New York, September 2009
"Really? The stomach flu, for two weeks?"
RIchard Castle, bestselling fantasy author, raised his eyebrows at Violet 'Vi' O'Malley.
"That's what she just told the captain." Vi, who had shamelessly abused her Slayer hearing to eavesdrop, sounded amused, not quite looking at Captain Montgomery's office. Jane Varshney, Reporter not so extraordinaire, had returned to the 12th Precinct.
"Wow… makes one wonder if she's as truthful when she's writing," Rick commented, shaking his head.
"She a glorified and overpaid gossip columnist, Castle. You don't honestly expect her to win a Pulitzer Prize anytime soon, do you?" Detective Kate Beckett rolled her eyes at the two of them. "And is there a reason you have to be sitting on my desk?"
Vi, who was letting her legs dangle, nodded. "Rick took the chair."
"It's my chair. I saw it first." Rick wasn't about to let himself get evicted. Though he might get away with purchasing a chair of his own, if that was what it took.
"It's my desk. And you're occupying quite a bit of it with your rear." Beckett glared at Vi.
"Are you calling me fat?" Vi narrowed her eyes.
"No, I am trying to get you to stop occupying my desk and keeping me from my work."
"Rick doesn't have any trouble working when I am with him," Vi declared. The Slayer leaned backwards, arching her back and pushing her chest out while her leather jacket slid down her shoulders. "Am I distracting you?" she whispered while licking her lips. Rick made a mental note to talk to Faith about not being a bad influence on impressionable younger Slayers. Then he scratched the note - that would only encourage her. And Vi. He barely noted how Esposito was so distracted by the sight that he kept pouring coffee into his mug until it overflowed and scalded his hand.
"No, you're simply annoying me. And you're giving Castle ideas about his hypothetical book involving a certain detective with a stripper name and some redheaded hunter." Beckett deadpanned.
Castle blinked. He had planned to have a ruggedly handsome journalist with a slight resemblance to himself romance Nikki Heat, but this… everyone knew love triangles attracted readers. Especially if it involved two hot women. His editor would love it.
"See? His mind just got lost in the gutter. Earth to Castle, the real world just called. The world where you're currently fantasizing about an armed detective and a 'trained bodyguard'." Beckett waved her hand in front of him.
On the other hand, Castle loved to be alive. And whole. And he didn't want to insinuate that kind of interest in Vi. He coughed. "You're wrong. Besides, Nikki Heat strikes me as the more straight-laced kind of woman."
"Oh, you might be mistaken about her past. But Nikki Heat wouldn't go and rob the cradle. She would like a more mature partner." Beckett smiled sweetly at Vi.
Castle just kept from reflexively blurting out that he was mature.
Vi had less self-control, and growled: "I'm no teenager anymore."
"Oh? Could have fooled me." Beckett said so innocently, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.
The two women locked eyes with each other. They were so close now, Vi would have just to lean to the side a bit, or Beckett lean a bit forward…
"That's so going into the book!" Castle said. His editor wouldn't be happy, but it wouldn't be the first time he had made changes at this stage.
He was saved from their ire by the Captain announcing that they had a case. Jane, standing next to Montgomery, was looking like she was about to have a relapse.
"I have to point out though that there's nothing hypothetical about my book. My editor has seen the first draft already," Castle commented on the way to the crime scene.
"Hopefully he'll change the name of the main character."
"She," Castle corrected the detective. "And she liked 'Nikki Heat'. All the possible titles from the name alone..."
"What about Vivian, the real main character?" Vi wanted to know.
"She liked that character too, but thought it was a bit too close to another character I had already used."
"Well, duh!" Vi smiled.
"Oh?" Jane asked, leaning forward.
"Vi also served as the inspiration for 'Victoria' in 'Facing the Old One'," Rick explained.
"Oh!" Jane seemed to read a lot into that, judging from the amount of notes she was making. Castle reminded himself that he would get to read the article before it was published. Would have to read it. Damn, he'd have to act as an editor too, if the woman's questions were any indication of her writing skills.
They reached the crime scene - the Upper New York Bay. "We got a floater?" Castle asked, perking up.
