Disclaimer: Hardcastle & McCormick belong to Mr. Cannell. No copyright violation is intended. “You Don’t Hear the One that Gets You” is from the 2nd Season and was written by Lawrence Hertzog
Author's Notes: Episode run-up: Mark & the Judge are in Arizona where Mark wins $20,000 in the main event of the Arizona Modifieds driving his friend’s Trans-am. They are car-jacked on their way home by two people (Melissa Kentwell and Arvin Lee) who have been on a bank robbing spree. The criminals take Mark & the Judge to a secluded area where they plan on killing them. Mark tricks Arvin Lee into thinking there is a “fuel cut-off switch” on the Coyote and as he goes toward the car he jumps Arvin Lee. While he and the Judge struggle to get the gun away from Arvin Lee, Melissa grabs a second gun and shoots Mark in the right shoulder. Mark & the Judge take off into the bush, chased by Melissa and Arvin Lee in a pickup truck. Arvin Lee drives the pickup into a gully (it’s night time). They take off in the Coyote, leaving Mark & the Judge behind.
Missing Scene to “You Don’t Hear the One that Gets You”
By Linda Reiche
“Okay. They’re gone,” said Hardcastle, turning back toward the fallen tree. “Hey, McCormick?”
Mark was lying on the ground, eyes closed.
Hardcastle stood still for a moment, not quite believing his eyes. He had thought the bullet had only grazed Mark’s shoulder. It hadn’t knocked him off his feet and he’d kept up while they dodged the pickup truck. Nothing serious, he’d said to himself. The kid’s voice had sounded a bit pained, but that was expected. Grazes hurt like hell.
He gave his head a quick shake, breaking the stillness that held him. Moving forward, he quickly knelt beside Mark. “Hey, McCormick. McCormick.” He started to roll Mark completely onto his back, then stopped, remembering how Mark had been standing when Melissa fired the gun. The bullet would have entered somewhere high on his back.
“Oh, damn,” he muttered, scanning the front of Mark’s sport coat. He didn’t see any blood, but then Mark was wearing a dark blue sweatshirt under the sport coat. It could soak up a lot of blood, keeping it away from the sport coat. Or, the bullet hadn’t gone straight through and was still in Mark. He’d have to roll him forward to check his back.
The moonlight disappeared behind the clouds, casting the sparse woods around him into inky darkness. Now the only light was yards away; twin beams lighting up the gully that had trapped the pickup. Hardcastle grimaced, “Damn it! I can’t see a damn thing.” He stretched his right hand forward, grabbing Mark lightly under his jaw. Gently he shook it, “McCormick! Mark! Can you hear me? Come on, kid, wake up!”
Mark remained still and quiet. Hardcastle left his hand there for another second before sitting back on his heels. Mark’s skin was still warm and didn’t feel clammy, so he wasn’t in shock. At least, not yet. But that could easily change. The temperature had been comfortable during the day, but it was October, and even in southern Arizona that meant cold nights.
The cool night air drew the sounds of traffic to him. The roar of a truck speeding along on the Interstate sounded teasingly close. Wave one down and call for help on the CB radio. It sounded simple, but Hardcastle knew it wasn’t. The Interstate was maybe a mile and a half away as the crow flew. A mile and a half and a hundred feet up. It would take hours of backtracking along eight or ten miles of county roads to reach it, unless he could somehow get the pickup free.
Right now Hardcastle had to see what the bullet had done and hopefully stop the bleeding. That meant he needed some light and something to keep Mark warm. He patted Mark’s arm lightly. “Hang in there kid. I’m gonna check the pickup. They must have left the blankets behind and maybe some other stuff. I’ll be right back.”
He moved quickly to the pickup, stumbling over an exposed tree root as he neared it. He shook his head in disgust. The cab was angled down over the gully’s edge, the driveshaft buried in the dirt. It would take some work to get it free. “Hafta get something under those wheels and jack it up to get it out,” muttered Hardcastle. He stepped up on the running board and peered into the back. “Ah hah, I was right, blankets and the pillow.” Pulling them free, he tucked them in the cab while he searched under the seat and in the glove box.
It took less than a minute to add a flashlight, a first aid kit, a hunting knife, some matches and a quart bottle of water to the pillow and blankets. ‘It ain’t much,’ thought Hardcastle. ‘But it’s better than nothing. Better turn these off,’ he decided, reaching for the headlights. ‘Never know, we might be able to use this crate.’
