, and the door opening. He slowly raised his head to see Hardcastle standing in front of him; he smiled. "What took you so long?" he asked, his words dripping with sarcasm.

I knew he'd get me out; I just had to keep calm and wait, why is it I'm always the one waiting on him, anyway? Okay, Mark, two more points for our team, now let's see if I can put this game in the bag.

Within the hour, Mark was dressed in his own clothes and, accompanied by Hardcastle and Frank, re-entered the interrogation room. Agents Morris, Taylor, and Brunner were already awaiting them.

"I think we already tried this," Mark muttered under his breath.

Hardcastle glanced at him, sensing his agitation, watching the famous ex-con body language. He looks calm, but I can tell he's boiling inside. I'd better keep control of this, or he's going to do something stupid and end up back in that cell for real.

Frank observed both Mark and Milt. Okay, I really don't like the look that Mark is giving off and Milt looks like he's so gonna blow, so I'd better make sure we are outta here soon before something really bad happens.

Mark again dropped down in the chair in front of the microphone. Agent Morris turned on the tape recorder and started slowly, "Mr. McCormick, do you know a man by the name of Michael Spangoletti, commonly known as Mickey Spangoletti?"

"No, never heard of him," Mark answered the question with no reaction, face blank and cold.

Agent Morris produced a picture from a folder on the table supposedly of Spangoletti.

Mark just shook his head negatively, making no comment.

Oh boy this is not good, Hardcastle tried to will to him his own strength. Come on, kiddo, you can do this.

"Where were you today, Mr. McCormick?"

"I was at Gulls Way until approximately 9:30 or 10 am, I went to the local market along the Pacific Coast Highway to get something to eat, I met a young lady there, we talked for awhile, and I left there and then had dinner. I returned to Gulls Way at approximately 10 pm, wasn't home but five or ten minutes when Agent Brunner, here decided to bring me in to the Bureau."

Wow, totally no emotion, he's talking in a monotone, I got to make them wrap this up and soon, he needs to blow off some steam before he explodes or implodes. I've only ever seen him get this bad once or maybe twice since he was paroled into my custody; they are really starting to push his buttons to the extreme.

"Okay, do you have any idea why a mobster would want to have you followed and be trying to obtain information about you?"

"I work for Judge Hardcastle; maybe it stems from one of our past cases, I don't know, isn't that what you guys get PAID to investigate?" Mark snapped back. Okay, Mark, hold it together just a little bit longer, come on, Hardcase, get me outta here.

Okay, now he's getting the smart mouth back, time to shut this thing down.

"Enough, he's told you that he was with a girl today, which is exactly what he told Agent Brunner at my house, he's told you that he knows nothing about this Spangoletti guy. If there is nothing else, we are leaving, now!" Hardcastle gruffly demanded.

Agent Morris sighed, this day, actually yesterday, had not gone well at all. He still had no idea why Mickey Spangoletti was being paid big bucks to get information on this Mark McCormick for Patsy Martinelli. And now he had retired Judge Milton C. Hardcastle ticked off at him. The man never did like him ever since he was demoted for cutting a few corners in his investigations.

"You can go; I apologize for any inconvenience that we caused you, Mr. McCormick," Agent Morris stood and extended his hand to Mark who looked down and then purposely ignored it. Letting his hand drop, he continued, "Judge Hardcastle and Lieutenant Harper, good to see you both again," Morris offered as he turned off the tape recorder.

Another three pointer and Hardcastle ended with a deuce, the game, boys, is mine!

Mark got up and quickly exited the room, Hardcastle and Frank close on his heels. Once in the elevator, Mark closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, trying to steady his breathing.

"You okay, kiddo?" Hardcastle asked quietly.

Mark opened his eyes and gave Hardcastle a small smile, but it never reached his eyes.

I gotta get him home, now he's even being on guard with me.

"Good, don't think this is gonna get you outta your chores tomorrow," growled Hardcastle trying to keep up a sense of normalcy.

Finally making the parking garage, Mark, Milt and Frank piled into the car.

I'm glad I talked Mark into sitting up front with Frank. I didn't think he could handle being put in the back seat of a police car again, so soon.

Mark turned his head and faced the window but closed his eyes. He really didn't want to see anything; he just wanted to be quiet and alone, to deal with the overwhelming feelings that were screaming to come out.

Just a little while longer, you can hold it together until we get home.

I can sense his agitation I'm trying to give him space but let him know that I'm here to help. Hardcastle leaned forward and gripped Mark's shoulder.

