Wednesday 2:06 am

Gotham City Security Service

As Beckett and Demming got back in the car, Castle asked from the back seat "Everything okay?"

Beckett spared a quick glance at him before putting the car in gear. "For a minute I thought we were going to have to shoot our way in." Beckett pulled the car through the front gate of the security firm, and then turned down between a couple of buildings. She pulled into a visitors parking slot almost directly in front of a pair of large glass doors. "The night supervisor's name is Kearney. We may have to finesse him."

They got out of the car and entered the lobby. Approaching them was a tall, paunchy man sporting a tan uniform complete with side arm. He smiled at them. "Detectives? I'm Bo Kearney. How can we help you this morning?"

"Mr. Kearney, I'm Detective Beckett NYPD, and this is Detective Demming, and Richard Castle. We need to talk to you about a …"

"Richard Castle? Derrick Storm?! Dude! The reason I wanted to go into law enforcement was because of Derrick Storm." He started shaking Castle's hand like he was pumping water from a well.

Beckett and Demming were standing behind Kearney smiling unabashedly. Castle was at his most gracious. "Supervisor Kearney. Can I call you Bo? Bo, call me Rick." Castle got his hand free, and threw his arm over the fat man's shoulders. "Bo, we are working on a hot case, and could really use your help. Can we go to your office? That would be great." Castle threw a long-suffering look at the detectives as if to say. 'You owe me'.

The four of them passed a lobby desk manned by a couple more tan uniforms, and down a carpeted hallway to a tiny office. They squeezed in, and Bo slid behind the small desk. "Well, Rick," obviously relishing the first name basis, "what can I help with?"

Castle peeked at Beckett and saw her microscopic head shake. "Well, Bo, something weird happened tonight. There were some explosions reported in the warehouse district, and we are having problems finding witnesses. However, someone did report one of your armored cars in the area, and we were hoping your people could shed some light on the situation."

"I'm sorry, Rick, but all of those guys are gone now. Most of them will be back tomorrow morning."

Castle smiled. "Bo, we were hoping you could verify that they were actually there in the area, before we bothered anybody. Car number 468, between eight and eight thirty."

"Well, I'm not supposed to access the historical data without my boss's permission, but I guess for you and New York's finest he won't mind." He squeezed into the chair, and started clicking his mouse. Castle saw him close half a dozen windows rapidly, thought he saw naked pictures, and regretted shaking hands with him. "Vehicle 468? At twenty hundred it was southbound on 11th. Pulled into an alley off Holstein for a drop-off at 20:04. That was their last stop of the day. At twenty-sixteen it left the alley and came back here. It's currently in the maintenance garage, arriving at 20:47."

"Bo, do you mind if we go look at it?"

"What for?"

Castle pulled out his phone, and clicked an app. A wavy line appeared on the phone, cycling regularly. "We can tell if your armored car was near a chemical explosion with this … tool." Beckett rolled her eyes and Demming tried to hide a chuckle.

Kearney looked excited. "Oh. Sure. I think I've heard of those. It's about a 5 minute walk over there." They filed out of his office and re-crossed the lobby. Kearney addressed the guards. "I'm taking these guys to the barn. Call me if anything comes up." They turned right into the parking lot and started around the far building.

At a look and head toss from Beckett, Demming stepped up next to Kearney and started playing the "Do you know..?" game looking for mutual acquaintances. Castle dropped back to Beckett. She hissed, "What is that?" pointing to the phone.

Castle smiled. "Mood Oscilloscope." At her look he hissed, "If you don't want to know, don't ask."

Beckett showed her frustration. "No way they pull a damaged truck in here and nobody notices. Maybe Demming is right, and we are way off base."

Castle shared her frustration. This didn't make sense, and they were following up on his theory. A murder investigation was like a shark: it had to continue to move forward or it would die. "No! It must be an armored car robbery. Everything else makes LESS sense."

They came to a fire door and entered an enormous garage area. Armored cars, interspersed with other personal vehicles, were lined up in 3 aisles the width of the building. They walked down the left hand side, slowing about a third of the way down the aisle. Kearney started looking around, perplexed. "They must have moved it." He pulled his walkie talkie off his belt. "Hey George?"

Static, followed by a too loud, "Yea?"

"Could you give me the twenty on 4-6-8?"

"Wait one … It's in Charlie one niner."

They looked down at the pavement, and saw parking slot C19 occupied by a large red pickup truck with a black misshapen tarp covering the truck bed and tied securely to the high sides. Kearney clicked his radio. "No it's not."

More static. "Sure it is. Between 3-3-8 and 4-1-5." They looked to the left and saw armored car 338 backed into C20, and in spot C18 was 415. They stepped towards the pickup, and heard something or someone moving quietly under the tarp.

Beckett instantly whipped out her Glock and stepped in front of Castle. Castle half turned and straight armed Kearney, stopping his progress towards the truck. Beckett silently pointed to Demming, then a spot 3 feet to her left. Demming moved to the spot and drew his service piece, now in an over-watch position. Castle wordlessly stuck his palm out, and Beckett reached in her pocket and handed him her knife. He flicked it open silently and moved to Beckett's right, never blocking her field of fire. They moved together to the side of the pickup, Beckett providing complete protection to her partner. Castle silently cut the ropes on his side nearest the cab, then both moved in perfect synchronization to the next rope halfway down the side of the truck. He cut those, then looked at Beckett and wrinkled his nose. She nodded, because she had smelled it too. They then moved together to the tail end of the truck, once again perfectly coordinated. Beckett was in a two hand weaver stance and had the unarmed writer covered all the way. Rick confidently started cutting the cords back there. Not a sound had been made by either of them.

Demming realized he was witnessing something truly extraordinary. Two partners in such perfect harmony that they not only thought alike, they thought identically. They actually knew what the other one was going to do … and in the same exact moment. Demming's new bride liked a dancing show on TV, and Demming realized what he was witnessing was one thousand percent more impressive. The perfect dance partners. He'd never seen two people so in synch.

Castle finished with the last strand of rope, and closed the knife and slid it in his pocket. Beckett backed into a perfect crossfire angle and nodded her head. Castle grabbed the tarp with one hand, and with the other held up 4 fingers, then 3, then 2. Instead of 1, he dropped his hand to grip the tarp, and in one smooth move whipped it over to the far side. Beckett and Demming stepped forward, guns ready.

The only living things they saw were two fat rats, scurrying for cover. They'd apparently been feasting on a corpse dressed in mechanic's overalls, his head so far askew it was obvious he had a broken neck. He was crammed between the side of the truck bed and what looked like an irregularly shaped table top, grey and dirty and scorched. Kearney, never having drawn his weapon, stepped forward to see what was happening. He spied the corpse, spun, took 4 or 5 quick mincing steps, and promptly threw up.