"A man checking on his boat found the corpse. Tied to an anchor, floating right beneath the waves next to his boat's hull."
"An anchor…" Rick didn't recall any demon using anchors. Not the kind found on ships, at least.
"We're not going to dive, are we?" Vi asked.
"Don't worry about ruining your hair, the police has that in hand." Beckett commented from the back bench. One of those days, she'd accept his place in front. And she and Vi would be the best friends. And the World would be at Peace.
Vi parked between a patrol car and the van from the morgue, and everyone got out. Jane, who had grown steadily more quiet the closer they got to their destination, was taking deep breaths already. Rick spotted Ryan standing nearby, and quickly walked over to the detective. "Put me down for '5 minutes after she sees the corpse', and with 20."
"Got you."
When he caught up with the rest of the group, Vi was smirking at him, and Beckett was glaring. He mouthed 'You told her?' to his Slayer, but she shook her head. He hadn't thought he was that obvious. Or Beckett that perceptive. Then again, she had found out about his secret. Sort of.
"What do you have for us?" Beckett asked Lanie as soon as she saw her.
"Us." Castle glanced at Beckett, smiling despite the glare he got in return.
The medical examiner pulled the blanket back from the corpse. "White male, about 30 years old, found tied to a small anchor with a chain."
Castle whistled at the corpse's chest. "That's a lot of bullet holes."
Lanie nodded. "Yes. But he might not have died from those wounds."
"Water in the lungs?" Beckett crouched down to study the bullet holes. "The bullets must have perforated both lungs though. Small caliber. Less than 9 mm even."
"Yes. I'll have to conduct an autopsy to find the exact cause of death."
"Do we have an ID yet?"
"He had his wallet on him." Lanie held up a clear plastic bag with a slightly damaged ID in it.
"It wasn't a robbery gone wrong then," Castle stated.
"Alexei Ivanovich Berezin. Russian national." Beckett stated, frowning.
"You can read Cyrillic?" Castle asked, surprised.
"I can speak Russian. I spent a semester in Kiev as a student," the detective answered without taking her eyes off the document.
"Nikki Heat has even more hidden depths than I thought!" He'd have to find a way to get that in his next book.
"Time!" Vi suddenly said. Castle turned to her, and she pointed to the side, where Jane was bent over a plastic bag.
"Two minutes and 20 seconds," Ryan said, handing over several bills to Beckett.
Castle stared at her. And she had been frowning at him for betting? He huffed.
"I told you I might not be as straight-laced as you assume," Beckett said with smirk as she pocketed her winnings.
"Cops gambling… my faith in the police's integrity just was shattered!" Castle sighed theatrically.
"Don't be mad you lost, Castle. Just get used to it."
"Never!"
"Shot, drowned, and poisoned too? Who was this guy, the second coming of Rasputin?" Castle exclaimed after reading Lanie's report back at the Precinct.
"That's a good question, Castle. There are no records of this man entering the country legally. But judging by the parking tickets and receipts we found in his wallet, he has been in New York for months."
"Oh… illegal immigration, and… polluting the environment? Does bleeding into the water after getting poisoned count?" Rick wondered.
"He's dead, Castle. He won't get prosecuted for anything."
"Given how much it took to kill him, I'd not rule out resurrection."
Beckett laughed, then stopped. "So that's why Vi is watching Lanie working."
Castle nodded.
"Do you think it could be a vampire?" Beckett asked in a lower voice, after checking for eavesdroppers.
"I don't think so. This would be the first case of a rising after a burial at sea. Sort of." Rupert would be ecstatic about such a novel case. "I'd suspect an exotic demon at work. Unless it was just adrenaline and luck."
"Can't Vi smell demons?"
"She can. But it's not 100% foolproof." Emphasis on 'fool', Castle thought.
"Did she ever have false positives?"
"Not so far," Castle answered. Unless that unfortunate misunderstanding with the man who had just had messy sex with a succubus before encountering Vi counted. But he survived, and probably learned to pick his lovers more carefully, and shower more often. "But false negatives could happen without anyone realizing it."
"We've got the vic's address. We matched the key we found to an apartment building in Soho," Esposito interrupted their discussion, handing Beckett a note with an address.