Using the blanket as a basket, he loaded his meager supplies. He held his breath as he switched on the flashlight. It worked. A steady bright light shone from it. Unaccountably, he felt a little warmer.
Now that the ground was no longer shrouded in darkness his trip back to the fallen log was faster. He hoped he’d find McCormick with his eyes open, the wound just a graze, and a golden opportunity to tease the kid about fainting.
The sight that met his eyes was the same one he’d left. Except now the flashlight threw everything into stark contrast. Mark’s face was pale against the leaf littered ground. He hadn’t moved a muscle.
Hardcastle grimaced. “Okay kid, let’s see what we’re up against.”
He spread one of the blankets on the ground near Mark before carefully shifting him over. Seeing no other way to check the wound, he picked up the hunting knife. “Sorry about this, kid, but you can always buy more clothes.” He quickly cut through the shoulder seams of first the sport coat and then the sweatshirt. He could feel the dampness on the sweatshirt. “Well, damp is better than soaked,” commented Hardcastle to the night air. “Damn, spoke too soon!” The last barrier, Mark’s T-shirt, glistened with red. A red which seemed to stretch from collar to sleeve and disappeared down his chest.
Working as fast as he could, Hardcastle cut through the T-shirt. The exit wound was just under the collar bone and a couple of inches in from the arm pit. Blood still oozed from the half-dollar sized hole. “A .32,” muttered Hardcastle, grateful that it wasn’t a heavier caliber. A .45 would have blasted through bone.
Digging into the first-aid kit, he pulled out a couple of the antiseptic wipes. He knew the wipes weren’t nearly enough and infection would be a very real problem, but there wasn’t a bottle of alcohol. Shaking his head slightly, Hardcastle silently thanked the pickup’s owner for at least keeping the kit well stocked with gauze and tape.
It took only a few minutes to clean and pack the exit wound. Hardcastle could see the gauze taking on a pink tinge even before he finished taping it. The amount of blood lost was slowing, but not enough. And there was still the entry wound to worry about.
Hardcastle rolled Mark forward then relaxed ever so slightly. The entry wound was just below the crest of the shoulder. A half inch lower and it would have hit bone; a couple inches to the outside and it would have ripped through the shoulder socket. Either of those things would have meant weeks of pain and rehabilitation.
“You might not agree, McCormick, but you are one lucky kid. The bullet went right through you without hitting bone.” He was hoping that Mark would surprise him with a reply. But so far all of his comments had gone unnoticed. “Unfortunately, the holes it did leave aren’t exactly in great spots for pressure bandages, and pressure is what they need.” His hand wasn’t quite large enough to stretch across, so he’d have to use both hands.
“Sorry, kid, I’m gonna have to shift you around a little. Yell if it hurts, okay?” Hardcastle had already decided on the best way, and had started as he talked. A few moments later Mark’s head was propped up on his outstretched leg, blankets pulled close around him. Hardcastle’s was semi-comfortable with his back supported by the fallen tree, hands already pressing large compress pads over the gauze. The flashlight was beside him, but the bulb was dark. They’d need the light later.
~ H&MC ~
“So, you’re back in the land of the living, McCormick. I was wondering how long it would take.”
Hardcastle’s voice helped Mark focus beyond the fire that was burning through his shoulder. Smoke from a different fire, a real fire, tickled his nose as he forced his eyes open. He turned his head, looking for the face that went with the voice. Instead, darkness closed in with a dizzying rush. “Whoa!”
Mark felt a hand press on his chest. “Take it easy, McCormick. Don’t try to move yet. It took me a half hour to stop the bleeding. I don’t want you to start it up again.”
“Man, am I dizzy!” Black shapes swooped and whirled on a background of black. In the back of his mind Mark wondered how you could feel dizzy with your eyes closed.
“That’s ‘cause you lost a lotta blood. That bullet went right through your shoulder ya know.”
Mark cautiously opened one eye, then the other. Hardcastle’s face was in front of him now, barely visible in the dim firelight. “Oh, yeah. Melissa. Arvin Lee. They gone?”
“Yup. About an hour ago. Took the Coyote. Bin waiting for you to wake up.” Hardcastle hoped Mark wouldn’t catch the part about the Coyote.
