374. Chapter 374

After Headhunters

Episode 4.21

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: If you say I own Castle, Sherlock, I'll break your face. Rating: K Time: See above.

Jamaican Heat

By

Kate Beckett Castle

Captain Nikki heat walked into her office to find a scruffy looking detective sitting in Rook's chair. He obviously didn't know that she did not allow anyone but her husband to sit there. "Up and out of the chair, Slaughter." She barked.

Slaughter turned around and grinned at her. "I like it here."

Nikki smiled at him. "You do? Well, that's different." She grabbed the back of the chair, yanked hard and dropped Slaughter on his ass. "I like you there."

"Police brutality, Captain Heat?" Slaughter said with a smirk. "Maybe you are my kind if woman."

She smirked back. "No, your kind of woman is blind, deaf and dumb."

"And owns a liquor store." Slaughter added.

"Okay, Slaughter. What do you want? Tell me and get out."

"I just wanted to tell you that your wife, Jameson Rook, is going to be riding along with me for a few days. He said he wants to expand his palette. Whatever that means."

Nikki took ahold of Slaughter's ear and pressed her fingernail into the shell of his ear. "If anything happens to him, I will show you just what the words "police brutality" really mean."

Slaughter laughed. "Now how could I be held responsible if Miss Mary Sue Heat gets hurt?"

"Do something stupid and you'll find out."

"Kate, what are you doing?" Castle leaned over his desk and looked at what was on his laptop.

"Writing."

"You want to write?" He tried to keep from laughing.

"Castle, Gates won't even let me do paperwork now that I'm halfway through my second trimester. I've tried calling Ryan and Esposito to see if I can help on anything, you know, build theory, check things on the internet and they act like I'll break into a million pieces if I lift a finger. I don't have anything to do and it's driving me crazy. So, I decided I'd try to write a Nikki Heat story. Even if it's no good, I'll be doing something. It might even help you."

Castle read over her story so far. "It need some work. Let me re-do the start for you.

Jamaican Heat

By

Richard Castle and Katherine Beckett Castle

Jameson Rook strode into the gang task force and headed straight for Detective Slaughter. "You Slaughter?" He barked.

"Who wants to know?"

"Me. I'll be riding with you for a few days. I'm Jameson Rook, the writer."

Slaughter laughed. "No way. I work alone and I work gangs, really tough guys. Killers with dozens of bodies on them. Not like the polite society murders you've been working on with that babe you married. Say, how is she in the sack?"

Slaughter found himself on the floor with Rook's foot on his windpipe. "One, say another thing about my wife, and I'll disassemble you, body part by body part. Two, the people I've worked with make your gang bangers look like choir boys: US Special Forces, British SAS, Russian Spetsnaz, Israeli Sayeret Matkal, Foreign Legion paras, Kurdish Peshmerga. I've been in Iraq, A-Stan, Syria, the Balkans, Africa, the Caucasus. In fact, I'd put a half a dozen of the Chechen fighters against any gang New York has, and they'd win."

Slaughter smiled coldly. "You just might prove useful, Shakespeare."

"If you live long enough to learn what I can teach you." Rook shot back.

Slaughter nodded. "Let me grab my partner. Hey, Demming! Let's go."

Rook noticed that the detective had a large band aid on his forehead. "What happened to your partner?"

"Three .45 rounds to the forehead. Luckily they all missed his brain. Oh, and if you're so damned good, try teaching him how to tie his shoelaces. Now that would impress me."

Rook grabbed Demming and stared into the man's eyes. After a few seconds, Demming bent down and tied his shoes.

"Nothing to it." Rook said. "I'll drive." He held up the car keys he'd lifted from Slaughter's pocket.

Kate rolled her eyes. "Why does your name come first? This is my story."

"But I'm the professional writer. I have to do all of the heavy lifting."

"Lifting BS has got to be tiring. And do you have to keep bringing up Demming? That was years ago."

"You are the sexiest, most beautiful, toughest, smartest, most knowledgeable, exciting, tempting woman on the planet. And those are just a few of your qualities that I came up with off the top of my head. Naturally, I've always been massively jealous of Demming. But if you insist, I can change his name to, oh, Davidson?"

