Greetings Dear Reader,

For a while now I have always wanted to write a road/buddy story and this is the result. Castle has skipped bail and is on the run from the FBI and an angry mob boss hell bent on seeing him dead because of the secrets Castle has. Beckett is the bounty hunter hired to bring him. As the title of the story suggests, this is based on that De Niro movie. I hope you enjoy it.

A Midnight Run

Chapter 1

Kate Beckett drove her car slowly down the street. This was a street she was familiar with having patrolled it back when she had been a newly minted rookie fresh out of the police academy. The street was lined with a number of topless bars, a couple of burger joints and some other shops. A number of badassess were gathered together out the front of one of the bars. As she was driving past she saw a couple of youths begin to push and shove each other and then start to throw punches at each other. The gathered crowd closed in shouting encouragement to the combatants having found some unexpected entertainment. It was another night on the streets with nothing much to do except start a fight.

Beckett continued driving on. There would have been a time when she would have stopped and tried to break up the fight and disperse the crowd because she knew full well that fights like this could escalate and turn deadly when weapons, knives most likely but just as easily guns, were produced by one or both of the combatants. She certainly would not have done it without back up. She had lost count of the number of times she got a call in the middle of the night to attend a murder scene in a street not unlike this one where a fight such like the one taking place now had turned deadly. Thankfully this was not her problem any more.

Reaching the end of the street Beckett paused and glanced in her rear view mirror to see that the fight had spilled onto the street as more people had gotten into the fight. She shook her head sadly, pitying the uniforms that would be getting the call out to deal with this. She remembered her own time in uniform.

A quick shake of her head and she pushed aside such thoughts. She turned left and quickly drove away. A moment later the fight outside the topless bar was all but forgotten. Her thoughts was on another matter. A few minutes later she turned into a small street that was lined with two, three and four storey tenement buildings. There were only a few street lights that were working. Most had been shot out and the ones that were still working would not be for long when someone decided to use them for target practice.

Finding the building she had been looking for she pulled in the car and killed the engine. For a moment she felt as if she had stepped into a war zone. This was part of the city that the beautification efforts by the local municipality had sailed right past.

All the buildings were dilapidated and run down. Even in the darkness she could see that the only coat of paint these buildings had received had been from the spray-cans that graffiti artists had used to do their tags. There was refuse and rubbish scattered all over the street. The place looked like a scene from the movie Escape From New York. An empty desolate scene where hope died a quick and painful death.

Using the car's ceiling light Beckett glanced at the large watch on her wrist. It was her father's watch which she had taken to wearing some time ago. She frowned at the time. She had been hoping to get the job done before midnight but that plan had flown out the window. With a bit of luck she could get the job over and done with and be home before dawn. Well that was her plan B.

Switching off the light Beckett looked over to the building she had been looking for. Reaching for her holster Beckett pulled out her Sig Sauer and pulled out the ammunition clip. She checked to see that the clip was full. She always checked before each job. She rammed the clip back into place and cocked the weapon and put the safety on before returning the gun back into the holster on her hip.

Another glance at her watch.

"No time like the present." Beckett muttered aloud.

She opened the door and stepped out of the car. Closing the door and locking the car Beckett looked up and down the street. There was no one about on the street. Satisfied, she adjusted the collar of her black leather jacket, made sure that access to her holstered gun was clear and crossed the street making her way to the tenement building.

The front door was half open and Beckett walked through looking as if she owned the place. The lobby was dimly lit but there was enough light for her to see. She saw that the walls of the lobby had been used as a canvas for taggers. Very little of the stuff on the walls was anywhere near artistic most was unintelligible or lurid. She tried hard not to breath in too deeply. The smell that assailed her nostrils was almost overpowering, dog and cat urine mixed with month old garbage and some smells she could not identify. There had been some decomposing bodies that smelled better than what confronted her here.

Not for the first time did she wonder how people could live in conditions such as this. Quickly she dismissed the thought. There was no point in wondering because there was no answer to that question, at least none that she had ever found.

Beckett crossed the lobby and started up the stairs. She climbed slowly up the stairs trying not to make too much noise, her hand was never far away from her holstered gun. Passing the first floor she heard a dog barking from within one of the apartments. By the sound it must have been a big German Shepherd or some other attack breed that was favoured by many of the residents in places such as this.

Reaching the second floor landing Beckett paused as she heard the sounds of a loud and fierce argument coming from one of the apartments. She was not sure whether it was coming from a television or if it was the beginnings of a domestic. She resumed climbing up the stairs.

When she nearly reached the third floor Beckett almost tripped on an empty beer bottle discarded on the step. She reached out and caught the bannister before she fell. The bottle went tumbling down the stairs end over end and smashed in pieces when it hit the second floor landing. Beckett let out a curse for having almost fallen and for the noise of the bottle smashing.

