[Katalina Beinstein - CHAPTER ONE (INTRODUCTION)]

Okay, Katalina Beinstein, Esq., is an original character that has been running amok throughout my thoughts for awhile. As long as I've been physically temporarily barred from work and I'm under house arrest with a nasty flu, infected ears, toxic gram positive throat cultures (look it up), and possible pneumonia (or just a drug-induced flashback to the 60's), I might as well start to type this out and share. I believe I have scribbled about 15 chapters on this theme in note form through the past 2-1/2 seasons of Castle, and there are, what, approximately 39 more days until Marlowe's "A Team" takes over with actual episodes, so this is to keep my mind from going too psychedelic from the narcotics and other prescribed happy drugs presently running through my system as I fight off battalions of viral beasties for the next few weeks. (When I get sick, I don't mess around with a mere cold, can you tell? Oh yeah, warning: This is "typing under the influence".) Sorry to all of the Dr. Davidson haters out there, but Josh and Kate are still together, and Rick is starting to face the fact that perhaps spending the rest of his life waiting for Kate to wake up and smell the coffee may not be in his best interest.

All it takes is another theft of yet another police horse for yet another au naturale gallop through Central Park by Our Writer Monkey to set this opus in motion. Otherwise, it is the same crew still with us that exists at the start of Season IV (Gates instead of Montgomery, Chet is still dead, Richard is still being tortured by his two ex-wives, Lanie and Esposito are still lovey-dovey, Jennie is still determined to marry Kevin Ryan, and Alexis is still planning to graduate high school early and attend Stanford with Ashley). I'm sure that another woman other than Beckett in Rick's bed will tick a lot of you off, but consider this a demonstration against the "Castle Wimp Factor" (with the exception of three rapidly delivered powerful right hooks) that I believe invaded the majority of Season III. I just think that it is long overdue for Richard to grow a pair. Or so the little voices in my mind that pulse with all the pretty colors are telling me. (Good thing I'm not allowed anything sharper than a crayon in my present state, eh? Don't worry; my neighbors have custody of my car keys so I can't drive my Prius down the sidewalk. Scalpel down, word processor engaged. . . heck, now I'm channeling ST:TNG! WTF?)

[Insert usual disclaimers here. Andrew W. Marlowe, I love you. In the infamous word(s) of Esposito, "Yo!" I'm just taking the cast of characters out for a spin; I promise to return them in good shape after I play with them for a bit. They followed me home, but I know I can't keep them.] This ranges in emotion from angst to hilarity. If no one reviews this, I will just let it sail into the sunset and I will continue to take my drugs, admire the patterns within the laminated flooring, and hold intense debating sessions with the living room furniture without any further comment. . .

And, before you ask, no, I do not have extra drugs to share with the rest of the class. Sorry. And, yes, I am staying off of Twitter until my faculties somewhat return. This piece will probably cause me enough grief soon enough. Based on this endless intro, someone has got to leave a review. Please? Enjoy!

JUDGE STANLEY MARKOWITZ slowly shook his bald head, thinking that if he had hair such as was on the man standing in front of his bench at this time, the Judge would have been rapidly ripping it out of his own head in total frustration.

The Judge's dark brown eyes were downcast. They had been here before. When had it been, 1998? 2003? 2006? No matter. The judge sat behind his raised desk, and the defendant, standing before him in his courtroom, barefoot, and clad in a bright orange jumpsuit issued by the county jail, smiled up at him, looking not the least bit contrite.

"Richard, why am I experiencing a bout of deja vu?"

Renowned mystery writer Richard Edgar Castle grinned his lopsided grin. The judge was one of his poker buddies, along with the Mayor of New York City, the District Attorney, and half of the judiciary of Lower Manhattan. Talk about shooting ducks in a barrel. "I don't know, Stanley, why are you?" There was a notable twinkle in the man's rather bloodshot blue eyes. "Ah, you're not hiding any coffee under your robe, by any chance. . .?"

Markowitz banged his gavel. Loudly. The sound appeared to disturb the defendant, who was still suffering from the residual effects caused by his latest drinking binge. "Address me as 'Your Honor', not as 'Stanley'. Please, Rick, some amount of decorum." He paused and started to review the arresting officer's report.

"Coffee would be more civilized. . ."

Markowitz banged down his gavel again and with even more force, if that was possible. Castle winced at the level of the noise. "Ouch."

Markowitz looked at him with great disappointment.

Castle smiled shyly. "Ouch, Your Honor. . .?"

"Okay, Rick, who did you hire this time to represent you in my court?" Markowitz knew that Richard Castle's appearance was simply a formality. Upon learning of the latest stunt by one of New York City's most famous, wealthy, photogenic, and faithful defenders of The Big Apple, the Mayor would send down a memo, and Richard Castle would be released on his own recognizance, and, after making a suitable generous donation to a selected New York City-based charity, the charges would be dismissed. Like they always were.

"Come on, Rick, I've got a bunch of real cases to hear before lunch. Actual criminals. Actual crimes." He sighed. "Who did you hire for the sake of appearances in front of Lady Liberty to get you off this time?" Markowitz took a second look at the report. "Really, naked again? Cantering through Central Park. . . Another stolen police horse?"

"It wasn't stolen. I simply borrowed it." Castle paused and shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, without permission. . ."

"And, pray tell, why?"