"Forget it." Kate said, having trouble keeping a straight face. "But, shouldn't this bear a little more resemblance to reality? I don't quite remember your case with Slaughter going quite like that."

Jamaican Heat

By

Kate Beckett Castle

"Nikki, you have to help me." Rook was sobbing as he walked into Nikki's office.

"What do you need, lover?" She asked tenderly.

"My editor wants more on the NYPD. Not just the homicide squad, but the other squads as well. He has me riding with Detective Slaughter. The man isn't human. I just went with him for a bit. He took me to lunch at a place that had no maître de, no wine list and they used paper napkins! How does my editor expect me to survive? Worse, Slaughter told me that there are more of these Mickey Dee's places all over the world. This is the end of civilization as I know it. Hold me, Nikki. Hold me, please."

Captain Nikki Heat held her husband while he cried on her shoulder. "There, there, Rookie. I'll make sure nothing happens to you. I'll go with you on your ride along."

"Thank you, Nikki. Thank you. You're the best woman ever. I'm so glad I lost my virginity to you. It was worth waiting until I was forty one. Can we do it again sometime?"

"Whenever you're ready, lover." Nikki said encouragingly.

Nikki was as good as her word. That afternoon she, Rook, Slaughter and Demming walked into McNasty's Pub, the headquarters of the Westies. Nikki walked over to Brian Reilly, the Westie's chief leg breaker. "Mr. Reilly, "She said softly, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

The snarl on Reilly's face suddenly turned to a frown, then he began to cry. He found himself leaning on Nikki's shoulder. Rook was massively jealous and afraid that Reilly would cop a feel, and he almost said something.

"Captain Heat, I'm so sorry. I killed Glitch, my own flesh and blood. Can you please take me to the precinct so I can confess properly? No need for me to get a lawyer."

Nikki nodded. "I knew you'd feel better if you confessed."

"Thank you, Nikki." Rook gushed. "I'm going to go home, change my underwear, vacuum our place and make dinner for us."

"See you at the loft, lover."

Rick stared hard at his wife. "Really? Forty one? I had a teenaged daughter when we met. Remember?"

Kate shrugged. "You did, but Rook didn't. It's fiction."

"Oh, that is definitely fiction with a capital F. Let me show you how it's done.

Jamaican Heat

By

Katherine Beckett Castle and Richard Castle

Rook, Slaughter and Demming walked into McNasty's Pub. As they did, a dozen sons of Erin advanced on them with clubs, tire irons and chains. "We don't like cops in here. Now you'll find out what happens when you mess with us Westies." Snarled the biggest one.

"Stand behind me. "Rook said calmly. However, Slaughter had run out the door and Demming was tying his shoe over and over. "As usual, it's just me." Luckily for Rook, he was a master of over a dozen martial arts. In less than five seconds, he'd disarmed the thugs, and quickly explaining the tenets of Gandhian pacifism to them, converted them to a life of non-violence.

"Thank you, Mr. Rook. Thank you for making us better human beings." Their leader said.

"Glad to be of help. This will be a help when I go to the Middle East to bring peace to that violence torn region. I've had to schedule three whole days to do that."

Slaughter stuck his head back inside the bar. "Mr. Rook, how did you do that?"

"Years of practice and study in Shangri-La. If you have a few minutes when we're done here, I can make you a better human being as well."

"Can you?" Slaughter began to cry, thinking of the years he'd wasted in mindless violence and sexism. He decided then and there that he'd pay for the operation that the mother of M.E. Laura Wilson needed.

Rook nodded. "Of course. Just as soon as I wrap up this case. I've determined that Glitch, as he was known, decided to dig up the corpses of members of the Trenchtown Posse, a Jamaican gang, to win his way back into the good graces of the Westies. A Mexican gang leader named Cesar Vales heard of this and ambushed Glitch, hoping to profit by the resulting gang war. But Vales didn't kill Glitch. My little grey cells tell me it was his father, Brian Reilly."

Brian Reilly broke down and confessed then and there.

"That's how you remember the case?" Kate asked.

"Actually, what I remember is that I loved you so much, I was devastated that you didn't love me."

"I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else. And I have for years."

"Maybe writing isn't the best thing for us right now. How about I massage your feet?"

Kate smiled. "And then we'll have some ice cream?"

They both knew the answer to that and said the word together. "Always."