Invitation
The pocket of his blazer vibrated small and tiny as the car crossed the city line.
- Hey, Castle. We got a body! - Beckett proclaimed cheerfully. - Some guy fell out of a five-story squatter's dormitory, and I got a hunch it wasn't all that clear-cut. Go ahead, memorize or write down the address!
- Hello, detective Beckett. - Castle muttered in the honeyed voice of a seasoned ladies' man, trying not to take his eyes off the road, for the traffic on the West Side exit was frantic. - Is it so bad that you were reluctant to come to me? Oh, then you're right on the mark, because even in my dreams my outstanding detective skills can help you quickly find out all the details of the victim. Especially if our hapless guy is a newfound Icarus in a wax corset with eagle feathers and the emblem of ancient Greek airlines on his forehead. Otherwise, mundane events are already making me dreary and drowsy. Hopefully, in my brief absence, the solvability bar won't drop a single point.
- Pfft, Castle. Rather, the boys would finally regain their eternal calm and sobriety,- and Rick could clearly see Beckett's mocking eyes, indulgently raised to the sky. - Though I figured it was easier for the not-so-smiling author to charm the hotties by rocking a Friday-night party than picking up a corpse or drawing up a report. Is it okay if the city's waiting for you?
- Oh, how flattering that sounds! - Castle grinned ironically, glancing from time to time at the navigator: you don't often have to leave the city in that direction. - I hope you speak only on behalf of him and not on your own behalf, but actually... I've been fond of the city for a long time, especially since that funny-detective incident at the Mayor's party about a month ago. And in the last week I've typed more text than I've ever written in my life!So today I'm as free as a bird, and let the dusty paper be handled by others!
- All right, Castle. You're not going to die of modesty. - Kate paused in mild embarrassment at her refusal, but quickly found it: -If you happen to get bored with Esposito's society in my absence, don't forget about the whiteboard training. Maybe you'll get something useful out of what you've got. For a quick and fruitful process, I'll send you something, dig around for nothing. Bye!
Kate hung up, and Rick gently put the phone down on the passenger seat. Yes, it was not in Detective Beckett's nature to rely solely on outside help, but, as Castle not unreasonably suspected, she was just a little more comfortable in his presence. At least thanks to the timely offering of a vanilla latte.
- In five hundred feet, turn right! - the navigator nonchalantly announced. His sweet, ladylike alto sounded something like Alexis' voice, and Rick couldn't help but smile in a welcoming way, so similar. Of course, he told his daughter where he was going and why. To the suburbs, to meet old friends.
Castle pulled into the intersection of the freeway, moved into the far right lane, and slowed down to reach the glove compartment without interference. On his way back to the loft last night, he'd come across this obscure letter, which he'd brought with him today. The light, almost flat parcel lay alone on the door mat, and looked a little strange, if not mysterious: no postmark or return address, but with the ugly text on the front: "Personally to Mr. Castle!" After reading the address, Rick crumpled the envelope concentrically, glanced at the lumen to no avail, and even sniffed it. Interesting! There was practically no smell, and the enclosure resembled a regular postcard. But where did it come from, and what was on it? Several versions came to mind at once: it was either the Martian Viceroy's non-aggression pact, or a wax tablets with writing unknown to science, or a laminated list of New York Satanist sects. Not a trivial invitation, really!Rick scratched the back of his head thoughtfully and returned to the stairwell before unlocking the door. He glanced down as if he hoped to catch the unknown mailman, listened involuntarily to the creaking of the elevator, and suddenly smirked. Why, intrigue was just his type! If an unusual adventure loomed on the horizon, he would kill himself, but for the sake of an unusual story and his country would not just do everything, but even more. After all, he is a patriot!
Right on the fly, Rick printed the envelope and rushed into his office, to the waiting tools of creativity and unfinished chapter. Earlier in the week he had had a fantastic epiphany about nobody-knows-what-other-than-him, and like a printing press, Castle was scribbling and scribbling tirelessly his lyrics. The sticky, unhealthy sleep hardly took three or four hours a night, and as soon as he arrived at the station, Rick would rush to the coffee machine. Without a powerful dose of caffeine one could not get rid of the colorful under-eyes and accompanying friendly jokes of bros, could not give oneself a normal working look, and Beckett... As always, Kate was habitually covered with papers and interrupted only for phone calls, issuing orders, and a coffee-break. She looked at Castle only when absolutely necessary, but like a bee, even a few miles away, subtly smelling the honey aroma of pollen, so Rick, intuitively, somewhere on the very edge of an inherently incredible conjecture, felt Kate's deeply veiled, but lively interest in his person. He had long ago been forgiven for the stunt with his mother's documents, but the unshakable attitude: "Distance, distance, and distance again!" remained a constant credo of Detective Beckett's life. Of course, Richard Castle's arsenal is rich in effective methods of uninhibited influence on Kate, and her persistent shell someday, but in the meantime... If it happened that he was invited, why not hang out?