Castle peeked at it. "Oh? Gentrification involves illegal immigrants these days?" With a glance to the two detectives, he added: "I got the sales brochure for that building's condos last year. It's not exactly something you can pay while working in a sweatshop."
"Contrary to popular belief, Castle, illegal immigrants are not all slaving away in sweatshops."
"Well, he didn't look like a stripper to me either."
New York, September 2009
"That's really posh. More so than it looked like in the brochure," Richard Castle commented when they stood in front of the dead man's home.
"Careful, Castle. Your English contamination is showing." Beckett grinned.
"Damn. Next, I'll drink tea instead of coffee, and then I'll get deported." Castle sighed as the entered the building. The inside wasn't posh. It was gaudy. Expensive, but ugly.
"They don't deport people for drinking tea." Beckett flashed her badge to the concierge. "NYPD. We need the key to the apartment 306."
The man checked her badge carefully - longer than most people Castle had seen interact with the detective so far - before he disappeared into the office behind the desk.
"I thought we had the key."
"That's evidence. There's no need to take it with us." Beckett explained.
The man returned, and handed the key over. He had the faintest accent - East European. Or Russian. He was still looking at them when they entered the elevator.
"I would feel better if Vi was with us," Rick stated inside the cabin. "That receptionist guy creeps me out. And that means something coming from a man who deals with demons regularly."
"He's probably a member of the Bratva." Beckett looked around.
"The what?" Castle couldn't spot what she was looking for. Hidden cameras?
"The Russian Mafia."
"Isn't that illegal?"
"There's this thing called 'evidence' we need to arrest people, Castle. We can't just burn them down on a suspicion." Beckett frowned at him. She was probably jealous that a Watcher didn't have to follow the same rules as a cop.
"Why would you think he's with the mob anyway? His accent?" Castle wondered. Beckett wasn't the type to do racial profiling.
"That, and the fact this building is owned by a front for the Bratva," Beckett said, as if she was talking about the weather.
"What?" Castle gaped at her. "And you only mention this now?" He didn't know much about the Russian Mafia, but he did know that they were brutal, lethal, and had no scruples at all. And with possible demonic influence… That would be a really ugly combination. A good story, though.
"If I had known you'd react like this, I'd have mentioned it earlier," Beckett snorted. "And gotten a camera." She shook her head, amusement audible in her tone. "Just don't insult them, don't provoke them, and don't hint at knowing anything about them that might get them jailed, and they'll not harm you at all." Beckett smiled at him.
"You've been waiting for such an opportunity since we went to Clark's, haven't you?" Rick pouted at her.
"Would I do such a thing?" she asked, and he saw the corners of her mouth twitch.
"In a heartbeat." He knew she was rather competitive, or she wouldn't clash with Vi that much.
The elevator doors opened, revealing a hallway with too much brass and marble to look stylish or classy. "And they thought I'd want to live in such a house?" Castle asked, shaking his head.
"Shocking, isn't it? That someone could misjudge you so."
"I'll have to check with my publisher if my public image needs some corrections." He wouldn't want to be known as a rich man without class. He'd had enough of that attitude in England.
Rick didn't know why Beckett snorted at that.
The victim's apartment was not quite as ostentatious as the rest of the building. Not spartan, nor cheaply furnished, but definitely a cut below the standards, so to speak, of the Russian Mafia, as far as he could tell. "Do you think he was killed because he didn't have the required amount of gold-plated things in his apartment? Sort of like the mob version of the neighborhood association?"
"You know, these kind of comments do not fill me with confidence that your next book will be any good. You might want to stick to medieval fantasy," Beckett said while opening drawers of a cabinet in the hallway.
"Oh, you'll love the book, trust me!" And she would - who wouldn't like to be immortalized in a bestselling novel? As the main character?
"I would trust you a bit more if I could shake the suspicion that you'll have Nikki Heat go undercover as a stripper."
"Oh!" That was an idea!
"Castle! That was a joke, not a suggestion. Don't you dare…" she trailed off after opening the door to the victim's living room. "Bozhe moi!"