“The Coyote! An hour ago!” Mark shot his head up off the pillow, dizziness forgotten for a moment. Then he gasped as the pain in his shoulder joined the swirling shapes in another dance. Damn, thought Mark, trying to focus on something… anything. He’d hoped they’d leave the highly visible car behind and stick with the pickup. But then, somebody’d probably already reported the pickup as stolen.
Hardcastle’s growl broke into his thoughts. “Damnit, McCormick. I told ya not to move! Just stay still for a few minutes, then I’m gonna help you sit up so you can drink some water. Remember, replace the fluids, just like at the Blood Donor Clinic.”
“Juice and cookies, Hardcase. That’s what they give you at the clinics. Juice and cookies.” Mark’s voice was tight with pain, but it sounded a little stronger to the Judge.
Hardcastle rolled his eyes. “Sorry, kid. I left those in my other jacket. You’re just gonna have to settle for water with a little bit of sugar.”
Mark’s eyes popped open, though he was careful not to move anything else. “Water and sugar? Yuuch!”
“Would you prefer some transmission fluid, or maybe rad fluid? Those are the only other liquids around,” offered Hardcastle. He kept his face as expressionless as possible. He’d been worried that the kid had lost too much blood. The past hour had been one of the longest in his life.
Mark screwed his face up in distaste, “Jeez, Judge, you’d make a rotten nurse with that bed-side manner. I’d prefer a steak dinner with fries and a beer and ice cream for dessert.” He rested his head back on the pillow and breathed a sigh of surrender. “But, considering we can’t exactly call for room service, I guess it’ll have to be sugar water.”
“Now yer cookin!”
~ H&Mc ~
“How ya feeling, kid? Dizziness gone?” asked Hardcastle as he fed more wood into the fire. Mark’s duffel bag was doubling as his seat. He’d found it back in the clearing where they’d tried to turn the tables on Arvin Lee. Hardcastle was kicking himself for ignoring the threat Melissa had posed. Mark had been having a hard time with Arvin Lee, so he’d gone to help instead of taking out the girl. He’d realized his mistake when Arvin Lee called out to Melissa to get a second gun. And then it was too late.
He pulled the jacket’s collar higher against the back of his neck. For once Hardcastle was grateful that the Coyote was so small. There had only been room for one more bag after loading it up with Mark’s racing helmet and gear. So the duffle bag had ended up filled with both his and Mark’s clothes. It had been the easiest thing for Arvin Lee to toss out to make room for his own suitcase. Even with the fire, the night was chilly and the extra clothes he’d put on definitely helped. There was no way that he would have fit into Mark’s clothes.
A blanket wrapped Mark was propped up against the log, slowly sipping from a battered mug Hardcastle had found on his last search of the area. He’d worked his way through half the bottle of water. “Yah. The shadows aren’t dancing the tango any more. The shoulder still feels like it’s on fire.”
Hardcastle frowned. He pushed another thick branch into the middle of the fire and watched as it caught with a snap. “Your shoulder feels like it’s on fire?” He repeated. “How ’bout the rest of you?”
“Just peachy keen,” he shifted carefully against the log, trying to make himself a little more comfortable. ”What I wouldn’t give for my nice soft bed back in the Gatehouse.”
“Hmmph,” said Hardcastle as he reached over to check Mark’s forehead for signs of fever. “That ain’t gonna happen anytime soon. I’m gonna check your shoulder, so hold still. I’ll be as careful as I can.”
Mark flinched when Hardcastle lifted the edge of the tape. He couldn’t quite see the wound, and Hardcastle’s hands blocked everything around it. He was glad the Judge didn’t do anything but look. He would probably have yelled in his ear if he’d touched it. “So?”
“So, what?” stalled the Judge.
“So, what does it look like?” asked Mark impatiently.
Hardcastle sighed. The flesh around the wounds was red and inflamed. Not a good sign. “It looks like you’ve got an infection starting.”
“Great! That’s just great! What else could go wrong! My money’s gone, my car’s gone, we’re stranded in the middle of nowhere, I’ve got a bullet hole in me that’s infected -“
“Two,” interrupted Hardcastle. “Two bullet holes.”
Mark stared at the Judge in disbelief. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?!”
“No,” grinned Hardcastle. “But it stopped that tirade of yours. Listen, kid. You can’t be getting yourself excited over that stuff. Save your energy, ‘cause you’re gonna need it. There’s no way to get that pickup loose, so we’re gonna have to walk out of here.” Now that Mark was sitting still again, he carefully reset the bandage.