Holding the envelope with two fingers, Rick pulled out the invitation card and, remembering to keep his eyes on the road, ran his eyes over it again. A thick, curled gold frame on glossy paper and beautiful, artistically rendered text immediately refreshed his memory:
"Dear Mr. Castle! We invite you to the Philosophy Graduation Gala, to be held tomorrow at 6 p.m. in the West Meeting Hotel. You can easily find our address on the Internet, and whatever questions you have, you will get complete and comprehensive answers. See you soon! We look forward to seeing you! Old Friends."
"Old Friends!"
He had thought hard about the tempting and unexpected offer the day before. He freely found the address of the place, dug through the scanty registration data. The name of the owners did not tell him anything, and Castle was about to ask the guys, but at the last moment he changed his mind. They might be ridiculed for being inappropriately suspicious! Wondering who might need him, Rick conscientiously refreshed the list of fellow students, went through friends and potential enemies. As for the latter, Castle didn't even remember who he could seriously conflict with, so he calmly went back to his buddies. With some of them he occasionally tossed around a poker game or fought without sleep or rest in online games, but with almost no one he was really friends. As it happened, their seemingly tight-knit college gang broke up in his senior year, and as time went on, Rick didn't really care about his former friends. A couple of his ex-boyfriends had risen very high, and the rest... God knows where they were now! The main thing was that there was an unusual and unforeseen surprise ahead of him, enriching his imagination and raising the excellent mood of the game. There you go!
The navigator jabbered again about another turn, and from the top of the overpass, among fields full of green, one could see the floodplain of a small river and a narrow, sausage-shaped bay with a small cube of a hotel. At the very end of the viaduct, the highway bifurcated, and the narrow road leading to the hotel dipped under a small signboard, on which a red arrow sign blinked, warning: "West Meeting Hotel. No vacancies!"
- This seemed to be the place! - Rick confidently turned and twenty minutes later he was there. All neat and tidy, with white brick walls and inserts of black and red tiles, the building looked like a house of cards. The green scales of asphalt shingles, the front entrance with a stone porch and wooden veranda, and the parking lot with perfectly level asphalt looked dignified, but for some reason Castle's red car was here in proud solitude.
I wondered what the owners drove. Even in the spacious courtyard, which Castle drove past, there were no cars. They weren't flying around in a helicopter, really, like federal agents! Rick pulled over to the side of the wide driveway, shut off the engine, scratched his cheek in thought, checked his watch. It was fifteen to six. And where's the cordial reunion of old friends, who could tell? What if this was another surprise?
Castle looked at himself in the salon mirror, artistically smoothed the hair on his temples, shook off the lapels of his tuxedo from the invisible trash. All right, if he had arrived, he would find out who needed him here. Shoving the phone into a side pocket of his jacket, Rick slammed the door lightly and crossed the grounds with the light gait of a Friday bacchanal. A small billboard was pinned to one of the veranda pillars.
"Dear Ladies and Gentlemen! - The large letters immediately caught my eye. - The hotel is closed for a private party, but will surely open on Monday! We apologize for the inconvenience!"
The text looked promising, and Rick stroked his hands contentedly. It didn't seem to smell like a prank here, but the aroma of roast meat, so appetizing on the breeze from somewhere on the side. Feeling his mouth fill with copious saliva, so much so that he couldn't swallow in time, Rick looked back at the deserted pier with a couple of motorboats tied to it, and in two jumps he swung over the stone steps and confidently pushed through the massive wooden door. However, it did not budge. Castle hesitantly stumbled backward, scratched the back of his head in bewilderment, pushed again, but harder. No, it was definitely locked. Feeling that he was slowly but surely boiling over, he swung his fist, when suddenly he noticed a plastic button on the wooden jamb, the color blending in with the general light-brown background. A sigh of relief erupted from Castle's chest; he grinned involuntarily with a hilarious grimace. So simple! Just a push! Rick happily pressed the elastic button, and in a couple of minutes the deadbolt rattled.