Rick didn't like the sound of that. And he liked the sight of a living room turned into a ritual chamber even less. "I don't know what you just said, but it sounded appropriate."
"Is that a real one, or a fake one?" She pointed at the circle edged into the wooden floor.
"I'm no expert, but it looks serviceable." A pentagram, lined with candles. He crouched down and ran a finger over the small grooves. "Dried blood." He took pictures of the scene, and sent them to London. Beckett didn't comment.
He turned to Beckett. "Did you see any book? Old, leather bound, maybe." This kind of ritual wasn't done from memory.
"No, nothing like that."
They didn't find any tome or grimoire until the uniforms arrived. Castle had a feeling that they too wouldn't find anything. Maybe Vi would sense something, when she swung by later.
"The dead guy stayed dead. And he was completely human," Vi was reporting, once again occupying part of Beckett's desk. "Perfectly ordinary."
"And yet he had a ritual circle in his living room, a used one," Castle shook his head. "And a working one, according to Dawn."
"Dawn?" Beckett asked.
"A fellow Watcher," Rick explained.
"She had the biggest crush on him, a few years ago, but she was too young," Vi added, smirking. "She was his biggest fan."
"And she grew out of it, years ago." Castle glared at his Slayer. "Of the crush, that is."
"She'd still jump your bones given half a chance."
"And then Buffy would break my bones. Not that I have any intention of sleeping with Dawn." Castle clarified hastily.
"Suuure." Vi's grin widened.
"Anyway," Castle changed the topic before Beckett could get the wrong impression, "Dawn's sure that this kind of ritual wasn't done from memory. So, there have to be some notes around, or - as I suspect - a grimoire." And if those notes or that book were the real deal, they were worth to kill for.
"Anyone with connections to the owners of the building could have entered the apartment with the keys from the concierge." Beckett said.
"Was the victim a member of the mob too?"
"We don't know yet. IT is still trying to reconstruct his finances." Beckett didn't sound too optimistic with regards to that part of the investigation. "But the stubs and receipts found in the dead's wallet indicate that he often frequented a nightclub popular among Russian immigrants."
"Ohh!" Vi perked up.
Castle glared at her. "No beating up the Russian Mafia, Vi! They're not demons."
"Self-defense is allowed!"
"No provoking them either just so you can claim they started it." He knew about that trick, quite popular among Slayers, especially Faith.
"Are you two planning to visit that bar?" Beckett looked from Rick to Vi and back.
The Slayer nodded, grinning.
"How do you expect to find out anything without understanding Russian? Do you think they'll all speak English for you to overhear?"
"Well… " The detective made that part of the plan sound like it wouldn't work.
Beckett rolled her eyes. "Or do you plan to shake down the Bratva for information like you shake down demons?"
That had been the backup plan, not that Castle would admit that. "I was hoping we'd find some demons there, and 'talk' to them." That usually worked.
Beckett closed her eyes. "I've got a mind to let you try that, but if you got killed, the mayor would be unhappy with the captain, and he'd be unhappy with me."
"Your concern for our health is overwhelming, detective," Castle said, slightly cross. As if she didn't really care about him!
"Yes, it is. Astonishing too." The detective sighed. "I just know I will regret this, but it is our best lead, and I doubt walking in there with a badge will do much good."
"We're going undercover then?" Castle asked. That sounded interesting.
"Me and her. I to eavesdrop on the Russians, she to sniff out demons."
"I'm rich and famous. I can visit any nightclub without looking suspicious." Castle grinned. As if he'd let the two women go there alone.
"True," Beckett conceded.
"So, Operation Undercover is a go!" Castle declared. "Vi can be my arm-candy. What will be your cover identity? I've got two arms!" And it would be great to see the detective in a sexy cocktail dress, again.
"I do not think it would be smart to go together," Beckett stated, rolling her eyes. "That way, if one of us gets into trouble, the others are not compromised."
"You sound as if you expect us to get into trouble."
Beckett didn't say anything, but her expression told Castle that this was exactly what she was expecting.
The woman had no faith in him. He'd prove her wrong!