". . . It's autumn?"

"And, you decided to skinny dip at 6:10 PM on a Thursday in that particular Central Park fountain because. . .?"

Castle ran his hand through his thatch of thick brown hair, not realizing that such a simple act would only further annoy Markowitz, who had watched his own hair disappear down the drain by the time he was twenty-five.

"That part wasn't exactly planned. That was the horse's doing, Stan . . .ah, Your Honor."

Castle looked down at the illl fitting prison jumpsuit that he was wearing. For a man who prided himself on custom made cashmere jackets and hand finished silk shirts, the neon orange cotton one piece did nothing for his toned masculine physique. "Do these come in any other color? I'm not a 'Summer', I'm a 'Winter'."

Markowitz gestured with his gavel for the third time. "Do I have to. . .?"

"No need." Castle winced in the anticipation of another sharp bang.

"Please cooperate with me, Rick. Where is your lawyer?"

"Ah, I don't have one. I haven't had the opportunity to hire one between being dragged out of my holding cell and being paraded before you, Stan."

"You didn't get to make a phone call upon your initial processing?"

"I tried to order Chinese. I was hungry after swimming all those laps . . ."

Markowitz rubbed his forehead. "Bailiff O'Hara, before me, please."

An exceedingly tall uniformed officer of the court stood next to Castle, who just smiled up at him. "Hi, George."

"Hi, Castle."

"And, how's Daisy?"

"She starts high school in a few days. She's excited, and her mom and I are living in total fear of the next three years. How is Alexis?"

"My daughter is perfect, as always. Thanks for asking."

Markowitz cleared his throat. "As much as I hate to break up this mutual admiration society, George, go and find a lawyer in the hallway and haul him or her in here to represent said defendant. We have a full docket to get through this morning."

"Who should I 'volunteer' for Castle's pro bono appearance?"

"The second body you find with a briefcase and an iPhone. And, make sure that they know to send Rick a bill. Now, go."

George smiled at Castle and walked through the swinging gate, down the center aisle of the visitors' seating area, and opened the courtroom doors. Immediately to his left, he spied two individuals sitting on a side bench, both wearing suits and both holding smart phones. He noticed the male first, and then the female. Well, orders were orders.

He stood directly in front of the woman who was reviewing notes on a legal pad. "Counselor, Judge Markowitz requests your services. We have a defendant in need of representation. Now."

The woman looked down at the shoes of the figure before her, and slowly raised her head, rolled her eyes, and then stood up. Standing as tall as possible and wearing two inch heels, the top of her head didn't even reach the bottom of George's chin.

"George, I'm waiting for my client," she said, speaking with a pronounced New England accent that gave his first name two distinctive syllables.

Bailiff O'Hara shrugged his shoulders and helped the petite woman to her feet, holding her briefcase for her as he steered her into the court room. "Sorry, Kat. Just following my orders. Oh, and be sure to send this one a bill. In fact, pad it. He's rich. He can easily afford it."

The odd couple approached the bench where Markowitz raised an eyebrow as he recognized the woman being escorted into his court.

"Katalina Baron Beinstein for the defendant. . . Ah, Judge, exactly where is my client?"

Markowitz had an evil smile on his face as he pointed with his gavel to Katalina's right, indicating the orange clad figure seated behind the defense table, his head resting on his folded arms.

Katalina turned. And froze. She instantly recognized this particular male. It may have been a few years, but she knew that head of hair. Not to mention the body that was attached to it and the immature brain that supposedly controlled the entire individual. Her hands clenched at her sides. God was punishing her, but for what reason, she had no idea. "Richard Alexander Rodgers? Ah, Richard Alexander Edgar Castle!"

Castle lifted his head from the table where it had been resting on his arms. He didn't even need to look up, he knew that voice. Boy, did he know that voice. No one else in this entire city of nine million pronounced his middle name as "Ed-gaahh". Suddenly, his headache was increasing in its intensity. What had he done in a previous life to merit this? He didn't even try to smile at her. "Katalina. It's been a while."

"Not long enough," was her retort.

He mumbled back to her, "Feeling's mutual."

Only then did their eyes meet. Lime green vs. bloodshot cerulean blue. The silence was deafening. Neither looked happy at what was obviously a painful reunion. After a momentary pause, the following two words were uttered simultaneously.

"Oy," she said.

"Shit," he said, and he dropped his head back down to the desk with a notable thud.

Markowitz smiled. He couldn't have planned this if he had tried. The Mayor was going to love to hear about Castle's latest escapade, not to mention who was representing him in court. In Markowitz's court. Castle was about to pay deeply for every winning poker hand he had drawn in the past nine years. And, both Markowitz and His Honor The Mayor would have ring side seating for the festivities.

This was definitely going to be better than Shark Week.

Markowitz smiled. Yes, it was nice to be king!

Okay, if you like the set up, please review. Several chapters of flash backs to follow. I think Markowitz's first name as mentioned in Season I was Stanley, but I'm not sure. For the purposes of this story, it is now. I'm also trying to establish when Castle was married to Gina and for how long, so that might also be a flexible detail. Clearly, as demonstrated by this first chapter, this could end up being a small novel, or could go "poof" if there is either limited or no interest. I'm not too proud to beg, and I can always offer bribes. Pick one. But the drugs are mine. Future author notes will be sparse, I promise.