For those of you who do not remember. In episode 3 x 15 Castle said that without encouragement from his mentor Damien Westlake he would have become a lawyer, a grifter, or a rodeo clown. This is my exploration of those realities.

The Lawyer (Part 1 of 3)

Jimmy "The Tool" Karpowski is wanted for questioning, again. Nobody calls him "The Tool",
it was just a moniker that I felt seemed appropriate to the man that I had been saddled
with defending. Junior Associates always got stuck with the shit clients, I understood that,
but I couldn't seem to shake Jimmy. Eleven years had passed and I was still stuck with him.
I didn't like it, but I accepted it. Guilt or innocence had no place in my work; it was all about
"due process". And if that "process" failed to hold up in court, it wasn't my fault. I do the job
and I get paid, and I was good at my job, too good in fact. Jimmy should have been behind
bars three years ago, but I'd learned the secret to being a successful lawyer, and it had
nothing to do with the law.

The secret is in understanding people and perception. Only lawyers understand the law; we
have to in order to play the game. But Joe Schmuck, who finds himself lucky enough to be
picked for a jury trial, doesn't need to know a damn thing about the law, he doesn't have to.
Hell, he doesn't even need to have a first grade education. He just needs to sit there and
listen while I tell him what to think and what to believe. Hitler was able to convince eighty
million people to follow him, so convincing twelve jurors that my client is a saint and not a
sinner is relatively easy. Now, it was time for me to save Jimmy's ass again.

"Gloria!" I yelled to the outer office to get the attention of my assistant "slash" paralegal.

"You bellowed?"

I enjoyed her smart ass retorts and her work ethic. I finally found her after chewing up and
spitting out five previous assistants. She was my right arm and I made sure she was paid
well for her work.

"It's 'Tool Time' again."

"Already?" Gloria had been there for the trial three years ago and his two minor "run ins" with the law since.

"Why can't somebody bump this guy off already? He's such a dick. Even his own people can't stand him."

"Yeah, but he's the kind of a dick that gets his job done. His bosses like that about him and me, so that's
why I'm stuck with him."

"Lucky us. So, what do we got?" She always had her pen and notepad ready whenever I yelled for her.

"We've got two days to gather our intel before he has to be at the 12th Precinct for questioning in a double
homicide. He's conveniently out of town till then."

"Surprise."

I ignored her remark and her smirk.

"The double execution style murders happened two nights ago near Mercer and Canal. The lead detective
is named Beckett. You know what I need and I'll need it by tomorrow morning, so everything else you're
working on goes on the back burner. If there's something you can pawn off on one of the interns, do it."

"Got it."

She left me to my work. I now had twelve hours to bring the two other cases we were working on to a
temporary halt. Thanks Jimmy, you "tool".

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gloria never failed to meet a deadline. When I walked into my office the next morning I found an
inch thick file folder sitting in the middle of my desk. I picked up the file and carried it down the hall
with me to the lunch room. I wasn't about to start my day without my morning espresso. It was
amazing how much the women in my life influenced my thinking. I could have asked Gloria to bring
me my coffee, but the more I've come to understand women, the more my perception has changed.
I realized it would be demeaning to her and plain lazy of me to make such a request. I even began
asking the other female paralegals and interns if I could bring them a coffee when I went to get
mine, and it quickly endeared me to them all. You definitely do catch more flies with honey, and
Gloria always used my goodwill to her advantage when pawning off her workload.

The file she'd left for me was heavier than normal. It was only supposed to be a dossier on one
person. I flipped open the folder as my espresso brewed and was greeted by a photo of a fashion
model. "Dammit Gloria!" Today was not the day for fooling around. I slapped the folder closed and
concentrated on making my espresso. Gloria was at her desk when I returned and she was so
focused on her work that she didn't notice me till I set my mug on her desk. She noticed the mug,
picked it up and began slurping away.

"Hey!" She thought I was waiting for her gratitude.

"Thanks." She tuned me out and went back to work.

"Ahem."

"What?"

She was surprised to find I was still standing there. I opened the folder and whipped out the photo.