- Yes? - In the dimly lit doorway appeared the lean silhouette of a short woman in a light gray dress and starched apron. Her long, blond hair fell stubbornly to her face, and there seemed to be no use in fixing it.
- Oh, good evening, ma'am. - Castle bowed his head artistically. - Allow me to introduce myself: Rick Castle, the Moonwalker. You see, what a sudden "space" strangeness happened to me: I was in a hurry to the party of galactic rangers, but because of an incomprehensible malfunction in the navigation system was to Western Nebula a hundred and three parsecs closer than expected! - And Castle cheerfully waved his invitation card in front of him. - And if it's the wrong orbit of the asteroid after all, you, ma'am, will show me the way back, won't you?
- Humorist! - The woman squinted her right eye with interest and twitched the corner of her mouth indefinitely. Her lips were very attractive: bright crimson, lusciously firm, neatly folded. The sight of those lips would not only make you miss an orbit, it would make you fly away to another galaxy. In short, just right for a long and luscious kiss, which, in fact, could not be said of the face. The gloomy face, with its garishly excessive makeup, sparse, plucked eyebrows, and angular cheekbones, was a poor match for the sensual cut of her mouth. In addition, the fact that in the manager's face he saw familiar features, Castle was even a little confused. He thought hard, involuntarily moving his eyebrows from mental tension, but the woman did not like his prying interest at all. Covered by bangs, she deftly snatched the ticket from the writer's hand and stepped to the right, clearing the way.
- Come to the counter, Mr. Castle, - the hostess coughed to the visitor, - one of the tables is already set.
Rick just nodded politely and stepped over the massive threshold. A short corridor in tranquil olive tones connected the front door with the dining room. The microscopic checkroom was similarly decorated. Rough bamboo curtains covered the entrance to the hall, and a huge, floor-to-ceiling mirror to the right of the entrance let in dim light from a bronze chandelier. The wrought iron rim of the mirror was made by a real master of his craft, and Castle did not fail to show off. Putting one hand in his pocket and the other over the edge of his jacket, Rick turned sideways; looking at his reflection, he raised his chin proudly. He looked all right in his early forties! A real handsome man, with everything in him: muscle strength and sobriety of thought, and... but let's not talk about it aloud!
Ignoring the woman, who patiently waited for the end of his oddities, Castle strolled imposingly into the hall, looking around and assessing at the same time. Hall as a hall, rectangular, with a sand-colored ceiling, four rows of classic wooden tables on either side of a wide aisle, and other furniture without frills, discreet square dance floor at the bar counter and a minimum of lighting equipment. Faceless, two-colored mosaic floor, pendant lamps on pendulous brass legs and turquoise walls clearly spoke of the lack of taste of the local designer. There was no sense of drive or that special, Friday night atmosphere of hospitality. Young people would have been bored.
- To the right, sir! - The hostess called softly to Rick. - Your booth is in the corner.
- Mm-hmm, - Castle shrugged. Of course, he did not expect a friendly crowd right on the doorstep, but this gaunt all-around manager and a solitary man in a cap and dark blue overalls, diligently scrubbing the dance floor, caused genuine amazement, to say the least. I wonder if there is anyone else here but them, or this janitor will slice a soft pink salmon with these unwashed hands, or put diced canapés on a skewer, after splashing dirty water? Brrr, what nonsense!
Castle sat down at the table set for six people, took one of the glasses by the stem, and meticulously looked through the light. Hmm, perfectly clean, a "cosmic vacuum" - that's all. Perhaps he would try something from the wine list first, and then - whatever happens. And the latecomers were just about to arrive.
- Here you are, - the manager silently rose in front of him and handed him the menu wrapped in plastic, - the wines are not the most refined, but the geography is vast, snacks too - for every taste. The barbecue will come later.
- I will salivate a little bit more! The glaciers of the world wouldn't be enough to save my life! - Castle chuckled softly. Ordering a light snack, he took a knife and fork in his hands and from nothing to do engaged in a light battle against the beige napkin holder. The carelessly pressed plastic, with crooked planes and an uneven base, was fit only for scrap. No one knows what "craftsman" made it, but he, Castle, would not pay a penny for such a thing! Having made several "deceptive" lunges with the instruments, Rick jabbed at the garish branded emblem with his aim. A jab, another jab! There you go, there you go, you filthy freak! Militarily biting his lips, Castle was so carried away by "fencing", that even the janitor, who unceremoniously clattered a bucket by the table, would never distract the writer from the decisive battle.
- Hello, Rick! - a sudden and loud sound came over his ear.