Getting out of the car is a drawn-out ordeal. There is no other way to describe it. The gray haired man slowly swings his legs out of the beige Lincoln town car, stands only because he hangs onto the vehicle, and shuffles to the rear door. When he finally gets it open another drawn-out process begins. The old man drags the walker out and struggles to unfold the first support into the locked position. He allows himself a brief pause before repeating the battle to get the other side opened up and the unit ready to use. He leans heavily on it for another break (it's been 90 seconds since his last one) and then drags a messenger bag out to loop over the handles of the walker and finally starts to inch towards the door. After a mere two steps he stops and glances behind him and confirms his feeble mind matches his body - he forgot to shut the rear car door. Backtracking takes another minute (followed by another break) and the hunched old man finally makes it inside the legal building. He's only a few minutes late even though he pulled into the parking lot ten minutes early.
"Hello there missy. I'm here for an appointment with some fancy lawyer named Michael Smith." The statement is croaked out with a bit of a wheeze.
The receptionist manages to hide her disdain and keeps her response simple, "Please follow me." Heaven help them if she fails to keep the old geezer moving. They move at the speed of a melting glacier while navigating the hallway. The twenty-something is already dreading steering the senior citizen out and hits on a plan to speed things up. "Once you're settled I can bring you a nice cup of coffee. What would you like in it?"
"No, deary, my bladder is the size of a walnut so I don't drink coffee. It always seems to go right through me." The old man hides his smirk because he knows the young receptionist grimaced at the mention of his bladder, but the important thing is that he won't leave DNA behind on a cup. The man keeps his head down pretending to focus on his limited mobility and he rambles to the captive audience, "I have a nice white tea during a snowy winter morning, but nothing hot during these long summer days." They finally arrive at a spacious office and the receptionist shoots Smith a sympathetic grin as she shuts the door.
The lawyer stands and shakes the old man's hand. His grip is surprisingly firm, and the cobalt blue eyes show a fire that contradict the aged body. "Michael Smith. What can I do for you Mr. Richardson?"
Roger Richardson ignores the trappings of prestige apparent in the wood paneled corner office and focuses on the reserved man in a dark Armani suit. Roger pushes aside his walker and drops heavily into the well cushioned leather chair and lets silence linger for a few seconds. "If anyone asks, I am here to buy the property in upstate New York that is listed among the bankruptcy assets for one of your clients."
"Fortitude -the stone manor house near West Point?"
Richardson nods and pulls a folder out of his messenger bag. He opens it to offer a cashier's check and a few sheets of paper. "Here is a $250,0000 to be put in escrow, my full name, social security number, and other necessary information needed for the legal documents. Please have one of the lovely little assistants verify it so you have no doubt as to my identity and good faith interest in this matter."
Smith is surprised. No one should offer a quarter of a million dollars for a property sight unseen. The elderly man may not be in his right mind because there is definitely something off about him. "There is no rush, sir. Tell me what drew you to this property." He sits in the other chair beside Mr. Richardson instead of putting himself back behind the desk. He wants a closer look at this Roger character who seems rather careless with his money.
"Now please! Time is of the essence here. Verify my information quickly if at all possible." He continues to hold the folder out, pushing the other man to take it and start the process.
Smith wants to demure but takes the papers and check. Maybe the old guy is sick because his skin does have a bit of an ashen look that is at odds with the nice crop of dark gray hair. Regardless, he mummers a request into the phone and a paralegal quietly appears and disappears with the check and identity information.
"Birds."
Smith tries to mask his confusion. 'Bird-brain' is the connection that leaps unbidden into his mind. "Pardon?"
"Keep up. You are supposed to be a smart man. Roger Richardson wants to enjoy a quiet place to watch birds."
"Oh, that sounds nice." Why is Mr. Richardson referring to himself in the third person? Smith's instincts are starting to prickle.
"Good. Now that the cover story is out of the way just shut up and listen." The elderly man shifts so the hunched demeanor fades away and a piercing intensity searches Michael Smith. "I know Montgomery mailed you files to make a deal with the devil to keep Kate Beckett safe."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"We don't have time for the bullshit denials." Anger creeps in. "You were Roy's oldest friend. You were best man at his wedding and attended the ceremony when he got his captains bars. I saw the pictures. You were out of the country for his funeral, but sent a ridiculously large botanical display; I read the card. I've chatted with Evelyn many times since that dark day. More importantly, you are the godfather to his girls which means he trusts you with something more important than his life." Castle waits, lets him digest the information.
The flash of pain is quickly hidden, "Yes, I knew a man named Roy, but I have no idea what you think I have."
"What I think is you have done is royally fuck up the dying request of your supposed friend. Roy was my friend too, but I didn't go fishing once a year to satisfy some comfortable tradition like you did; I worked with the man, did favors for him, and he was one of the few I honored with invitations to come to my home and spend time with my family." He spits the words out, letting the anger finally settle on a worthy target, "You failed Roy, you failed to keep Beckett from being shot, and you're failing to understand the current threats."
"Mr. Richardson, I don't know what sort of associate you were in the late Captain Montgomery's life, but I have no idea..."
Castle growls a low and ominous warning, "Cut the BULLSHIT! You are blindly following a script that Roy suggested and have no god dammed idea that they are not abiding by your deal. You know exactly the decades of death and evil I'm talking about. You should recognize my voice even if the Broadway stage makeup has sufficiently transformed me from author into senile old fart." Castle stands up straight, outrage making his movements jerky as he pulls out a burner phone and tosses it to Smith. "Take a look. They are planning to kill Detective Beckett and make it look like she ate her gun. A screen shot of the forged suicide note is on there and you sit here on your ass like a clueless puppet."
