Judas: Chapter 6
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DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine
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11:03 a.m. West Coast Time on Thursday, April 26, 2012, at the Presidio in San Francisco, California
Vulcan Simmons, the ex-drug lord in New York City, sits on the plush sofa overlooking what appears to be a forest of trees. He is struck by the peaceful beauty, the quiet in what he suspects is often a room a great violence.
"As they say, we're not in Kansas anymore," he thinks to himself, reflecting back on the one-sided conversation he just witnessed.
Clearly, the man Sam Carlos was speaking to was Richard Castle. If there was any doubt in the drug man's mind about the closeness of the relationship, they have just been blown apart permanently. With that, the butterflies in his stomach explode, as he begins to rethink the wisdom of volunteering to come here. Just days before, he had kidnapped Richard Castle's daughter. As a result of that lapse in judgement, his entire senior operation in New York was decimated – in a day.
His mother accosted and taken – on that same day.
His cruise liner sunk – on that same day.
His death to the city at large announced – on that same day.
And now, he finds himself willingly in the lion's den, sitting across from the man who ordered the operation, and next to the man who executed the operation that destroyed Vulcan Simmons' livelihood, and life as he knew it.
He takes a deep breath, remembering that if this man wanted him dead, he'd be dead, no doubt about it. He is only alive because they want him alive. For what purpose, he does not know, but he has made the decision not to let a lot of grass grow under that decision, underneath this new fertile ground. Not with his one ally on the east coast, the widow of the Senator, evidently trying – unsuccessfully – to orchestrate his death.
"First of all," Simmons begins, "I want to thank you – I want to thank both of you – for sparing my life earlier this week."
"You have Mr. Crockett here to thank for that," Sam Carlos smiles. It is a sinister smile. There is nothing kind or inviting about this smile. More of a smirk, really.
"That was his decision entirely," Carlos continues. "Truth be told, Mr. Simmons, I am surprised . . . incredibly surprised that he allowed you to continue living. Please keep that in mind in these next few moments."
Vulcan Simmons almost comically squeezes his legs together, an involuntary reaction to what he has just heard. Still, he knows that this course of action – and this initial meeting – is his best play.
In fact, as a dead man, it is his only play.
"Well, let me get right to it," Simmons begins. He turns to face Willie Crockett, who sits next to him, dwarfing him on the sofa.
"You suspected that someone was pulling the strings to the kidnapping of Miss Castle earlier this week," he continues.
"You were right. You were absolutely right. And I know who that someone is."
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11:10 a.m. West Coast Time on Thursday, April 26, 2012, in the main cafeteria at the Castles Complex in Sausalito, California
The noise. The bustle. The air of . . . almost peaceful contentment . . . that is what she notices most as she stands in the buffet line, waiting to pick out her brunch items this morning.
She gazes across the line of food – both lunch items and breakfast items are currently attacking her nostrils – nodding her head in satisfaction. No expense has been spared. She has grown used to that obvious fact in the short time – less than twenty-four hours – she has been here.
But the attitudes of the women and children here – not as refugees in hiding – but more as welcome residents who have settled in comfortably – that is what strikes her most. There are smiles. She hears actual laughter. Subconsciously, she smiles to herself.
"You're new here, aren't you?" she hears a voice in line behind her ask.
She turns around in time to see the smiling face of a small red-haired little girl. She looks to be about eight years old. Her mother stands behind her, beginning to apologize profusely.
"I'm so sorry," the young girl's mother begins. "Jamie is very attentive and knows pretty much everyone here. Since she hasn't seen you before, she assumes you are new."
"And her assumption is correct," Elena Markov replies affably, reaching down to shake the young girl's hand as an introduction.
"Hello Jamie," Elena continues. "My name is Elena."
"Hi Miss Elena," Jamie answers.
Elena allows a mock frown of horror to paint her face.
"Miss?" she utters with a chuckle. "I have never felt so old and unsuccessful," she laughs.
Surprisingly, young Jamie's mother chuckles with her, as she steps in to introduce herself.
"I'm Lori Houston," she begins with a smile. "
"Elena Markov," Elena replies, offering her hand, which Lori accepts and shakes quickly and lets go just as quickly.
"When did you arrive here, Elena?" Lori asks.
"Just last night," Elena answers. "It's been an interesting night and morning, to say the least.
"That first night is a doozy," Lori recalls. "I remember mine like it was yesterday – like yours," she adds, chuckling. Elena finds herself immediately liking this woman.
"How long have you been here?" Elena asks.
"This would be . . . almost three weeks," Lori answers, hesitating as she mentally counts off the days in her head.
"Achooo!" her young daughter sneezes.
"Ah, well that explains why this little one isn't in school," Elena remarks. "How are you feeling, sweetie?"
"I'm better than yesterday," young Jamie replies. "I just can't stop sneezing and it's hard to breathe at night. I hate being stuffy. Mommy makes me keep turning from side to side, and –"
"And Elena doesn't need a complete blow by blow, Jamie," her mother laughs. "Sorry again, but Jamie is probably the most outgoing child you will ever meet."
