Castle wasn't going home, he was flying: he had succeeded! Yes, no one believed in his scheme, but he managed, waited, and finished it. He overcame a lot of mistrust, skepticism, rejection, and even, like an attacking grizzly, broke through some of the forbidden barriers.
And yes, he was proud of himself, smiling and patting himself on the chest, which meant the highest pleasure and the end of a series of gray everyday life, when everything around the capital irritated, and nothing innocent laptop I wanted to throw out the window of the personal loft. In fact, he despised himself and scorned the whole day for the fact that even though he had killed Derek Storm (he was sick and tired of him!), he had not progressed any further in the development of a new theme. True, there were scattered thoughts in my head, and even some pages appeared, but as soon as I read the text and mentally put it to the reaction of the readers, I bitterly had to delete this opus to the trash and clap the lid of my laptop in the heart. Then I had to gulp down whisky, glass by glass, because it was not worth showing it to anyone. Much less publish it, and for a venerable writer there is nothing worse than a failed plot. Or even the complete absence of it. Even a couple of intimate evenings with Paula, with the pious eating of canapés and powerful, lascivious cuddling only cheered him up for the next twenty-four hours. Because there is no theme, no plot, and no sequel. Crisis of the genre, and the former - the publisher Gina - his tantrums pissed him off, but somehow the anger did not translate into anything good.
And then his mother intervened, which unwittingly spilled to Gina about his crisis. And she, the distinguished Broadway actress Martha Rogers, was the further trigger of his tormented fantasies. While he sat on the couch with a glass of whiskey in hand, his mother would sit down with her wayward son, gently take away the liquor, and begin to talk about life.
Unobtrusively marked possible topics, suavely outlined the prospects for new books, gently, maternally rebuked, and he, Castle, willy-nilly lit up the search.
Of course, the plot could arise unexpectedly, and could mature long and persistently, joining together the gray cells in his head, which eventually came off in a brainstorm, but here... The very event happened that actually turned his inner unbalanced world upside down .
...He crawled out of Pauline satisfied and full of pleasures, like a sour cream-fed cat. The girl was inventive, persistent, tireless, and for himself Castle noted that even he should learn something from her. No, he did not plan a long and lasting relationship, and Paulina seemed to agree with his life arguments. By the way, there was a lot to talk to her about, and in between mating, they had a nice conversation, and now, standing outside her room in the "hotel for an hour", Castle pulled out his notebook, which he had never parted with. And the theses of their long and meaningful conversations one after another lay down on paper, building up into something coherent and logical. Past him the occasional people scurried, even leaving on his own business Pauline, with a surprised chuckle, gently pecked his cheek and tried to move on, until ... Until he was interrupted in the most brutal way: somewhere in the corridor there was a growing clatter of boots, a jerky machine gun shot, hysterical female screams, and some sweaty carcass crashed into him with all its might. Castle was knocked into the wall, then dropped onto the filthy, hole-in-the-wall linoleum, and the same filthy carcass pressed itself against him from above.
The attack was brutal and unexpected; Rick even groaned in pain, and his pen flew off somewhere, but his hand reflexively held on to the precious notebook. And then he, Castle, was dealt with again in an ugly and unceremonious way. The same carcass jumped off him, and the barrel of a large-caliber revolver plunged into his face, with all its might:
- Get up, you bastard, now!
- Wh... - Castle wrinkled his nose at the pain in his bitten cheek. And I think he hurt his tooth. - What... s-did... happen... Se...
- Do I have to tell you again? - The assailant soared, and then a shot rumbled over Castle's ear: noisily, harshly, with a sharp pain in the eardrum, and Castle nearly went deaf. He was still batting his eyes dazedly, but he was immediately yanked by the collar of his blazer in the most unscrupulous way, and the hot, stinking barrel was shoved up his nose. And this was definitely no joke. Muttering something incomprehensible, Castle slowly rose to his feet, shoving the notebook into an inside pocket before getting his ass roughly and painfully kicked:
- Get a move on, you bastard!
And Rick, holding his hands out, involuntarily obeyed: in this beautiful world of beautiful sexy women and other pleasures, something suddenly broke suddenly, and his life hung by a thread. No, he wasn't afraid of death, because he used to squeeze it side by side; he was more worried about his family: his mother and daughter. And the thought of WHAT they might be told with a tragic outcome to him made his heart clench and ache. And apparently, since he had been taken hostage, he needed to calm down and try to think rationally. As he had always been accustomed to...
While he and some older dude were being chased down a corridor, poking him with a metal under his shoulder blade, his eye tried to latch on to anything that could ease his and that guy's fate, but there was nowhere to hide in the featureless, shabby corridor. So they were both taken to the end of the corridor, driven into some room, pushed into a corner, and ordered to be silent. The bandits themselves - there were three of them - with shouting and foul language began to erect a barricade by the door: first a chest of drawers, then a chest of drawers and a table with chairs, and the criminals put the bed on its back to cover the opening of one of the three windows.