New York, September 2009
"You know, I almost wish we'd get to wear a wire. Using our phones seems so… normal," Richard Castle said while checking if his smartphone, slightly enhanced by Willow, was fully charged.
"We're not exactly about to enter a secret meeting of mob members, so no one will ask for our smartphones," Beckett said, shaking her head at him.
"I still wonder where you'll be stashing yours though. That dress doesn't seem to let you carry a credit card, much less a phone." He didn't quite leer at her, though he wanted to - the cocktail dress she was wearing looked like she had been poured into it.
"Purses exist for a reason." Sighing, she smoothed the dress out. "That's what the kind of young, immigrant girls visiting that club are wearing. Trust me, I'd rather wear something a bit more…"
"... decent?" He grinned.
She glared at him. "I was about to say classy, thank you."
"But you had that indecent dress already," Vi got a dig in with barely-hidden glee.
"Remnants of my rebellious youth," Beckett grinned, if a bit forcedly, at the Slayer, who was wearing a very similar-looking dress which Castle had paid for in the afternoon. "Though since it still fits me perfectly, I don't see the need to spend money on another slutty dress."
That made Vi frown. "We'll have to introduce you to Faith! You'll hit it off!"
Castle coughed. "No, we don't!" He turned to Beckett. "Faith is the second-oldest - second-most experienced - Slayer and she dresses rather provocatively."
"Which you'd call 'slutty'!" Vi added.
Castle glared at his Slayer. "And she's got a penchant for violence."
"I thought every Slayer is prone to using violence," Beckett raised her eyebrows.
"Well, they are…" Castle ignored Vi's "No, we're not!" and continued: "... but Faith is kind of… exceptional. The other Slayers fear her."
"No, we don't!" Vi put her hands on her hip.
"I'll tell her that you said that," Castle retorted, smirking when she faltered.
"We just… respect her. Very much," Vi admitted, sulking.
"Well, noted. But this 'Faith' isn't here, and we've got a nightclub to visit, so how about we focus on that for a bit? I am sure there will be ample opportunities to indulge in sharing scary Slayer stories later."
She obviously didn't get how scary Faith was, Castle thought. But she had a point.
"Why are you posing as an immigrant anyway? Wouldn't it be better if the mobsters didn't know you spoke Russian? They might let their guard down around us."
"They would wonder why three Americans are visiting the club, and probably keep a closer eye on us," beckett explained. "Especially if one of them is a famous author."
"So, we're to be the distraction then."
"Exactly. I'll ask around after our dead man, see if anyone knows him. Just play the fool and his arm candy." Beckett smiled. "If anyone asks, claim you heard about the club from a fan. Please try to not start a riot for an hour or two."
"Hey! I've never started a riot!" He had done a lot, but that particular achievement had eluded him so far.
"And we've only set fire to, like… five demon bars!" Vi wasn't helping.
"You're not taking your flamethrower with you!" Beckett glared at them.
"Of course not!" He'd leave it in his car. Just in case.
The nightclub - Hotel Moscow - didn't look impressive from the outside. If not for the groups of underdressed smoking people outside, and the two hulking bouncers at the door, the entrance would have looked like it belonged to an office building.
Castle and Vi waited in the car while Beckett went in first. Rick had to admit to himself that the detective was almost unrecognizable with her blonde wig, makeup, and that slutty dress that drew the attention far away from her face. Though he didn't think complimenting Beckett for the fact that she could pull off 'looking like a call girl' very well would go over well. He really hoped Vi would not make a comment about that.
"If I didn't know she was a cop, I'd ask for her rates. Do you think she worked for Vice before she became a detective?"
And there went that hope. Maybe she'd not mention it to Beckett. And pigs would fly - without Andrew messing up a ritual. "You'd ask for her rates?"
"It's just an expression to say she looks like a professional, you know." Vi glared at him. "Don't get any ideas."
"Perish the thought!" But there'd be an undercover mission in his next book. Definitely.
The detective passed the bouncers without trouble. Castle didn't think they'd even took a look at her face. Understandable, really.
"How long do we wait?" Vi had that whiny undertone already. Slayers and patience didn't go hand in hand at all, to the detriment of their Watchers.