Reaching the third floor she moved carefully passing one apartment door until she found the one she was looking for. Apartment 3C. Beckett nodded to herself that she had found the right place. She cast a look up and down the small corridor before she put her ear to the front and listened for a couple of moments.

Pulling back a step Beckett reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and removed a lock pick. Moving forward she crouched down before the door and inserted the lock pick and started to jiggle the tool quietly. This was a part of her job that she did not particularly like doing but it was par for the course of the job she did these days.

The lock pick suddenly slipped out of her grasp and fell to the floor. Beckett silently cursed as she bent down to gather up the tool. The silence of the floor was shattered by the explosion from a shot gun blast from the other side of the room. Chunks of wood were sprayed all over the place. Beckett threw herself flat on the floor, reaching for her gun.

For a moment Beckett was stunned by the shot gun blast. Her heart was beating rapidly. She was stunned at how close she had come to getting killed. Instinct quickly kicked in and she rolled into a sitting position her gun pointed at the door. Her eyes widened in alarm at the big gaping hole that the shot gun blast had created in the door and where her head had been just moments before.

She rose to her feet and peered through the big hole and saw the fugitive she had come to apprehend climbing out of the window and disappearing up the fire escape. Beckett let out another curse as she kicked open the door and rushed into the apartment and to the window.

Beckett had been tracking Cy Bouchet for the past few days and could not believe what was happening now. It had cost her a hundred dollars or more in paying for information on Bouchet's whereabouts. She was not about to let him get away not when she was this close.

Cy Bouchet, aged in his early twenties, had skipped bail a month or so ago. Bouchet had been the last case she had worked on at the twelfth Precinct before everything had exploded in her face and was forced from the NYPD. If she had the time she would have reflected on the irony.

Peering out the window Beckett saw Bouchet making his way up the fire escape. She could have called out to the young fugitive to stop but she knew she would have been wasting her breath. There was no way Bouchet was going to stop. She holstered her gun and hauled herself out the window, setting off after Bouchet.

Bouchet reached the roof of the building and paused to look down the fire escape. Seeing that Beckett was climbing up after him he turned and raced across the roof. Beckett reached the roof and set off after the man. She saw Bouchet leap across to the next building. Beckett did not pause to consider the dangers she faced instead she increased her speed and leaped over to the next building.

She continued chasing the fugitive and thought she was gaining on him. She saw Bouchet look over his shoulder and his eyes widened with surprise at seeing that she was still chasing him. Without missing a beat Bouchet leaped across another narrow alley to land on the roof of the adjacent building. As he landed he stumbled and dropped his shotgun. He reached down picking up the gun and continued running.

Beckett didn't hesitate she leaped across to the other side only to miss. The gap was a tad too wide for her. She fell but with her momentum she managed to grab the ledge and hold on for dear life. Her breathing was coming in ragged gasps as she struggled to hold on. She peered down to see that it was a four storey drop, and any landing down there was going to hurt, hurt a lot, if not worse. The muscles in her arms screamed in protest at having to support her weight as she hung on the ledge. There was no way she was going to fall, not tonight, no way she told herself forcefully.

Summoning ever last bit of strength and will power Beckett strained very hard as she hauled herself up and managed to swing a foot up. It caught the ledge and with no little relief she was able to scramble up and onto the roof. Crouching down she tried to catch her breath. That was way too close for comfort, she thought.

Looking across the roof she saw that Bouchet had reached the other end. Bouchet paused and looked back at her. Beckett's face clouded with anger when she saw the young man cast a triumphant smirk in her direction before disappearing down the fire escape.

Taking a deep breath Beckett rose up and set off after Bouchet once again. He was not going to escape that easily, not if she could help it. She dashed across the roof at the speed of a sprinter. On reaching the edge of the roof she peered over the edge. At that moment Bouchet fired his shot gun at the roof.

The shot gun blast missed Beckett forcing her to duck. Bouchet did not hang around to see what his handiwork achieved, he continued down the fire escape. Beckett went down the fire escape. She could see that Bouchet had a bit of a gap on her. She saw him reach the end of the fire escape and then drop down to the ground into an alley. Bouchet started running.

Beckett dropped to the ground and started rising ready to chase after the fleeing Bouchet. She saw Bouchet stop and turn around and level the shot gun. Beckett threw herself to the ground as the man fired. A plastic garbage can close by exploded from the gun shot blast.

As she rose to her feet ready to set off after Bouchet. Beckett was grateful that Bouchet was a lousy shot. Bouchet was a good hundred yards away. Beckett saw the lights of a car turn into the alley and make a bee line for Bouchet, and picked up speed. Bouchet tried to avoid the oncoming car but was not quick enough and got side-wiped by the car and landed on the ground with a heavy thud.

