AN: Wow, thank you guys so much for taking the time to leave a few words! I promise I'll reply to all of them. Seriously, any author here will tell you that it means more than we can possibly say.
Here's the next revised chapter. I hope you enjoy!
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Chapter 10 – Grave of Opportunity
What if we're not?
Feeling a little bewildered, Beckett gently laid her menu down in front of her and tried to gauge the sincerity of the famous author in front of her. Where was he going with this? Coonan made it pretty clear he was no saint, Vong wasn't that much better. But they were drug peddlers- there was no grand scheme for that line of work, no poetic ambition to strive for- it was all about money- money and power. That's all.
"If we're not?" she repeated. "Then what would that even mean?"
"I honestly don't know," he admitted. Though his expression turned thoughtful, a small grinned remained. "It's not every day you run across a drug cartel that has its members and friends put ideological Hallmark cards underneath their pillows."
"No kidding." Beckett gave a sigh.
He was right on that point. For all intents and purposes, there was no reason they should have found anything like that when dealing with someone like Johnny Vong. He was a peddler, nothing more than a con artist under the guise of a salesman. Fake ID's or counterfeited bills were more par for the course than a riddle, a code, whatever that slip of paper was. It made more sense for it to be something that connected his and Coonan's opium trade, something far more substantial to justify running here to die. Something damning, something worth three murders and the career of an assistant District Attorney. That made sense. But this? Running down the country, sacrificing a life for a riddle with hints at a deeper, more unsettling modus operandi if Castle was right? It was peculiar to be sure, but that didn't mean there was any basis for it.
"Brooks didn't mention finding any message like this in the office or home of Senator Burbury, however." She mused, recalling pieces of the information the surly agent had given them.
"Right," Castle said with nod.
"So, if this was something of a sacred meaning to Rathborne," she said, pointing to the offending piece of paper still in her hand. "And if what you're gathering from it is that important to them- then wouldn't it be somewhere the Senator considered safe?"
Castle looked at her a moment. "Would you keep something around from the people who were going to kill you?"
"You have a point," she agreed. "But the message could be a whole host of things, right?"
"Right, but whatever the reason, it must have some sort of use."
"So what could it mean then?"
"Well, it could imply-"
"Hello guys!"
A smiling waitress cordially greeted the pair as she appeared next to the booth, stopping Castle's explanation abruptly.
"My name is Beth; have y'all picked anything out?" she said cheerily as she sat a small basket of homemade potato chips and two glasses of water down.
Giving Beckett a slow, apologetic smile, he turned his attention to the young waitress and slipped effortlessly into exchanging simple pleasantries with her as he began his order.
As his attention remained away from her discerning gaze, she searched his expression, giving herself time to mull over all that he had said in the past ten minutes. His words held an unsettling weight, crashing squarely down onto the already desperately held collage of certainties she had of the case, muddling it all the more. But still there, underneath the tremulous wash of nerves they instilled, was an abiding current of possibility- what if he was right? What if this wasn't just about drugs?
Could this really be happening?
Over the past few years together, she had learned to trust Castle's instinct, though somewhat begrudgingly at first. He was brilliant. He lived for this sort of intrigue- to lose himself in seemingly irrelevant quirks speckled over a case, leaving the evident extremes of black and white to simply be the result of whatever he found in the chasm of grey that tied them together. He was a storyteller, content in relishing in the unknown and giving it substance.
He was extraordinary- he was like her in more ways than a tiny voice inside her head tempted her to admit. And that's what made them work so well together. Feeding off of his passion for a good story came as easy as breathing, and no matter how crazy a case ever got, he always found a way to bring her back from the edge of frustration and bolster her resolve. And all the jokes and ribbing from Ryan and Esposito asides, there were times that she did wonder how they were able to finish each other's sentences so easily, so naturally. He is special, she smiled softly as she watched him let out a cute chuckle at-
Wait a minute, she hurriedly stopped herself. Cute?
"Ma'am...? Ma'am, what can I get for you?" a voice said, breaking into her thoughts.
Beckett looked up to see both Castle and the waitress peering at her expectantly.
"Oh..." Feeling strangely flustered, she took a furtive glance at the menu, none of its words registering at all. "I'll, um, get what he's having."
"Anyway, where was I?" Castle said as watched the waitress make her way to the back of the hall, then turned his gaze back to Beckett. His eyes remained pensive and unfocused for a moment as he brought the small glass of water to his lips.
"Ah yes... It could imply a whole host of things" He continued. "It may be a creed, a simple ideological motto for Rathborne's members."
"Words to live by exist in everybody's life," she reasoned.