"At least a quarter of an hour," Castle said. It would feel like an hour, of course. Vi was already fidgeting. "You're usually not quite that impatient."
"I just don't like letting her go first."
"Ah." And that explained it. Slayer competitiveness. He often wondered how Xander managed to handle a dozen of the girls. Without getting killed as collateral damage.
"They didn't frisk her. I'll be able to slip in my blades. You gonna pack your Glock?"
He didn't comment on the fact that she would have an easier time concealing weapons with a slightly longer skirt. He blamed Buffy and Faith for the predominant 'Slayer style'. "No. I think I'll be safer as the famous clueless author."
"Don't worry. I'll keep you safe." Vi patted his arm.
"That would be more reassuring if you didn't have to keep me safe from trouble you started at least half the time."
"Hey!"
He smirked at her outraged reaction. Two minutes down, thirteen more to go.
Castle and Vi got a bit more attention from the bouncers, as Beckett had predicted. Mostly Castle though - Vi got the kind of attention any pretty girl wearing a too short skirt and too tight top would get. He smiled at the bouncers. "Richard Castle. You may have heard of me. I've certainly heard of this club!" They didn't recognize him, but they did recognize a hundred bucks, and waved him through with a smile. Money was the universal language.
The place was packed full of people dancing, drinking and flirting. Judging by the smell, they didn't really enforce the ban on smoking inside clubs, and he doubted they qualified for an exception. He saw Vi wrinkle her nose, and raised his eyebrows at her. She met his eyes, and nodded. So there was a demon nearby. That didn't have to mean anything, of course. But he bet it did.
It was almost impossible to find a demon or two in such a crowd though, apart from personally checking everyone out. And that wouldn't end up that well in this place either. Not even for a pretty girl like Vi.
So the two of them made their way to the bar while he tried to spot Beckett. He had no success though.
"Cop ten o'clock, cozying up to a slimeball," Vi whispered, leaning with her back against the bar next to him.
Rick slowly turned his head, and spotted Beckett, laughing next to some ugly brute of a gangster who was staring down her dress. The man had a face that just begged to be introduced to Castle's, or better, Vi's fists.
Castle turned towards the bartender, smiling and ordering a Bloody Mary for himself, and a cola for Vi. A generous tip followed.
"They're talking in Russian," Vi said.
"Well, that was to be expected. But does he seem to be buying her act?" Castle slowly leaned a bit closer to Vi, with a wide smile pasted on his face.
"He seems to be buying her drinks, at least," Vi answered.
Castle glanced over. "Well, so far so good." He took the rest of the room in. "This looks like a nice club, actually. If not for the fact that it's owned by the mob."
"Mister Castle?"
Rick turned towards the man who had just approached him. 'Thug' was the first impression. But he looked friendly. And Castle had a role to play. "Yes, that's me! Are you a fan of my books?"
"Ah, I must confess I barely find the time to read the newspapers, these days. Work, you understand. But I recognized you from my girlfriend's magazine. I am Petar Kusmich, and this is Natasha." The man pointed at girl next to him. She was pretty, young, and beaming at Rick.
"Pleased to meet you. This is Vi," Castle presented the Slayer.
Kusmich bent to kiss Vi's hand, displaying remarkable manners for a gangster. At least as far as Castle thought - his knowledge of the Russian Mafia might be a tad lacking, he realized. He knew far more about Russian monsters than mobsters. "Work?"
"I own the club." The Russian smiled and made a sweeping gesture. "Where did you hear of it, if I may ask?"
"It's a bit of an embarrassing story, so I trust your discretion," Castle said, leaning forward. "I met a pretty fan of mine at a vernissage, and we got in a drinking contest that turned out not to be any contest. The girl drank me under the table. She mentioned this club, which is the only thing I recall of that evening." He held up his glass. "I've been training since then, to offer her a better challenge in case we meet again, and where better than here?"
Kusmich laughed loudly. "A hard drinking man, I like that."
"More like working hard at drinking, still." Castle had the distinct feeling that he was about to be played, but no idea in what way.
"Do you play poker, by chance?" Ah, that way.
