Finding the Fit Chapter 31
Spying Rick at her desk as she leaves Montgomery's office, Kate hurries across the bullpen. "What happened at your poker game?"
"I hit the jackpot in more ways than one. But I'm guessing you just want to hear about the case."
"You guess right," Kate confirms. "What did you find out?"
"That a gambling den is indeed concealed within Simmons' shop. It's not just cards, either. He has roulette, slot machines, and even keno. Good choice, actually, highest percentage for the house of any game. Anyway, he offers amusements to a who's who of higher level crime figures and their political allies."
"Then why didn't we see the customers arriving and leaving while we were on stakeout?" Kate puzzles.
"Matter of timing. The place is open only four nights a week. And it rotates, so customers have to be on a list to receive the schedule. It goes out at the last minute to avoid the chance of unwanted attention.
"So what were the women doing there on an off night?" Kate wonders.
"My friend wasn't sure. But some of the attendees have noticed mechanical sounds coming from one of the rooms, similar to the cash counters at casinos."
The snap of Kate's fingers carries through the bullpen. "Of course! The drug money! Someone has to count it and log it. That's what the women do when they're not hostessing. And they probably don't know which nights will be which, so they're always dressed to please the players. So, do you think your friend could hook us up with his source?"
Rick vigorously shakes his head. "Not a chance in hell. I don't think he could guard his assets more zealously if he was CIA. He only told me what he told me after three scotches and on the condition that if I ever put anything he told me in a book, he'd sue me into oblivion. He could do it, too."
"Then we'll have to stake the place out again until we can catch patrons of the back room." Kate decides.
"Side room," Rick corrects. "And will Montgomery go along with that? Espo told me that the captain's down on you already for expending too many resources on this case."
"That was before I told him what I got from Interpol. They ID'd Tattoo Man as Sergei Abdulov, part of the cadre who helped expand Re-emergence's use of the drug pipeline between Afghanistan and the U.S. Nailing him could save a lot of lives, right here in the city. And if we can get him to flip on the head of the operation…."
"Meaning Bracken," Rick inserts.
"If you and I are right," Kate agrees. "But even if we aren't, we stand to save a lot more lives. And since the case now involves multiple unsolved murders, Montgomery is letting us go ahead with it."
"Sounds like another long night stretches before us. Actually, it doesn't have to be all that long," Rick reconsiders. "According to what my friend found out, customers start arriving at 10 p.m. and are asked to cash out at three. That would give the ladies time to tote up the take and catch their bus."
"All right. We'll make sure we're set up by ten," Kate figures, "and try to identify a customer we can pressure into working with us."
"Sounds good," Rick agrees.
The surveillance van that Kate requisitioned from the NYPD Fleet Garage is just as decrepit-looking as the one she and Castle previously used, but a different make and color. She parks it at the other end of the block, so that anyone checking, won't see any van in the same place twice.
Rick suggests that since the seats are better padded than they were in the van they used before, the investigation's status is improving. "I think Montgomery might have given the guys at the garage a nudge," Kate agrees. But it won't look good if we've picked the wrong night."
"The place has gone two without gaming already." Rick points out. "If the customers don't arrive tonight, the operation could fall behind on its quota, whatever that is. He points at the monitor as a bay door is rising. "Look, a Lincoln is pulling in, and I don't think it's here for repairs. There must be an entrance through the shop to Hermes' domain."
"Hermes, Castle?"
"Along with his other aspects, the Greek god of gambling. I considered building a book around that once, but I think it would make a better movie. It could be a fun role for some actor, don't you think? Maybe they could get that guy who played the space cowboy."
"Castle, there are no cows in space."
"How do you know, Beckett? There are already thousands of suspected exoplanets, and that's just scratching the surface. There could be cows on one of them, or maybe a whole cow society that enslaves and milks humans."
"Castle, that's bizarre, even for…. Oh, there's another car pulling up, a BMW, parking at the den side of the building."
Rick studies the monitor. "Beckett, I recognize that guy. It's Gomer Senna. I met him at a fundraiser for the Natural History Museum. He was doing a lot of glad-handing, trying to drum up support for his run for the State Senate. I don't think he got very far there. I heard some not-too-silent whispers that his record on the environment sucks. Not a selling point with most of the museum patrons. But I suppose he felt he had to take his shot, much like what he apparently plans to do tonight."
"You think we can flip him, Castle?" Kate queries.
Rick shrugs. "I don't know. I only spoke with him for as long as it took him to realize I wasn't going to help fill his campaign coffers. If he's looking at this place as another fundraising strategy, he might be vulnerable—especially if he has a bad night. Hey, " Rick points at the van's computerized console, "can you run his credit from here?"
"No, that equipment is specialized for surveillance. But," Kate adds, pulling her cell out of her pocket, "I can try to run it from this. You said his name is Gomer Senna?"
"Uh-huh."
"OK. I can't do a deep dive without ordering his financials, but…. Here he is, Castle. Wow! His FICO score is in the dumper!"
"That can happen with gamblers," Castle notes, "especially unskilled ones. I'm surprised he's held onto his BMW."
"If I read this right, he won't hold onto it much longer."
"But if the house thinks he still has a chance at winning a game or two, it might extend him credit so the boss can get his hooks into him when he starts losing again. They might even ensure his political victory by eliminating the competition." Rick pulls out his own phone. "Gomer Senna, Gomer Senna, he's running against Maria Theresa Gutierez, a grassroots candidate from the Hispanic section of Washington Heights. It looks like she's conducting her campaign on a shoestring, Beckett. I doubt she can afford any kind of security. If Bracken, Simmons, or Re-emergence sends someone after her, she'd be a sitting duck. She might need protection, big time."
"Castle, you're running ahead of us at 100 miles a second. We'll check out all the customers, but keep a close eye on Gomer Senna. Then we can cope with whatever situation develops."
"Fine," Rick agrees, starting to type into his phone. "But I'm sending Ms. Gutierez a campaign contribution right now."