Castle is towering, clenched jaw, hands unconsciously fisted, shoulders tense.
Now Smith is getting angry. "Whatever document you've concocted could be a ruse written by this Beckett person to lend credence to this crazy story you're rambling about. I think it's best if you leave now Mr. Richardson. You can pick up your check at..."
"Are you so fucking stupid that you're going to pretend not to know me? Let me tell you how this is going to play out. I am going to provoke the dragon. I can do it blindly, without knowing who he is by announcing a million dollar reward for information that leads to the identification and arrest of the man which will speed up their search for you, or I can do it quietly based on the information that Montgomery wanted to be used to keep his people safe. Either way, the dragon broke the deal and I'm not here to negotiate. I have a simple question: Are you going to give me the files or not?"
A soft knock comes at the door and Richard Castle plops down in the chair looking once again like a hunched old man. Smith takes a deep breath and composes himself, only then opening the door to take the folder the clerk hands him. He glances inside and sees that the background information on Mr. Richardson seems legit and the check is good. He gives Castle a deep penetrating look and gives some ground.
"I don't have whatever files you think Roy sent me."
"Again, you resort to passive resistance. How long will this charade protect you when the dragon sends a henchman to hunt you down? Will you wait until your fingernails are pulled off before spilling your guts?"
The contempt and hostility in the room is rising higher than the noon sun.
Castle pushes like Beckett does in an interrogation. "Did you know all packages over 13 ounces must be mailed at a post office? Despite the abundance of stamps Roy put on the package, he actually had to go to inside to mail it and all packages have tracking numbers."
He points to the burner phone. "The receipt proving he sent you something the day before he was killed is also on there. I got it when I helped Evelyn clean out Roy's desk. And read the fake suicide note. Read about Humpty Dumpty and the missing pieces and Beckett supposedly wanting to join her mother." Castle can't let them succeed. It will kill him. He loves her despite everything but he can't be distracted by her. He refocuses on the nonverbal cues Smith is sending.
A flash of emotion is quickly hidden but the tight lines around the solicitor's mouth are showing cracks in the armor. "Despite the fake identity you've taken a huge risk by coming here in person."
Castle gives a tight nod at the man's reluctant shift in alliance, "You should be worried. They can find you as easily as I did, but I didn't lead them to you. Richard Castle's phone, credit cards, and Ferrari are in Alexandria Virginia at a giant Marriot hotel despite the fact I own a great little B&B just down the road. I'm blowing off a very important publishing event to sneak away from New York to go to the hospital. My weight loss and pallor will certainly support the notion that my health is uncertain and my reckless spending will reinforce that I am personally distracted and mourning the loss of my toy detective. I was careful not to be followed, but if someone did follow me to the hospital, Richard Castle is still there while the old man you see before you shuffled out and drove away in a rental car to a lawyer's office. You've had your people check the identity I'm using. It's solid because it was provided by the CIA back when I worked with them. I have too much personally invested to make casual mistakes or sit back and hope everything plays out like you are."
"Fine," the lawyer spits out. "Roy sent me files but the deal I brokered included keeping the Montgomery family safe - not just Beckett."
"Don't lecture me about Roy's family! I'm the one who's been there taking the girls to Coney Island and setting up college funds. I'm the one his wife calls in the middle of the night when she's trying to mend the hole in her heart left by Roy's death. I've been there - not miles away making a few phone calls and letting them get away with murder. People tell me to 'man up' but I'm not the only one who needs to."
He's calling Smith a coward with using the word and it seems to be working. The man's face has a few beads or perspiration, his complexion is getting ruddy, and his breathing is speeding up. Rick is relentless, "They are fucking ignoring your deal! If they are coming after Beckett, there is nothing that says they don't have plans to hurt Roy's family as a warning to others that work for the devil. It's a demonstration that even after a victim's death the dragon will continue to destroy lives no matter how innocent."
"Exactly! The power and reach of this man... You have no idea..."
Castle laughs, and while it may come out sounding evil, the release is cathartic. Since everyone is questing his moral compass, he might as well put it to use. "I kill people for a living." He waves away the rebuttal and pins Smith with his words, "Yes, my kills are imaginary but I'm rather adept at it. And lest you think I can't stomach it in real life, I look at murder scenes for research. I sat across the table as this man had one of his hired cops killed right in front of me. I watched the lights go out. But seeing is different from doing so you need to know I recently shot a serial killer. I also have connections everywhere - from hackers to hookers, jewel thieves to Jewish zealots, and from the criminal families to the CIA - and no one has any fucking idea the depths to which I am prepared to go."
He pauses and lets that hang in the air for a beat and then promises in a low and ominous cadence, "I will hurt anyone who gets in my way in the most cunning and devious manner I can fathom. Our time is coming to an end. Are you going to tell me where the files are or not?"
Author's note: I know this is a departure from cannon because Castle doesn't get a call from Smith until Beckett investigates the warehouse fire of the bank records. If Smith was a decent guy - and I'm assuming he is because of his friendship with Montgomery - in this "alternate universe" story my Smith doesn't want Beckett living thinking there is still a target on her, so Smith involves Castle as soon as the deal with the dragon is in place which is earlier than in the show. Obviously I continue the departure because Alexis redoing the photo albums for the Montgomery family let Castle figure out who Smith is.
Again, thank you to everyone who reviews, especially the guests who I can only thank this way!