Homecoming: Chapter 11
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DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine
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8:24 p.m. East Coast time, Monday Evening, April 23, 2012, Outside the Public Library on 5th Avenue in New York City
The black sedan approaches the large public library building slowly, pulling to the curb. Some fifty yards down the street, just past the library sits a white van. Inside the van is Willie Crockett, along with the mother of one Vulcan Simmons. With them is Linda Williams, the wife of Nick Williams, the first visit Crockett made during his east coast rampage just . . . has it really only been four hours?
Even Willie Crockett has to shake his head at how quickly things have progressed since his arrival this afternoon.
Crockett exits the white van, with a glance backwards towards the two women.
"It is almost over now," he tells them in a voice softer and kinder than either would imagine could come from the wraith in black.
Crockett walks toward the black sedan, watching Vulcan Simmons exit out the rear driver's side door. Behind him, comes Alexis Castle, alive and well.
Across the street in a sitting taxicab is one Richard Castle, who breathes an audible sigh of relief, the sobbing emotion at seeing his daughter alive evident in his voice.
Further down the street, however on the same side of the street as the two vehicles making the exchange, Kate Beckett leans against the building, a large wide-brimmed hat on her head and long coat completing her disguise, a bottle of water in a brown paper bag masquerading as alcohol. She has been on this corner for the past half hour, playing the role to the hilt while searching for anything out of the ordinary.
Crockett lifts his right hand, showing the object in his hand to the approaching Simmons and Alexis Castle. He holds a dead-man's switch. He has told Simmons that he would have it with him when the two men set up this exchange.
"If anything happens, if I see any funny business, I release my finger from the switch, no questions asked," Crockett had told Simmons on the phone.
"I blow the van, with your sweet mother inside, and then I start shooting."
Simmons, of course, had gotten the message loud and clear. He approaches Crockett cautiously. He is making the switch himself. That Simmons is here for the drop-off in person, instead of sending yet another henchman, gains a nod of admiration from Willie Crockett, who expected another henchman.
Richard Castle sits fidgeting in the cab, waiting for the signal from Crockett to exit and come get his girl.
Seconds later, a nervously excited Alexis Castle walks head-first into Willie Crockett's chest, her face plastered into the large man's shirt.
"Thank you, Willie," she sobs, her legs starting to give way now as the stress from the past twenty-four plus hours take their toll.
"Hold on, Alexis," he tells her, grabbing her and preventing her from falling. "I need you to stay strong for just another thirty seconds."
His calming words have their effect, as he feels the young woman strengthen beneath his grip.
"Across the street, the cab in front of the trash can," he whispers in her ear. "Go, now!"
She tightens her grip on the man briefly, and it is all he can do not to give in to the emotions the young redhead shares with him. Just as quickly, she releases him, and glancing both ways, takes off in a quick jog across the street.
Her father exits the cab on the street side, and quickly pulls her into an embrace before ceremoniously tossing her into the back seat of the cab before joining her.
"525 Broome Street," he tells the cab driver, who quickly pulls away from the curb. Seeing this, Kate Beckett quickly removes the coat, tossing the paper bag into the trash can there and climbs into the cab she has held – and paid for – for the past half hour.
Noting that his friends are clear and gone, Crockett gets down to business.
"Your mother is in the van behind me," he tells Simmons. "Walk in front of me toward it."
Simmons complies without hesitation. He just wants this to be done with, and he senses the dangerous man is being truthful with him.
"You are quite the terror people have made you out to be," Simmons admits as he walks toward the van, now wondering if he is getting ready to be part of the same horror he put the young Castle woman through.
"Slide the door open," Crockett tells him, and Simmons complies once again. He lets out an audible sigh at the sight of his mother, alive and unscratched. But the fear in her eyes is something he won't forget. Nor will he forget the fear – and anger – in the eyes of Linda Williams.
Suddenly, Crockett releases his finger from the switch, and a buzzing sound is heard.
