The Girl I Left Behind Me
By
UCSBDad
Disclaimer: Sir! I do not own Castle, Sir! Rating: T: For language. Time: Three months after the end of season eight.
Special Agent James went on. "We've set up the usual trace on Fadal Bakari's phone at the bakery, on his landline at the family home and his cell phone. However, we don't really expect a call from whoever took his sister, I'm afraid. Her abductors already have all the money the family had, and they've already killed the original two robbers, so the only reason to keep her alive for any period would be for…entertainment. But, we're working with other Federal agencies and local police for any clues as to who might have done this. And, if it's all right with Captain Beckett and Special Agent Shaw, I'd like to work out of the 12th Precinct. We're more likely to get some actionable intelligence from here than waiting for a phone call that'll probably never come."
Kate looked over at Jordan Shaw who nodded ever so slightly.
"Fine with me." Kate said.
"Me too." Shaw added.
"One other thing." James said. "I understand we have two US Army Special Forces people on this case. The briefing I got before coming here from DC wasn't too clear on what their role is."
McCarty introduced himself. "I'm Chief Warrant Officer Henry McCarty. With me is Staff Sergeant Vincent Peake." McCarty went on to explain how they'd found the corpse of Fadal and Dalal's brother with an Islamic State moneyman. "It seems to the Army that there could be a connection between the dead brother and the father's hawal. So far, nothing's come up, but we have to look."
Shaw spoke up. "We've had problems getting information out of the CIA in the past. I think that a request coming from the Special Forces will get better action from the CIA and other intelligence agencies than one from the FBI. Assuming that there is some connection between all of this and any terrorist organization."
James shrugged. "It's your call."
At the end of the day, they had no more information.
"You going out again with the blonde cop?" McCarty asked once they were back at their hotel room.
"Sure. That a problem?"
"No. I just like to know where my people are and what they're doing."
"Wow. This is just like having my dad back. I'll be sure not to stay out too late and I won't do anything foolish. And I'll fill the gas tank up, Dad."
McCarty gave him the finger. "Just remember what this "dad" does for a living. Don't fuck with me."
Peake laughed. "You know, Ann might have some friends. I could get you set up. You could use a little fun."
"A date with a cop? No thanks. I've had my fill of cops."
"Who said anything about a cop? Ann must know other people."
"I used to be a cop. Cops hang out with other cops. I'll be just fine all by myself. Have fun."
Once Peake was gone, McCarty booted up his laptop and got onto a website that very few people knew existed and spent the evening working.
Riding up in the elevator to the loft, Castle began to sing softly.
"Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life,
"His three children they were brave.
"But a dirty little coward, shot Mr. Howard….
"Castle! Do not ever sing that anywhere near agent James."
"You're a hard taskmistress, Captain Beckett."
"Perhaps I should get my handcuffs out tonight and see how hard you are."
Castle just smiled.
Beckett's phone rang just as she and Castle were finishing breakfast the next morning.
"Beckett."
"Sweetie, can you and Writer Boy come in? I have something for you. I don't want to talk about it over an unsecured line."
"Would it be okay if I brought Writer Man in instead?"
Lanie just laughed.
"We're off?" Castle asked.
"We're off, Writer Man."
Once at the morgue Lanie explained the secrecy. "There were two shootings in the city early last night. Both were drive-bys using a MAC 10, .45 caliber. The first was on a guy named Jeremy Wong, allegedly he's the local boss of the Chinese Triads in New York. Wong is in the hospital, in serious but stable condition. We won't be able to talk to him for a couple of days."
"A drive-by on a Triad sounds like business as usual. What's this have to do with us?" Castle asked.
"I'm getting to that. Just listen. The second was on your old friend, Finn Roarke. Roarke didn't get a scratch. It seems some good Samaritan, that no one got a good look at, saw the shooter coming and dropped him."
"One of Roarke's goons, no doubt." Kate said. "Roarke'll protect him. I still don't get the connection."
"The FBI identified the dead shooter. A redneck outlaw biker named Earl Cousins. He just got through doing a nickel in Georgia for armed robbery. Now this is why the FBI considers this to be all super-secret. While in prison, Cousins got really friendly with a group of Muslim prisoners. The FBI thought he just did it for protection, it seems he had enemies inside, but now they're not sure. Plus, the FBI identified the slugs from both crime scenes. They came from the MAC 10 used to kill Junior Johnson and Edward Mayne."
"Okay. We need to go talk to our team. Thanks Lanie."
"Anytime, Sweetie."
The team was busy going over the information on the two shootings when Kate and Rick arrived.
"Kate, the doctors won't let us see Wong for a couple of days, but I'm going to take one of your people and go see this Roarke. I think maybe Ryan since he's Irish?"
"Neither you or Ryan will get anything out of Finn Roarke."
"Maybe if I describe in detail what will happen if he pisses off an FBI agent, he'll be more cooperative."
Kate shook her head again. "He won't be. But if he'll talk to anyone, he'll talk to me."
"No!" Castle shouted. "You're not going to interrogate some cold blooded killer."
Kate smiled at her husband. "Of course not. I'm just going to go down to his bar and have a friendly chat."
"And why would some mobster talk to you and not us?" Shaw asked.
"Because Kate killed the man who had killed one of Roarke's best friends. He sort of owes her for that." Castle said, not liking this at all.
"And he likes me." Kate said coquettishly. Then she explained what had happened with Dick and Jack Coonan.