"I've been known to play a few hands with colleagues of mine. Fellow writers. But our schedules don't line up too often."
"Would you be interested in a little game?" Kusmich asked, eyes glinting.
Castle smiled back. "Definitely!" Playing poker with Russian mafiosi? Who could resist that? And since it wasn't Kitten Poker, he wouldn't be saddled with either a basket full of meowling animals, or a reproachful look from his family for letting kittens get eaten. Win win.
"Let me show you a more private room then, Mister Castle."
"Call me Rick!"
They were passing closer to the table Beckett was getting leered at by that brute when Castle froze. The concierge of the victim's condo was there, a few meters away, and pointing at the detective. That was very bad!
"That's a demon," Vi whispered.
And that was worse!
New York, September 2009
Richard Castle was in a bind. The thug had stopped leering at Beckett and was now glaring at her instead. Two more gangsters were on the way, attracted by the commotion, and the demon-concierge - was that like a gatekeeper of hell, he briefly wondered - had gripped the detective's arm.
He was unarmed - mostly, he still had a stake up his sleeve - with Vi only carrying a few knives, but they could take those men and Kusmich. But there were too many people around. Too many witnesses, and potential victims of stray shots - he didn't doubt the the Russians would hesitate to shoot. So he put a hand on Vi's arm when he saw the Slayer tense, met Beckett's eyes for a fraction of a second, and steered his Slayer after Kusmich. the man had just briefly stopped and glanced at the scene with the detective before continuing towards the door in the back. The same door, so Castle thought, the gangsters would drag Beckett through as well.
Perfect. Or close to it. He wasn't that picky.
Kusmich was walking a bit faster. The man probably wanted to get them into the poker room before the thugs dragged Beckett into the torture room. Natasha easily matched his stride, despite her six inch heels. Castle risked a subtle glance - Beckett was now cornered by three thugs, and one demon, and they were obviously waiting.
Kusmich reached the backdoor, nodding at the guard there. That man was very tall, and his muscles would make Schwarzenegger jealous. Castle looked at Vi, but she wasn't showing any reaction, so it was probably steroids, and not demonic blood.
They passed the door - thick, sturdy, and sound-proof as well, since as soon as it closed, Castle couldn't hear the music from the club anymore. Which worked both ways. Kusmich started to talk again. "Welcome to our private rooms…" was as far as he got before Vi punched him in the gut, doubling him over. She withdrew her fist, holding a pistol, and handed it to Castle while dropping the gangster with a blow to the neck. Castle didn't recognize the model, but as he racked the slide, a 9 mm cartridge fell out. It'd do.
Natasha was staring at them, her mouth open, while Vi hefted the man up and dropped him a few meters to the side, in front of another door. "Don't mind us. Demon hunting in progress," Castle said, smiling. The girl gasped and started to run away. Or tried to - she stumbled and fell, then kicked her heels off before scrambling away on bare feet.
"You've got to work on your smiles, Rick," Vi commented, taking up a position next to the door.
"I think it was the gun. It doesn't look as nice as my usual one," Rick retorted, and matched her on the other side, gun held at his side.
Just in time - the door was opened again, and the first thug walked in, followed by the two goons dragging Beckett between them. That meant the demon was bringing up the rear.
"Freeze!" Castle said, pointing the gun at the lead thug. The man froze, cursing under his breath.
That was as far as things went according to plan, though. Castle heard a croaking noise, and something slimy wrapped around his arm and hand, ripping the gun out of his grip. He turned his head and saw that it was an elongated tongue the demon had shot out of his suddenly far too wide mouth. Vi slammed the door into the demon, stunning it, and Castle went for the gun, only to be tackled by the lead thug.
The gangster hit him like a freight train, bowling the author over and rolling over the ground. Rick managed to shield his head, but a few blows hit his stomach, almost making him lose his meal. He managed to hit the man back, but the thug didn't seem to feel his blows, at all. One hand closed around his throat, and he had trouble breathing. With the man straddling him, he couldn't get to his stake. In desperation, he groped around for the gun, it had to be around here somewhere… his fingers closed around something smooth… it wasn't the gun, it was one of Natasha's heels!