“Walk!” groaned Mark. “It’s what? Three miles back to the county road? Then who knows how far to a town. You sure there’s no way to get that heap loose?” He couldn’t really see it from here and the Judge had told him in no uncertain terms to stay put. For once, he’d decided to listen.
Hardcastle shook his head. “Nah. The driveshaft’s buried, so we can’t drive it out. We can’t pull it out. The weight of the engine will keep it in the gully and we don’t have rope anyway. And, despite the fact that you like calling me a donkey, even one of those won’t get it loose. Can’t jack it up either, the ground’s too soft. So either we wait for a tow-truck to wander by - which we know ain’t gonna happen - or we start walking.” He was silent for a moment. “Oh, and the nearest town is Silver City, about 60 miles west of here.”
Mark blinked in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“Remember, we were gonna stop for dinner at the next town. And Silver City was the next town.”
“Oh ,yeah…well, you can add hungry to my list of grievances.”
“You’re always hungry, McCormick.”
Mark just grinned. He’d heard the Judge’s stomach growl. That makes two of us, he thought.
Ignoring him, Hardcastle continued, “It’s almost 10. We’ll stay here another couple of hours or so and catch some sleep. I don’t want you to keel over on me on our little stroll out to the main road.”
Mark snorted. “Little stroll? A walk along the beach is a stroll. A walk through the park with a lovely lady is a stroll. This,” he waved his left hand, “This is a trek in the middle of nowhere.”
“We aren’t in the middle of nowhere, kid. Nowhere doesn’t have a road three miles away.”
“To a kid from New Jersey, if there isn’t a road within a hundred feet, it’s nowhere.”
Hardcastle glared at him. “Once we get to the main road, we’ll just catch a lift with a passing farmer. They’re usually up and moving by 5 or 6. We’ll be in Silver City by 8. Find you a doctor and then talk to the cops.”
“What a way to start the day,” groaned Mark. “A three hour ‘stroll’ - without breakfast - followed by three or four hours of waiting for a car to go by. Why’d I ever leave LA?”
~ H&Mc ~
Hardcastle jolted awake. The fire was still burning, not with the roar and crackle of flames, but with a reddish glow that still radiated light and heat. The clouds had cleared away, revealing stars and a full moon. Under other circumstances it would have been an ideal night for camping.
Careful not to disturb Mark, he stood up and stretched. If they’d been camping, they’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable. As it was, the chilly air and hard ground definitely made him agree with Mark’s wish about a soft bed back at Gull’s Way.
It was almost 1 am, and, if they stayed with the original plan, they’d be starting their walk out shortly. Hardcastle stared at Mark. The kid had finally managed to fall into a quiet sleep an hour ago. Sleep that he desperately needed.
Hardcastle considered his options. One, they could leave now and shiver beside the road for two or three hours. Two, he could let the kid sleep for another two hours beside the fire, then walk out. The walk would be slow, with plenty of rest breaks in either case.
Smiling, he shook his head at himself. He hadn’t really needed to consider the options. He knew the moment he saw Mark sleeping quietly, that he wouldn’t wake him up.
Although it normally took an explosion, or a few loud yells, to wake McCormick up when he slept, Hardcastle very quietly moved to the fire. There was still some wood he could put on.
~ H&Mc ~
“See, kid. I told ya. It’s 8 o’clock and we’re in Silver City,” said Hardcastle after he thanked the farmer who had very hesitantly picked them up. It had taken his gold Detective shield and a fast explanation to convince him that they weren’t some desperados on the run. It had never occurred to the Judge that their dirt spotted, wrinkled clothes, not to mention Mark’s sling, would look suspicious to the locals.
Mark nodded, looking around. They were on a quiet corner. A green lawn and flowers surrounded the Silver City Motel. In LA it would have been pavement and newspaper boxes. The only thing disrupting the idyllic setting was his throbbing shoulder. “I thought we were going to the hospital.”
“This is a small town, McCormick. It doesn’t have a hospital, but it does have a doctor, and doctors still make house calls in small towns,” explained Hardcastle. “We’ll get a room in the Motel and you can stretch out on a nice soft bed while we wait for him. Have some breakfast, too.”