Beckett slowed her running and continued to watch as the scene unfolded at the other end of the

alley. The car that hit Bouchet screeched to a halt and the driver's side door was thrown open and the driver stepped out. Beckett recognised the driver and rolled her eyes.

"Shit." she muttered aloud as she increased her pace.

Tom Demming was a tall man with the good looks and athletic build that could have easily graced the covers of magazines or catalogues. He had once been a cop in the NYPD working out of Robbery before he decided his talent was being wasted in the police so he thought he could make his fame and fortune as a male model. His type were a dime a dozen in the modelling world and he did not get much work. Another reason he did not get much work was because he was a little too old. In the end out of necessity he ended up being a bounty hunter. Demming was not the sharpest tool in the shed and while he was a passable detective there was little or no chance he was ever going to rise up from the lowest rank of detective.

Beckett had met Demming in the gym at the 12 precinct one morning. During that first meeting while they had been sparring there had been some sparks between them and she had agreed to his invitation for diner after they worked together on a case. From the first date Beckett had realised that Demming might have been pleasing to the eye but there was nothing much between the ears. During that first date she had been called out to a murder scene. Never was she more grateful for a call out to a murder.

Despite her better judgment she had agreed to go out on another date with him, thinking that she may have judged him a little too harshly the first time but half way through their second date they were having she realised that her first impressions had been correct. It did not help his chances that almost from the moment they had sat down at the table he had been dropping very unsubtle hints about bedding her before the night was out.

She had been thankful for the call out to a murder scene she got at the restaurant. She couldn't get out of the place fast enough. After that she quickly broke it off with him. It was only later on she heard the gossip in the ladies toilets about how he did not measure up in bed in every sense of the word. She was silently grateful she had managed to dodge that bullet.

Demming walked slowly to where Bouchett lay prone on the ground moaning from the impact of the car and looked down at him to see if he was still alive. The slightly worried look on his face eased when he saw Bouchet's chest rise and fall.

"What the hell are you doing, Demming?" Beckett demanded.

"He's mine, Beckett. Get lost." Demming replied.

"The hell he's yours. He's mine. Royce assigned this guy to me."

Demming grinned at Beckett as he put his boot on Bouchett's chest as if to emphasise the point that the fugitive was his.

"Well go and straighten it out with Royce." Demming said. "While I collect the money."

Beckett reined in her rising anger as she walked up to Demming.

"Damn you Demming. I nearly got killed trying to get him."

Demming pulled out a .45 pistol and pointed it directly at Beckett.

"Back off Beckett." Demming warned. "I said I'm taking him."

Beckett stopped walking and looked at the gun pointed at her. Demming did not take rejection too kindly and it was obvious that he still had not forgiven her for dumping him after only a couple of dates. She held up her hands and forced a big smile to her face.

"Demming why are we fighting?" Beckett said. "We're friends right?"

"This clown's worth fifteen hundred dollars, Beckett." Demming nodded to the prone Bouchett. "It's nothing personal Beckett but get lost."

Beckett continued to smile and nodded her head. She dropped her arms. Suddenly the smile vanished from her face and she raised her arm pointing over Demming's shoulder.

"Demming, watch out." She shouted

Demming turned his head at the sudden alarm and in that moment Beckett swung a clenched fist and connected with Demming's chin. Demming spun around once as the lights went out and then hit the ground, out cold. A small satisfied grin settled on Beckett's face as she looked down at her handiwork.

Turning from the now comatose Demming Beckett bent down and grabbed a handful of Bouchet's shirt and hauled him up to his feet.

"What the hell's going on?" Bouchett muttered groggily. "You guys ain't cops."

"No, we're musicians." Beckett replied sarcastically. She shoved Bouchet towards Demming's car. "Now get in the car."

Bouchet cast a wary look in the direction of Beckett as if he was contemplating whether he was able to get away from this woman bounty hunter or not. The withering look she gave him in return immediately convinced him that he had zero chance of getting away. He meekly got into the front passenger seat of the car.

Beckett had considered for a moment slapping the cuffs on Bouchet but one look at him told her that he was in no condition to try any escape. The collision with Demming's car, though had not been hard enough to cause any serious damage, was enough to leave him groggy and he would not get far should he try to run. She got into the driver's side and started up the engine.

"Hey I need a doctor." Bouchet complained. "I'm bleeding here."

"They have a perfectly good doctor at the lock up."

Beckett put the car in reverse and slowly backed out of the alley passing the still comatose Tom Denning laying there on the ground.

"I'm bleeding all over your ride." Bouchet pointed.

"So?"

Beckett reversed into the street and then put the car into drive and quickly drove away.

"You don't care if there's blood all over your ride?" Bouchet was incredulous.

Beckett glanced across to Bouchet and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

"It's not my car." Beckett informed him.

XXX

Your thoughts would be greatly appreciated.