Papa Jack Chapter 50
For an extremely swift trip from the TV studio to the 12th Precinct, Richard tips his cabbie double and asks him to wait. He dashes off the elevator toward Kate's desk. "Ready to go, Beckett? I snagged the first table of the day at Chez Lillas Pastia."
Shoulder slumping, Kate regards the stack of documents on her desk. "Castle, after everything with Coonan, I have so much paperwork to get through. Can't we just order pizza or something?"
"I don't want a place where every eager ear will be trying to catch the details when I fill you in about Bracken. And believe me, there's a lot to fill in. Come on! We'll have to make lunch fast anyway. I have a plane to catch in a few hours, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember. And I caught you on Kimmel last night. You weren't bad."
"Nice to know my efforts at being amusing were appreciated, but if you're coming, we really need to get this show on the road."
Kate grabs her purse from her desk drawer and her jacket from the back of her chair. "OK, let's go."
"Chez Lillas Pastia," Kate considers after Richard gives the cab driver their destination. "Isn't that from Carmen? The opera is in French but takes place in Spain."
"Two points, Beckett, and the restaurant serves Spanish food. The paella is to die for and not too heavy for lunch. Do you like opera?"
"I'm more of a jazz girl, but my father does. He and my mother used to go together. After she was killed, he didn't go for years, but in the last few months, he and I have gone together a couple of times. It was nice."
Castle nods. "I'm sure it was. My dad and I go to the movies together occasionally. He likes foreign films. With all the languages he speaks, he doesn't need the subtitles, but I do. Sometimes, I'll hear him chuckling when the official translation doesn't match what's actually being said. Later, he'll clue me in to some double entendre I would have missed entirely."
The corners of Kate's mouth tweak upwards. "That does sound like fun. With all your dad's language prowess, do you speak anything besides English?"
"In school, they wanted to give me French because it was part of the faster academic track, but I decided to take Spanish too, as an elective. I wanted to understand what the people in the bodega on the corner were talking about. What I learned in class didn't cover what I wanted it to, but Dad helped me out. At least I know when I'm being insulted."
Kate giggles. "I took French to start in school, too, and then I went to Russia for a semester and picked up a lot of Russian. I know what you mean about people insulting you when they don't think you understand. I heard some interesting comments on the Moscow subway. But hey, on the phone, you said you had an update on Bracken. What have you got?"
"I'll tell you when we get to the restaurant. I asked for a table with maximum privacy."
Kate's reluctance is evident in her perch on the edge of her seat while staring ahead as best she can through the barrier between the back and the cabbie. "Yeah. Sure."
The hostess unlocks the customer entrance to Chez Lillas Pastia just as Richard and Kate arrive. Richard beams. "Perfect timing."
"Mr. Castle?" the hostess inquires.
"Yes," Richard acknowledges.
"The table you requested is ready." The hostess leads the way to a table for two in a back corner of the dining room. Smiling as the couple seats themselves, she hands them menus. "Your server will be right with you."
Richard glances over his menu at Kate. "I'm not even going to ask you about wine in the middle of a cop's busy day, but they have a sprightly mix of juices here, the one they use for sangria – minus the kick. It's still a lovely accompaniment. We could share a pitcher."
"Fine," Kate agrees, barely looking at her menu. "And you said the paella is good. I'll go with that. But Castle, you told me that when we got our private little table, you'd tell me about Bracken. Come on! Spill!"
Richard looks up. "Oh, the server's coming now. As soon as she takes our order, I'll tell you all about it." He raises his right hand. "Promise."
"So Bracken's in a Venezuelan prison?" Kate questions, her paella cooling on her plate.
"As I understand it, an extremely unpleasant Venezuelan prison, even as Venezuelan prisons go," Richard confirms.
Kate pokes at her lunch. "The story's hard to believe, Castle."
"Believe it, Beckett. The press should be running with a limited version of it at any time. The posts will probably be on social media before the day is out."
"Yeah, I get that. Still, I wish I could see Bracken behind bars myself, to know in my gut that he's paying for what he did."
"You mean you want to go to Venezuela?"
A sigh flows heavily from between Kate's lips. "It doesn't make any difference. I can't. I have enough vacation days to cover the trip, but I can't afford it. After my mother's death, my father was in no position to help me out with my tuition in New York. I'm still paying off my student loans."
"If you really want to go, I'll go with you, and you can let me worry about the money. But, you know I'll be on tour for the next three weeks. While I'm stuck in my various hotel rooms, I'll try to make what Venezuelan arrangements I can."
Kate's fork clatters to her plate. "Castle, I can't let you pick up for a trip like that."
"Why not? It will be great research for a book. I can probably write the whole thing off – especially if I'm basing a character on you."
"Wait! What? You're basing a character on me? What character?"
"A cop, a brilliant and beautiful cop. Not exactly a stretch, Beckett. Hey! I promise I won't make you look bad. I couldn't if I wanted to."
"But Castle, all the PR about Madison Square Garden was bad enough. If you make me a model for a character, I won't be able to do the job you'll be writing about. The press will never leave me alone."
"I'll change enough details so that nobody except my accountant and whatever drudge at the IRS goes over my return will even have a clue. You can just keep going with whatever cop stuff you'll be doing – with a short break for our trip."
"Really, Castle?"
"Really, Beckett."
"And what are you planning to call this well-disguised character?"
"I was thinking about Nikki Heat. Heat is one of those names that could be in a hundred titles like Heat Wave, Heat Rising, and Heat of Passion. You get the idea."
"But it sounds like a stripper name."
"Sure. Nikki Heat strips away the bad guy's cloak of respectability to reveal the evil beneath – like with a certain congressman we know and hate."
"Castle, I'm not going to talk you out of this, am I?"
"No more than I could talk you out of wanting to witness Bracken receiving his comeuppance."
"All right, set up our trip to Venezuela, and you can call your character anything you want. Just don't embarrass me."
"Beckett, embarrassing you is the last thing on Earth I want to do." Richard grins. "In the mood for dessert?"
"Mmm. Something chocolate – very chocolate."
"Whatever makes you happy."