Flu

Chapter 6

Dino Scarpella backhands the copy of The Ledger on his desk. "Those idioti are still saying it was a gas explosion," he announces to his V.P. of Corporate affairs, Chris Carlucci. "How do we get anyone to fall in line over a gas explosion? We need something that lets everyone know we mean business. You call Leo and tell him to have something ready. Next time anyone refuses our protection, the whole city's going to feel the blast."

"Leo's asking for more cash for supplies," Chris responds. "And he wants small, untraceable bills."

Dino shrugs. "Not a problem. You can pay him out of collections."

"But calling him can be a problem," Chris complains. "He won't carry a cellphone, claims one's too easy to trace. We can only reach him when he's in his workshop. He has a landline there, says he's got a metal screen in his walls so signals can't get in or out. Supposed to be so no one can accidentally set off one of his detonators."

Dino shakes his head. "Pain in the ass. Get him on the horn as soon as you can. This flu won't last forever. I should thank God for that. My daughter came down with it this morning. But we have to move fast, that means expanding in fretta while the opportunity is there. Capisce?

"Got it, boss."

Frustration darkens Kate's eyes. "I can't believe I fell asleep while listening to you read Grisham. I don't even remember how the plot came out."

"That's because we didn't get to the end. I stopped reading when I saw you nodding off. While you were out, I caught a little nap too," Castle admits.

"Well, that's good, Babe. You can't be getting much rest sleeping in that chair these nights."

"I've had worse, on book tours," Rick claims. "When I did eight cities in five days, I spent more time on planes than in beds. At least here, I have room for my legs. And when I've switched off with your dad, I've gone down a few floors to the family lounge. There are beds there. I can grab a shower too."

"Good, my nose is clearing now, and the bags under your eyes are big enough."

Rick presses his fingertips to the shadowed skin beneath his lower lashes. "Mother did talk to me about using something for that. But it was ugh, hemorrhoid cream. Never mind. I can always say I'm trying out a Rocket Raccoon look for the next Comicon."

"I don't know that character," Kate confesses.

"Minor at best," Castle admits, "but I've heard rumors that Marvel might be making a movie with him. And you never know what's going to be the next hit. Everyone thought Ironman was going to crash and burn and voila! It launched a huge franchise. But back to Grisham, we only have half a chapter left. Want to hear it?"

"Go for it, Babe."

Carefully gloved, Ryan slips a thick rubber band around a stack of bills and shoves it into an envelope. "I don't know why they can't put the electronics into the envelopes instead of the bands," he wonders out loud. "They'd be easier to make and handle."

"And throw away," Esposito interjects. "But the bands stay. No one wants their wads of cash coming apart. I've got the button camera for Manny. It will go right on his shirt. Are you all ready to go?"

"Yeah. Ooh, and I think Manny's supposed to have a special on shepherd's pie for dinner."

"I don't know how you do it, Bro. You shovel that stuff in, you don't even run, and you don't gain a pound."

"Power walking, Man. It burns the calories, and I'm moving slowly enough to meet and talk to people."

"Female people?" Esposito inquires.

"All kinds. And we can go for a drink afterward without being ready to drop. That's how I met Jenny."

Esposito draws himself up, pulling in his abs. "Maybe next time I'll go with you. I can always use a drink. Now let's get to Manny's. His habanero sauce isn't half bad."

With as much anger in his eyes as he can muster, Manny Feldstein turns over the envelope Detective Ryan gave him, to an intruder who identifies himself only as Manny's new insurance agent. From the passenger seat of their unit, Ryan watches the transaction on his phone with Esposito behind the wheel poised for the chase. The blip on the screen exits Manny's and follows a route to a car parked in a nearby lot. "Get ready, Bro," Ryan urges.

Esposito starts the ignition and lets the suspect's car get a block ahead before pulling away from the curb. "Manny's is in Scarpella territory. He's probably going to their headquarters," Ryan guesses.

Enthusiasm lights Esposito's face. "Yeah? The liaison from Organized Crime said that's in a stripper club."

Ryan sighs, shaking his head. "Which won't matter to you. We won't have a chance to watch the show, just check out where the money ends up. Wait, he's turning. Hey, this area is all offices and industrial, no strippers. Where's he going?"

"You tell me," Esposito retorts. As he rounds the corner, the suspect's vehicle has vanished, as has the blip on Ryan's phone.

Ryan uselessly taps on the screen. "He's gone. Something is blocking the signal. A lot of these buildings have drive-in doors. He could be behind any one of them. We'll have to trace down the owners and run facial recognition on what we captured from Manny's camera."

"You really think Montgomery is going to give us time to do that?" Esposito presses. "He wants every cop out on the street. We'll have to turn over research like that to civilians."

"Like that new tech, Tori Ellis?" Ryan muses.

"She can run facial recognition, but there's another civilian who we know can do research, and he's sitting on his butt at the hospital spending all his time worrying about Beckett."

"Right, Castle," Ryan agrees. "All he needs is his computer, and if Beckett can help a little, that would be great. Knowing Beckett, she'll probably even feel better for doing it. I'll give Castle a call right now."

Rick is dramatizing the last paragraph of the Grisham thriller when his phone plays "The Londonderry Air." "I wonder what Ryan wants." He thumbs the accept button and the tale of the lost signal pours from the cell's speaker.

"Hmm," Rick muses. "One of those buildings must be constructed to block a microwave signal. That may be something we can track down if we don't get anything out of tracing the ownership."

"And even if the owner is hiding behind a shell corp., that fact will tell us something," Kate points out, more animated than Rick has seen her since the flu hit.

"Right," Rick agrees. "OK, Ryan, email me everything you've got, and the crime-busting team of Castle and Beckett will get on the case."

"Beckett and Castle," Kate corrects.

"If not to Dino Scarpella and his merry band of thugs, where do you think that money ended up?" Rick wonders after ending the call.

"Ryan said there were industrial drive-in buildings," Kate recalls.

"Which might accommodate assembling something, something that would require delivery of materials. But the deliveries wouldn't be huge, because large items would require a loading dock. So, shipments in small quantities could be used to make…"

"Bombs!" Rick and Kate exclaim together before she starts coughing again, and he springs from his chair. "That's enough theory-building for now. We have plenty to work with and," he adds, holding up a split-fingered hand in the Vulcan live long and prosper salute, "we always have our mind-meld."