Papa Jack Chapter 9

Richard drags himself into his loft to find his father waiting for him. "I saw you listed as a celebrity at the Garden. After that, I heard about the bomb threat. Then I got an alert from the agency that you were the one who sounded the alarm. What the hell happened?"

"Can I get a cup of decent coffee before I give you the sit rep?" Richard asks. "The sludge at the 12th Precinct tastes like a monkey peed in battery acid."

Jack's expression softens. "Of course, Son. It must have been a hell of a night."

Richard starts loading his coffee maker. "One of Anna Volkov's thugs decided to stick a knife in my ribs."

Fear flashes through Jack's eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. I didn't realize it until after I'd done it, but I used maneuver #6."

Jack suddenly chuckles. "I knew that was worth pounding into you."

"After you started me off, I did some pounding myself. But anyway, as soon as Anna's boy spoke, I realized when I had heard the voice before and figured he might be up to more mischief than just trying to skewer me." Unbidden, a smile spreads across Richard's face. "Fortunately, there was a lady cop who was willing, if skeptically, to listen." His smile fades. "After that, the NYPD decided to put their grill marks on me for a while, then some asshole named Sorenson from the FBI asked a lot of the same questions before he finally cleared me to go home."

Jack quirks an eyebrow. "The feebies do tend to run toward assholes. Anything special about this one?"

"He tried to hit on Officer Beckett."

"The lady cop?"

"Uh-huh."

"I see. So, how much did you have to tell the NYPD and the asshole?"

"If you mean, did I leave you out of what I said, I did. They asked me who my kidnapper called, and I told them she referred to you as a jackal. You never did tell me where that came from. Some kind of a code name?"

"Not as an operative for our side. It has more to do with superstitions from over there. In some corners, a jackal is viewed as a sorcerer, and they're not talking Disney. I showed a certain talent for escaping sticky situations."

"I saw that first hand," Richard agrees. "Oh, thank God! Coffee's ready." He pours mugs for himself and his father. "The NYPD and the FBI were pretty closed-mouthed about the details of the bomb threat. Did you hear anything?"

"Details like that are bound to leak. So far, what's out there is that the bombs were planted at the exits. The obvious conclusion is that, in order to cause the greatest loss of life, they would have been detonated at the end of the fundraiser when the majority of the attendees were leaving the Garden. By putting the cops on it when you did, you probably prevented a massacre."

"But if the cops had found a detonator on the guy who attacked me, I wouldn't have had to convince them there was a threat. So he must have at least one confederate," the writer realizes.

"Uh-huh," Jack agrees, "which means the city – the country – is still under threat. And they might come at you again."

Richard sinks into a chair. "So what am I supposed to do, Dad?"

"I've requested official reactivation. That will give me access to any chatter as to who's still out there. But it might not hurt to hang around with the cops as much as you can."

"Maybe I can call it research," Richard considers. "And I might even get to see Beckett again."

"The city owes you a lot, Richard. I can't think of a better time to call in the debt."

"Neither can I."

"Just one more," the photographer requests as Kate fidgets next to Richard. "Smile, Officer Beckett."

"This is ridiculous," Beckett complains as the elevator doors close behind the photographer and accompanying journalist. "I was just doing my job."

"I wasn't," Richard reminds her, "unless you count raising money for a worthy cause my job. But from what I understand from your captain, the commissioner and the mayor don't want the Feds grabbing the credit for a problem uncovered by a cop doing her duty and an author in the wrong place at the right time. And the mayor's mother is a fan of my books. She's enjoying all of this. So you might as well go with the flow, Officer Beckett."

"Why does the flow have to include you shadowing me on the street and hanging around the precinct, sticking your nose into cases?"

"Because, in case you've forgotten, Officer Beckett, I was a target, and with Detonator Guy still out there, may still be. Hanging with you and your brothers and sisters in blue is a whole lot more fun than living under the penetrating gaze of a protection squad – and cheaper for the department. It also will give me a chance to research my books."

"Uniformed cops don't do much in your books."

"You read them?" Richard queries.

"My mother did."

"Did? Something I wrote turn her off?"

"No, some bastard with a knife turned her off – permanently. She was murdered when I was in my freshman year at Stanford. Reading your books helped me feel closer to her, but it wasn't enough. Her murder was never solved. So, I transferred to John Jay and became a cop."

"Hoping to solve it?"

"Castle, in case you're unaware, once a murder investigation goes longer than about three days, the trail goes cold very fast. The department rarely tries very hard to warm it up again."

"So you became a cop to keep the heat on?"

"Something like that. But as a cop on the street, it's been hard to turn up the flames. I took the detective exam months ago. I'm still waiting to hear the results."

"You'll make it," Richard asserts. "If anyone is worthy to tackle the mysteries of crime-solving, it's you. And I'll have the best seat in the house."

"What? How long do you intend to keep trailing after me, Castle?"

"At least until Detonator Guy is caught. And who knows? Maybe I can help you solve your mother's murder."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"I have resources, connections I've made over the years with experts in every field connected with my stories. If the cops on your mother's case dropped it that fast, there has to be something they missed."

"Nothing I could find, Castle. I snuck a copy of her file out of the archives, and I've gone over it at least a hundred times."

"It can't hurt to have a fresh set of eyes, Officer Beckett. Where's the file?"

"At my apartment, with some of my mother's things."

"When you finish your shift, I'd be glad to take a look," Richard offers.

Sighing, Kate shakes her head. "I don't know what you'll see that I haven't."

"Maybe nothing, but I can also buy you dinner. You do eat, don't you, Officer Beckett? What propels you into gustatory heaven? Pasta? Filet mignon?"

"Actually, more like a good burger, some fries, and a shake," Kate admits.

Richard grins. "Perfect! I know where they make the best burgers in town – and we won't even need a reservation."

"All right," Kate agrees, "burgers later. But right now, I need to get back on patrol. Coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it."