"Yes. However, a creed exists for a reason." He explained, motioning his hands around in small circles. "It is the mortar and stone comprising the foundation of any belief, any sacred institution. It serves as a direct line to a universal commitment, no matter where the follower finds himself. So, it simply cannot be a coincidence it appeared. Somewhere in that sentence, there has to be a message important enough that Vong had to die so it could stay hidden."
"Like you said: there are layers to riddles, different meanings culminating to one binding answer." She took a quick sip of her water. "So you're implying that there is a larger reason to have this creed?
"Yes," he nodded firmly. "And that one binding answer is the largest piece of any question or puzzle- though often times it can be the hardest to see."
"Meaning?" She asked curiously.
His mouth opened hesitantly a few times as he looked directly at her. "I'm saying that what's on that piece of paper isn't the collective ideal of a drug cartel."
"So let me get this straight." Beckett paused a moment. "If what you're saying is true, then not only was the philanthropy that Dick Coonan did in Afghanistan a front for a major drug syndicate- but on top of that- the drug syndicate was a front for something else?"
She wanted to give Castle a chance to respond, to back up his theory with any irrefutable point, honestly she did. But this was a far cry from the run-of-the-mill flights of fancy he normally took during a case. This was incredulous to even consider being in the slightest realm of possibility.
"I'm sorry Castle, but listen to what you're saying." She put down her menu and quickly held up a hand. "People use covers when they do naughty things- not use naughty things to cover naughtier things."
Castle furrowed his brows for a moment, quirking his head to the side. "So, what about the man who mimicked my books?"
"Irrelevant." She panned.
"Irrelevant?" He gave her a curious look. "How is it irrelevant?"
"He murdered others to cover up another murder." Beckett reasoned. "What you are implying is an entirely different thing. Our copycat had a motive."
Castle looked at her silently for a moment. "And there is no rational motive for something like that to occur."
Beckett nodded firmly.
"So you're asking yourself what kind of motive would have to exist in order for Rathborne to create a drug cartel as a proxy." He finished contemplatively as he leaned back into the plushy booth.
She watched somewhat somberly as faint lines of a frown grew along his cheeks. It shouldn't have surprised her that he drew the very thoughts swirling in her mind and so readily vocalized them.
"Which brings us back to what he was doing here." He said.
Beckett nodded slowly. "Not to mention the passport he had." She said, holding up a finger as she continued. "Add the ticket to Florence, and everything points to one direction- he was running away."
She closed her eyes, trying to recall all of the bits and pieces of leads that surrounded Johnny Vong- from the silly motivational tapes to ominous phone call that led to him being dropped of all charges. He was their proverbial string leading them through the labyrinth, yet everything they've learned so far was too enigmatic, too random.
"I just can't shake the feeling that there's something I'm forgetting about Vong."
"Like something he left here, or something he said?" he asked as he picked up another French fry.
"Something he said." She mused. "It's probably nothing, honestly."
"Kate, I trust your instincts" he said reassuringly. "So if you think we're missing something here, we're not leaving until we find it."
She returned his comforting words with a warm smile. "I figured you would be dying to get back to New York, Castle. Going this long without lounging in the precinct has to be getting to you."
"Well, they do have excellent crab cakes here." He replied with a toothy grin. "Plus, the man has left us enough evid-"
Beckett suddenly held up her hand, interrupting him immediately.
"Evidence..." she suddenly interrupted.
"You took the words right out of my mouth, detective." Castle chuckled.
"Evidence!" she repeated, her eyes growing wide.
"Pardon?" He asked, looking around the dining hall.
"DeWitt." Beckett suddenly exclaimed, causing a few patrons of the restaurant to peer over to them. With one last look at the half-eaten appetizer in front of her, she promptly scooted out of the booth.
Looking utterly confused, Castle hesitantly followed suit and slid out of the booth as she hastily tried to slip her jacket back on. Cursing under her breath as one of her elbows caught awkwardly in a sleeve, her patience was quickly wearing thin. She fidgeted with the offending clothing where she stood when suddenly Castle lifted the arm of her jacket and she quickly slipped into it. Glancing at Castle as he threw a few twenty dollar bills on the table, she mumbled a quick 'thank you' and pulled her keys out of her jacket pocket. Not wanting to waste a moment longer, she dashed through the dining hall- hopefully with Castle somewhere behind her.
She was already falling into the driver's seat, jabbing her key into the ignition by the time Castle flung open the passenger's door.
"What's going on?" Castle fell into the passenger's side seat rather ungracefully the very moment she slammed the car in reverse.
"DeWitt," she said as the car roared headlong onto the sparsely populated main street, bouncing from side to side as its suspension haplessly tried to keep up with her.
