Finding the Fit Chapter 47
Juilliard senior Nebby McLeish is pounding out ragtime on the piano as Rick leads the way into the Old Haunt. The writer stops for a moment to shove a bill into the brandy snifter atop the instrument. Bowls of unshelled peanuts grace the bar and tables, and a bartender is efficiently serving drinks. Rick indicates a booth. "This way."
As they slide over the faux leather upholstered benches, Kate points to a picture on the wall. "Oh, Castle, was this you? You were so cute when you were younger."
"I think there's something to be said for a little maturity," Rick retorts, "especially in the bank account. I'll get the drinks. What's everyone having?"
"Does this joint have Dos Equis?" Esposito inquires.
"It does. And it also has jalapeño poppers to go with it."
Esposito nods approvingly. "This place might not be so bad."
Downing the last of a second Dos Equis, Esposito takes a victory lap after besting Ryan at darts. Knowing what a crack shot Beckett is, Rick had asked her if she wanted to join the guy's game. But she was more interested in the blues that Nebby had switched to, singing a verse in a husky alto. Rick joins her for a duet of the Frank Sinatra classic, "I've Got You Under My Skin." Their whole quartet belts out Billy Joel's "Piano Man" before leaving to go home.
"So, tomorrow's the big day," Rick says as their cab pulls up in front of Kate's apartment building. "You should get some rest."
"The beer and the singing helped a little, but the plan still keeps running around in my head. I don't know how I can sleep," she confesses.
"You could try watching a few really dull infomercials," Rick suggests. "The one where the woman cooks about a hundred different things in an air fryer gets sleep-inducing after the first three dishes or so."
Kate shakes her head. "I don't think that will do it. I'd try warm milk…."
"But you're out of milk," Rick finishes. "How about a massage? Those can put almost anyone to sleep."
"Um, Castle, maybe you have a personal massage therapist on speed dial, but I don't."
"I don't either. But I'm actually pretty good. I had a girlfriend in college who used to get tight as hell before an exam. I learned to help her out." Kate raises a brow. "Not that way. All right, sometimes that way too, but I meant by massage. I've also been pretty good at a couple of writers' retreats when my keyboard comrades bent over their laptops too long. No hanky-panky involved. I'm not suggesting any now either, just reasonable preparation for what may be the mission of your lifetime."
Kate rolls her eyes. "Gee, thanks, Castle. That really helped me to relax."
"Hey, I'm serious, Beckett. If ever there would be a time when you need to be at your best, tomorrow will probably be it."
"You're right about that, Castle," Kate grudgingly concedes. "All right. Come up for a few minutes and show me what you can do."
"At your service, Detective."
"Castle!"
"You know what I mean."
Kate knew Castle's hands were big, but they were stronger than she would suspect of a writer. He rubbed them together briskly before he started, so they were also comfortably warm. Despite her qualms, she could feel her muscles losing tension beneath his touch. As the edges of sleep began to quiet her mind, she felt him pull a blanket over her. The lights in the room went out, and she let the darkness take her.
Rick walks the twenty blocks from Beckett's apartment to the Broome Street building. Not much in his life had been harder than stopping at giving Kate Beckett a mere massage. He'd wanted to do so much more, and to have more done with him. It just wasn't the time. Maybe the time will never come, but he hopes that it will, and when it does, they'll both recognize the moment. He doubts if he'll get much sleep. He'll put on the infomercials, and he has plenty of milk. Maybe he'll drowse on the couch after a while. Still, by lining up Randy, he's done his part. It's Kate Beckett who has to be sharp tomorrow. He will, for once, actually be mostly an observer.
A busload of women was spotted arriving earlier in the day. Apparently, Velda Brown had found someone other than Petrovich to provide transportation for her stable. As darkness fell, what appeared to be players arrived one by one. Finally, the arrivals seem to have ceased, and the guards look more relaxed at their posts. Randy reports that conditions are favorable and the latest meteorological information, as well as her own measurements, indicate that they will be for at least the next couple of hours. Kate decides to wait another 30 minutes, just to be sure, before giving Randy the signal to take off.
The glider soars from the top of the hill. Randy has a protective mask positioned to pull into place and the smoke bombs ready at hand. With the direction of the wind, she only needs to get them on the roof in the general area of the air conditioner and the vents, but as a matter of pride, she wants to get them as close as possible. As she approaches the mansion, she makes sure her mask is tight and counts to herself before releasing the first of several bombs. As Randy heads for her landing zone, thick, malodorous smoke is already being sucked into the building.
Even as occupants cough and eyes tear, no smoke alarms go off inside the mansion. Due to the smoking – of everything – allowed inside the casino and his own love of Cuban cigars, Vulcan Simmons had made sure that the ones required by building codes were disconnected. So it takes longer than might be expected for people to start streaming out of exits. A spotter, high in a tree, gives Kate the signal, and her squad moves in to round up the frantic escapees.
In the absence of heat and flames, Vulcan Simmons realizes what must have happened. He doesn't care about anything or anyone else, or any evidence that might be left behind. His only concern is his own ass. He descends the stairs to the lowest level and makes his way to the emergency hatch that will lead him to a tunnel opening out in the woods. Arms grab him as he emerges into the dark. "This little hole was on the plans," Ryan says. "I wondered if I was going to catch a rabbit tonight. Guess you're going to end up in Detective Beckett's stew." After cuffing Simmons, he pulls packets of cash out of the would-be escapee's pockets. "Thought you'd grab a little scratch before you left? Too bad. Maybe a good lawyer could have convinced a jury you were just there to play a few hands. But not after they see this."
As the last prisoner is loaded onto a transport, a member of ESU comes out of the mansion holding a chemical sniffer. "It's pretty clear in there now, Detective Beckett. If you want to search the place, you should be good to go."
Kate glances behind her to Castle, Ryan, and Esposito, who all grin. "Let's get at it."
"We should start in the lower reaches," Castle suggests." After what Ryan found on Simmons, who knows what other treasures are hidden down there?"
Kate marches toward the mansion. "We're about to find out."