Okay, relax, Mark, he's gonna feel that you're holding your breath, just a few minutes more. Oh, thank God, we are almost there! I see the turn up ahead. Okay, now through the gates and up the drive and park. God, I made it.

Mark scrambled out of the car like his life depended on it. He took a few quick strides towards the gatehouse, then he stopped and, without turning, said, "Thank you, Judge, Frank," quietly, then he continued his quick stride and was out of sight in the gatehouse.

He said it so quietly that I wasn't sure he said it 'til I saw Frank nodding.

"You know, Milt, that kid has been through the wringer tonight, but he held it together and waited for us to help him. It was like he knew we would be there as fast as we could get to him."

"Yep, he did real well," Hardcastle said proudly.

Although, something in the back of my mind just isn't sitting too well, something is still wrong. Is it because I know the kid is agitated and upset, on the verge of exploding or is it something more? Just a nibble, well it's just gonna have to wait until morning, well actually it is morning now, but I mean it has to wait until he gets up. I gotta let him try to get some rest now.

"See ya later, Milt, I'm gonna get home and crawl in bed before Claudia, gets awake and finds I haven't been to bed all night again," Frank explained as he climbed back into his car.

"See ya, Frank, and thank you," Hardcastle replied as he slowly walked to the house.

Once in bed, What's bothering me about all this? Maybe if I just close my eyes I'll just fall asleep, after all I can't ask McCormick now, it would put him over the edge. Just close my eyes. And sleep.

Oh, God, I need to relax, I feel like I just spent the last fifteen hours on a roller coaster and I've drank two pots of coffee. I am definitely strung way too tight right now. God, I have an uncle who's a mob boss and has just escaped the country on the run from the FBI and I know about it and have hidden it from the feds and the worst is Hardcastle how am I gonna explain this to him? Will he think I've been playing him all along? Maybe if I just lie down on the bed and start to count the holes in the ceiling tile. 1, . . 2, . . 3, . . 7, . . 15, . . 26, . .3 9.

Even though Mark was exhausted from the previous day and this morning's events, he didn't sleep long; he was wide awake at 10 am. He stayed cooped up in the gatehouse, as he didn't want Hardcase to realize that he was awake. I know he's gonna ask a ton of questions and he's gonna quickly figure out that I lied to the feds -well actually I didn't lie, I just omitted some facts, okay you know he's gonna call that lying . . . and to him no less. God, I should really be studying, the date for the bar exam is going to be here before I know it!

Milt had been up and out of bed for about two hours now. He had to stop himself from going to the gatehouse at least twice. Just let the poor kid sleep; he was put through it last night and this morning. But what if he's hungry - hell he's always hungry. I guess he'll get up when he's hungry enough.

Mark had lain in bed staring at his law books for another hour or so. He glanced at his alarm clock again, 12 o'clock. Well he was getting a little hungry anyway. Hardcastle would definitely get suspicious if he didn't come out all day for something to eat. He definitely knew him better than that and would realize that something big was up.

Okay, 12 o'clock, now I know something is very wrong. How can that kid go for more than an hour without something to eat? I think I'll just go down and listen maybe I can hear whether he is awake. Just as Hardcastle was making his way down the walk approaching the gatehouse, the front door opened. Mark dipped his head as the sunlight blinded his already tender eyes. Hardcastle cleared his throat which made Mark flinch, realizing that he was so close.

"Morning, McCormick, I was just coming down to see if you wanted some breakfast, or maybe now you would rather have lunch?" asked Hardcastle in his normal gruff tone.

Mark shrugged his shoulders, "Don't really matter," he said softly, "either is fine."

Mark slowly made his way up the walk after Hardcastle, who had turned back toward the house. I wonder what he would prefer, breakfast or lunch, I have leftovers from last night's dinner but I bet eggs and bacon might go over pretty good, too.

"How about eggs and bacon?" Hardcastle suggested.

"Fine," came Mark's short reply.

"Maybe you want me to make you something else, I could . . . "

"Judge, whatever, okay," softly Mark cut him off.

Hardcastle nodded. Good work, dummy; can't you see that the kid just doesn't want to be bothered, and what do you do but pressure him about what to make him to eat. God knows the kid will eat just about anything. He quickly busied himself in the kitchen making Mark's breakfast. Mark fell into one of the lounge chairs by the poolside, and closed his eyes. He just wanted to feel the warmth of the sun on him.

Soon Hardcastle was there with breakfast in hand, eggs, bacon, toast with jelly, and orange juice. A breakfast fit for a king. Mark took the plate handed him and with a small smile added, "Sorry."

