Disclaimer: I own zilch-o.
A/N: Sorry for the delay. Real life got in the way. I'll try not to let that happen in the future.
Chapter 13: Manhattan
Booth presses his back against the wall of the alley. He has always known that dying in bed at the end of a long and happy life was probably unlikely, given his choices of professions. Still, dying in a dark alley of Manhattan seems unfair.
Lefty raises his gun a bit higher, tightening the focus of the suppressed Glock on the bridge of Booth's nose. Booth imagines he can see all the way down the barrel to the copper tip of the bullet in the chamber.
"Last chance," Leftie says. "Tell me where she is and I might let you live."
"Sure, after a nice long game of hide and go fuck yourself, pal."
Leftie says nothing about Booth's quip, but something in the way his grip shifts let's Booth know it's the end.
Booth hears the muffled whack as the exploding gas from the gunshot passes through the suppressor and into the world. It's an odd noise - a dropping stack of phonebooks on a rickety table - louder than the movies, but nowhere near what a real shot would sound like.
Booth closes his eyes. He always thought he'd face death with open eyes, take what was due him from a life of bad deeds. But he closes his eyes anyway. He guesses he was all wrong, after all.
One Police Plaza, Manhattan
Three hours earlier...
"This is a complete waste," Booth says, dropping the latest folder in front of him. He leans back in the ancient wooden chair - one that sat in the archivist's basement since 1 PP's opening in 1898. His back is tightening and his patience is completely shorted.
Castle looks up from where he's seated, across from Booth at a table strewn with police paperwork. Bob Armin's life has left a paper trail. As Castle has noticed before, military and police organizations primary purpose seems to be to produce paperwork, with a lot of ancillary things like stopping crimes thrown in when they get around to it. The NYPD is no exception, and the Undercover Division of Organized Crime seems to be gunning for some sort of award.
Castle takes one last glance at the page he's reading and throws the whole folder on the discard pile. Getting into 1PP and gaining access to the archives proved to be a trivial task compared to what came next - thirty-four boxes of paperwork on Bob Armin's life. Castle and Booth have been at it for close to five hours, without a lick of evidence as to why Bob Armin might be a link to The Dragon.
"I don't get it," Castle says, "Everything I've looked at says Armin was as squeaky clean as they come. I'm betting you could find more dirt on Mr. Rogers than this guy. What am I not seeing?"
Booth shrugs, "Nothing. Even reading between the lines..." Booth blows a raspberry and leans in on his hands. "We're running out of pages."
"Distract me."
"What?"
"I need to let my subconscious think. I need you to distract me."
"Castle, we don't have time for crap like this..."
"It's not crap. We've been staring at this too long."
Booth nods. He may not agree with Castle, but he needs a break.
"You kissed my girlfriend."
"Sorry, I ... first distraction I could think of."
Booth stares at him for a few seconds. "Fine, just ... don't go falling into any old habits, okay? Whatever you and Bones were ... she's with me now."
Castle shakes his head. "Temperance and I have never been anything more than friends, Booth."
"Right."
"Ask her. Or don't. I, for one, am happy for the two of you. She's been wanting this a long time."
"How would you know?"
"We've been friends for years. I think I've known her for about as long as you have."
"Then you'd know she hasn't ... this is a recent thing."
"I've known her long enough to know that what she wants and what she rationalizes aren't always the same thing."
Booth looks off at the door for a while before nodding. "Yeah. I worry ... forget it."
"She talked herself out of it for so long that now she's just talking herself into it?"
Booth's head spins back to Castle. Booth wonders if he's still underestimating Castle. "Yeah."
"She doesn't change her mind often."
"Yeah, but ... " Booth stops, surprised by what he's about to say. "She's pregnant."
Castle tilts his head for a second, before smiling. "Awesome."
Booth smiles wide in response. "Yeah. ... yeah it is. I just keep wondering, what comes after?"
"Well, first she'll have morning sickness..." Castle jokes, trailing off at Booth's sour look. "Sorry. What comes after what?"
"I love Bones, and yeah, it's all sudden, but I know she loves me too. But ... we don't really agree on anything. Not religion, not marriage, not parenting or, hell... sometimes I think she'd argue the sky's green, just cause I said it's blue."
Castle chuckles. "Yeah, I know the feeling."
Booth nods, thinking of the other mismatched pairing in their little quartet. "I just wonder when we'll find the thing that we can't stop arguing about."
"Did you know I've been divorced twice?"
"You sayin' you're the wrong guy to ask?"
"I'm saying," Castle replies, "I may not be the best at knowing what makes a relationship work, but I've got a bit of experience with why relationships end. Do you trust her?"