Elena nods her head, pointing out items she wants to the waitstaff behind the buffet lines.
"Two pancakes, please, and if you don't mind, a couple of pieces of bacon," Elena tells the worker. Lori makes her selections as well, as the two women and young girl make their way down the line, until they are at the end.
"No cashier?" Elena marvels out loud.
"Nope," Lori replies. "No expense spared, no expense for you or me. For any of us. That's kind of the unwritten rule so far since I have been here."
Elena turns and looks around for an open table.
"Do you mind if we join you?" Lori asks. "Believe me when I say this, Jamie is going to end up at your table before all is said and done, so I'm just trying to be proactive about the inevitable."
"No, no, not at all," Elena replies. Her plans for a 'loner disguise' aside, the easiest way to gather information about this place to is to develop relationships with some of the people here. Walking the thin line between recluse and friendly is something she is accustomed to traversing.
"It will be nice to have some . . . company," Elena tells the mother and daughter, forcing a smile to her face.
The threesome settle on a table, and – placing their plates and glasses on the table – pull out chairs and settle in for a nice meal. Once again, the sound of laughter in this place surprises Elena. She glances around, taking it all in.
"It's strange to hear laughter here, right?" Lori says knowingly, not asking the question. "I had the same reaction. But it's wonderful, actually. I don't know why, I don't know how, but this is the one place we all seem to just relax. Even more so than in the very luxurious homes being provided here."
"Luxurious doesn't even begin to describe this place," the European beauty agrees.
They begin to eat in silence for a few minutes. Jamie is twirling the syrup on her waffles, much to the chagrin of her mother.
"Don't waste food, Jamie," she tells her daughter.
"You're not married," Elena remarks.
"No," Lori replies. "How did you know?"
"Your ring finger," Elena tells her. "No indention. I didn't expect to see a ring. But since there is no indention, I assume you are here because of your boyfriend?"
On the surface, it's an insensitive topic to raise with the young girl here. But in Elena's mind, that's the point. The young girl is here. Not anywhere else. The likelihood that she has witnessed some awful sights with her mom and her dad is quite high, she decides.
"Girlfriend, actually," Lori tells her. She laughs aloud, seeing the surprise on Elena's face.
"Not as infrequent as you might think," Lori continues. "Same-sex domestic violence is often equal to what most heterosexual women face. Some studies say it is actually higher in some cases."
"I didn't know that," Elena remarks, filing the information away, as she does all data. You never know when something will come back to play a valuable role in creating one's strategy.
"Adopted?" Elena mouths silently, her eyes pointed at the little girl.
Lori nods her head, appreciative of the understanding from the woman at the table. The sadness Elena feels as she gazes between mother and daughter is real. Once again, she finds herself questioning her role here in this place.
"I'd like to . . . hear . . . I'd like to understand your story," Elena whispers, "when you have some time to talk. I suspect I will be here for a bit . . . I mean, if it's all right with you, I don't mean to pry –"
"That's fine, Elena," Lori tells her, smiling. "Trust me, talking to one another about our lives, about our choices, about our decisions . . . it is very helpful here, and quite encouraged, actually."
"Mommy Cindy was very mean," Jamie adds innocently between waffle bites. Lori smiles, and Elena files this information away also, trying very hard to remain detached from the moment.
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At the same time, 11:10 a.m. West Coast Time on Thursday, April 26, 2012, back at the Presidio in San Francisco, California
"And who might this gentleman be, who so foolishly took the daughter of my friend?" Sam Carlos asks.
In truth, agreeing to take this meeting with Vulcan Simmons is turning out to be far more profitable than Carlos had dreamed. Yes, he anticipated getting some information some day soon from Simmons after Willie Crockett spared his life. But the fact that someone was trying to have him killed, and now everyone thinks he is dead . . . on the surface that might look like a win to an outsider, but Sam Carlos understands how the events of a few days ago absolutely have exhausted Vulcan Simmons' very limited options.
"Not a gentleman at all," Simmons begins. Willie Crockett chuckles, agreeing for the moment.
"You're right, a gentleman would not do something so untoward," Crockett remarks.
"No, I mean this is not a man at all," Simmons smiles, happy that he is giving new information to the duo.
"The person you are wanting to look for is a woman," Simmons continues. "And not just any woman either."
"Laying the drama on a bit thick, don't you think, bro?" Crockett offers, with just a hint of menace in his voice. It works, as Sam Carlos smiles at the east coast visitor.
"Her name is Elizabeth Bracken," Simmons tells them.
It is only because Vulcan Simmons has learned – in his profession – to read people quickly that he sees the recognition – and more – the surprise on the face of Sam Carlos, who sits across from him. Just as quickly, any air of recognition is erased from Carlos' face, as the man recovers quickly.
"You don't say," Carlos remarks, glancing at Willie Crockett. Crockett too, understands the ramifications of this new information.
Vulcan Simmons smiles, feeling a reprieve of sorts coming.
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A/N: I hope to have the next chapter uploaded this weekend. Thank you to everyone here. A new character introduced in this chapter – one who will have long-term ramifications.