Too Soon Chapter 28 – Thundercrack
She moves up, she moves back
Out on the floor there just is no one cleaner
She does this thing she calls the "Jump back Jack"
She's got the heart of a ballerina
She's straight from the Bronx
Hung off the line
She slips, she slides, she slops, she bops, she bumps, she grinds
Even them dance hall hacks
From the west side of the tracks
Move in close to catch her timin'
CHORUS
She ain't no little girl, she ain't got no curls
Her hair ain't brown, and her eyes ain't either
Round and round and round and round
Thundercrack - Bruce Springsteen
June 21, South Bronx, 11:37 p.m.
"Yeah," said Jackson. "That's Swan Lake."
Esposito said, "Hey, isn't Elise Mowry a ballerina or something?"
When Rick nodded, Betsy nearly shoved him aside, eager to get her nose snuffling at that bright little hole. Mo pulled her back, and Rick peered in – it was a mouse-hole in the boarded-up basement window, with a matching chewed corner of the old wooden window casement. The plywood was high-quality, an inch thick and applied with strong bolts on the brick walls, grouted probably before Hurricane Sandy, painted so as to deflect the urge toward grafitti and vandalism. There were no other cracks nor gaps at the edges of any of the six windows down that long wall. Lying almost on his side, peering in through the hole, Rick's angle was bad, just looking across the rafters of the large room, but he could see theatrical barn-door lights, and something swaying back and forth, turning, as if on a swivel.
Castle said, "We really need to check this out." Every instinct screamed to go in with guns blazing, but Esposito prescribed caution. "We don't know who's in there, or what they're doing. It might be an old ladies' book club playing 8-track tapes, and we don't have a warrant."
Mo said, "Betsy smells something. I'm just not sure what, or who."
The dog had her nose crammed up against the hole again. She was quiet, tense, listening, sniffing, trying to make sense of everything she heard and smelled: Vietnamese food, dry ice fog, sex, wire solder, ozone, turkey feathers... She gave the dog equivalent of "What the hell?" moaning in frustration. She could hear a girl's soft sobbing right through the glass and the board, although her humans could not. She began to pace impatiently. Her tail was not a happy tail.
Jackson looked up anxiously at the building, suddenly wondering if there were any surveillance cameras. He couldn't see any. He murmured, "Recon. Back in three." His son had a tendency to stand around talking when it was time to take action. His own dad was a bit like that, must have skipped a generation.
Castle looked at Mo and Esposito. "We're venturing into vigilante territory. At this point, maybe you two should leave and call for backup."
His phone buzzed. He let it go to voice mail. Esposito's phone rang. He grimaced, looking at the screen. "It's Beckett." Rick shook his head.
The two of them, (and Jackson who was already around the corner of the building), then got texts from her. "WHAT ARE YOU DONG IN THE BRONX."
They couldn't help but snicker. She texted again a moment later. "DOING. In The Bronx. At 11:40?"
Rick sighed and texted her back. Told a partial lie. "11:37. Ran into Mo Attah, Bloodhound Handler. Giving him Ride."
"Castle, if you do anything stupid... don't."
Next text was from Ryan. "Confirming building by playground is former preschool. Need a warrant?"
Rick and Esposito swore. Esposito texted, "Maybe backup could use it. Possible 10-22."
Kate texted. "Any ID on vic or perp?"
Castle sighed. "Maybe Elise Mowry. Maybe Steven Sinclaire. Surveillance now."
"Wait for backup!" This was from Ryan.
Castle texted them both back. "You're on your way together, aren't you."
Kate: "Bet your sweet ass. Tori too. Surveillance van. On Wills Bridge now."
Castle texted Ryan: "She's pregnant. I don't want her on calls. Pls take her back to 12th."
Ryan: "She won't let me text and drive. Says you're fucking busted & she's gonna kill you for trying to do this without cluing her in."
Castle: "Kate, I'm sorry, this can't wait for protocol."
Beckett: "I can text circles around your sorry ass, I have Tori trailing Espo's phone. There in 10. Wait 4 us or never have sex again."
Rick bit his lip. She knew how to pull his strings. "Sorry to read that. Love you, will miss the sex. Buzz me all u want, won't b picking up for a little bit. Careful."