"Nooo!" Simmons cries, then stops, confused as he realizes nothing has happened.
"I'm not a monster, Mr. Simmons," Crockett tells him. "I . . . well, that's not exactly true. I absolutely am a monster, just not that much of one. Yet."
He then turns his attention to the women in the van.
"Out, both of you," Crockett orders the women, who hastily comply.
"Now what?" Simmons asks.
"Now the women will walk toward your car while you and I talk for just a moment," Crockett tells him affably.
"So maybe I don't get off after all," Simmons thinks to himself, watching his distressed mother walking toward the car half a football field down the street, resigning himself to what he can only imagine is going to be a gruesome end. If the stories of what has transpired earlier this afternoon and early evening are true, he can expect no less.
"So, Mr. Simmons," Crockett begins. "I have questions. You have answers. Give me the right answers, honest answers, and our business is concluded. Understood?"
Simmons nods his head, wondering where this is going.
"Good," Crockett answers. "Now, like you, I have seen many of these types of abductions. Like you, I have . . . participated in a few of them as well. And I must say, I have never – and I do mean never – seen one of them end like this. You orchestrate the kidnapping of Miss Castle, and within 36 hours you release her, without a ransom?"
"Well, you do have a persuasive manner, Mr. Crockett," Simmons acknowledges.
"Be that as it may, I would be a fool to assume this was all due to my efforts," Crockett corrects him. "And I am no fool. Do I look like a fool to you, Mr. Simmons?"
"No, no, absolutely not," Simmons agrees quickly.
"Then do not treat me as such," Crockett warns him. "No one kidnaps someone and then releases them this quickly, with no money exchanging hands unless they are told to. So . . . I want to know who is pulling your strings, Mr. Simmons. Answer that, and you go free."
For Vulcan Simmons, it is a no-win situation. If he gives up Elizabeth Bracken, he may as well shoot himself. If he doesn't give her up, who knows what this mammoth man will do. Simmons notes that he is even taller, bigger, and more fearsome looking than the reports about the man.
Yeah, definitely a no-win situation.
Then – in a fit of inspiration – an opportunity hits him. It's going to be 50-50. Every time he has called the number, or been called by the number, a disguised voice has been on the other end of the call. Elizabeth Bracken has no reason to disguise her voice again, now that she knows he knows her identity. But it is a chance he is willing to take.
"I don't know who it is," Simmons begins, and quickly adds, "the voice was always disguised."
With that, makes a show of moving his hand to his jacket pocket very slowly.
"Careful," Crockett warns him.
"Always," Simmons agrees, slowly retrieving his phone. "I am dialing the number now."
It rings twice before he gets an answer, and he leaves the call on speaker so that Crockett can hear. A secretly jubilant Vulcan Simmons is just barely able to contain his joy as the disguised, mechanical voice answers.
"I thought our business was concluded, Mr. Simmons," Elizabeth Bracken's distorted voice answers. Simmons takes one look at Crockett, who nods in understanding. Suddenly, he takes the phone from the surprised Simmons.
"Hello," Crockett addresses the unknown voice on the other end. "You may think you have the upper hand. You do not. I am coming for you. And you will not see me when I end your life."
With that, Crockett hangs up the call, and hands the phone back to a clearly-stunned Vulcan Simmons.
"You and I will be in touch," Crockett tells him. "This is a reprieve, nothing more."
Crockett spins quickly, walking back toward the white van. Without looking back, he opens the door and slides in, starting the engine immediately. The white van pulls away from the curb and is twenty feet down the street before Simmons finds his legs, and starts moving toward his car.
"A reprieve, nothing more," Simmons repeats under his breath as he hastily crawls into the front passenger seat of the car. He glances at the back seat where the two women are now finding their breaths.
"Is it really over?" Linda Williams asks.
"Not a chance," Simmons replies, his head falling back into the seat, his eyes closed. "For me, not a chance at all."
"Where to, boss?" his driver asks.
