Wednesday, November 20, 2013



The intro


The car swerved through the red light and floored it back into fourth. Down the left lane, over the corner of the sidewalk, over the narrow curb.
The spoiler snapped off. Two shots rang from the alley.
The tires heated. More gunshots.
Police cars reached the scene.
The “object in pursuit” pulled a donut into the intersection at 90. Cars honked and rammed out of the way, if they could. Signs blurred, red ang blue permeated the air.
More shots, more vehicles. Now it started to hydroplane; the P Zero Corsas were unmatched by the thick rain-
Edged a straight line down the yellow. It was rush hour.
Blurred and stunned, another car smashed over the curb and onto the hydrant.
He had one more light before-
Two blank butterflys edged from the shots and screams. Two men in the passenger row raised the barrels to the glass and fired.
The car in the middle crashed into the car on the right. Sparks filled the floor. Pants jutted from the left car; it lost control and hydroplaned into a barbershop. The shocks were trashed when it jumped the curb. There were two cars left.
The men with the weapons reloaded and rolled down the windows a bit more. The man in the occasional seat emerged, with a minigun.
The Cobra skidded through the next turn, then J-turned into the middle of the intersections on a red-
Two SUVs collided front-on. The crash sent out heaps of black smoke.
The Cobra was gone.


The first scene
She was dreaming of something to get him. It was Christmas Eve.
The phone rang. It woke them up.
She fell out of the bed and stared blankly at the phone.
“We’ve got a murder.”
He rolled out and put some clothes on.



The crime scene, iniation.
A young man riddled with holes sprawled inside. All the airbags evidently failed to go off.
“Time of death?” She enquired.
“Well, based on witnesses, and temperature of body, it was 5:42 or so last night.”
Beckett threw the number to the back of her mind.
Castle noticed something. He paced the wreckage, feeling every bump and indication.
“What is it?” She said.
He grinned. He hadn’t seen those on in forever.
“What do we know about the victim?”
She ignored her and listened to him.
“Ten point cage, airbags removed, AC removed, custom splitter. Not like that did him any good..” He smiled grimly. “It’s been dropped 3.5, obviously…”
Not obviously, they all thought. He drank some of the coffee. He moved around back.
“There was a spoiler here, from the nubs.” Carbon fiber, by looks. Ten grand easy.  "Decent Borla back here, too." 
Only later did he realize he was the only car guy in the room- figuratively speaking, as he would say...
"Rear diffuser, of course, all custom...
"Carbon Forgiatas, obviously.. P Zero Corsas both up front and back.. That must've been a sight, those burning."
"Here, somebody got it on tape." He took the phone from Beckett.
He whistled- no, cat-called at it. That kind of sound usually sat back for women- but this rubber was even better.. More expensive, for sure.
None of them remembered who finally convinced him to get back inside.





1st in the building
"Scrub those cameras, I want footage. Me and Castle can work over the car, see if we can find any leads from it. We need anything on this guy we can get- if he's as rich as his car, he's got a high-profile job somewhere. That should lead us to somewhere."
Castle grinned.
There hadn't been a case this interesting in a long time. Not since the very first.
That coffee in the usual Styrofoam cup was almost empty now.