"Can I have the real one please?"

She gave it a brief glance. "That is the real one."

"No it isn't. This is a picture of a fashion model, not a police detective."

"Did you look at the woman in the photo?"

"Yes."

"At anything other than her face and her tits?"

"What?"

"Look closer, you'll see." The tone of her voice conveyed the unspoken word "chauvinist".

Looking past the long flowing tresses, the chic form fitting shirt and slacks and what looked like
ten inch high heeled boots, I finally saw it. The gun and badge secured to the belt fastened
about her waist.

"Wow."

"If you think her picture is wow, wait till you read her file."

"This file is all her?"

"Yep."

"Wow."

"More "wow" to come so you better start reading. You're going need every advantage
you can get with that one."

"Thanks."

"Wait till tomorrow and then you can thank me."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I must have said "wow" at least seven more times while I read her file. The woman's life
read like a Shakespearian tragedy.

Born in 1978, she was the only child of Jim and Johanna Beckett. Her mother was murdered
when the detective was a teenager and the case was never solved. She attended NYU,
and after receiving an associate of arts degree she applied to the NYPD. Father died a year
later of alcohol related heart disease. She was a highly decorated patrol officer but she was
reprimanded when she first became a detective for using her badge to investigate her
mother's case. She was ordered to attend sessions with a departmental therapist before
she could return to duty. She stayed off the radar up until year ago, when evidence from a
case she was working on tied into her mother's murder and it resulted in her shooting and
killing the hired gunman who'd confessed to her mother's murder. There were no leads as
to who hired the killer. The murderer was found but the case remained unsolved. Detective
Beckett was cleared of any wrongdoing, but mandatory counseling was ordered again. An
overview of the woman's personal life looked like she was sleeping her way up the chain of
command. She was linked romantically with her training officer Mike Royce for several years,
then to a detective at the 10th, Captain Oswalt at the 5th, a profiler with the FBI, one of the
Mayor's assistants, and most recently the campaign manager to Senator O'Brien. This wasn't
a woman sleeping her way to the top. This was a woman searching for something, and it
wasn't love. It was justice; and I was well aware that justice was blind, or that it had blinders
on when it came to a suspect. I needed to be on my A game during Jimmy's questioning,
especially since I'd be the one doing all the talking.

Jimmy had learned his lesson from the murder trial three years ago. He'd learned to shut up
and to speak only on command. My command, when it came to talking to the police. He had
his nose rubbed in his own shit once and that was the only lesson he needed. Ninety percent
of those in jail were too cocky for their own good and never knew when to shut up. The other
ten percent are made up of the sad lot of innocents that were too trusting of the system to
believe that they would ever be found guilty of a crime they did not commit. Even the truth,
when twisted by the justice system can get you twenty to life.

I'd viewed Jimmy's trial as damage control after the fact. One of the first rules of trial law is to
avoid going to trial at all costs. Mediate, negotiate, settle or plea bargain. Those are the first
options. Trials are a last resort. Trials contain too many unpredictable variables, especially jury
trials. One juror could decide guilt or innocence based upon the way your client parts his hair
and another could hear the word "lust' instead of "trust" and misunderstand your entire closing
argument. Jimmy had one thing going for him though, it was his looks. Put him in a slightly ill
fitting suit with a pair of wire rimmed glasses on his face and he looked like a nerdy accountant
who couldn't defend himself much less kill anyone. Perception; that was all it took to get Jimmy
off. Of course the lack of any real evidence didn't hurt either, but I know of people sent to death
row with less.

