Finding the Fit Chapter 20
"Hey! Stop! Let him go! He's all right," Sal urges his thug. "Richard Castle! Long time no see, but my mother appreciates the signed copies of your books."
"That wasn't funny, Sal," Rick protests.
The capo guffaws. "No, it was f***ing hilarious. Come on. Sit down. Have yourself a meal, and tell me why you're here."
"I'm helping the police with a murder," Rick explains, plopping himself down opposite Sal.
"You know I can't help you with anything relating to my family," Sal warns.
"This one happened up on 133rd Street. Not your territory, is it?"
"No," Sal confirms. "The Spolanos are up there."
"Hear anything about how they might be handling an, um, problem?" Rick inquires as a waiter puts a bowl of linguine and a glass of house wine in front of him.
"More than a rumor, Rick. It's all over all five families. The Southern District caught itself a rat, Jimmy Moran. He's flipping and testifying for the prosecution against a major operation up there – if he lives that long."
"You mean he's got a hit on him?"
"Like major. The Spolano don called in his best."
"Hear anything about the Spolanos hitting a plastic surgeon?"
Sal spins the last of his linguini against the side of his bowl. "You'd have to ask the Spolanos about that. But if they did something that would attract increased NYPD attention, they must have had a powerful motive."
"Like finding a state's evidence witness before he can take down the family."
Sal nods enthusiastically. "That would do it. Try the bread, Rick. It comes fresh from the bakery. And my mother's going to want 10 copies of your new book as stocking stuffers for the grandchildren."
Rick takes a sip of his wine. "She will get them hot off the presses."
Kate's waiting impatiently at the murder board when Rick returns to the 12th Precinct. "Well, did your source come through?"
Rick rubs his shoulder. "After some initial sparring. From what he said, Leeds' mystery patient was probably Jimmy 'The Rat' Moran, who the Southern District flipped on the Spolanos. Chances are their hitter tortured Leeds to try to find out where the feds are holding him."
"And chances are that Leeds didn't have any idea," Kate figures. "Candace Robinson wouldn't release one iota of information that Leeds didn't absolutely need to know."
"Which would have been the medical info in the file you found and when to show up at St. James to perform Moran's surgery. Candace must have even provided the operating room staff. Leeds didn't bring his own nurse," Rick recalls.
"We need to talk to Moran," Kate declares.
"How do you plan to do that?" Castle queries. "Have you come up with some ingenious plan to get around 'Hard Candy?'"
"No, but I'll have the boys dig up everything I can on Moran while I try to figure one out."
Esposito reads from his computer screen. "Jimmy Moran. Hey, he's actually in here as 'The Rat,' aka 'Jimmy Pretty.' Been linked to gambling, loansharking, and extortion schemes."
Ryan smoothes his sweater vest. "You know, if you want a guy to be loyal, you probably shouldn't nickname him 'The Rat.'
"All right," Kate says, "let's start by digging up all known associates of the Spolano Family."
"Yeah, and while we're at it, we'll just bang our heads against a brick wall, you know, for fun," Ryan retorts.
"What's wrong with him?" Rick whispers to Esposito.
"Girl he's been dating wanted to do it in a coffin," Esposito whispers back before addressing himself to the group. "Professional hits are the hardest to close because of the anonymous nature of the murders. The usual rules, like motive and relationship to the victim, don't apply."
"We need to talk to Moran," Kate insists more strongly than before. "Gotta see what he knows."
"Any brilliant scenarios to get around 'Hard Candy' sprouting in your fertile brain?" Rick asks.
Kate's teeth worry her lower lip. "You have your contacts, I have mine, Castle."
Rick groans. "Oh no, Beckett. You don't mean Sorenson? Mr. FBI Lead Agent is still trying to win you back. Why would you – unless you're trying to take advantage of his ambitions? Hey, I'm not crazy about the guy, but as a fellow guy, I have to regard that as dirty pool."
"What's worse, Castle, a little eyelash fluttering or letting a killer go free to take out their next victim?"
"You have a point, Beckett," Rick concedes. "Just don't get caught in your own snare."
Will Sorenson peers into the bakery bag that Kate offers. "Sprinkles, you remembered."
"I remember a lot of things," Kate says, "like the way we used to help each other out. And if I hadn't brought Castle into the Angela Candela case, Theresa Candela and her sister probably would have gotten away with their entire plan."
Sorenson's jaw tightens. "You're not here to talk about Castle, are you?"
"No, I'm here to talk about a murder: A dedicated doctor who was tortured and killed by a hitter trying to get to Jimmy Moran. I know the SDNY has Moran stashed somewhere. I need to talk to him."
Sorenson rubs his palm over his face. "Kate, you know I don't work organized crime cases."
"Oh, come on, Will. We both know how this works. You reach out to the agent in charge. He talks to the AUSA running the case, and then I get to talk to Jimmy Moran."
"And I do this for you, why?" Sorenson questions, a smile threatening to erupt on his lips.
"Let me put it another way," Kate proposes. "The Spolanos know that Jimmy Moran is cooperating with the government. We know that they want him dead because he murdered the surgeon you feds hired to change his face. Your guys put that doctor in harm's way. You're not doing it for me. You're doing it because you owe him and a fiancée who's just had her dreams shattered because some fed couldn't keep a secret."
"All right," Will agrees. "I'll see what I can do."
Martha had turned off her cell phone while she was in the theater and didn't get the alert from Family Tree until she was sitting in the back of a taxi on her way to her apartment. "You all right, lady?" the cabbie inquires at her loud gasp.
"Yes, fine," Martha replies. "And an extra 10% on your tip if you step on it. There's something I have to see at home."
Castle is polishing the final paragraph of a chapter when his phone and his computer give out simultaneous alerts. His eyes flick to his phone first. Family Tree! He has a 50% DNA match! He quickly brings up the home page on his laptop and signs in. A photograph pops up on his screen of a red-headed older woman identifying herself as Martha R. He doesn't need a last name to know who she is. On one of the rare occasions when he took in a Broadway show, he saw her as Mama Rose in a revival of Gypsy. She brought the house down. Martha Rodgers is his biological mother! He stares openmouthed at the button on the screen to agree to contact. He pauses his cursor for just a moment before hitting enter. Twenty blocks away, almost simultaneously, Martha does the same.