Jackson had gone around the building, taking photos of all the license plates in the small parking lot. He sent them to Ryan's phone, and Kate forwarded them to Tori, who was in back with the surveillance equipment. She ran quick checks on the plates: two of the vehicles – a panel side van and a 1972 Ford Maverick – had stolen plates. Tori texted, "I got your probable cause right here, Jack ;-)"
Jackson continued partway around the building until he encountered the chain link fence separating the parking lot from the playground. Nothing to see, so he turned back, phoning Castle. "Son, the front entrance is dark and locked. There's a motion sensor cam there, but it's the only surveillance I can see. On the other hand, they may have lipstick cams everywhere, and I don't have the equipment to pick up their feeds."
At this point he came back around the corner, walking toward the others. "I'll check the basement stairs off the playground."
He went around the building's north side. The old door, which had been half-glass, had long ago been replaced with double steel. Not easy to breach. Jackson sighed and phone Rick's burner. "Ok, if we go through the east entrance, we have to move fast; they have cams under the overhang."
Rick said, "Let me try ringing the doorbell. Wait here."
"What? Are you nuts?"
He shrugged. "Maybe they'll be curious. Maybe they don't know 3XK's dead. I saw him at the end, he'd had his face altered, and I'm in a disguise now. So there might be enough confusion to throw them off."
"I'm coming with you," said Jackson.
"No, I don't want to have to introduce you or explain you. Just come after me. Give me five minutes to..."
"...Get killed?"
"Figure out what's going on. Just five minutes, that's all I'm asking."
11:41 p.m., East Side of Building
When Castle mounted the steps and approached the overhang, a motion sensor light switched on. The doorway was clear, although there was a bit of trash around the edges, and graffiti smothered the slots for business names long gone. A dented grate indicated an intercom system, which was relatively new, maybe from the late 70s or early 80s. But Castle remembered the overhang and the bell-shaped light fixture. He remembered the shape of the double doors, which were still painted a very faded purple. He glanced up to see four tiny lenses mounted above the door, and in the corners behind him.
He thought, "Shit, they're gonna want a password."
He pushed a button, fancying he might hear a distant buzz. He waited a minute or so, but nothing happened. The light went out, so he shifted, and it switched on again. He knocked loudly with his left fist. "Come on, guys." Spoke through his nose just a little, a hint of Bronx. Like his brother. His brother the arrogant son of a bitch. He took hold of the door handle and rattled it, calling out, "Waiting here."
A voice scratched on the intercom. "Where's your key?"
"Lost in the crash. You mind? Lemme in."
"Password?"
Rick hesitated. Back to the start. Just one shot at this. He tried to mask his fear with a show of impatience. "Hide and seek."
Lucky guess. Everything was a test with 3XK. The door buzzed, ("Whew!") and he pulled it open. A weak, yellowish motion sensor light flicked on in the dark, trash-filled, stinking hallway. His preschool had been on the first floor, to the left. There was little evidence it had ever existed except for an ancient smear of green glitter paint on the wall by its entry door. He rememberd the green glitter paint. They'd made leprechaun traps for St. Patrick's Day.
To the right was the staircase – which had been boarded off, possibly as the result of a trash fire. There was an elevator, all its buttons busted out. Castle heard the rumble of the elevator, and its door opened. Two men stood before him, and he had only the barest clue of who they might be, having looked at hundreds and hundreds of mug shots. They looked at him closely.
Ronald stared at him, trying to discern the features beneath the wig and fake beard. Castle knew his eyes could go very dark when he hooded them, so he kept his chin low, his pupils shaded. "You look like hell," Ronald said.
The elevator buttons had been disabled. Bob had a key. Castle's heart sank: if the elevator was the only way in or out, that was a bottleneck right there.
Castle shrugged. "Yeah, she ran out of time to finish my face before the wedding." The elevator was achingly slow, descending on squeaky cables.
"So was that her at the press conference?"
"No. That was a plant. They got Walton when he tried to bust her out."
Bob chuckled. "I told you he was a dipshit."
Castle glared at Bob. "You have a problem with my decision?"
"No, no. No." Bob's face went slack and stupid with fear. The elevator groaned to a stop, and the door opened.
11:43 p.m., West Side of Building
The other three hung back, Jackson wishing like hell that he'd thought to bring wires. He didn't like having Rick go in alone like this. "All the kid has to do is get through the door," he told himself. After an agonizing minute, Esposito's hackles raised on the back of his neck. He didn't realize what it was until he heard a low, rumbling growl. Betsy was pulling on her harness, back toward that bright hole. They all heard it this time: a woman screaming, sobbing, nearly hysterical.