"Sniper afraid!" - Castle grinned bitterly and to himself, listening to the noises outside the window: the sounds of the police operation were not to be confused with anything else. The sirens howled loudly, the diesels roared wearily, and the distinct pounding of the Special Forces boots more powerfully painted a disturbing picture of the day: he and the guy were definitely and thoroughly screwed, but somehow there was no fear. He certainly did, and Castle began to look at the men who had captured them: they were athletic-looking guys, armed and wearing masks, and which of the three almost knocked out his, Castle, teeth, one could only guess. The guys had green canvas backpacks over their shoulders, and by the way the straps were stretched tight, they were carrying something heavier than a school lunch.
Then the knapsacks were thrown off: holding their weapons at the ready, the dudes were talking in a low voice, angrily and curtly, avoiding the windows and clearly not finding a way out. And when there was a loud knock on the door, one of the guys darted toward the hostages. While the black barrel of the Uzi aimed at Castle's forehead, one of the criminals (apparently the ringleader) lurched to the side of the jamb, and engaged in a tense, jerky conversation. As Castle realized from the dialogue, the bandits let the negotiator in after all.
In four hands the guys pushed up the barricade, and when the door opened, a woman came through the narrow opening. Very, very, very pretty (Castle drooled right away!), slightly above average height and high heels, in a modest but decent pantsuit, dark brown hair twisted into a business ponytail.
With her hands free, the woman allowed herself to be searched, rather nastily and unceremoniously, but her face showed nothing resembling fear, hatred, or contempt for what was happening. In a word, she behaved quite composed, professional, and Castle noticed her attentive, studying gaze. And even, with just the edges of his lips, tried to smile. And the so far unfamiliar officer responded to him, with a clear movement of her eyes, reassuring, and she immediately switched to the ringleader, to bargain, weightily and confidently.
True, her arguments were met with hostility, and neither side was willing to concede. And from the behavior of the other gangsters, Castle realized that no consensus had been reached. I guess the dudes had a big score to lose, which was beyond them... The negotiator slipped back into the hallway, and now there was nothing left to do but pray, but it was impossible to show the criminals their fear. So Castle took his hands away from his face, and looked firmly at the perpetrator: his Adam's apple twitched unevenly, his eyes were constantly running. And he was also breathing fast and fast.
- Don't do anything you might regret, boy! - Castle whispered through clenched teeth. - Put the gun away! Do it now!
The dude shook his head negatively, but his hands were shaking, the black hole of the barrel went from side to side.
And it was a fascinatingly creepy sight, and then the situation unfolded in a completely different scenario: a juicy slap was heard somewhere nearby, Castle's friend sobbed in surprise and fell to the floor with his head bashed in, and then the assault with special means began, and when the half-deaf, half-blind hostages were taken out, Castle saw that very woman: she was talking to an African American in a captain's uniform about something. Her ears rang and boomed monotonously, people, cars, and buildings blurred in front of her eyes, but still, from the fragments of phrases Castle caught that the speech referred to some twelfth precinct. And at home, after the hospital, a hot shower and a shot of whiskey, when his head and thoughts had partially returned to normal, Castle felt a good rush. Yes, this was it, the theme of women and guns, the beautiful and the deadly in one whole, the essence of intrigue, perhaps - mystery, and to reveal it, before the readers, would have to work hard. And if he will be useful to the cops, with his remarkable intelligence and knowledge, and will enter into their confidence, then he can open the hidden, beyond the control of civilians sides of police life, and the subtleties of solving criminal cases will allow more fully and authentically to present the canvas of future novels. And then he would be a long, long time on a horse, and a fresh batch of detectives on a hot wave, with a renewed muse, would bring him an even more powerful success than now. So Rick dialed the mayor's number...
Proud and enthusiastic, he entered the twelfth precinct, accompanied by his attorney and an official lady from the police department, and their path led to the management office. The cops glanced at them, but without much interest, and immediately returned to their papers, computers, and suspects, and Castle... He eagerly shot his eyes left and right, noticing the smallest details that were significant only to him, and there was something in this special, police-soaked atmosphere that made his hands and back itch to go on and on. As Castle said to himself, he could almost see the subject with his tailbone. And, by the way, it seemed that they were already expected...
They slowly walked into the office of the precinct commander, who must have had the negotiating officer. And though Castle did not notice the conventionally familiar face, the prospects of communication were promising. Especially from afar, the officer recognized him, came out from behind the desk, smiled kindly and extended his hand to his guests.
