118. Chapter 118

After The Blue Butterfly

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: Here's looking at you, Mr. Marlowe. (Who owns Castle.) Rating: K Time: See above

It was winter in New York and that meant it was cold. The wind whipped down the concrete canyons of Manhattan and right through the cheap walls of my office and into my heart. It wasn't as cold as Bastogne had been. Nothing would ever be that cold. But it was cold enough for me decide to pour a little pick me up into my morning cup of Joe. I didn't get more than a splash in when my secretary stuck her head into my office.

"You have a client, boss." Martha said. "You okay?"

I gave her my best grin. "Sure. When haven't I been okay?"

Martha just shook her head and turned away. "You can go in now, miss." I heard her say.

And then she walked in. She had legs that went all the way up to there and the kind of body guys wrote dirty limericks about. The face of an angel was surrounded by a halo of honey brown hair. She had perfect cheekbones, a smile that lit up like Times Square on New Year's Eve and hazel eyes that a man could get lost in for eternity.

I saw that her suit hadn't been bought off the rack at Woolworth's and the pearl necklace around her neck probably cost more than my old jalopy.

In short, she was the kind of dame you'd want to take home to Ma, if you thought that Pa could keep his hands to himself.

She finally said, "Mr. Castle?" And I realized I had been staring at her. Who would blame me?

"Yes. How can I help you, Miss…?" I had quickly noted that her left ring finger was bare. So far so good.

"I'm Katherine Beckett."

She said that like I should recognize the name. I wished that I did, but I didn't. "And you're here, Miss Beckett, because…?"

She sighed. "I'm a writer. I write the Veronica Hayes, Private Investigator series. You've heard of the books, I'm sure?"

I hadn't and I knew why. A dame as a PI? That was the dumbest idea I'd heard since glow in the dark shoe laces. "I'm afraid I haven't, Miss Beckett." I managed to keep from laughing in her face. She was that gorgeous.

"I wrote a Veronica Hayes screen play for Twentieth Century. I need to get it to their lawyers here in New York in three days. I can't re-write it in that time since the studios added a number of things to my original script." She frowned and sighed. "They want Ida Lupino to play Veronica and I wrote it for Barbara Stanwyck. You can imagine the problems that would cause."

Actually, I didn't have a clue, but I nodded appreciatively. "Actually, this sounds more like a job for the NYPD."

Miss Beckett snorted in derision. "I went to the police. The officer who's supposed to be investigating is useless."

"The police don't like PI's stepping in on…"

Martha stuck her head in. "Mr. Castle, I hate to bother you, but could you sign the check for the rent before you leave?"

I tried to remember how much we had in the kitty. I was beginning to think that Martha was telling me we couldn't make the rent. Her scowl confirmed it. I turned back to Miss Beckett. "But in this case, I think I can assist the police in their investigations. It's fifty dollars a day plus expenses."

"The first day in advance." Martha added.

She pulled out a roll and peeled off five Jackson's as cool as you please and dropped them on my desk. "You may need a bit more." She said.

"Okay. Where can I reach you? Your home? Hotel? Answering service?"

"I'll be coming with you. I can be of help."

I shook my head. "Nix! I work alone and certainly not with some dame who'll…"

"You'll go with me and like it. I have a very good idea who took the script. You don't. You need me."

"Look, Miss Beckett…" I began.

She reached over and scooped the moola off of my desk. "I'm sorry to have bothered you Mr. Castle. I'll be leaving now. I'm sure there are other private investigators in the city."

Martha was glaring at me and my wallet was screaming at being empty. I smiled at her. "Okay, Miss Beckett, you win. But we do things my way, capisce?" She nodded. "So tell me, who's your suspect?"

"A Doctor Joshua Davidson. He was the only one who had access to my apartment."

"Your boyfriend?" I hoped that her boyfriend was a crook. The crook.

