Shattered Lies
Chapter 13
Gazing around the House of Chai, Castle takes in the furnishings. The red velvet upholstery on the chairs is a bit garish for his taste, but he appreciates the vintage samovars. Unless he's eating Asian food, he usually prefers coffee over tea, but then Russia, having lost the Ukraine, is entirely an Asian country too.
Rick has a hard time, however, getting used to drinking his tea in a glass. Kate doesn't seem to be having any difficulty. He suspects she perfected her skill during her semester abroad. They're both enjoying the blinis and the caviar, but he can tell that Kate's concentration is on anything but the food. The snippets of Russian he can hear floating around the room mean almost nothing to him. She can understand them although she knows better than to give any indication of doing so.
The best he can do is watch for the widening of her pupils, which only he is close enough to see. Not that he would mind staring into her eyes in any case. They are endlessly changing, picking up color from what she is wearing, or flashing emerald when she is aroused. As voices drift to them from a table in the corner, her irises are beginning to show little snatches of green, a hopeful sign.
Castle takes another sip of tea and considers ordering some baklava. The delicate honey-drizzled pastry is not the best match with caviar, but he does love it. On the other hand, the baba rum could be even more fun, especially if it is real rum and the chef has a generous hand.
This has to be it. Kate's eyes are becoming deep pools. He wonders what information could be flowing into her irresistible ears, but they'll need to return to the privacy of her unit before he can find out. Never mind dessert.
"Out with it!" Castle demands as Kate settles behind the steering wheel.
Kate turns to him triumphantly. "The key word in there was betrayal, and what happens when the Bratva finds out about it."
"I never heard Bratva." Castle insists. "I was straining to eavesdrop on something I could recognize."
"No one would use the word in public. That would be like issuing an invitation to be the model for a Russian version of a jack-o-lantern. They talked about the 'organization.' It was just the edge on the way they said it. The people in there sounded scared, Castle. I think the whole community is terrified. Apparently, whoever is heading up the brotherhood now has something of a hair trigger. If he gets even a whiff that someone might oppose him, he sets his minions on them."
"Did you get a name?"
"They just called him Glava, which means chief. But they referred to Club 28 as his headquarters. That place was a piece of history around here, but it burned down in the eighties. They must have re-established it somewhere, but it's going to take a little research to find out where."
"Why do I get the feeling that you're going to be reviving an old persona after all - not that she wasn't amazingly attractive, especially when strong-arming a Russian thug. But you've got a passel of detectives at your fingertips, Kate. You don't have to put your very appealing butt on the line."
"As far as I know, there isn't a member of that passel who speaks Russian, Castle, at least not one who could pull this off. But I'm not going to try to do it alone. I can get the boys for backup, and some of Murphy's people as well. And to make it harder for things to go too far, you can play my rich, jealous American boyfriend again."
"I don't have to play your rich, jealous American boyfriend. This time around I AM your rich, jealous American boyfriend. And if things start going south, if you don't call in the cavalry, I will. Deal?"
"Deal, Castle."
Kate's foray into the streets of Brighton Beach is a nail biter for Castle, despite the grin of an over-monied but otherwise useless man pasted on his face. But it is a snooze for the FBI contingent and frustration for Ryan and Esposito. Kate and Rick tour the velvet ropes, where the doorkeepers seem more than anxious to admit the slinkily clad detective. Once they are inside, there appears to be nothing more going on than drinking, dancing, and the occasional Russian rap interspersed with rock and roll. Kate is about to call it a night at the last club when the rap starts. Something about it sounds off enough that she records it on her phone. She motions Rick toward the exit when the song ends.
Kate walks as casually as she can, with Castle in tow, to the van parked two blocks down the street. Inside, she hands her phone to Agent Goldstein, who plugs it into an interface with the surveillance system. She listens intently as her recording plays inside the vehicle. There doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary about the words. "Something about this is bothering me, but I just can't put my finger on it."
"The rhythm is off," Castle points out. "Rap no matter what language it's in has a flow, and even with not knowing what the words mean, it sounds like the accents are in all the wrong places. It's like playing a march as a waltz."
"Play it again," Kate urges Goldstein. "Castle, you're right!" She exclaims after listening for several verses. "There are words emphasized that shouldn't be. We just need to figure out why."
Castle checks his watch. "Kate, it's one a.m. I'm fried, and from the way you've been slipping your feet in and out of those deadly spikes you call shoes and massaging your shoulders - which I would gladly do for you - I'm willing to bet you are too. If you want to be in the best shape to figure this thing out, get some sleep. Meet the problem with your sharpest detection acumen tomorrow - or at least later today."
Kate rubs the back of her neck. "You're probably right, Castle." She turns to Goldstein. "Can you rip a couple of copies of that for me?"
The agent presses a few buttons on his console. "No problem."
"Good, then let's shut down."
After recording a few brief case notes, Kate strips and pulls on one of Castle's T-shirts to sleep in. The sheets she slips between are cool, but she can feel Castle's warmth radiating beside her. He's already asleep. She isn't sure if it happened when his head hit the pillow or a fraction of a second before, but he was instantly out. He was willing enough, but she probably shouldn't have pushed him so hard. He never mentions it anymore, except when he has to leave for a physical therapy appointment, but he is still healing. And he was right. She's exhausted. As a cop, she knows that when you're tired is when you make mistakes - like missing the faulty rhythm that Castle detected. As she snuggles against his shoulder, she can feel herself relax. She'll sleep. They both will. If they have a brilliant breakthrough, it can shine after the sun comes up.