Guardian Angel
Chapter 30
"Is this Karma or what?" Castle whispers as he and Kate settle into side-by-side workstations. "The possibilities for what we could do to Bracken's list are almost endless."
"So are the possibilities for getting caught if Judy checks on what we're doing," Kate reminds him.
"You're right," Castle acknowledges. "We don't want anything that will show up until after we're done. I'm going to text Izzy. He hasn't failed us so far. If anyone can figure out how to plant an anti-Bracken bomb, he can."
Kate grins. "I love it, Babe, but Judy is looking this way. You'd better wait until she's distracted with something."
"If the bastard himself is planning a visit, that shouldn't be long," Castle figures.
Bracken likes visiting with his volunteers almost as much as he loves rallies. Either way, he gets to bask in the adoration. The stupid sheep are being fleeced, and they don't even know it, but that just makes the game more fun.
Before he talks to his sycophants, he'll need to conduct some business. He has a meeting with an emissary from Simmons' operation. The cash flow has been diminishing lately, something he needs to remedy. He'll have a meet with one of his sources in the N.Y.P.D., too. The ambitious little jerk is tying himself to Bracken's coattails. Right now, he's useful, and Bracken can put up with him. If he stops being of use, he might provide Maddox with some fun. Bracken's willing to bet the bureaucratic turd will let out satisfying pleas and screams. He checks his watch. He's supposed to be giving his pep talk to his supporters at 4 p.m. If he makes it to N.Y.C. headquarters by two, things will work out just about right.
A volunteer wearing a LABA hat slams a pile of posters on Judy's desk. "The cops wouldn't let me put these up. They said I need a permit."
"Castle, what's LABA?" Kate whispers.
"According to the flyer I found, it stands for 'Let America Breathe Again,' part of the antipollution plan that Bracken put out. I did a quick check on my phone while I was waiting for the barista to make your coffee this morning. The whole thing is a sham. Bracken's most significant contributors to the program are the Toch brothers, some of the biggest polluters around. Bracken is coming down on their competitors while claiming to clean up the planet. Nice, huh?" Castle shakes his head. "He has a lot of well-meaning environmentally conscious citizens supporting his efforts. The unhappy young woman complaining to Judy is probably one of them."
Judy's picking up her phone," Kate notes. "I wonder if a fix is supposed to be in somewhere and someone didn't get the memo. Bracken must be slipping."
"Well, if he is, that's good for us, right? Hmm, I think you hit it on the head. LABA hat is picking up her posters and heading out again. Looks like Bracken has low guys in high places. With some luck, we might find out who some of them are."
Kate's teeth dig into her bottom lip. "I hope so."
Earle Stanley Sledge slams down the receiver on his landline. He'd put out the word that Bracken's people, even the nutcases with the LABA hats, were to be left alone. Someone didn't get the message or didn't care. He'll get the names of the officers involved. Whoever didn't get with the program will find their feet stuck on whatever low rung of the ladder they currently occupy.
A text dings on Sledge's private cell. Bracken wants a meeting uptown at two that afternoon. Sledge isn't fond of command performances, but with Bracken, they're a necessary evil. The asshole always has to feel like he has his fingers in everything, so Sledge keeps him updated just enough, while he builds his own little kingdom. When the time comes, he'll no longer need Bracken. He only has to keep catering to the man's outsize ego until that day arrives.
Spontaneous applause breaks out in Bracken's headquarters as Judy opens the door for a pizza delivery woman. Castle presses his palm to his abdomen. "I was about to ask about food. Looks like it's here. Federico's, not bad. They use fresh basil. If nothing else, we'll have lunch on Bracken. I like it!"
"Yeah," Kate agrees, "me too."
Kate feels like throwing up her pepperoni when Judy Leland signals to everyone in the bullpen of the campaign office to stand up and clap as Bracken comes through the door. At a nudge from Rick, she fixes a smile on her face, now half obscured by the bill of a LABA cap. Castle, similarly attired, is clapping and whistling.
Bracken smiles broadly, giving a generalized wave, before retreating to a back room. His Rolex reads 1:55. Sledge should be showing up any minute. Sledge better be showing up any minute.
Kate studies the face of the man who comes through the door a few minutes after Bracken. He looks familiar. Right, Sledge. He was a few years ahead of her in the academy. His photo was on display in the trophy case, not for high scores in marksmanship or anything physical, but as the only cadet never to make an error concerning the rules of N.Y.P.D. bureaucracy. The sergeant who's still training every cadet in New York predicted that Sledge would end up riding a desk. As usual, he was right. Sledge is a climber at 1PP and supposedly moving up fast. Could he be looking at Bracken as his key to an even faster ascent, or is Bracken using Sledge? Both could be true. "Castle, that guy's a cop. See if you can sneak a picture of him meeting with Bracken," she whispers.
Rick pulls his phone out of his pocket. "You think he's dirty?" he whispers back.
"I don't know, but he could be one of Bracken's conduits for information on the department. And he's high enough up for that to be trouble."
"What do you know about a suspect named Dick Coonan?" Bracken demands before Sledge can even take a seat.
"That a cop from the 12th named Kate Beckett is claiming he's a serial killer and her captain, Roy Montgomery, is trying to get Lou Karnacki to deal for information on someone bigger. Last I heard, Karnacki didn't have enough evidence to convince him Coonan's worth the effort. That puts things in a holding pattern for at least another day or two."
"So Coonan's lawyer hasn't made a proffer?"
"Not that I've heard. Some of the guys at 1PP think Beckett and Montgomery are making a big deal out of nothing because Coonan went after Beckett and a writer named Richard Castle, who shadows her. I think the brass is more concerned with the bad P.R. the N.Y.P.D. might get if Castle slams it, than with nailing Coonan for attacking a cop. And if Beckett is right about Coonan being a serial killer, the force will be painted as idiots for letting a murderer run around loose in the city. That's making the commissioner sweat."
"But so far, Karnacki isn't taking Beckett's claims seriously?" Bracken presses.
"Not so far as I've heard. But that could change. C.S.U. is supposed to be working up some evidence, but the case isn't on the fast track."
Bracken nods. "That particular train may just get derailed. Accidents happen."
Sledge raises his hands, shaking his head. "I don't want to know anything about that."
"You won't," Bracken assures him. "Just go back to 1PP and shuffle your papers."