more information
She looked at him. Her mouth formed that perfect smile. "For the sake of our future, tell me you would never get caught doing anything like this. I don't want to hear you're dead into a department store. I'm looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you."
She had said that every day for the last week.
"I won't get caught, that's fact." He wasn't going to make any more promises. He cracked his knuckles and leaned back in the chair.
They had been talking for a while when his eyes glossed over the external world, and turned within. As if an Iron Ghost... (Science fiction fan fiction reference)
"Here's what really happened here." He grinned. He wouldn't have long if they were going to get back soon. "So our rich-ass guy wants this car and takes it to get all Roushed out. He doesn’t make the payments, though. He's too busy with an investment in drugs, and building his prostitution ring, so he can't make the payments." He paused... "But, then, just as the two black SUVs went after him- and somehow caught up with him-" He thought back to all that money in one car... "His friends came to bail him out- or so they would have, if he could keep his ass screwed on for another minute." He thought about it.
"It's a garage. Nobody makes these cars from the ground up and keeps it to themselves. Just think Hennessey."
Only once he had lost his train of theory did he realize the small crowd gathered. It was half the fun of the job, for the interns, to see whether he was right.
"Or, there were no men. At all." He seethed in the victory of defeating the writer so easily... He turned the computer over. The crowd watched the man build the car, around the clock, for a week straight.
Castle checked the time stamp. (The footage was taken with a surveillance cam, which just happened to be looking the wrong way. Like, straight into the dead man's garage.
Ryan, one. Castle, zero.
Castle fought back. "But then it doesn't explain the motive for killing him." Castle threw his hands in the air in mock confusion. "Who would have killed him? Furthermore, where did he get the money to build this?"
He knew he was starting to talk like Beckett. "Follow those cams, take his daily for a walk, see where he worked."
"I don't take orders from you. You're a writer." Ryan turned around and walked away.
But he left the laptop. where did he get the money to build this?"
He knew he was starting to talk like Beckett. "Follow those cams, take his daily for a walk, see where he worked."
"I don't take orders from you. You're a writer." Ryan turned around and walked away.
But he left the laptop.



sir and ryan
"Ryan." Her voice was more insistent than usual- a very difficult feat to match.
His blood still boiled. Now, hers.
"What were you thinking? Mr. Castle has as much a right to work here as you."
He looked toward the ground.
Beckett hit his hand. Castle stopped eavesdropping.
A thick smile worked its way from ear to ear. No, it was too unprofessional. He wouldn't do it.
No- but he could try to pull it off while he still had a chance.
After the newly erupted episode, the usual people cleared out around the board. For a priceless moment- now, when the seven planets aligned- he had his chance.



it all on the board
Okay, okay. Beckett went to the bathroom again.
That would explain why she was acting so pissed off, wouldn't it?
He snapped back to the matter at hand- mind.
The mystery man, to the garage. They would find a garage, where these guys built from the ground up. Muscle club. Big, burly men, bigass money, bigass engines.
Garage to job. Dry cleaner's place, by looks. Huge corporation. Nobody came in, except a few fixed, to keep the place looking legit and proper. They kept their prices real high, and their service terrible. They set up next to another cleaners, so nobody would think twice about walking out the door.
Cleaners to cartel. Usual- no, no, with the women ring. Just because, for the money.
Cartel to the border. With Mexico, obviously.
Border to corrupt politicians.
- it, he was just impressed when the whole damn theory made it two days before it got taken down by the Sir.
It was Ryan's way of a forced apology.



Opposition from the missus (damn close enough)
Beckett looked at him- then, back at the board. then, back at him. It took her under a minute to see it.
She studied the flow chart in mock scholarity.
"You know, this is perfect. Except for one thing."
She leaned in to whisper, against his very eardrums.  "You can't back up a damn thing."
Mental note: she wanted the d tonight.



at the scene- car chase 2 (?)
they raced to the address written on the back of the envelope. He had a thought- no, he would hang on to it. He needed to prove he was right on this one, Beckett guessed.
Castle found the letter stuck in the tailpipe of the wreckage. The fourth exhaust- it was deep in.
Why he was reaching hand-over-fist into metal pipes, she had no -ing idea.
Terror hit his face. He threw her to the floor.
Her head banged into the steering wheel.
Hard.
A black SUV shot at the car. The windscreen shattered. The comm system caught on fire-
Their  world flipped as the SUV clipped and T-rammed them down the ramp out of the garage they had just gotten into.
The SUV floored it and drove away. Tire marks all over the road-
He grinned. Now of all times he had an idea--
(Note: his idea is to check the VIN on the P Zero Corsas and see if he can track them to any reseller)
a. this leads to him in an encounter with a Jiffy Lube owner, who flat out lies to them, and is later taken in and interviewed.

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