She blushed slightly. "No. I'm afraid he's a con man. His degree is from some diploma mill in Nevada." She took a deep breath and looked at me, like she was trying to decide if she could trust me. "My mother was killed just before the war. An auto accident. My father took it badly. Really badly. He's been drunk ever since. I've tried everything to get him sober. Nothing worked. I was contacted by Davidson who said he'd had great success with alcoholics. I was so desperate I believed him. He's been taking money from me for months with no results. He came over the other night asking for more money. I had gotten suspicious of him and found out he was a charlatan. I told him he'd get no more money for me. I had to leave the room for a moment to answer the phone. When I came back, he was gone and so was the screen play."

"Okay. We'll go see the NYPD and see what they have."

She had gone to the 12th Precinct, which was good, since I had a pal there. I asked the desk sergeant who had the Beckett case and was directed to a Detective Demming. Demming was a big guy, but was going to seed. He had some of yesterday's lunch on his tie, had scraped his right cheek the last time he'd shaved, which wasn't this morning, and had more than a splash of the demon rum with his morning Cheerios from the smell of him.

I decided to be polite. "Detective Demming?" I said, holding out my hand. "I'm Rick Castle, PI. Miss Beckett has hired me…"

He slapped my hand away. "Get lost, schmuck. I got no use for low life PIs." He stood up and looked at Beckett. "You I have time for, baby." He put his hand on her hip.

She slammed her left first into his gut and followed it with a right to his head that dropped him. He came up red faced and furious. "You're under arrest, sister. You think you can punch a cop?"

I laughed. "You're going to arrest her for knocking you on your keester? From the looks of your pals, you'll have a really hard time living this one down as it is." I pointed to two cops in the back who were laughing like a bunch of hyenas at Demming. "Charge her, and the whole NYPD will know you got clocked by a dame."

Demming glared at me and then at Beckett. "Get lost. Now. I have work to do."

We got lost.

"Remind me never to lay a hand on you. You've got quite a punch there."

She shrugged. "Research. Veronica is tough. I had to learn a few things." She gave me a look. "So going to the NYPD was what you had in mind? That's it?"

I shook my noggin. "I got a pal who works here. Kevin Ryan is his name. He was a cop before the war and was drafted back in '40. Got shot up in North Africa and invalided out. He came back to the NYPD. Because of the war, all the young, healthy cops had been drafted, so they hired him back even though he couldn't do more than hold down a desk. He worked in records and he did such a bang up job, he still works here. He should be able to tell us anything we need about his Davidson jamoke."

Ryan looked up when we walked through the door of records. "Castle! How are you doing, boyo?"

We shook hands and I explained the lay of the land.

"Joshua Davidson?" Ryan said. "A phony doctor? I know of him, but we haven't had anything on him since late '45. He was sent upstate for two years. I wasn't aware he was back in circulation."

"You can't help us?" I said, disappointed.

"Did I say that?" Ryan said with a smile. "You need to talk to a guy named Esposito. Detective Esposito over in Bunco. I heard him mention Davidson, I think."

I thanked Ryan and headed over to Bunco to see this Esposito. He turned out to be a burly Hispanic with a burr haircut and an attitude. I introduced us. "You're the skirt who decked Demming?" He snarled at Miss Beckett.

Beckett nodded. "He put his hands where they didn't belong and I put him on the floor."

Esposito looked at us and then laughed. "In that case, Miss Beckett, please do sit down. Can I get you some coffee?"

She nodded and Esposito busied himself with a coffee pot, bringing back cups for the three of us.

"Ryan gave me a call. You want to know about a bum named Joshua Davidson?"

"Yes. Can you tell us where to find him?" She asked.

He shook his head. "He hasn't come to our attention officially, so I don't have much. But he has been hanging around at Vicky's the last couple of weeks."

Esposito told us what he knew about Davidson from before he went to prison, which wasn't very useful. We thanked him and we left for Vicky's.

"Vicky's?" Beckett asked.

"A little bar in Brooklyn. I know the owner."

Vicky's was the sort of place that a lowlife con man would find attractive. For that matter, so did us low life PIs. But I had a good relationship with Vicky, even if I wasn't exactly her cup of Joe. We walked in and I asked the bartender where Vicky was. He pointed to her regular table in the back.

"How are you doing, Slick?" She said. She might have sounded like she didn't like me much, but I knew it was an act. "You should bring your new girlfriend around here more often. She classes up the joint a lot more than you do."

