Papa Jack Chapter 36

Richard drags himself out of bed later than he had planned but still manages to reach Ms. Nekras early in her workday. "Ms. Nekras, my partner in planning my event, Martha Rodgers, would like to tour your facility before making a decision. However, due to her current role on Broadway, her schedule is quite tight. In order to make our determination as soon as possible, she'd much prefer a tour this coming Monday."

Richard can almost hear Nekras' accommodating smile as she responds. "Of course, Mr. Castle. Starring on Broadway must be quite demanding for Ms. Rodgers. I can make an opening at 11:00 am on Monday if that will serve her needs."

"That should serve her needs very well, Ms. Nekras," Richard replies. "We will both see you then."

Wandering into the kitchen, Richard starts a fresh pot of coffee. While he's waiting for it to brew, he downs a tumbler of orange juice and gets out his favorite frying pan. The still-sleepy writer wants eggs but hasn't the wherewithal to craft an omelet. He'll scramble them and pair them with nuked bacon. It won't be his most creative meal, but he's not feeling very creative. Mostly, he's feeling an itch to meet up with Kate Beckett at the 12th Precinct, but right now, that option is off the table.

Montgomery studies a printout of the city's official blueprints of Vulcan Simmons' shop and compares them with Lionel Marcus' statement. "You're right, Beckett. These don't match up. There's nothing here about residential quarters. So you suspect Simmons might also be hiding something that would complicate our operation?"

"Maybe it's just paranoia, Sir, but Simmons has managed to slip the noose for over a decade. Everything points to a man who is slippery and smart. If I were in his shoes, I would have an emergency escape route."

"I would too," Montgomery agrees. "All right, I'll talk to Captain Anderson, and we'll see what we can figure out. We might need extra reconnaissance to make any changes to the plan, and with a pie with this many fingers in it, we don't have much time left. But I'll do the best that I can to make sure Anderson has everything covered."

Kate nods. "I appreciate that, Sir."

Montgomery tosses his paperwork onto his desk. "You'll have something much better to appreciate when we nail that SOB."

On Friday night at 10:59 pm, a black Lincoln pulls up to a bay door at Simmons' auto body repair shop. The door immediately rises to admit the vehicle and descends behind it. With a broad smile on his face and gold chains rattling, Vulcan Simmons crosses the concrete expanse of the repair area to meet the driver. "The candyman is right on time. Let's see the sweet treats you brought." The driver opens the trunk, revealing ten carefully packed kilograms of heroin. Simmons' smile spreads to a grin. "Very sweet. Unload it."

"Money first," the driver demands.

"It's in my private vault," Simmons replies. "I'll get it." He starts toward the side of the shop.

While ESU members, DEA, and FBI agents, weapons ready, observe the body shop from the roofs and windows of adjacent structures, a small squad of ESU cops – and Kate Beckett – close in on an almost invisible hatch in a nearby overgrown, empty lot. "We're a go," Captain Anderson announces on his radio. Fully armored with shields, ESU officers break through doors and into the shop. A cordon of rifle barrels surrounds the Lincoln while pairs of officers stay behind to cover the exits.

Almost to his vault in his bedroom, Simmons startles at the sound of the elite police unit breaking through the doors of his headquarters. With long, hurried strides, he approaches the steel door and rapidly punches in the combination. After yanking the door open, he grabs the nearest thing he can find to hold as much cash as possible: a red satin pillowcase. Breathing hard and sweating, he stuffs it full and pulls a handmade rug away from a trap door next to the bed. Tightly grasping the pillowcase, he descends a ladder into a tunnel. Gasping, he runs along the concrete floor of the tunnel until, after climbing another ladder, he emerges from the hatch in the empty lot.

Backed by officers with their weapons trained on the fleeing drug dealer, Kate Beckett steps out of the shadows. She aims her gun at Simmons's brightly arrayed chest. "Vulcan Simmons, you are under arrest for drug trafficking. Hands behind your head, down on your knees."

"You don't know who you're up against," Simmons warns.

"Down on your knees, hands behind your head," Kate repeats. "And when we get to the 12th Precinct, you can tell me all about it."

"Lawyer," Simmons retorts, obeying with a nervous edge in his still booming voice.

Navigating around gold bracelets, Kate snaps handcuffs on his wrists. "I assure you, Mr. Simmons, that you will be seeing more lawyers than in your worst nightmare. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?"

Vulcan Simmons snorts. "I understand them better than you."

"With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?" Kate continues.

Simmons' eyes sweep upward. "With a hot little bitch like you, the last thing I'd wanna do is talk."

Shaking her head, Kate points toward a squad car, pulling up at the curb near the lot. "Get him the hell out of here."

At one am Saturday morning, Richard grabs his phone on the first ring. "Beckett?"

Kate's triumphant announcement pours through the receiver. "We got him, Castle. We got Simmons and the drugs. We also got the driver who delivered them. He is wearing one of the seal rings. Oh, and Simmons tried to make off with a pillowcase full of cash. We got that, too. Because of the drugs, the DEA is getting the first shot at questioning Simmons. They're supposed to have some bigwig in to do it in a few hours. After that, I should have my shot, maybe after lunch. You wanna come in and join me?"

"Beckett, wild horses couldn't stop me. And I'll bring you lunch. Remy's best with extra fries?"

"And extra ketchup. See you later."

"See you later."

With a sudden yawn, Richard lays the receiver back in its cradle. The last thing he would have expected that night was to feel the least bit sleepy. But now that he knows Simmons is in custody and Beckett is safe, the sandman's tug is almost irresistible. He'll have to pass through nearly a day's worth of hours before seeing Beckett again. Sleeping is probably the best way to get through them. Remy's doesn't serve breakfast, but it opens for lunch at 11:00 am. The staff doesn't usually take call-in orders, but he's a good enough customer that they'll oblige him. They can have juicy burgers and crisp fries ready and waiting for him to ferry them to the 12th Precinct. And, he reminds himself, he can't forget the extra ketchup. He writes, "Extra ketchup," on a pad of sticky notes by the phone and attaches the slip of paper to the receiver. Then, after being hit by another yawn, he heads to bed.