He hit the thug throttling him with it, several times, until the man let go of his throat with a pained yell, and pressed a hand to his bleeding ear. Coughing, Rick saw the man straddling him had pulled back a bit, out of reflex probably, and hit him in the groin with his makeshift weapon. The thug choked, then whimpered and rolled off Castle.
Panting, Castle was about to look for the pistol once more, but a shot made him freeze up.
"никому не двигаться!"
Beckett was standing there, gun in hand. She'd lost her shoes too, and her dress had seen better days as well. But the two guys who had been holding her were down, one moaning and gripping his groin while staring wide-eyed at the tongue-demon, the other was knocked out and bleeding, sprawled in a heap below a suspicious dent in the wall. Vi was wrapped in demon frog tongue, but seemed to have gotten the upper hand - the monster was looking rather battered, and the tongue seemed to have lost its tension. Her clothes were a lost cause though.
As far as fights went, this had gone well.
While Beckett kept the gun trained on the semi-conscious Russians, Castle frisked them, finding three more pistols, and Vi unwrapped herself from the demon tongue, muttering about slime, clothes and spas owed to her. Everything was back to normal then.
Castle coughed a few times until he was sure his voice was working properly still, then addressed the demon. "Now… we have a few questions. What do you know about Alexei Ivanovich Berezin?"
"я трахну вашу мать!
Castle didn't know Russian, but that hadn't sounded helpful, or polite. "Let me introduce my charming friends here. This is, as you probably know already, Detective Beckett. She's armed and got a temper. And this is Vi, the resident Slayer of New York. You just ruined her favorite outfit. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way."
The other thugs were still staring at the demon, as if they had never seen him before. They probably hadn't. The frog-tongue-demon itself started talking rapidly once Vi hefted him up with one hand. Unfortunately, he was talking in Russian. At least Beckett looked like she understood most of it.
"So… the demon concierge was working with the victim on a ritual to make him tougher and stronger, but didn't kill him. The victim was afraid of some unnamed other Russian gangsters. And the tome they used for the ritual is missing." Castle summed the results up while the three of them were walking back to his car.
"He has an alibi for the time of death, Ryan checked that today already." Beckett checked her recovered phone for new calls and messages.
"It was a suspect?" Castle asked, surprised. "Never mind - of course it was."
"What do you think will happen to the demon?"
"It'll probably run. Those thugs didn't look like they were happy to discover one of them is a monster. Well, a worse monster than gangsters."
"We should have killed it. It ruined my outfit!" Vi growled.
"We don't slay demons for ruining dresses."
"Well, we should! Buffy would agree with me!" The blonde Slayer probably would.
"It was a slutty outfit anyway. No big loss," Beckett commented.
"It's the principle of the thing! If you let them get away with ruining one dress, they'll do it again, and with more expensive and classier dresses too!" Vi pointed at her ruined top. "Plus, this should count as sexual harrassment too!"
Castle was very carefully not looking at what she pointed at. They didn't tell you about that when you joined the Watchers.
The next morning, Rick was carefully walking into the bullpen of the 12th Precinct. His bruises were hidden by his shirt, but he could feel each spot on his body that the Russian thug had hit, and even breathing hurt a bit. His only consolation was that the guy would be in much more pain - that stiletto heel had done good work.
Vi of course was all fine again, if still a bit mad about the lost outfit. No matter that it had been rather slutty, even by Slayer standards. Not that Castle would say that.
He walked up to Beckett. The detective didn't show any signs of the fight they had been in either, but she looked tired at least, and shot him a grateful smile when he put her coffee down on her desk. "Rough night?" he asked.
"Long night," Beckett answered, with a slight glare. Obviously, she didn't appreciate his attempts to keep up appearances.
"Any further news on the case?" He took a sip from his own coffee. He really should buy the Precinct a coffee maker of their own, for the breaks.
"No, but…" her desk phone rang, interrupting her. She took the call, listened, and Castle could see her face growing hard. "We'll be right there."
She looked at him. "A patrol just found four men, hanging from a tree in the Central park. With an old leather-bound tome placed at their feet."
"Looks like our noose-demon has not left town."
And it was messing with their case.