Papa Jack Chapter 60

Even beneath Stephen Cannell's beard, Richard can see him smirking. "Castle, you know the rules. If you show up at my house wanting to talk to me, you have to go through my workout with me."

Richard winces a little at the thought of repeated reps with free weights. The one and only other time he went through Cannell's routine with him, he was sore for days. Still, it will be for a good cause, and he's been spending too much time lately exercising nothing but his fingers on his keyboard. "Lead the way, Cannell."

In his private gym, Cannell smoothly proceeds with his routine. Sweating much harder than his fellow writer, Richard does his best to follow. "So, Castle, what did you want to talk to me about?" Cannell queries, hefting a heavier set of weights.

Richard draws in a deep breath. "I'm on a mission for Martha Rodgers. She feels that you have a strong enough presence to captivate an audience while reading your work on ARTSTV. Your performance would be part of the fundraiser to support starving actors and writers."

"I supported a lot of them by hiring them," Cannell points out. "Besides, my main cause now is dyslexia. I'm just starting work on a documentary about it."

"So, how about if we mention that work in your intro?" Richard inquires. "You can promote two causes with one spiel – so to speak."

"You may have a point, Castle," Cannell acknowledges, moving onto a still heavier set of weights. "Send me the details, and I'll see if I can fit an appearance into my schedule."

Despite the burn in his muscles, Richard grins. "Outstanding!"

"And tell Martha I said hello," Cannell adds. "I always wanted to use her in the A-Team but could never find the right role for her."

"I'll tell her," Richard promises. "I'm sure she'll appreciate the thought."

Jim Beckett watches as Kate paces back and forth on a rag rug that breaks up his cabin's expanse of plank flooring. "Katie, you're going to wear holes in that thing. If you're that restless, you could go back to the city."

"And do what, Dad? The doctor won't sign off on my going back to work for weeks yet – not even riding a desk. At least up here, I don't hear about all the cases I can't work on."

"But you need something to work on," Jim insists. "The last time you were still for this long was when you had your tonsils out, and you and your mother watched soap operas together."

"Not soap operas. Just one soap opera, Temptation Lane."

"Still, that was only for a few days, and she bribed you with ice cream," Jim recalls. "After that, the only way she could have kept you on the couch would have been to tie you down. You haven't changed much, Katie girl. You always need something to dive into."

"Like what, Dad? We can't even go fishing. The lake's frozen."

"I don't know," Jim admits. "maybe your friend Castle has research or something you can do sitting in front of a computer. He told me he's always exploring new scenarios for a book. Didn't you tell me he has a fancy network set up at his loft?"

"Yeah, he does. But if I'm not working on a case for the NYPD, I don't know what he would want me to research."

"It wouldn't hurt to ask. We've had pretty solid cell reception this afternoon. I've been able to check with my clients on several matters. Why not give Castle a call?"

"He's probably busy writing."

"Which would make having your call go to voicemail the worst thing that could happen. Call him, Katie – before you drive me crazy."

"Yeah, all right, Dad. I will."

Delight radiates from Richard's face. "Beckett! I'm so glad you called. I've been working on a character. She's based on you but a little more – theatrical. She actually started out as a theater major. So, given that background, what gun do you think she'd prefer, a Glock 19 or a SIG Sauer P226 DAO?"

"If she's a cop, Castle, she'd want whatever gun she could be most accurate with. My department issue is the Glock."

"Come on, Beckett, assuming Nikki would be a crack shot with either of them, what weapon would give her a little more drama?"

Kate presses her fingers to her lips. "Probably the SIG Sauer. But is that all you wanted to know, Castle?"

"Only the start. Beckett, there are hundreds of little things about the real NYPD, the slang you use, your favorite snacks, where you'd go for a beer, what you do on a stakeout when you need to pee, how you like to kick back, even what pisses you off about the job. I'd pick a lot of that stuff up by keeping my eyes and ears open while following you around. But right now, I can't do that. So I could really use some wise Beckett counsel."

"Is that all you want, Castle? Counsel?"

"Not even close to all I want," Richard confesses, "but until you're healed, it would be great to have. And Beckett, I miss you."

"I miss you too, Castle. Dad and I should be able to drive down tomorrow."

"Wonderful! I can make dinner for both of you. How about lasagna?"

"Sounds great. See you tomorrow night."

"I can't wait."

His long legs stretched out in front of him, Jack sprawls in a chair at a table in a busy corner of a bar. The establishment is not one Jack would have chosen to have a good time. The booze doesn't even rise to the level of second-rate. What music there is, comes from tinny speakers and the chips and pretzels are stale. What the dive has to recommend it is a Russian-speaking bartender and a substantial number of Russian-speaking patrons. Many of these are employed on ships bringing in Eastern European goods. Some also pick up what work they can from Russian- speaking businesses. If Gerkov is building bombs in the neighborhood, he may have interacted with one or two of them.

Dressed in clothing with a "made in the U.S.A." label and only speaking English when ordering, Jack appears unable to understand the Russian conversations going on around him. He gives no sign of listening either, nursing his drinks and munching on the unpalatable table snacks. Still, he takes in every word being said within earshot, patiently waiting for some mention of the bombmaker. After almost two hours and several soda-heavy vodka and sodas, he finally hears one. A resident of a nearby SRO complains that his lights had dimmed several times when his next-door neighbor used too much electricity on the same circuit. He complains most bitterly that his neighbor snores, keeping him awake at night. One detail in the too-slim dossier on Gerkov is his snoring, often described as like the growling of a Russian bear. Jack decides to follow the suffering patron home and check out the offensive neighbor for himself. If the snoring is that loud, he should be able to hear it from a hallway or even from outside. Then he can check out just how Russian a bear is making the racket. Making sure he isn't seen could complicate Jack's surveillance somewhat. Still, even if Jack has to hang around the SRO most of the night, what he discovers could be very enlightening.