"Marcus DeWitt." She repeated, not taking her eyes of the road.
"The name on Johnny Vong's Passport?" Castle shouted just over the rumbling wail of the engine.
"Grab the bar!" she said loudly, ignoring his question.
"The what?" Castle shouted looking wildly around him.
"The 'Oh Shit' bar, Castle!" One hand left the steering wheel, pointing directly to the other side of Castle. "Grab it now!"
The tiny blue rental car nearly tipped onto its side when she suddenly jerked the wheel right, sending an unbuckled Castle nearly toppling onto her. This wasn't her squad car by any stretch of the imagination, she had to remind herself- the whole of the car was jostling haplessly about, winding from line to dotted line and narrowly dodging other vehicles as she tried to regain control over it. The very moment the frantic motions of the car began to calm, she suddenly slammed on the brakes, letting out a heavy breath she didn't realize she was holding as she looked up at the tiny red light above her. She looked over to Castle, whose eyes seemed to be unfocused and abnormally dilated, as one of his hands slowly made its way up to the bar just above the door.
"Alright there, Castle?" She said as the light flashed green, turning her attention back to the road.
Biting her lip, she pretended not to hear the tiny squeak that precluded the sound of him exhaling rather quickly.
"Yes. Yes, I am." After a moment, he turned to her. "So, what does Marcus DeWitt have to do with anything? It was a fake name."
Taking her eyes off the road, she could practically feel her eyes sparkling as she looked over to her partner.
"Who said it was fake?" she said with a growing smile.
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Agent Brooks wasn't having a good day.
It was supposed to be his day off- the assistant director of the CIA practically begged him to take one. The day was supposed to be a good one- a slow, hearty breakfast in bed with his wife, kick the soccer ball around with his two sons for a little bit, then it was off to the lake for some beer and fishing with a few of his old war buddies.
Then that goddamned phone had to ring.
It couldn't just ring once like a polite person would normally limit themselves to when no one picks up. No, it had to buzz with the ferocity of a thousand hornets three more times. He desperately hoped when he looked on the caller ID that it was just going to be a cursory call for updates, just another routine to do before he could take a break.
Then the assistant director of the CIA had to drop a bombshell all over his plans.
So he found himself not an hour later, impatiently glancing from his watch to the sluggishly moving white numbers above the elevator door to the 12th precinct. In one hand, his undoubtedly cold breakfast mournfully waited in a small brown sack; in his other hand, a small manila folder with 'Confidential' stamped in an odd angle across it. How was he going to break this news? Hell, when was he going to get a chance to eat for that matter?
The dinging sound of the elevator signaled his arrival. The moment the doors opened up he angrily pushed through the clump of people in front of him. Not caring to form any sort of apology, he lumbered through the bullpen and straight to the captain's office.
He slammed the door behind him, ready to discuss this new development with Captain Montgomery, not noticing the blinds jostle from the force, or the two very suspicious sets of eyes still trained on him.
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Sheriff Dan Teague looked on from his plushy office with a curious frown as he watched the two FBI agents talking animatedly with the front desk clerk. Both looked like a cross between being utterly winded and bursting at the seams with giddiness
Marriage does have a way of pulling you in two directions at once, he mused, looking down at the large golden ring on his left hand with a grin. They did look happy though- cute couple.
The clerk pointed back to him and he saw the agents nod thankfully just as they began to make their way to his office. They knocked on the door and each gave him a small wave as they made their way in.
"Evening, Mrs. Rook, Mr. Rook." He stood up and cordially shook their hands. "What can I do for you today?"
The couple looked at one another for a moment then nodded.
"You ran Johnny Vong through the database." The dark-haired man said.
"Yes, sir." The sheriff replied and sat back down. "Still kind of surprised you guys were already on the way here too. Come to think of it, should I call the both of you Agent Rook? You two don't mind if I use your first names, do you?"
"Call me Jameson," the man replied as he looked over to his wife with a curious glint in his eyes.
"Nikki is perfectly fine," the lady said with a tight smile.
"Works for me. So what have you got?"
"Well, after going over the evidence found on the body again, we thought of something that might help." The brown-haired woman explained. "Since we can safely assume Vong knew he was on the run, we are pretty sure that he came down here to Savannah for a good reason."
"I agree. There has to be something that ties him to this area." The sheriff said, motioning his hands for them to continue.
"Well, we were wondering..." The man's explanation trailed away as he looked over to his wife.
"Have you run the name Marcus DeWitt as well?"
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AN: Chapter 32 is done and I'll be starting up 33 tomorrow! By the time it is posted and depending on the additions to the revised chapters, this story will be close to or breaking the 150,000 word milestone.