“Well, I guess it beats sitting in a plastic chair surrounded by sick people,” agreed a weary Mark. “But I don’t want any water. Or any sugar, for that matter.”
“No problem, kiddo. It’s bacon and eggs and orange juice for you.”
“What, no cookies?”
~ H&Mc ~
They had just finished breakfast when a knock sounded at the door.
“Thirty minutes. Not bad,” said Hardcastle checking his watch as he moved to open the door.
A tall man in a three-piece suit stood outside. “Hello, I’m Doctor Kimball. I understand there’s an injured person here.” He had the easy-going manner typical of most small town doctors.
“Hello, Doctor. Come right in. Your patient is over there. I’m Judge Milton C. Hardcastle. He’s Mark McCormick. We were held up last night and McCormick took a bullet through the shoulder. A .32.”
“Last night!” repeated Kimball as he set down his bag on the bed. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
Hardcastle gave a brief run down while the Doctor examined the bandages on Mark’s right shoulder. “They were going to kill us and dump our bodies a ways off the road. We got away, but Mark got shot. They took off with our car and we had to walk out. We didn’t get a ride into town until 6:30 this morning.”
“Hmm,” said the Doctor. He’d need to soak the bandages before pulling them free otherwise the wounds would open up again. “I’ll need some warm water. Could you fill up the ice-bucket for me? How are you feeling, Mark?”
“The shoulder’s throbbing like crazy. The rest of me feels like it wants to curl up somewhere for a long, long nap.”
Hardcastle poked his head out of the bathroom. “It took me about half an hour to stop the bleeding.”
“Hmm,” repeated the Doctor, pulling out a blood pressure cuff and thermometer. “Did you report the shooting?”
“That’s where I’m headed after this,” said Hardcastle. He hovered around the side of the bed, watching the Doctor’s examination. It took a few minutes for the water to loosen the bandages. Mark was wincing in pain due to the antiseptic the Doctor had added to it.
“Hmm,” said the Doctor finally. “The wounds are definitely infected, so I can’t put in any stitches. I’ll clean and dress them and put you on some antibiotics. You’ll have to keep them clean and dry and don’t do anything that might start them bleeding again. The Judge did a good job of stopping the bleeding under the circumstances.” His hands were gentle as he taped the large compress across the top of Mark’s shoulder.
“Your blood pressure’s low due to blood loss that’s why you’re feeling tired. Drink lots of fluids and don’t exert yourself. Be sure to check in with your own doctor when you get home.” He shook his head. “You are one lucky man, you know. That bullet traveled down along the top side of the shoulder bone, missing the brachial axillary artery and collar bone. If it had hit a little more to the left, it would have gone through the top of your lung. A little more to the right and nothing the Judge could have done would have stopped the bleeding. You’d have been dead within a half hour.”
Hardcastle paled at the words. He’d thought that Mark was lucky that Melissa was a bad shot. Now he thanked god that she’d shot him where she did.
“Jeez,” said Mark. What had been a great weekend of doing something he loved - racing - almost ended in his death. An anger was building inside him. An anger directed at two people, if you could call them people, who took his money, his car and almost his life.
Hardcastle and the doctor helped Mark pull a clean t-shirt on. The doctor, doing one last check to make sure the bandage hadn’t been disturbed, re-emphasized his instructions. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, so you’re going to have to watch it for awhile and take it real easy.”
Silently Mark said, ‘No way Doc. There’s no way I’m taking it easy. I’ve got a score to settle with Melissa and Arvin Lee.’
***The End***
The TV episode continues with Mark refusing to be put on a bus home, insisting that he was going to stay and help find Melissa and Arvin Lee. After visiting the Deputy at the Sheriff’s Office and describing Melissa for the local art teacher to sketch, they find out that Melissa is the Sheriff’s wife. Sometime in the afternoon Mark sneaks out of the motel (he was supposed to be taking a nap) past a sleeping Hardcastle and borrows a car from his racing friend. (“I borrowed a car.” “Not with a coathanger, I hope.” “Now Judge, would I do that?” The next day, they’re driving through town on the way to somewhere and spot the Coyote in a Used Car lot. Mark gets it back by showing the salesman the registration, which he had “in his wallet in the back of his pants.” Since shifting gears is a problem with his right arm, the Judge ends up driving the Coyote for the rest of the episode.
Check the episode summary on the web-site to see if Mark got his money back.
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