Papa Jack Chapter 55

"Did the Lady of the Lake remind you of Liza Minelli?" Kate asks, her finger tracing a pattern in the condensation on her water glass.

Richard's eyes gaze at her over the top of Burana's extensive and expensive wine list. "She did," he agrees. "Maybe if the actress is lucky, she can get cast in the next revival of Cabaret. I loved the idea, silly as they made it, that everyone's got to find their grail. Did you find yours? I mean, finally seeing Bracken consigned to that hell hole?"

"I don't know. Since my mother was murdered, my whole life has been about finding her killer and seeing him punished. But now that I have, it's like I won a bunch of gold medals in the Olympics, but there's nothing ahead of me except endorsing sneakers and pushing breakfast cereal."

"But Beckett, you're not some washed-up athlete. You're a detective and an exceptional one at the start of what promises to be an outstanding career. Isn't getting more evildoers off the street a goal worth pursuing?"

"Sure it is, Castle, and I know I could do a lot of good. But picking the bad guys off one by one isn't a grail. I feel like I could do more."

"Like what?"

Kate presses a fingertip against the tines of her salad fork. "I have no idea."

"Well, before your mother was killed, back when you decided to go to Stanford, what was your plan? What did you want to be?"

"The first female Supreme Court Chief Justice."

Richard nods. "A worthy goal indeed. You're still a young woman. If that's what you want, you could do it. I've heard of lots of cops going to law school."

Kate sighs. "I don't know, Castle. It's a long road between law school and the Supreme Court – or even just passing the bar exam."

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, Beckett."

Kate snorts. "You're going from Spamalot to quoting Lao Tzu? Really, Castle? So, what is your grail? What are you striving toward? Do you want to be the next James Patterson?"

"The man's built himself quite an empire, but using a stream of co-writers to run what amounts to a book factory? No thanks, Beckett. Actually, my grail is writing a book that would truly be considered literature."

"You mean something everyone wants to have read but no one wants to read?"

Richard chuckles. "Not an exact quote, but I believe that's pretty much how Mark Twain described a classic. No, I want to write a book that changes the way a reader thinks, maybe even changes the direction of their life. And a Pulitzer or Nobel Prize wouldn't be bad, either. But books like that can take decades to write and even longer to be appreciated. Putting together enough of a nest egg to be able to wait that long will take writing a lot of action and adventure – maybe including a journey to a Venezuelan prison. Beckett, I believe we can support each other: you on the road to reshaping American justice and me on my quest for literary achievement. And there's nothing that says we can't have a little fun along the way."

The toe of Kate's stiletto traces a path up Richard's leg. "What kind of fun, Castle?"

The writer gulps. "The kind that involves not lingering too long over dinner."

"Maybe," Kate purrs, "we can go somewhere more private for dessert."

"Maybe," Richard offers, "we'll get our order to go."

As much as Kate wills the alarm on her cellphone to stop intruding into her fantasy dreamscape, it refuses to stop buzzing. Castle's bedside table is closer to her than the one where her phone usually rests in her apartment. When reaching out by instinct to end the annoyance, Kate almost knocks her cell to the floor. She groans, sitting up against the bed's backboard.

Eyes still closed, Richard reaches for her. "Hey, come back."

Kate swings her legs over the side of the bed. "I can't, Castle. I'm on duty this morning, and I barely have time to get to my place and change before the morning shift starts."

Richard levers himself up from beneath the sheet. "I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk about last night – maybe even go for a reprise."

Kate turns to smooth back a lock of hair that flops over Richard's forehead. "I wish we could. Maybe later, after work? You want to meet me at the precinct?"

Richard stretches up for a quick kiss. "Wouldn't miss it."

Kate and Richard reach the elevator at the 12th Precinct at almost the same moment but take the car separately upstairs.

"Beckett," Esposito calls as she reaches her desk, "I made the rounds of the gyms last night, and I finally heard something about your martial arts Cedric. He's been picking up underground bouts, a lot of them. The word is he needs the money."

Richard rushes from the elevator. "Did you just say something about Cedric? What's going on?"

"Where's he supposed to be fighting next, Esposito?" Kate queries.

"The old subway tunnel under Owl's Head Park in Brooklyn."

"I thought that was abandoned in the 1920s," Richard says.

"It was abandoned, all right," Esposito agrees, "but the story is some kids wanted to use it for raves. They couldn't figure out how to get everything down there, but the fight crews don't need nearly as much light or power."

"And they have more money," Richard assumes.

"Right," the athletic detective agrees, "and the entrance is easy to watch and guard. From what I heard, Cedric is one of the fighters who's supposed to be in the cage tonight."

"We'd have a hell of a time getting to him while he's down there," Kate figures. "But there's nothing to stop us from grabbing him on his way in or out."

"Better going out," Esposito advises. "The fight gangs keep a watch on who goes in, but aside from making sure that bettors pay up, they don't pay attention to what happens after anyone leaves."

"Around what time would that be?" Kate asks.

"Matches start around ten and go until one or two am, but the fighters can take off as soon as their matches are finished. To be sure you get him, you'd want a watch on the exit for all four hours."

"As stakeouts go, four hours isn't that bad," Richard comments.

"No, it isn't," Kate agrees. "But we'll have to coordinate with the cops in Brooklyn to get set up. That means starting now. You in on this, Esposito?"

"All the way."

"Ryan?"

"You've got it, Beckett."

Kate nods. "Bracken can't run this guy anymore, but we don't want to leave any abandoned hitters out there to take their shots for someone else."

"Looks like we've had a change of plans for tonight," Richard observes as he hands Kate a latte-filled ceramic mug.

"Sorry about that, Castle. But I need to get Cedric."

Richard's palms wrap around the warmth of his own mug. "I know you do. And I would never want you to leave a predator like Cedric out loose to kill who knows who next. Too bad you can't send him to keep Bracken company in Vista Hermosa."

"Yeah, well, Attica and Sing-Sing aren't exactly vacation spots either. For a lackey like Cedric, one or the other of them will do."

Cedric Marks, or Cole Maddox, as he plans to operate under a new identity, carefully walks the grounds of the park atop the old subway tunnel. It was no accident that the word got out that he'd be fighting tonight. The recently famous Detective Kate Beckett's been asking after him and also sent a Detective Esposito to stick his nose into Cole's business. Cole may not be working for Bracken anymore, but he has skills, and he intends to use them. He can't do that with one of the NYPD's favorite cops still looking for him. To take care of that problem, he made sure that where he is scheduled to be tonight would leak. And he'll be there all right, but not in the cage. When Beckett comes looking for him, he'll take her out. And if there's collateral damage, Beckett's pals, he won't mind that. He won't mind it at all.