Papa Jack Chapter 59

Richard wouldn't have thought it would be so hard to get in to see a non-psychiatric patient at Belleview. It wouldn't be if Cedric wasn't in the prison ward. A cop can get in to question him. Unfortunately, an ordinary citizen, even one consulting with the NYPD, is considered too much of a security risk. After a day of banging his head against a bureaucratic wall, Richard takes Esposito up on his offer to snap the photo for Castle. From the embarrassed look on the detective's face, Esposito's anxious to get one up on the man who delivered a direct insult to his physical prowess.

As it turns out, Esposito is quite an artful photographer. He captures Cedric in the midst of helpless anger, just the way Beckett would want to see him. Richard puts a rush on an order of four mounted and framed copies. He wraps the one for Kate in shiny paper with a big bow. He accompanies it with a bouquet of gladioli, the flower traditionally representing victory.

Wandering into Kate's hospital room, Richard gleefully presents his gifts. "Esposito snapped the photo," he admits. "Belleview wouldn't let me into the lockup. But I tied the bow myself."

Kate begins to chuckle before pressing a hand to her still-tender chest. "The bow is very sweet, Castle. So are the flowers. And I'm guessing that Esposito enjoyed seeing Cedric helpless like that."

"I believe he enjoyed it a lot," Richard agrees, "but I haven't spent that much time at the precinct lately. Montgomery didn't waste any time putting Ryan and Esposito on a new case, and they have, um, not desired my assistance."

Kate reaches for his hand. "Don't worry about it, Castle. I've seen that attitude before after civilians had to step in to assist a cop. They have to prove they can function on their own. It's a macho thing. But you've been working on your writing and that fundraising thing anyway, haven't you?"

"I have. I wrote two chapters yesterday, and I'm supposed to have dinner with Martha Rodgers and some of her starving actor friends tonight to work out some details."

Amusement dances in Kate's eyes. "They won't be starving if they're eating dinner."

"Except for attention. From what Martha told me, they have time to work on the fundraiser because they haven't booked anything else right now. Most of the shows opened in the Fall, and the casting calls haven't gone out for the ones opening in the Spring yet. They should be starting up again soon. Still, always waiting for something like that is a hard way to live. But I guess we both have experience with that. You spent the years after your mother was murdered waiting for your chance to get her killer. I've spent a hell of a lot of time opening rejection letters and then waiting to see if anyone would buy my next book. Maybe we all spend too much time waiting for something and should stop and smell the flowers along the way."

Kate breathes in the roselike fragrance of her bouquet. "Maybe we should."

Jack studies a printout of the latest intelligence chatter from the officially non-existent CIA installation in New York City. There's the usual assortment of intrigues among low-level agents working as "attachés" for ambassadors to the United Nations. Most of it seems to be jockeying for favor rather than posing any real threat to the city or the country. There is, however, a note of the detection of a shipment of bomb-making materials to a warehouse near Pier 86. "The rogue cell's old stomping grounds," he mutters to himself.

As Jack recalls, the bombs discovered in Madison Square Garden bore all the hallmarks of assembly by a demolition expert named Sergei Gerkov. By the time the bombs were discovered, Gerkov was already in the wind. No intelligence reports had him leaving the country. That didn't mean he didn't take off, just that any departure went undetected. Still, he might have stuck around in some safe hole established during the Cold War and never decommissioned. The agency has records of several of them in the greater New York metropolitan area. However, the concentration was higher near DC. Jack has little doubt that some of them were never uncovered. One could easily be providing a sanctuary for Gerkov while he pursues his deadly craft. Jack decides to do a little investigating at the waterfront. If Gerkov is in the area and building bombs, he'll most likely assemble them at or near where the components are stored. If he shows up, Jack wants to know about it.

Martha raises a glass of red wine to a gathering around a table at Russo's, an Italian restaurant known for hiring down-and-out actors as servers and feeding them hearty pasta in the kitchen. Most of the actors at the table, including Martha Rodgers, have worked there at one time or another and hold a warm spot in their hearts for the eatery.

Richard has never worked at Russo's, but he appreciates the pasta, the wine, and the consideration for those in need. He understands that Russo's will get a well-deserved shoutout at the fundraising event. He might even bring Beckett here – after her sojourn upstate. All sorts of plans race through his mind for when Beckett returns.

"Richard, are you with us?" Martha's alto voice intones.

"What? Oh, yes, of course. We were talking about which performances would play best on the segment of the fundraiser that will be broadcast on ARTSTV. Do you really think potential donors would be interested in readings by writers?"

"According to The Ledger, your reading at The Strand had lines around the block," Martha recalls. "Didn't they put live video on a screen in an overflow room?"

Most of what Richard remembers about that day revolves around the capture of Dick Coonan – something that was never on any video screen. He dealt with the reading and book signing more through muscle memory than any conscious actions. Still, he seemed to make his readers happy. He's also asked back often enough on Kimmel to understand that viewers enjoy watching him. Whether they'd actually be willing to pay for the privilege is another story. "You really think writers will be as exciting as the brighter lights of stage and screen?"

"Ms. Rodgers," one of the younger actors at the table says, "my grandmother doesn't see very well, so she listens to a lot of books on tape. She told me that she likes to hear authors read their own work because it sounds like they feel it in their hearts rather than getting paid to say the words. I know she listened to Mr. Castle read one of his books, Gathering Storm. She said he has a wonderful voice. She loved it."

Richard's eyebrows shoot up. "Really? Gathering Storm? That was one of my earlier ones. I'd almost forgotten about making the tape. Black Pawn had me read it because – sorry, Martha – they didn't want to pay to hire an actor."

"No need to apologize, Richard. No one likes to pay actors. That's half of why we're here. But if Randy's grandmother gave you a glowing review, that's certainly something to consider. And you're friends with Stephen Cannell, aren't you?"

"We know each other," Richard acknowledges. "We've played poker a few times."

"Excellent!" Martha declares. "That man has an amazing amount of screen presence. If you can get him to read some of his work on behalf of the writers, we'll really have something. Can you talk to him?"

Richard shrugs. "I'll see what I can do."