- Captain Roy Montgomery! Hello, Mr. Castle! It is not often that we are visited by such prominent men in society, but I confess that I have not read any of your novels. Alas, it happens...
- Neither have I read the interrogation reports and the autopsy reports, but that's all right," Castle grinned enigmatically, and at his signal the lawyer took a brand-new volume out of his briefcase. - My latest book about Derek Storm. A humble, little present.
- Your last one? Are you having a crisis of the genre? - grinned the captain, accepting the book with an appreciative nod. - And how can we help you then? Our esteemed mayor said something about assistance, and such people are usually not refused...
- I need a story, sir, a non-trivial and unconventional one, and in this connection I have a question for you: could I have a word with that woman negotiator? Honestly, I was so worried about her! So courageous and fearless, she showed her best side, and I think, all things considered, we have a lot to discuss with her.
Putting the book down on the corner of the table, Montgomery and the lady from the department looked at each other questioningly.
- "Not any more," sighed the captain regretfully, putting his hands in his pockets. - Officer Chaucerette isn't actually with the Apple Police Department, but with the Frisco Police Department. She was here on official business, and duty is duty everywhere.
- In Frisco?
Apparently, something so regretful flashed across his, Castle's, face that the captain made a soothing hand gesture.
- Don't get upset, Mr. Castle. We have many worthy officers, who risked their lives more than once and clearly learned the essence of hard police service. There are even those who have been decorated for wounds and other rewards for exploits. Have I outlined enough for you?
- Certainly, Captain, this is just the topic for a new story. After my former hero had exhausted himself, I needed a touch of inspiration, and when Officer Chaussette rescued me from the clutches of these armed monsters, I realized that the best thanks for my rescue would not be a mass of flowery thank-yous in the void, but something more substantial - a credible book about police work. And by talking to cops in person, it would be easier for me to outline detective entanglements. After all, I am a true master of description!
And seeing the captain grinned skeptically, Castle punched himself in the chest.
- You shouldn't laugh, captain! I am going to be useful to you, and I have a lot to offer you! You'll see! And when can I get to work? I promise to keep my distance and stay out of your way.
- Is there anybody in particular you want to work with? - The captain thoughtfully scratched his smooth-shaven cheek, to which Castle already had an answer:
- Introduce me to the staff and give me a couple of days to look around. And I'll tell you my choice. And now let's hurry to settle all the formalities.
- Uh, where can I get coffee around here? My exceptional sense of smell is a little dull! - Rick turned to one of the detectives, a short, blue-eyed brown-haired man. Instead of an answer he pointed a finger somewhere in the direction. Castle followed the movement with a nod, and at the sight of an open doorway he leisurely got up from the "guest" sofa and went where he was told.
The lounge was small, oddly triangular in shape, with two exits on different sides, and between the doorways was a table that Castle at once called "passable. There were earthenware mugs in orderly rows; sachets of tea, coffee, powdered cream and sugar were neatly arranged on plates, but from the point of view of such an impossible perfectionist as Richard Castle, a very important device, so familiar to his eye, was lacking for a more complete immersion in the environment. Namely, a decent coffee machine, because it was difficult to identify that rusty thing, with its rusty brown grate and faded metal spout, covered with coffee and hard water stains. Moreover, the pictograms on the buttons were frayed, and not to get into a piquant situation, Castle froze in front of the table, folding his arms across his chest and pondering the course of action.
Plan "A" implied a simple push on a hunch, with quite unpredictable results. Plan B was much more flexible and involved watching the semblance of a technique from the sidelines. Until someone came along... at which point Castle was rather unceremoniously pushed aside.
From surprise and treachery Castle hiccuped convulsively, and a thick network of wrinkles, reflecting the confused and useless work of his mind so far, powerfully cut a high writer's forehead. However, the woman who had so unceremoniously dismissed him was not at all concerned about other people's discomfort. She clicked her heels right up to the table, clearly thinking of what to do, and obedient to her infernal machinery immediately groaned and squeaked in every way. And Castle... Rick did not make a sound: numbly, as if in a fog, he watched the stranger from the back, covering with absent-minded gaze and thin, graceful waist in a monochrome cotton sweater, and luscious butt in black jeans, and a very short boyish haircut. And also: that bitter-cherry mist of her perfume, so unexpected and striking, as if it pulled a sudden something from his long past. From another, fictional life, which then he needed like air, and through which he was established as both a writer and a man.
And Castle shook his head sharply, as if to drive away the obsession. No, it couldn't be that simple, because even in books coincidences are surrounded by a lot of conventions, and here, one more for a city of millions, a woman-cop appeared and intoxicates his nose with almond-sweet fragrance. One that was hard to confuse with anything else. No, hell, it must be just a coincidence, déjà vu... But it's worth getting to know...