140. Chapter 140

After Recoil, Again

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: Would you believe me if I said I didn't own Castle? Rating: T Time: See above

The reporter had somehow slipped into the garage of the 12th Precinct and rushed out at them as they tried to leave. "Mrs. Castle! Mrs. Castle!" He pushed a microphone into her face. "Can you tell me your feelings about what happened today?"

Detective Esposito grabbed the man and headed him towards the door. "If you want a statement from the NYPD, you'll have to go to the press officer." Espo then whispered in his ear. "And if you ever bother her again, I will personally kick your ass." Espo handed the reporter over to a uniform who escorted him to the sidewalk where all the other reporters waited.

Once the garage was clear, a slender woman from Narcotics, wearing a coat identical to Kate's and a wig like Kate's hair walked out and got into the back of Kate's Crown Vic. Espo and Ryan got in the front. They made sure that they drove past the reporters who followed them in mass.

Lanie peeked out from behind a concrete pillar. "You okay, sweetie?"

Kate was wrapping a scarf around her head and donning a pair of sunglasses. "Sure. It's a pain, but I've been through worse."

"Then let's get the hell out of here and get you home." Lanie smiled at her friend. They got into a rental car and drove off with no one seeing them.

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

The stout elderly woman walked slowly down the subway platform towing an old suitcase on rollers. In spite of the heat she wore two sweaters and a New York Jets sweat shirt over her faded floral print dress. On her head was a battered Yankees cap, pushed to one side. She finally reached a bench and sat down next to a very well dressed man who was reading the Daily News. She looked at the headline of the article he was reading. "The Mets!" She spat. "I could play defense better than them."

He turned to her, a smile going all the way to his blue eyes. "I'm a Yankees fan myself."

She spat for real this time. "All that money and they can't manage a winning record."

"Money isn't everything." He replied.

"Damn straight! And that prick you had me look into has plenty. He's good. Or rather his people are good. Hell, they're almost as good as me."

"What did you find?"

"He's got about three hundred and seventy million in accounts that no one knows about. That's in addition to his legal war chest. And he's got it scattered all over the fucking world. Ten million here, five million there, twelve million someplace else. And he moves the money around a lot. The ten million that's here goes to there, and the five million that's there goes to someplace new."

"And?" He asked.

"It's good and bad. That much money, is noticeable. Once you pointed me towards where to look, I didn't have that much trouble. If you're going to try to cut him off from his funds, it's bad. That much cash in that many places, it'd be hard to shut him down all at once. Worst case, he'd still have twenty, maybe thirty, million to play around with. You can do a lot with that kind of money."

"Damn. I was hoping it'd be easier."

The woman nodded. "Everybody hopes that. They're always wrong. One thing though. He's the key to all this. Nobody but him knows where all the money really is and no one can get at it but him. If you could get him totally incommunicado for a day or two, we might be able to hack in and send all of his money to a nice bank I know. Leave him broke and unable to call the cops."

They looked up and saw a subway train coming. The woman stood. "That's my train. I'll keep you posted."

The man went back to reading his paper.

FIVE MONTHS EARLIER

It was the bottom of the fifth inning and the score was tied. No one noticed the two men standing in the back of the bleacher seats, looking away from the game.

"Orantis Solutions is a bitch." The speaker was a slim African American man dressed in a business suit with the tie off. Just another businessman taking an afternoon off to go to the game. His companion was a tall, well dressed Caucasian man, also dressed in a suit, but who had left his tie on.

"Can you do it?"

The African American laughed. "Of course I can do it. In fact, I have done it. The offices are impregnable to any kind of surveillance unless I can get NSA to pull a warrant and those days are far in my past. But their homes? A piece of cake. It took a while, but I got what you need. It isn't good."

He shook his head. "It never is with him. What's going on?"

"He's decided if he goes down, he wants everyone to go down with him. He's got some shooters lined up." He handed over an envelope. "That's enough of the details so you can avoid the shooters, or take whatever action you think best. They're all waiting to see how the trial goes before they do anything, though. According to the papers, his career may be over, but he still might get away with a slap on the wrist."

"He might get more than that."

The black man smiled widely. "He just might. But that's not my job. You want me to continue surveillance?"

"Absolutely."

The crowd roared and then silenced as a well hit ball headed for the seats was caught on the warning track. If anyone had looked back, they would have seen two men disappearing into the crowd.

FOUR AND A HALF MONTHS EARLIER

There was a sale at Bloomie's, so no one noticed the two men standing in an aisle talking. Obviously two husbands waiting on their wives.

"I don't believe these schmucks." The older man said. "You'd think they'd keep their mouths shut in public."

The younger man shrugged. "Not everyone is as paranoid as we are."