I had to confess that she wasn't my girlfriend. This seemed to give both Miss Beckett and Vicky a charge. "Miss Katherine Beckett, this is Vicky Gates. She owns the place. Miss Beckett is my client."

Vicky nodded and smiled coldly at me. "Yeah, I knew she couldn't be your girlfriend, Slick. She looks like she can walk and chew gum at the same time, so she'd be smart enough to have no use for you."

I decided to cut to the chase. "I'm looking for a jamoke named Joshua Davidson. Calls himself a doctor. I hear he's been around."

Vicky gave me a look. I wasn't sure what it meant. "I haven't seen him in a couple of days. Picked the pocket of one of my regulars. He's off my Christmas list now, for sure."

"Can you tell us anything that might tell us how to find him?" Beckett asked.

"I can tell you two things about him. One, he likes the ponies, but they don't like him. I understand Roy Boy is looking for him as well. Two, he's heeled, Slick. And you don't look like you're packing a roscoe."

I wasn't. And I wasn't happy about how this caper was going. I thanked Vicky and turned to Beckett. "We'd better blow this pop stand."

Once out in the street, I looked for a cab. Beckett suddenly put her hand on my arm. "If Davidson is armed, that changes things, Mr. Castle. I can't ask you to go after a man who's armed."

I felt like my arm was on fire where she was touching it. A good on fire, though. "It's my job. How long do you think I'd last in this burg if people heard I gave up just because some punk is packing? I'd be out of business in a week."

"I wish you wouldn't." She said softly. Just then I hailed a cab and we headed back to my office. Once there, I opened the locked bottom drawer of my desk. I had a Walther P 38 that I'd gotten from some tanker in Patton's Household Cavalry and a .45 Colt that had stuck to the bottom of my overseas bag. I decided on the .45.

"We're going to see this Roy Boy?" She asked, looking unhappy. I just nodded.

Roy Montgomery was an unusual bookie. He actually had an office. It was in a crummy neighborhood, but Roy Boy tried to look like a stand up citizen. Sometimes he managed it.

I nodded to his "receptionist", an oversized thug who they called LT. "Is the boss in?" I asked.

LT gave me the fish eye. "What do you want, Castle?"

"Maybe I want a little action?" I countered.

"Rick Castle? Who throws nickels around like they were manhole covers? Some action?" He laughed.

Beckett moved past me and dropped some bills on LT's desk. "Suppose I want to put $200 on the nose on Sugar Lady in the fifth in Hialeah?" She asked. "And suppose I want to hand my dough to the boss?"

"Then you can." Roy Boy had stepped out of his office, looking well dressed and well barbered, as always. I noticed the scent of Bay Rum was wafting from him. "But I'm guessing you came here for more than a little flutter."

I explained our problem to Roy Boy who nodded. "That bum Davidson not only stiffed me, but he's been bragging that he won't pay me at all. I can't have that. So if you catch him, give me a call. There's a C note in it for you, Castle."

I took a deep, unhappy breath as my wallet screamed for lack of sustenance. "I can't do that. I'm Miss Beckett's client and she's got to be my first priority."

LT looked like he was going to dismember me, but Roy Boy waved him away. "Okay. I can't argue with that. I like a stand-up guy. But if you do get a chance, the C note still is yours."

We got into the elevator as I tried to figure out my next move. I didn't have one.

He came at me as soon as I walked out of the elevator, stabbing towards my chest with his shiv. I got my arm up and took a hit in the wrist. He was good, too good. He moved faster than I did and kept moving me back. Soon I'd have my back against a wall and he'd have me. I couldn't pull my gat out from under my overcoat without giving him an opening to slice me up like a Thanksgiving turkey. I was practicing my excuses for St. Peter when one of the most gorgeous legs I have ever seen came out of nowhere and slammed into his crotch. He screamed and bent over. I threw a punch, but he dodged most of it and went after Beckett, who backed off. I grabbed my roscoe and jacked a round into the chamber. He heard me and whirled around. There was a huge roar and he flew backwards, blood and brains flying out of the back of his gourd.

I leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the floor.