"No, no, stop it. I'll try harder. Let me... let me go, I'll do it again, I'm sorry, I'll try harder. Don't!"
They all exchanged horrified stares. There was no way to get into the basement unnoticed. From the fear in her voice, it sounded like she'd be dead before the police could breach the front door.
"Think he's in yet?" said Mo. Esposito scowled thoughtfully. He wasn't above breaking the rules, but he was a little tired of getting suspended. "I dunno. We..." As cops, he and Mo knew they were crazy to go in blind. Perps like this were often obsessed with firearms, explosives, booby-traps...
Jackson said, "Would that dog lead you into something she couldn't get you out of?"
Mo considered. "She's one pushy bitch when it comes to a scent she's chasing, but she's trained to recognize C4, gas, gunpowder. So..."
"That's it," Espo said. He called for backup, gave the location, and identified himself. "We're going in. Requesting SWAT and an ambulance. Unknown number of assailants, Alpha Mike Victor."
11:46 p.m.
As they hurried up the steps, the 12th's surveillance van arrived. Ryan jumped out of the driver's seat, Tori out the back of the van, doling out bullet-proof vests and helmets. Kate paused, trying to hold down nausea, and emerged more slowly from the passenger side. She was pale and clammy.
Ryan said, "Did you bring any crackers?"
Kate gritted her teeth. "NO. I DID NOT BRING ANY GODDAMN CRACKERS."
Ryan blinked. "Check the glove box."
Kate leaned in toward the utility box, passed a hand over her eyes, and Ryan cuffed her wrist to the open window frame before she could even protest.
"WHAT THE FUCK!" She was utterly furious. "Espo, are you gonna let him do this to me?"
Espo was donning his vest. "That's not just you, that's you and everybody's baby. You direct SWAT down when they get here."
"DAMN IT!" Kate growled. But deep in her soul, she knew they were right. You just can't argue with morning sickness, even if it's 11:48 PM on a Saturday and feels like nowhere near morning. She could hear sirens in the distance. "Look, it's ok. I'll stay out of it. I'll move the van around back to intercept. Give me the key."
"Ok, if you can do it from the passenger seat." Ryan tossed his keys on the floor of the van, just out of Kate's easy reach.
"Ryan! You SON OF A ..." but the others had headed away toward the south entrance, with Mo's "Wait, whose baby is it?" ringing in her ears.
Kate, cursing, set about kicking off her boot and reaching across the car with her stocking feet to access the key with her toes. "Goddamn skinny jeans," she seethed. She remembered Castle describing his own adventure, but he'd been able to get his sock off. Her toes cramped. Tears of rage and frustration came to her eyes. "The hard part is gonna be deciding who to kill first." She blinked her feelings back and silently thanked God that the van was automatic, and she was tall enough to reach the gas pedal easily. The brake? Not so much.
11:43 p.m.
Castle found himself in the dance studio he barely remembered from childhood. His eyes sought out the painted sign above the stage:
"SOUTH BRONX DANCE COLLECTIVE!"
It was now faded, cracked, and water-stained, but memory rushed in: the sunlit room, the dancers, the tinny practice piano and the smell of sweat and perfume. Only now the room was dark and mildewed, lined with graffiti. There were layers of drape, and a scrim with a projected image of moonlight on water, washed-out by the overhead house lights. A trace of artificial fog hovered above the battered dance floor.
Off to the side was a sort of curtained alcove. Castle could hear voices. He strode to the curtain as if he owned the place, then realized that if his sleeve drifted up, any of these goons would notice the fancy mesh cast on his arm, and it had been prominent at the press conference. He put his hand in his pocket. "Get the curtain, would you?"
Ronald rolled his eyes and opened the curtain on its frame, drawling, "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Watch it," snarled Castle.
On the bed sat a small, slim blonde woman. Her feet, dangling off the side, ended in pink goatskin ballet slippers. She wore a white tutu and a little swan-wing circlet on her head. Where a ballerina would normally wear her hair in a bun, Elise's hung in sweaty locks that clung to her face, long neck, and narrow shoulders. Her face was painted a blotchy white with little cracks, with exaggerated blush and bee-stung lips. Her eyes were blacked out, like a skull or a broken doll. She was crying, the makeup running down her neck and jaw, onto her chest and the glimmering bodice of her dress.
Next to her sat Castle's biggest problem: at first he thought he was hallucinating, for there was Mephistopheles in the flesh, pulling away from kissing the woman. Meph had curving goat horns, hoofed feet, claws... oh, wait, no tits, no codfish, no snake-up-the-butt. No, it was just a jerk in a bad demon suit.