"Sorry about what?" replied Hardcastle, "I should be the one that's sorry. I had no idea that FBI agent was gonna get exasperated enough to take you into custody for questioning. What the hell was all that about anyway? I still don't have a clue."

"Well, when you figure it out, Judge, don't tell me, just keep them the hell away from me," Mark added with a long sigh.

"But some mobster is having you followed, that can't be a good thing. I have been racking my brain trying to come up with an answer, was it from one of our cases, but that name, Spangoletti, doesn't even ring a bell with any of our cases. I even had Frank run it this morning to see if there is any connection with us at all. Then I had him run it for any connection with Sonny, again nothing."

"Judge, you can spot a tail as quickly as I can, have you seen anybody tailing me lately? And if you did, they would probably be asleep as all I've been doing is to going to classes, taking finals and studying. As for Sonny, if he's in trouble again that's his problem; I'm not going to go running across the country again to rescue a man who doesn't want anything to do with me. Judge, just let it go, I think these feds are seeing UFOs or something anyway," Mark added sarcastically.

Boy, the kid's taking this fairly well seems like he just wants to forget it all happened, that's a little out of character for him. I figured he was gonna come out of bed swinging, wanting to take down the whole Bureau with his bare hands. Maybe putting him in that cell last night did more damage then I first thought.

God, Mark, why don't you just tell him? The lie is just snowballing, getting bigger and bigger while you dig yourself deeper and deeper, and you know he's gonna figure it out. Come on, you chicken; tell him now before this keep getting worse. He might never trust you again.

Hardcastle got up to take Mark's now empty plate, "Well at least your appetite is okay," Hardcastle chuckled. He heard a car in the driveway and went to see who had arrived. Agent Morris was coming down the walkway. Milt gritted his teeth. He had never liked the agent to begin with, but after last night he now had an almost loathing of the man.

"Agent Morris, look, don't you think you caused enough damage last night?" Milt began trying to cut the agent off before he even began.

"Well, I thought of another question for Mr. McCormick, if you don't mind"

"Well, actually I do mind, and McCormick minds, so why don't you just leave him alone."

"Judge Hardcastle, I realize that what happened last night was not the best case scenario, but we are trying to solve crimes here. I know you can appreciate that, as you still do investigating even after retiring from the bench."

Hardcastle clenched his jaw; he was torn between this law officer who was actually trying to do his job, and protecting Mark. Well maybe he could accomplish both. He definitely was not going to leave Mark's side again.

Hardcastle motioned for Agent Morris to follow him around to the pool. When another car pulled in, a young blonde stepped out and bounced over to the judge. "Is Mark here? I'm Katrina."

"Sure, follow me; he's around the back by the pool." God, if this is the bombshell he was with all day yesterday; I can imagine why the kid's got his mind on other things. I wonder what she actually cooked him for dinner, someone who looks like that can't be able to cook or clean.

Mark was still lazing in the sun. It felt great to relax; maybe he could actually get some studying done today. He would eventually have to tell Hardcase about what had happened yesterday, but hey he could chicken out for a while and tell him when the subject came up again.

"Mark!" Katrina exclaimed, getting his attention so quickly that he almost fell out of the chair. Soon she was in his lap and kissing him passionately, which despite his confusion, he returned without hesitation.

Katrina. What is she doing here? And what's with the lovey-dovey routine: we all know that she was paid handsomely to set me up yesterday. Is this Uncle Pat's idea, giving the girl back to me after I complained he should wait until after I made out with the girl? I definitely like this guy, uncle or no uncle.

Mark looked up as she broke the kiss to see Agent Morris over her right shoulder. Oh man, now what is he doing here again?

"Judge, what is this guy doing here?" he asked, more than a little irritated.

Katrina interrupted, "Hey, Mark, you promised to show me the ocean from here; we'll be back in just a minute. Your friends can wait, after all, I can't stay long remember; I've got that trip planned today."

"Sure, not a problem. Judge, Agent Morris, if you can give me a few minutes here. I did promise Katrina that we could watch the sunrise down by the ocean and since I kind of had that screwed up for me this morning. I guess you will be patient and wait on me now," Mark challenged.

Agent Morris had no choice but to nod in agreement, after all he was the cause of Mark missing his date this morning. He could wait for them to return.

Walking down the path to the ocean hand in hand, Mark and Katrina made their way over to the rocks. Mark showed Katrina a nice spot to sit down.

"What are you doing here?"

"Mr. Martinelli heard that you had a problem with the feds last night so he sent me over to make sure you were okay and see if there was anything he could do."