"Of course."
"When you argue, do you think it's because she wants to make you mad or doesn't think much of you?"
"She sometimes thinks I'm dumb."
"Compared to Temperance, we're all dumb."
"Yeah, true. And no, she doesn't do it to hurt me."
"Think she will? Do you think you will?"
"No."
Castle leans back in his rickety chair. "Seems like you're set to me."
Booth doesn't respond for awhile, just thinking about what Castle has said.
"What comes after!" Booth exclaims, finally.
"Yeah, we just covered that," Castle says.
"No, I mean with Armin."
Castle sits up. "You mean after his death, don't you? I don't think I saw anything..."
"I didn't either."
"Thirty-four boxes of crap and nothing about his murder? Would it be in a separate file?"
Booth gets up, goes to the door of the archival room. He leans out the frame and yells down the hall. "Hey!"
A few seconds later, the retired cop that serves as the main archivist comes down the hall. "They don't teach manners at the mayor's office, do they?"
"Sorry," Booth says, straightening up. "We went through all the boxes you gave us. We didn't see anything on the guy's murder."
"Your guy was murdered? I thought you needed his undercover records."
"We didn't realize they'd be separate things."
"Oh yeah, sure. Undercover cop killed in the line of duty...those records'll be sealed."
"And?"
"Oh! Yeah, when was he killed?"
"1992."
"Twenty years ... yeah, those records should just now be available. Name's Armin, right? Gimme just a minute."
Booth watches the archivist trundle off, and turns back to Castle.
"Told ya we need to let the subconscious work," Castle says.
"Still... woulda been nice to realize this 4 hours ago."
Castle shrugs. "Didn't enjoy bonding?"
Booth bites back his retort.
Thirty minutes later, they are back on the street, headed back to the subway, with their evidence in hand. Castle continues to flip through the folder as they walk.
"I still don't see why this wouldn't have come out after Armin's murder," Castle says.
"Nothing was confirmed," Booth replies as he continually looks around, "NYPD wouldn't want to muddy up the story about one of their best undercover guys, especially when he'd just died as a hero."
"Yeah, but they'd still want to find the money..."
"Castle," Booth interrupts, "We're being followed."
Castle closes the folder and starts to look around. "Really?"
"Two guys, standard staggered formation. One of them is watching us from the reflection of that electronics store."
"Big guy, wearing that ugly leather jacket?"
"Yeah, other guy is about a block behind us. We're gonna split up."
"Split up?"
"You need two guys to do a proper follow. They'll both come after me. But if they don't... lead the one that follows you on a goose chase. Stay in public areas, on the subways, whatever. Just stay in Manhattan. Don't go back to the apartment."
"And how do I find you again?"
"There used to be a falafel truck on 6th and 47th."
"Just south of Rockefeller center. Yeah, it's still there. Best place in town."
"Be there in two hours, exactly. Don't stay for more than 10 minutes. If I'm not there, meet me in Battery Park in four hours. If I'm not there either... get back to Bones and Beckett as fast as you can and get everyone to Hodgins."
"I don't see why we can't stay together and..."
"Go left, now," Booth interrupts at the intersection. He breaks right, running across traffic just as the light changes.
He doesn't look back for three blocks.
Booth checks the reflection in a bank window a few blocks later to see that the two guys have indeed ignored Castle and followed him. He decides almost immediately not to lose the guys. He's always been more of a direct action guy anyway. He's going to lead these guys into a dead end and then they'll talk. Or something.
He finds the ideal place to converse in the form of an alley a block later.
Booth takes a hard left into the alley, immediately calculating what he has to work with. The sides of the alley are crowded with dumpsters and assorted flotsam. He turns so that he is facing back towards the street. He creeps slightly to his left. The left side is cleaner, and he's weaker on his left. He wants them in front of him, or on the right, when they come.
He doesn't need to wait long. They come almost immediately.
Unlike the guys from the motel, these guys are the Alpha team. They don't waste time playing dumb or hiding their motives. Booth immediately names them in his head - Righty and Lefty. Lefty is bigger, though Righty, at the same size as Booth himself, is no shrinking violet.
Neither of them has drawn a weapon, which Booth figures to mean that they either have a directive to take him alive or are underestimating him. Or they just want to have some fun.
Booth will give them fun.
Righty stays in front of him, but Lefty shifts outward, so that the two men form a ninety degree angle with Booth as the center. A right triangle of pain. Booth can tell by the way that they move that they've both had the same training he has, and moreover, they've worked together before. Booth's not their first back alley target.
