Finding the Fit Chapter 36

"Why the frowny face?" Rick asks as Kate stares at her computer screen.

"Molava Whittington sends a text every day with an attachment, but they're both encrypted."

"Who's the recipient?" Rick asks.

"There's just a number. I'll have to check, but I'm guessing it's a burner."

"So what next?" Rick asks.

"I'll send this stuff over to crypto and see if they can come up with anything, but in the meantime, we need another way into Petrovich – or whoever he gets his orders from."

"What about the ladies in the brownstone?"

Kate rakes the hair out of her face. "What about them, Castle?"

"Petrovich and or Simmons must have lined them up somehow. They have a house, and what seems to amount to a housemother. Someone had to hire her and give her instructions for her charges. She'd have to know who that is, or at least how to reach them."

"Good point, Castle. While crypto is at it, we should make a trip to Harlem."

Rick rubs his hands together. "Great! There's a chicken and waffles place up there that's to die for – metaphorically speaking, of course."

"Castle, is there any place in the city you don't identify by the food?"

Rick thinks for a moment. "Probably Coney Island. When I was about 12, Miss Lula scraped together enough money to take a bunch of us kids there. I got to sample the usual stuff like cotton candy, and I begged to go on the Cyclone. I didn't know then that it's the second steepest coaster in the world. It just looked exciting. It was too exciting. I barfed up everything I ate that day, including my breakfast at Compassionate Hearts. Since then, I don't like to think about the food out there."

"I can understand that," Kate sympathizes. "But I don't think we'll be stopping for chicken and waffles. I want to stake out the brownstone for a while, see who's coming in and out before I go knocking on the door."

"Maybe I should be the one to knock on the door – or at least be visible through the peephole. You want someone to open up, and I suspect that I fit the customer profile better than you do."

"Point taken, Castle. But when the time comes, I'll be right behind you."

"Good to know. Can we use the van with the better padding on the seats?"

"No van. There would be too much daytime traffic in and out to avoid being spotted. We'll take my unit, and I'll move it around every so often so we aren't just sitting there."

"Then, on the way, can we stop by my loft? I bought something for my seat. The garage never fixed that spring."

Kate shakes her head. "All right, Castle. I'll give you two minutes to get it."

"I can do it in one."

"This area certainly has come up in the world," Rick remarks, gazing out of Kate's unit. "I was here a few times in the late nineties trying to figure out backgrounds for some of the grittier scenes for my books. These houses were falling apart. But when Clinton moved his post-presidential offices to Harlem, it was like throwing a switch. Suddenly everyone wanted a piece – as long as their piece was prettied up. I wonder how long the ladies have been here."

"It doesn't really matter, Castle," Kate says. "They're here now, and they're connected to Simmons and Petrovich. And whoever the madam or whatever she is, is, must be trusted further up the chain, or Simmons wouldn't be using her stable."

"I wonder if she's an old crony from when Bracken was DA," Rick speculates. "She didn't look old enough, but some of these ladies are experts at keeping their assets up. And she might have started young. Maybe Bracken gave her a pass and set her up to work for him. Dirty little secrets can be a stronger currency than cash. The intelligence the ladies could have gathered from a certain clientele would have been a treasure trove."

"That's possible, Castle. Or this could just be an upscale boarding house. We'll have to observe enough of the comings and goings to find out."

Rick points through the windshield. "And I believe someone worth observing is climbing out of that black sedan. If I'm not mistaken, that's our state's esteemed attorney general, Elmont Speelman."

Kate follows Rick's gaze. "I think you're right. He's headquartered in Albany, so what would he be doing here?"

Rick's eyebrows jump with his guffaw. "What would any man be doing here, Beckett? Getting his rocks off under cover, so to speak."

"There have to be plenty of places to do that around Albany. There must be more to it than that," Kate insists. "I think we turned over a rock, and a very big bug crawled out."

"Are you going to try to question him now?" Rick asks.

"No, he could say he came to visit any place on the block. I'll have to catch him when he comes out again when he won't be able to make that claim."

Rick settles back into the comfort of his newly cushioned seat. "We may have quite a while to wait."

Kate nods. "It should be worth it."

The brownstone's door opens immediately as Elmont Speelman approaches and closes quickly behind him. A woman in a flowing halter dress leads him up a flight of stairs. "Is he here?" Speelman asks.

"You'll be meeting on video," the woman explains.

Elmont's eyes narrow beneath his rapidly balding scalp. "What if someone intercepts it, Velda?"

"Relax! The feed is encrypted, just like our other communications," Velda Brown explains. "Someone could intercept it, but they wouldn't get anything they could understand. He won't be transmitting for another half hour. Would you like a drink and something more interesting to pass the time?"

"I'll take the drink," Elmont decides. "I can get to the more interesting stuff after our meeting."

"Fine," Velda agrees. "Your usual?"

"I know your talent as a mixologist, Velda. It's one of the attractions of your house. Make me something – exotic," Elmont requests.

Velda's accommodating smile almost reaches her eyes as she waves Elmont to a lushly upholstered chair in front of a large screen. "Get comfortable, Baby. I'll be back soon."

Velda goes to a room down the hall where she maintains a well-stocked bar. She assembles the ingredients for her specialty, the Orange Passion. The assortment of fruit juices disguises the hefty alcohol content and, when combined with an attractive garnish, makes the cocktail seem almost harmless. Elmont won't realize how susceptible he'll be to any request the boss makes – especially with her secret ingredient. The state's chief law enforcement officer will go along with anything the boss asks. And if, for some reason, the drink doesn't accomplish that purpose, on Elmont's next visit, it can cover the taste of something that will make it his last. Velda places the Passion on a silver tray, puts a couple of cocktail napkins beside it, and carries it back to the room where Elmont waits. As she places the tray on a small table beside him, he eagerly grabs the glass. By the time the boss makes his appearance, Elmont will be ready. He'll be more than ready.

The screen lights up, and a blond-haired, blue-eyed man in his fifties appears. "Hello, Elmont. We have some new developments to discuss. I have to be sure everything is under control."