Mark began to laugh, "No, I think I have it handled for now. Of course you just validated my story by showing up that I was with you all day and evening; by the way don't forget that you made me dinner last night, okay?"

"Cool, and what did I make you for dinner?" she giggled.

God, that was a nice sound; I could get used to this.

"Spaghetti, with meatballs, garlic bread, salad, and cherry cheesecake for desert, don't you remember?" asked Mark with a smirk.

"Sure, after today is over maybe you want to call me sometime and I could actually make you that dinner that, now that I think about it, I do owe you." As she reached into her pocket of her tight shorts, "Here's my number that you asked for," she handed him the piece of paper, "and maybe this time we can get to know each other better under slightly different circumstances."

Don't you dare screw this opportunity up. "What about this weekend? Say, Saturday, if you're not busy?" Mark shyly asked. He safely stored the paper in his pants pocket.

"Okay, call me Saturday morning and tell me when you're going to come over, and a spaghetti dinner it is," she smiled, making her face light up even brighter than before. "Who knows, maybe this set up was meant to be after all."

God, she is beautiful when she smiles like that, her eyes take on the blue of the ocean and her hair reflects the sun. This might be the start of a great relationship.

"Maybe I'll have to call and thank my uncle for setting this one up?" Mark quietly remarked as he studied her beauty.

"Your uncle?" she questioned.

"Yep I'll explain it to you sometime . . . By the way, what was the little speech about you not being able to stay long because of a trip you have planned today?"

"Well, that's what Mr. Martinelli told me to say, he said you would understand the meaning," she looked at him, questioning.

I guess that mean he's at the villa. Mark smiled broadly, "Yep, I do understand. Okay we had better get you outta here before someone gets too suspicious."

He assisted her up over the rocks and onto the path leading back to the house. Walking hand in hand, he escorted her past the two men beside the pool and to her car. She reached up and pulled him into a deep kiss. "See you on Saturday, then, Mark," she told him, her eyes sparkling, as she climbed into her car and drove away.

Mark slowly made his way back to the poolside. I don't know if I can take anymore from this asshole; although, that was a nice little interlude with Katrina. Wow, maybe something really good could come out of all this anyway. He was grinning from ear to ear as he approached the poolside. He looked up and saw Agent Morris and his smile faded.

"Okay, I'm back now, what is the dire emergency today, Agent Morris?" he said, gritting his teeth.

"Mr. McCormick, I realized this morning that maybe your connection wasn't to Mickey Spangoletti at all but rather his boss, Patsy Martinelli. Does that name ring any bells for you?"

Mark tried desperately to keep any reaction from his face; in doing so he changed into his ex-con mode again. He felt the old familiar wall slide into place and felt comforted and protected.

Hardcastle watched the change come over Mark and realized that there was more to the whole story than Mark was telling this FBI agent. McCormick, you may be able to hide what you're thinking from this agent but I know now what was bothering me last night and early this morning. McCormick, you are hiding something.

"Well, I believe I saw him on the news several times, why?" Mark asked. Easy, Mark, don't out and out lie; just omit some of the details.

"Patsy Martinelli was the one paying Spangoletti to gather information about you, still no clue as to why?"

"Hey, Judge, I can't remember any cases dealing with these two; anything you remember?" Mark asked, looking for the first time into Hardcastle's eyes. Oh, no, I can see it; Hardcastle has figured out that I'm not exactly telling the truth, now we'll see if he turns me in to this fed.

"No, I can't remember any cases that we had that would have dealt with the two of them," Milt said slowly, keeping eye contact with McCormick. Yeah, kiddo, I do know you're lying, and you had better not lie to me, although I will not point it out to this idiot; you had better come clean with me after me leaves. "I'm truly sorry we can't be of assistance, Agent Morris, but if something does come to mind we will give you a call. We wish you luck with your investigation," Milt kept talking as he guided Agent Morris back to his car.

Mark got up from the poolside and quickly headed toward the gatehouse, knowing that he was about to be grilled by Hardcase.

"Freeze, McCormick, do not move a hair," came the gruff order. Mark stopped in mid stride. He knew no matter what he did or where he went there was no way to avoid the inevitable. He grimaced then slowly turned to face Hardcase, who came striding like a raging bull.

Oh now he's ticked off, how am I going to talk myself out of this one? Well technically I didn't really lie, I just omitted and misappropriated some facts, and really, that fed deserved it.

"Now you want to tell me what the hell is going on, and don't you dare lie to me any further," came the stern warning as he stormed right up in McCormick's face and watched him for any type of reaction.

"Judge, please let it go for now, I didn't really lie, trust me," pleaded Mark. I wonder if I can stall him until he calms down, cause right now he's just not gonna listen.