Knives get sharp or they get dull. Booth remembers the dictum from his old drill instructor. For a year now, a year away from Afghanistan, Booth has been getting dull. He can only hope these guys have been getting dull for longer.
Lefty makes a feint towards Booth. Booth shuffles, but he knows it's all for show. It won't be like a choreographed fight, where they take their turns. These guys will come at him at the same time - overwhelming force against a completely movable object. He has no interest in waiting for that moment.
He crouches down into a boxer's stance. Righty and Lefty both smile, thinking he's serious about boxing them. Good, he thinks, it means they don't know that he's been trained. So he has one advantage - he knows more about the situation than they do.
Booth dances, like he really thinks he's in a boxing ring, and they play along. He gets close enough to Righty, and then the opening gambits are over.
Booth kicks out, hard, with his left foot. Normally he's not a fan of kicking, it's a showboat move, and the first guy off his feet in a fight is usually the loser. But Righty is expecting a punch, so when Booth's left foot connects with the inside of his knee, he has too much weight forward. With a crack, Righty goes down.
Booth doesn't stop to watch his handiwork. As soon as his foot lands, he pushes off, bum rushing Lefty directly in the stomach and pushing him backwards into the dumpster. Lefty's air leaves him in a rush, but he still has the presence of mind to clamp his arms around Booth and lock him in a bear hug.
Lefty is dull, Booth realizes, but he's still bigger and stronger than Booth. Booth is going to lose any fight that devolves into wrestling, so he does the only thing he can do, and grabs Lefty by the balls and yanks.
It's not a very civil move. Certainly not one you'll see in MMA. But it is effective.
Lefty lets go of Booth immediately and bends forward, wincing over his bruised manhood. Booth hits him hard in the ear for extra emphasis, and then turns back to Righty.
Righty is still on the ground, not unconscious, but not in any danger of rejoining the fight either. Booth goes to see if Righty is armed when a hand grabs his collar and spins him around, into the far wall of the alley.
He is getting dull. He completely underestimated Lefty.
He pushes off the wall, but freezes when Lefty yells.
"Enough." Lefty is holding a Glock 17 with suppressor in his left hand, pointed at Booth. Booth raises his hands above his head as Lefty brings the gun around, cradles his left hand in his right.
"You gonna shoot me?"
"I know you were in the army," Lefty says. "You know the penalty for treason."
"You think I'm a traitor?"
"I think, if you want to live, you can tell me where Dr. Brennan is," Lefty says, taking a step forward. Booth involuntarily takes a step back.
"Like hell."
"I can put a bullet in you, see if that loosens your tongue."
"Why do you want Dr. Brennan?"
"Last chance," Leftie says. "Tell me where she is and I might let you live."
"Sure, after a nice long game of hide and go fuck yourself, pal."
For all his bravado, Booth takes a step back anyway. His body hits the wall. It's a nondescript nothing of an alley. It seems like an odd place to die.
It takes a second or two after Booth hears the gunshot to realize he shouldn't have heard a gunshot at all. How did Lefty miss? He closes his eyes, and opens them again.
Lefty is no longer standing in front of him. Instead, he's curled over, holding his bloody hand between his thighs and screaming.
Booth looks down the alley towards where Righty was lying. Righty is still there, now completely unconscious. Standing over him, however, is Richard Castle.
Richard Castle, holding his own Glock with attached suppressor.
Castle has shot the gun out of Lefty's hand. Booth, who can put one of the 9x19's that a Glock shoots through a quarter at thirty paces, is impressed.
"Hell of a shot, Castle," Booth says.
"Thanks, but I was aiming for his head."
Booth looks at the still raised gun for a moment. "No you weren't."
Castle shrugs, and then moves to keep the gun on Lefty. Excellent marksmanship aside, Booth can tell Castle isn't used to pointing a gun at another person, so he goes over and picks up Lefty's gun off the ground. It's covered in blood, but otherwise fine. Booth points it at Lefty.
"What happened to Righty?" Booth asks.
"Righty?"
"Guy on the ground."
"Oh, I saw him pull out his gun so I hit him with a rock."
It's not the most ridiculous thing he's heard from Castle, and in this case, it was rather effective, so he let's the statement stand.
"I told you to go the other way."
"Yeah, but that seemed dumb, so I followed these guys following you."
Booth leans down to check on Lefty. The man is curled in the fetal position on the ground, his bleeding hand tucked between his legs. Booth looks at the hand. Lefty will live, as will Righty, but neither one is going to be talking anytime soon. He already knows their after Brennan, which is more than he knew before. Combined with the information about Armin, it feels like a successful day.
"Leave 'em," Booth says, "Let's get out of here."