In seconds, Miss Beckett had her arms around me and was pulling my coat open as well as my shirt. "I don't do this on the first date, Miss. What kind of a guy do you think I am?" I deadpanned.

"Be quiet, Castle. You're hurt."

"I called the cops and an ambulance." That was Roy Boy. LT was right behind him, looking mean and with his piece out. Too damned late.

"We should wait for the ambulance, Miss Beckett." I said.

She shook her head. "I was an Army nurse. At Anzio. I've seen worse than this, buster. I know what I'm doing."

She did too. She kept me from leaking too badly until the meat wagon arrived and then it was off to the local emergency room, where fortunately I run a tab. My favorite ER doc stitched me up. "Castle, how long have I been patching you up?"

I shrugged. It hurt. "Couldn't say, Lanie."

"Too damned long. And it's Dr. Parish to you, bub. Why can't you learn to duck?"

I laughed. That hurt, too. "Maybe I'm sweet on you?"

She snorted. "Anyway, your girlfriend dropped by your apartment and got you some clothes to wear that don't look like they were pulled off a corpse. They're hanging behind the door. Now get dressed and get lost."

"I don't have a girlfriend." I said, wondering.

"That Miss Beckett. And if she's not your honey, she sure is concerned over a complete stranger."

"She's my client. She's just worried because she has a Benjamin invested in this case."

Lanie looked at me slantendicularly. "Suit yourself. She's out in the waiting room talking to some flatfoot."

I shuddered to think what would happen if she ran into that mug Demming again. I got dressed as quickly as I could and went to find her. She was chatting with some cop I didn't know. One thing I could tell at once, she couldn't drop this one with two punches. She looked up at me and smiled. For a fraction of a second, I stopped. The world stopped.

"Mr. Castle." She said. "This is Detective Slaughter. He's looking for Davidson as well."

He stood up and we shook. "I talked to Esposito about your boy. We've got paper on him now and I got a tip on where he is and a search warrant. Since your girlfriend decked Demming this morning, I thought you two would like to be there. And she can identify her property."

I thanked Slaughter for that and told him she wasn't my girlfriend. For some reason, Miss Beckett didn't say a word.

It turned out Davidson was holed up in a nice brownstone not far from Central Park. "Nice place for a hideout." I said.

Slaughter laughed. "This Davidson bum likes to rook honest Joes. One's with the gelt, that is."

Beckett and I, Slaughter and his partner, and a couple of uniforms stood by the door. Slaughter pounded on it. "Open up!" He bellowed. "I've got a warrant for Joshua Davidson and a search warrant."

"There ain't no Davidson here." Someone inside called out. "Get lost. Scram."

"I got a search warrant." Slaughter yelled as he kicked in the door. We followed him in and I saw a shadow disappearing down the hallway. "Get him!" Slaughter yelled.

In seconds, the cops who had been at the back door brought Davidson in, all nicely cuffed.

"And look who we have here." Slaughter said happily. "Not only Davidson, but "Big" Bracken."

"Yeah." "Big" snarled. "This is my house, now get out. You got nothing on me, flatfoot."

"Do you smell that?" Beckett asked. "Someone's doing some fancy printing around here."

"He's printing counterfeit money." Davidson squawked. "Let me off easy and I can testify against him."

"You rat." Bracken snarled. Slaughter had him cuffed, too.

We found the script and Miss Beckett would have her movie. I dropped her off at her apartment that night.

"It's been nice, Miss Beckett. Glad I could be of help."

"Yeah, I was thinking, Mr. Castle. I learned a lot from watching you. I could use some of those things in my books. How about if I shadow you for a while?"

"Shadow me?" I asked. There is a God. I thought.

"For a while. And I'd stay out of your way. You've seen I can be useful."

"Okay. Tomorrow, Miss Beckett?"

"It's Kate. And, yes, tomorrow, Rick."

Tomorrow and always.

"Dad? What are you doing?"

"Oh, hi, Pumpkin. I'm just writing a few things from the case we just finished. I might make a short story out of it, or something."

"It's late. Shouldn't you be getting to bed?"

"You're right as always, Pumpkin. I'm going now."

Rick Castle closed his laptop and headed for bed.

Tomorrow and always.