My mother was the first to teach me about perception. She had been a prominent stage actress
before she gave it all up to play country club housewife to a love struck Orthopedic Surgeon who
had wood her from the front row of one of her plays. I was fifteen when they married and it had
been the best thing for her and for me. No more living like vagabonds and touring with Off Broadway
productions in the summer, one school, a permanent home and a college education. One simple
twist of fate for her, and I had it made. I thought I was all that, until I invited her to come and
watch one of the trials I had finally been assigned to as second chair. Afterwards she commented
on how much it reminded her of the stage. To her, lawyers were like actors trying to win over an
audience (the jurors), to make them believe in the story being told. I had tried so hard not to be
like my mother, and to suddenly realize that I was nothing more than a highly educated actor was
both humbling and rewarding. She taught me the one thing I was missing. I understood the
procedures of trial law, but not the drama of it. It was all about perception.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I rode in with Jimmy to the 12th on Friday morning. As much as I hated him, I hated the downtown
traffic even more. His driver dropped us off at the front door and Jimmy told him to circle the building
till we were done. If we hadn't been in front of a police station I believe his driver would have pulled
out a gun and shot Jimmy then and there. Instead, the man glared at Jimmy's back. I could see his
knuckles turn white as he vented his anger on the steering wheel. He looked away, and I watched
as the town car lurched from the curb and forced its way back into the traffic to begin the repetitious
quarter mile circuit of the building. There was no telling how long we would be inside. It could be thirty
minutes; or it could be hours. As I lost sight of the car I could just imaging what hell must be like. It
would be an unending purgatory of left turns in the bumper to bumper traffic of downtown New York.
Gloria was right. Why hadn't somebody killed him yet?

I hurried to catch up with Jimmy as his back disappeared through the double doors. It was best not
to leave him alone, especially in a building full of cops. He hated cops with a passion and was usually
very vocal with his hatred. One wrong look or a bump in passing could set him off. My presence would
curb his natural inclination. As I pushed through the doors, I could almost imagine the infamous
mobsters that may have been escorted through the Precinct's art deco brick entrance, Legs Diamond,
Lucky Luciano or perhaps Bugsy Siegel. Were they anything like Jimmy? Was today's "Tool" the same
as yesterday's "Wiseguy"? Did I really want to know?

Catching up to Jimmy, I steered him towards the elevator. There would be no waiting in the bulging
line that filled the foyer. We didn't have to check in with the duty sergeant. Lawyers had an all access
pass, especially lawyers with clients wanted for questioning. Watching Jimmy squirm as cops in their
dress blues and detectives in their ill fitting off the rack suits entered and exited the elevator at each
floor almost made my morning. I had to stifle a laugh as he struggled through the sea of blue that had
pressed us into the back of the elevator and out onto the sixth floor. I half expected him to fall prostrate
upon the floor and cry, "Land!"."

I took a moment to take in my surroundings and to get that image of Jimmy out of my head. I didn't
need any distractions; it was time to get to work. My eyes finally found the head of long auburn
tresses I was looking for. She must have felt someone looking at her because her eyes came up
briefly and caught mine. I didn't notice any surprise or recognition in her glance. Her face remained
expressionless as she looked away. She was one cool lady.

"Follow me."

This was the first time I had spoken to Jimmy since we said our obligatory "good mornings" almost
an hour ago. As we approached Detective Beckett's desk, we were intercepted by another detective.

"You with Karpowski?" The Hispanic man's ex-military demeanor was easy to read. His haircut and
muscles said grunt. I thought it best to play superior officer with this one.

"I'm Mr. Castle, Mr. Karpowski's attorney. We were asked here for an interview at 0900." I purposefully
glanced at my watch. "That will be in four minutes. I would like to get started on time."

"Right this way, sir."

He ushered us into a sparse room that contained an institutional table, several chairs with well worn
cushions and a very large two way mirror that dominated one wall. The smears of fingerprints,
handprints, the odd faceprint and other substances deposited on its reflective surface blended
together to create what looked like a bizarre translucent Salvador Dali mural. The brief chance I
had at finding art where none actually existed was interrupted by the detective.

"Detective Beckett will be with you shortly." He turned to leave but stopped short as I barked an
order at him.

"Give her my card."

I handed over one of my more expensive black and gold business cards. He took it and shut the door.
Now we could only wait; I was sure my act of intimidation and my fancy card would have little effect
on her. It was just part of the game we were about to play.

I've never written in 'first person' before so I thought I'd give it a try. How am I doing so far? Good or bad, let me know. THANKS!