"Drop Mrs. Williams off at her home in South Jamaica," Simmons replies. "Then take my mother and I to the docks."
"You're planning on going somewhere, boss?" he asks.
Simmons turns his head to look at his driver.
"Away," Simmons tells him. "Far away."
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5:49 p.m. Westt Coast time, Monday early evening at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in San Francisco
Lying in bed, barely coming into consciousness, a mild headache greets Marco Rossi, the governor of New York as he awakens. So far, the governors' summit here on the west coast has been a success. He has been able to enhance his reputation as a successful young governor, while getting some free national airtime from the cable networks. They will come in handy this fall in his run for the Senate seat back on the east coast in his home state.
The morning meetings went well, and he retired here to his room after lunch, once a splitting headache overcame him. Thankfully, the jackhammer pounding that he felt only a few hours ago has been reduced to something much more bearable.
He glances over at the small portable alarm clock and radio on the nightstand, and then pulls himself up slowly. Dinner is at 7pm, and so he has time to shower, gather himself and get downstairs to the gala event.
He pulls himself up into a standing position, and glances back at the bed as something has caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He sees the black and white photographs that lay on the other side of the bed.
His heart begins pounding harder than his previous headache, which now is returning in spades as his nervous hands reach down, shaking, as they pick up the photographs. Each one of them is a picture of him – lying naked in this very bed. The young naked girl cannot be older than eighteen, if that. She lies draped over his chest, content in her slumber.
That's when he sees – or rather – hears the young woman in question, who sits, rustling in a chair moved next to the door.
"Not a pretty picture, is it Mr. Governor?" the young redhead from the photographs asks. "Obviously I have the originals. If you want these to stay hidden from the public, you're going to do exactly what I tell you."
"What do you want?" the east coast man asks, his anger flaring at the developments in what was supposed to be a slam dunk conference.
"Why, I want you to lose the Senate race this fall, of course," she tells him with a smile. Standing quickly, she opens the door.
"You will hear from us soon," she tells him as she leaves the room. "By the way, your headache should be gone within the hour."
Walking down the hallway, she takes out a cell phone and places a call. After three rings, she is rewarded with an answer.
"It is done?" City Councilman Barry Adams asks.
"It is done," the redhead replies.
"Thank you, Angela," Adams tells her. Your money will be wired in the next ten minutes.
"Thank you," she smiles. "A pleasure doing business with you."
Both disconnect the call simultaneously. The city councilman smiles to himself, sitting back in his expansive chair at his home in the Embarcadero Lofts off the bay piers. He takes a long sip of bourbon, allowing the liquid to temporarily heat the back of his throat. It feels good. It always calms him.
Eyes closed, he takes a couple of deep breaths before picking his phone up again, this time placing a call himself. Seconds later, he, too is rewarded with an answer.
"Barry," Elizabeth Bracken answers affably.
"It's done, Elizabeth," he smiles. "The election is all but yours, unless pictures of a governor in bed with an underage girl are no longer taboo in this country."
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9:03 p.m. East Coast time, Monday Evening, April 23, 2012, at Martha Rodger's loft on Broome Street in New York City
The knock on the door interrupts the recently-started celebration. The loft is loud and raucous as Richard Castle and Kate Beckett have been enjoying the return of his daughter. Martha Rodgers is beside herself with relief and joy.
The ex-author answers the door, immediately pulling the taller black man into a bear hug. He is somewhat surprised when he notices that Willie Crockett has returned the hug.
"I cannot thank you enough, Willie," an emotional Castle begins. "When Alexis was taken yesterday, I never dreamed we might have a happy ending, even with you involved. And certainly not this quickly."
"It normally does not end like this, I admit," Crockett remarks, disengaging himself from Castle and accepting a hug from Kate Beckett who walks directly into the larger man's chest, much as the younger Castle did earlier on the street in front of the library.
"You sound worried," Kate notices.
"Concerned, not worried," he replies.
"You're thinking this was too easy?" Castle wonders aloud.
