Ian 2
Chapter 26
Girding himself against the appearance of skittering creatures, Ian climbed the stairs to the projection room. He'd expected to see cobwebs or at least a buildup of dust, but there was none. When he approached the top of the stairs, he could see a figure looking down on him. "Mrs. Belkin!"
"Hello Ian, I wasn't expecting company."
Ian looked around. The room was larger than he'd expected, and light poured in from a south facing window, falling on a canvas held by an easel. "Mrs. Belkin, is this your studio?"
"Not officially," Mrs. Belkin explained, "but the art room is for you students to work in, not for me, and one of my children has developed a sensitivity to the solvents I use to clean my brushes at home. No one uses this room anymore, so I set up here. No one except the principal knows I use the place, and she pretends that she doesn't. What brings you to the top of the school?"
Ian shuffled nervously. "Exploring."
"Come on, Ian. From your drawings, I know how well you understand expressions. As an artist and a teacher, I understand them too, and I can see that there's something you're not telling me. Let me guess. It has to do with the young lady you so affectionately portrayed in the drawing you displayed at the art exhibit. You need a love nest."
Ian flushed. "It's not like that, Mrs. Belkin. Fleur and I need a place to talk for a few minutes after school, just until she takes her bus home. We had one, but we can't use it anymore. And I want to do more drawings of her, too."
Mrs. Belkin's mouth showed no hint of turning upward, but her eyes brightened. "Looks like you've found a muse. Fine, you and Fleur are welcome after school, I'll be busy slogging through paperwork anyway, and you can be a second pair of eyes for my works in progress. We'll keep each other's confidences."
"Really?"
"Really. Now get yourself down to the cafeteria. Boys your age grow too fast to miss meals."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Phillip Wang's dark eyes flashed. "We must strike back and strike back quickly. Feng was a good man and his death cannot go unavenged."
"Shayne's men will be on the alert now," Cong Wang pointed out.
"It won't matter," Phillip insisted. "Fan will strike from the shadows. His sword will make no sound, nothing to betray his presence. The message for Shayne will be repeated - in blood. And send someone to Feng's territory to remind the merchants there to keep their insurance up to date. We can't allow Shayne's actions to slow the expansion of our influence."
"Yes, bàba."
Saul Feldman had had enough. After coming to the shores of the U.S. with a number tattooed on his arm and visions of the camps ingrained in his memory, Saul's grandfather had started his store, selling penny candy and nickel sodas. It was one of the few places that survived without the benefit of a corporate logo or advertising campaigns. Everyone in the neighborhood and many New Yorkers who lived nowhere nearby knew Feldman's. Saul would not allow the family legacy to be ruined by buckling under to some new self-styled tyrant. He pulled out his phone. Whatever happened, he would not give up without a fight.
Two detectives in an unmarked N.Y.P.D. unit were watching when the man carrying the briefcase strode into Feldman's Fountain and Emporium. A beep sounded from their dashboard as Feldman activated his wire. "You have been a stubborn man, Mr. Feldman," Hong declared. "Bad things can happen to stubborn men - and their property."
The color drained from Feldman's face as Hong stared menacingly, leaning across the counter. "What do you want?"
"I believe you have already been informed of that, but I will refresh your memory. It is a small price to pay to protect what you treasure the most. Four hundred fifty dollars a week."
"That's more than 25 percent of my profits," Feldman protested.
"Which would leave you with something considerably better than no profits at all. Serving your customers with broken knees would be difficult. And consider what an accidental fire would do for business. Four hundred and fifty dollars, first installment payable now."
Feldman swallowed, wiping his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt. "Alright. You win." He opened his cash register and started counting out bills. Hong handed him an envelope marked with Chinese characters. "Put that in here before you hand it to me."
Feldman did as he was instructed and handed back the newly stuffed envelope. "Here's your tribute."
"That's the signal," Detective Hernandez said, opening his car door. Detective Duffy quickly followed, pulling his weapon from its holster. They approached Hong just as he left Feldman's. "Sir, you are under arrest for extortion."
"Beckett, we have good news and bad news," Ryan reported.
"I'll take the good news first," Kate replied, striding from the kitchen to Rick's office.
"A man named Hong Chen was arrested for extorting money from one Saul Feldman. He's been identified as a soldier for the Wang family. He's not talking, of course, but now we know that it's the Wangs who have been expanding their territory. They'll be under surveillance, as will Feldman and his emporium, to make sure there's no retaliation against him."
"So, what's the bad news?" Kate asked.
"There's been another murder, Brian Cook, Shayne's nephew. Perlmutter says it's the same weapon, possibly the same killer. No paint this time, but maybe something worse. The strength symbol was written on the pavement in Cook's blood."
Castle scrubbed a hand over his face as he heard the words emanating from Kate's phone. "That means the war will be escalating."
"You got that right, Castle," Esposito chimed in.
"We did finally trace the ownership of the warehouse where the paint was shipped," Ryan added. "The holding company is privately owned, but the largest principal is Phillip Wang. Unfortunately, that's not a direct enough connection to charge him with anything, but when you put it together with our arrest of Chen, it's pretty clear what's going on."
"Anything on the wielder of the butterfly sword?" Castle asked.
"We're canvassing martial arts studios that might hold training and sparring sessions with weapons like that," Ryan answered, "but it's hard to know which ones to hit. Butterfly sword classes are nothing they advertise, at least not publicly. Tech has found a few references on forums. We're tracking them down."
"You might check with the ownership of The Forge," Castle suggested. "If anyone knows weaponry esoterica, they would. I can call them if you like. They believe they've completely embarrassed themselves in my eyes and are scared to death they'll be portrayed unfavorably in one of my books. They'll be glad to do something to make a better impression. I can talk to Halsey, too. He sees everything - or almost everything."
"That would be great, Castle," Ryan replied. "Let us know what you find out."
"Will do," Castle promised.
After the exchange with Ryan and Esposito, Kate's teeth found her lower lip. "Babe, I was hoping that you wouldn't have anything more to do with The Forge."
"You think I want to?" Castle asked. "Not to worry. I'll stick strictly to conversation at a distance; the further, the better. If I'm going to be tortured, I'd rather it be in a much more arousing manner. But speaking of torture and arousal, did you get the date on your post-partum freedom check moved up?"
"So glad you asked, Castle. It's tomorrow."