"We have reasons to be paranoid, bub. But anyway, three hotshot lawyers sitting in a bar, trying to impress these three chicks with how much they know about the trial of the century. They shot their stupid mouths off for an hour. I just can't believe some people."

"What's the verdict?"

"In spite of the confidence the defense is showing in public, the lawyers are worried. Some of his people are jumping ship, making deals with the government while they can. They think they can distance him from the murder charges, after all, he never actually killed anyone and all the actual killers seem to be dead. But there's enough in fraud, corruption and lesser charges to send him away for years. They're talking about maybe ten years in prison. After that, he'll be nobody. Less than nobody."

The younger man nodded and looked worried, "So he's going down?"

"Oh, yeah. No doubt about it."

"Okay, keep me informed."

FOUR MONTHS EARLIER

The well-dressed young man attracted a number of admiring glances from young ladies, and not so young ladies, as he walked through the dining room. He was not just handsome, but solidly built with deep blue eyes and blond hair to go with a killer smile. He found his client and sat down across from an older man, himself quite handsome and equally well dressed.

"Herr Smith?" The blond asked with just a trace of an accent.

The man nodded, smiling slightly. The blond noticed that the smile did not reach Herr Smith's blue eyes.

"Is the job completed?"

The younger man nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't be here otherwise." Clients always had to be reassured.

"Any problems?"

"None. It was quite easy actually. They were so busy concentrating on their plans for your…company that they never noticed we were setting them up."

"You notified their superiors?"

"Yes. As instructed. They should be getting the news in a few hours." Orantis Solutions management would get to work to find a package waiting for them. Finding the heads of their six best shooters inside would give them pause.

The older man nodded with satisfaction. "May I suggest the roast duck? It's really superb."

"That sounds delightful."

THREE MONTHS EARLIER

He might have been a cop. He was tall, in good shape and wearing a coat. There could be a badge and a gun under the coat. A waitress approached him and slipped, grabbing onto him and sliding her arms around him, but found neither a gun nor a badge.

"Sorry, sport." She said with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

He held up his left hand to show a wedding band. "Don't worry. I'm not a cop. I'm here to see Mr. J."

"No such person here." She said while pointing to a booth in the back.

He walked to the back and was intercepted by a slim young man with a smile. "Sorry, pal. I have to look you over."

The man nodded and raised his hands while he was patted down.

"Okay. You can go see Mr. J."

He sat down in the booth. "Thanks for seeing me. Did you talk to them?"

Mr. J. nodded. "Talked to him and to the family. They don't like your idea at all."

He began to get up. "Well, thanks for seeing me anyway. No hard feelings."

"Sit back down. They have a counter proposal."

"What is it?"

When Mr. J was done the man whistled softly. "That's the craziest idea I ever heard. Are you sure that's what they want to do?"

"Would I lie to you?" Mr. J said coldly. Then he smiled. "You have to understand. He's not a well man anymore. And we are great believers in settling scores. You know of the word vendetta?"

The man sat back and thought. "How much will this cost?"

Mr. J shrugged. "The lawyers, bribing witnesses, manufacturing a few things, getting the right people to look the other way, maybe three million to get him to a re-trial."

The man smiled. "I have a friend with lots of money. He'll never miss three million. And if he does, he'll have other things to worry about. Deal."

Kate Castle walked into her loft and went quickly to her husband and threw her arms around him. "God, what a hell of a day this has been. The precinct was a total zoo today."

"It'll be better tomorrow." Rick said. "It happened in a Federal courthouse. The Feds will handle the investigation. They'll ask you some questions, but not many, I think."

"I hope so. I just can't believe this is over. Really over." She looked at the TV in his office. "Are they still showing that?"

Rick nodded. "It's all that's on. Every channel has the same thing, more or less. Either that or talking heads."

The two of them watched as the clip was shown again. Senator Bracken, as he still was, walking through the courthouse, smiling and chatting with reporters, the picture of confidence. His attorneys also reflected calm confidence, joking with the reporters and disparaging the prosecution. A man being led by a marshal suddenly fell to his knees in front of the Senator, momentarily stopping the group. When the man rose, he had a pistol in his hand and fired five shots into the Senator. As he aimed at a pretty young lawyer an FBI agent shot him in the head.

The picture switched to the newsperson, a personable redhead. "The FBI has confirmed that the assassin of Senator Bracken was one Joseph Pulgatti, a convicted murderer who had won a retrial based on new evidence. So far, no one has found a link between Pulgatti and Senator Bracken to explain the shooting. The FBI has also been unable to determine how Pulgatti managed to sneak a weapon through what is unusually tight security."

"Meanwhile, in Washington, DC…" Castle killed the sound.

"And now Bracken's dead and he'll never answer for his crimes." Kate said.

"I'd say he's answered now."