"I don't like it." Shaw said. "You're not in any shape to out on the street."
"And not alone. I'll go with you." Castle insisted.
"You didn't exactly impress Roarke the last time you met. And Roarke will never talk in front of another cop."
"What about a non-cop?" McCarty asked. "He might be impressed with me."
"No!" Rick and Shaw said together. But, in the end everyone had to agree that Kate was the only one who had any chance of getting Finn Roarke to talk. And McCarty was the only person who could go with Kate and not arouse Roarke's suspicions.
When they pulled up in front of Finn Roarke's bar, Kate saw a burly fellow who'd been lounging outside run inside quickly.
"They know we're coming." Kate said.
"Good early warning system." McCarty said with a grin. "We have radar, satellites, drones and all kinds of other shit and the rest of the world uses some guy who keeps his eyes open."
As soon as they walked inside, Finn Roarke headed towards them. "Captain Beckett! I'm glad to see you're better. You should be more careful, lass. If you keep getting shot, one day it just might be permanent." He turned and yelled at the bartender. "Tommy! A cup of coffee for the lady. Grande skim latte with two pumps of sugar free vanilla." Then he looked at McCarty. "And I see you have a new detective in the 12th." This time Roarke didn't sound at all friendly.
"I'm not a cop. I'm a soldier. Chief Warrant Officer Henry McCarty, US Army, Special Forces."
"And what's a soldier doing with this lovely lass?"
McCarty explained what had happened in Africa and how that had led him to New York and what had happened since then.
Roarke shook his head. "A man in my line of work, a bar owner, that is, would have no desire to live anyplace where alcohol was forbidden. Nor would any good Irishman." He looked sharply at McCarty. "You said your name was McCarty? You're Irish then?"
"American. One hundred percent."
Roarke laughed. "A good answer. Now, Captain Beckett here is also one hundred percent American, but you can see by her beauty, intelligence and toughness that she's Irish, of course. Did you know she shot and killed the cold hearted bastard who killed her dear ma? The bastard also killed a dear friend of mine as well." Roarke smiled at Kate. "Ah, Beckett, if I were only forty years younger, I'd give your writer a run for his money."
"The smart money would be on Rick Castle, Roarke." Kate replied. "But you were shot at today. Was it just business?"
The Irishman shook his head. "I don't know what this world is coming to when an old man can't even walk down the street without some goon taking a shot at him. Sad, it is. Very sad."
"They say that the guy who shot at you had been very friendly with some Muslims when he was in prison in Georgia." McCarty said. "You ever have any trouble with Muslims? Or any dealings with them at all?"
"Muslims." Roarke said softly. Then thought for several minutes. "Did you look around when you came here? Oh, of course you did. Beckett's a cop and a good one and you're a soldier. It'd be second nature for you both to look for places you could take cover or where someone could ambush you. But did you look around you?"
"It's Hell's Kitchen. What were we supposed to see?" Kate asked.
"Fifty years ago, when I was a young fella, just off the boat from Ireland, the whole neighborhood was Irish. You couldn't go fifty yards without seeing a pub with a Guinness sign or hearing an old Irish song. Or seeing a pretty colleen."
"So?" Kate said.
"It's different today. This country changed the Irish. For the better, no doubt, but change them it did. We got educated." He laughed. "Well, some of us did. We got the jobs that we never could get in the old country. We got married and wanted to send our sons and daughters to the very best schools. And the Irish moved. They went to Long Island and North Jersey and they moved to Connecticut and all the bloody way to California. There are damned few Irish here in Hell's Kitchen any more. We have Jews from Russia and Puerto Ricans. We've got Laotians and we have Chinese. There's an Indonesian restaurant on the corner that used to have a place called O'Donnell's. There's a tailor from some country in Africa and a plumber from Ukraine. And all of these people are new to this country and its ways. Just like the old Irish, they need someone to show them what to do. They need to someone to go downtown and yell at the damned bureaucrats at city hall and get things done. And they need someone to make sure that no damned drugs come into Hell's Kitchen. I've done that for years and I do that now."
This time it was McCarty who laughed. "I've met a lot of men like you, out where there's no government, no law and damned little sight of God. But how are your relations with Muslims?"
Roarke smiled. "You may have met a lot of men, youngster, but you've never met a man like me. But, to answer your question, I have no problems with Muslims that I know of. But I'll ask around."
Kate tried to get them back on track. "In your trips to city hall or elsewhere you didn't happen to step on any Muslim toes, did you? "
'None that I know of, Captain Beckett, but as I said, I'll ask around." Roarke stood. "And now I think were done, Beckett. Or can I call you Kate?"
"You can call me Captain Beckett."
Roarke laughed. "You're a tough one, Katie girl. A tough one indeed."
Kate just nodded and they left.
When the two had left, the bartender came over to Roarke. "She has a fine ass, all right. But is that any reason to be friendly with the cops?"
Roarke glared at him. "I never had a better friend than Jack Coonan and she sent the bastard who killed him straight to hell."
"You'd have killed the bastard sooner or later."
"Aye, that I would have, Tommy. But Kate Beckett killed him, not me, and that counts for something with me. That it does. And it can't hurt to have a connection with a police captain. Those Chinese bastards and the Haitians and the Mexicans and all the rest are just waiting for me to die so they can sell drugs in my neighborhood. Well, this is one old Mick that'll take some killing, but, sooner or later….Now, get me a glass of Jameson's."