Then 'Bill Smith' looked up at Castle. He was wearing contacts with slit pupils and little flames. They seemed to obscure his vision slightly. "You're a couple weeks early."
Looking more closely under the makeup, Castle thought he recognized Herbert Zwolinsky, a bogus martial arts instructor, from moments of unintentional hilarity on Youtube. Bill – Zwolinsky - had his arm around Elise's bony shoulders, and her small hand folded into his. He said to Elise, "You trust me. I'll handle this." She had a split lip.
Castle fought the urge to vomit, or to take out his gun and blow these three men away without another word. "Things didn't go as planned."
"Obviously," Bill said. "Did you see the stuff we've put out already?" He squeezed Elise's bare, bruised thigh above her stocking top. "This one's a natural."
Castle shook his head. "Don't have time. I'll have a look later. I'm taking her now."
Jones said, "Wait, what? No. Not now. We just... Look, Brown just boffed her twenty minutes ago."
Smith was panicking. He stood up and unconsciously wiped his hand on his pleather demon chaps. "Our DNA's all over her. We were supposed to have her till the end of the month. Then she's yours."
"Yeah," said Brown. "That's what we agreed."
Elise shook her head, speaking to the man she thought was 3XK in a small voice. "They told me they were gonna kill me tonight, once they're done with the close-ups," she sniffled.
Jones snarled, "Shut up."
Rick said, "Really."
Brown said, "No, we, I.." He was obviously very much afraid of 3XK from past experience. He looked like he was going to pee a little.
Bill said, "That wasn't a foregone decision. I for one..."
"Let's call this Plan C." Castle pulled his gun from the concealed shoulder holster. He was nearly as good a shot with his left hand as his right, and this was close quarters, so he wasn't too worried. "Move away from the girl."
Elise hid her head under her arms, rocking. "Oh, God, no, no, no..."
11:48 p.m.
The elevator hummed to life. Castle was as surprised as anyone, then he remembered he had Jackson Hunt along, and Jackson Hunt seemed to have a way with things that plug in, and things that open and close, and while it might be more bad guys, it might also be the good guys he'd left on the west side of the building. But as Castle's attention momentarily flickered, Smith took a dive at him, and apparently he'd noticed Castle's limp, for he went straight for the bad knee. However, Smith had fake horns attached securely to his head, and he was wearing platform demon boots, so he misjudged the angle somewhat. Castle dodged Bill, but was afraid to fire so close to Elise. Stumbling off-balance, he turned shoulder to her, forgetting something really important:
Stockholm syndrome.
June 21, 11:49 p.m.
As far as Elise Mowry knew, Bill Smith was the "One Least Likely to Kill Me Now", so he was her best hope. Now 3XK had his back to her, wanting to keep her all to himself, with his gun trained on Bill, who lay on the floor, stunned, his leather codpiece half-off, his ankle twisted, his satanic horns knocked spinning. She had no idea who was coming down in the elevator, but she thought she heard barking, although for all she knew it was the sound of eleven wild swans coming home, the way it echoed off the old stainless steel walls. Her only goal was to stay alive until she earned her freedom.
Seeing her chance, Elise jumped at Castle from behind, fast as lightning, her strength as a ballerina matched by her staunch resistance to a horrible demise. She yanked at Castle's hat and wig, hanging off his body, trying by any means to disarm him. She ripped his fake beard off (some skin, too) and he heard her teeth snap just shy of his right ear over the sound of his own yelp of pain. Castle was hampered by his right arm cast, but he had one very good move, and he used it instinctively, not fully realizing it was actually Elise attacking him.
He elbowed Princess Elise in the nose.
With a cry, she went flying (fortunately landing back on the bed) and he turned back to her in horror as his gun clattered to the ground. She stared at him. With a short-stubble haircut, a scar, and the fake beard gone, Castle looked rather less like the man who'd identified himself as Jerry Tyson a few weeks back.
Castle dithered, torn between fighting Bill and checking on her. "Sorry!" he grimaced, and took an unconscious step toward her as she cupped a hand over her gushing nose. His expression somehow reminded her of her dad. "Elise, are you..."
She was struck by the genuine concern and remorse on Castle's face, and the realization that he was there not to kill her, but to get her out. She interrupted him, too late. "Look out!"
The next chapter's a lot more fun. I promise.