"Trust you? How much of this has been a lie? And why are you lying to me? McCormick, don't screw up now that you have gotten this far," screamed Hardcastle.

"Judge, remember when I started this crazy indefinite custody arrangement. I told you to trust me; that I would never lie to you or steal from you. Please give me a break, and when you've calmed down I'll tell you everything."

"I am calm, so why not now?" came the growling response.

"Yeah, you look calm, and because you would have a sworn duty, an obligation to do what is necessary and I just can't have you doing that right now. I gave my word, please just trust me with this one and I will explain, but not to that guy," Mark continued to plead his case, pointing to the driveway indicating the FBI agent.

"But you failed to notice one thing, McCormick, you have already lied to me!" he yelled.

"No, Judge, I haven't, maybe some omissions, I haven't told you everything, but I have not lied to you," Mark clarified.

"But you did lie to the FBI, didn't you, McCormick?"

"Well, not technically, okay you got me there; some small white lies due to some omissions. I just let them assume certain things, and come on, they locked me up for God's sake, what did I do to deserve that?"

"That's exactly what I'm worried about McCormick!" he continued yelling.

"Okay, get into the truck right now, we are going downtown," Hardcastle ordered.

"But, Judge . . ." Mark began.

"I said now, in the truck, or I will throw you into a cell myself," Milt ordered.

Mark allowed his head to drop down in submission and slowly, reluctantly started towards the truck. Great. I'm gonna end up in another cell, well, the good news is that I can tell Hardcastle and get this off my chest; this thing is really starting to snowball into something huge, and Pat is safe. Of course, my admission to knowing his plan and not informing the feds, can they get me for obstruction of justice as I knew he was leaving the country to avoid prosecution, but hey I was locked in a bedroom, but they are gonna ask why I didn't tell them this morning. How am I gonna explain that it was the way they asked me? It sounds like the old ex-con shit all over again, not the lawyer I'm supposed to be. And with my record, great! Can they keep me from being allowed to sit for the bar exam and never be able to become an attorney? Why didn't I think of all this shit earlier? Great! Just great, Mark, you've done it again.

Hey, I could say that he's my client, hired me, and that's privileged information then, I really don't need to tell them anything, but I didn't officially pass the bar yet, can I do that?

He reached the truck, opened the passenger door, and slid onto the seat, looking down at his hands he waited for Hardcastle.

Milt watched McCormick resign himself to defeat and slowly and obediently go to the truck like he was ordered to do. Damn kid why would he risk everything he worked so hard for? What is so damned important that he's hiding, he is asking you to trust him, after seven years doesn't he deserve the trust? He slowly made his way to the truck and pulled himself into the driver's seat. Looking over at McCormick, he gave a long sigh.

"Okay, now tell me the story and don't leave anything out."

Mark glanced over at Hardcastle and held his eyes. "Can I ask a question first?" he tentatively asked.

"This had better be a good one."

"Well, if someone hires an attorney, who may not be a full fledged attorney yet . . . is that still privileged communication?" he asked quietly.

Wasn't expecting that one, okay how do I answer that?

"WellI guess there are actually some loop-holes and questions here. First, did the person who hired the attorney realize that said attorney had not taken his bar exam yet? Second, can a graduate attorney work as an attorney before taking and passing their bar exam? Thirdly, with the answer to the previous question, at what capacity can a graduate attorney work before they cross the line into being an actual attorney? Fourthly, did this person who hired the said attorney actually give said attorney some type of monetary compensation or enter into a contract promising compensation, thus making this a formal contract of attorney client privilege? Just to name a few," Hardcastle put forth.

Mark began to grin, "Well, he did give me twenty bucks, and gee, he's currently out of the country, so how can anyone ask him if he knew that 'said attorney' hadn't yet taken and passed his bar exam yet." Oh man, I knew Hardcastle would help me out here, although it's probably gonna cost me big time.

Hardcastle contemplated this for a moment, "Well then I would say that said attorney is pretty damn lucky to have a real judge for a mentor. And that said attorney who is currently indebted to that judge already, is definitely gonna owe said judge big time for this one. In other words, it's gonna cost you, kiddo. And now, with all that said, let's get out of this damn truck and you had better start telling a very interesting story without leaving out any minute detail, and said judge had better believe this one. And oh, by the way, I ever . . . ever catch you lying to me; I'm gonna skin you alive!" Hardcastle growled through clenched teeth.

"Okay, okay, I'm really sorry, but I didn't really lie to you, see it all started like this . . ."