"What was the point of all of this, Rick?" Crockett asks. "I have never – ever – seen someone kidnap a victim and turn around and give them right back less than 36 hours later. Not even when I have been on the searching end, as I was today."
"Was it just today?" an amazed Kate Beckett asks.
"Only today, for me," Willie acknowledges. "I have been here less than a day? And they have already given Alexis back to us? This is not the first time I have . . . exerted a little pressure –"
"A little pressure?" Castle laughs out loud.
"A small amount," Willie laughs with him, raising his right hand and showing just a little space between his thumb and forefinger. "Still, this is not the first time I have exerted pressure to try and obtain the release of someone. It never has ended this quickly. Never."
The threesome is quiet, still standing at the door for a few heartbeats before Crockett continues.
"It is almost as if whoever did this had planned all along to return Alexis unharmed," he tells them. "Perhaps I sped the clock up a bit, but I think this was planned all along."
"What do you mean, 'whoever did this?'" Castles asks, now more intrigued by the conversation. Up until this point, he has just been happy to get Alexis back. Now, suddenly, it seems this might not be completely over after all.
"I thought you said Simmons was behind this?" Kate questions, now concerned herself.
"I did, and he was," Crockett admits. "But Vulcan Simmons did not strike me as the type to just roll over after a little pressure has been applied. He even came to make the drop, the exchange himself," Willie adds.
"That takes stones, given the messages I delivered," Crockett continues. "It was dangerous on his part since he had seen what I had inflicted upon his team. It would have been too easy just to send more henchmen to do the exchange."
"You sound like you admire him," Kate tells him with a raised eyebrow.
"Enemies can still show respect," Willie replies. "Him coming showed respect."
"Or it delivered a message," Castle thinks aloud.
"That's how I read it as well," Crockett remarks.
"You think he was taking orders?" Kate asks.
"I do," Crockett tells the duo. "In fact, I am almost certain of it, after the demonstration from Mr. Simmons."
"Taking orders from whom? And what demonstration?" Castle asks.
"Ah, always with the perfect use of language," Crockett laughs aloud. "To answer your question, though, I do not know."
"Are you going to find out?" Kate asks.
"Well, that depends," Willie answers, now flipping his trademark toothpick into his mouth. The transformation from articulate detective to street-smart thug is almost instantaneous. It never ceases to disarm the couple in front of him.
"Depends on what?" Castle pushes.
"It depends on whether or not I'm asked," Crockett answers. "Mr. Carlos was very clear with my instructions. Get Alexis back. Send a message."
"What message?" Castle and Kate ask simultaneously, bringing a smile to Crockett's lips.
"That never gets old," he smiles. "The message was simple. Don't screw with Mr. Carlos."
"I don't get it," Kate replies. "How in the world could they have known that taking Alexis would be considered screwing with Sam?"
"They should have done their homework," Crockett replies, with just a hint of menace now creeping into his voice. Richard Castle cannot stop the shudder that shakes his shoulders.
"They could not have known," Castle remarks.
"They know now," Crockett replies evenly.
Suddenly, the tense conversation is interrupted by the young redhead in the room.
"You guys do know that I am standing right here, right?" she asks the room at large.
She walks forward, raising her hand to Crockett, who gives her a high five.
"Nice to have you back, Alexis," Crockett tells her. "So, Rick . . . got anything good to drink here?"
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A/N: I am posting multiple chapters tonight, as I know it has been a long time since I picked this back up. COVID has been rumbling throughout our family, hitting our sons, daughters-in-law, and two young grandsons right as school started. Thank God everyone is ok, although it did get dicey with our oldest son. Just thankful and frustrated all at the same time. But more grateful than anything else.
This story is just about over. As you can tell by now, the kidnapping of Alexis Castle is not the real story here. We have yet to unveil that mystery yet, but it is coming in the next couple of chapters as we end this story and jump into the next one. Remember, as I said back in chapter 1 – I have had this story in my head for a while now, and just needed the right circumstances to bring it about.