Hmm.
Don't get up yet. Stay in bed.
Castle.
Kate. Hi.
Castle. What?
Did you do this?
What?
Stop saying "what" and wake up.
I don't...
We're handcuffed.
Kinky.
Castle, it's not funny.
I didn't say "funny. " I said "kinky."
And I didn't cuff us.
Well, y-you think I cuffed us?
Well, they look like police cuffs.
Somebody else did this to us.
Do you recognize this place?
No.
But if I were writing a book,
this is where bad things would happen.
My watch is missing.
Mine, too, and my wallet.
So is my badge and my gun.
And my phone. I just renewed my contract.
Would you stop joking?
Hey, do I begrudge you your coping mechanisms?
What's the last thing that you remember?
I...
It's kind of a blur.
Yeah, me, too.
I think we were drugged.
Yeah, I think so, too, and not the good kind.
Okay.
Lift my top.
I think you might still be under the influence, but okay.
Castle, not like that. Just check my back.
There's something that hurts.
There's a needle mark.
We were drugged.
It looks like the work of a pygmy with a blowgun.
Okay, you can put my shirt down.
- Yeah, sorry. - Thanks.
All right, Castle, I want you to think very hard.
What's the last thing that you remember from this morning?
I was with you.
We were, uh, someplace seedy--
a hotel that rents rooms by the hour.
Would you just knock it off?
It's where we were.
You called me and you asked me to meet you there.
Oh, I did. Yes.
And then I took you up to the room
and then we...
And then we...
Dead body. We went to go and see a dead body.
Right.
A dead body.
You know what I love about working with you?
You always take me to the most charming places.
Well, I'm a simple girl, Castle. I go where the bodies are.
Besides, for a mystery novelist,
aren't seedy motels kind of a standard?
Ah, yes. Matter of fact,
they're a veritable advent calendar of salaciousness.
Behind every door, a delightful tale
of desperation, depravity--
Or death.
You know, you need to stop being a control freak.
I'm not--what do you mean, a control freak?
- You are being a control freak. - I've never been a control freak.
Sorry. Are we interrupting?
No. Victim's a white male, late 30s.
Housekeeping found him when they came to clean the room.
Cause of death?
Not entirely sure yet.
But there are indications of asphyxia
with some cyanosis around the face.
So he was suffocated?
Maybe. Then again, there's this.
Needle mark.
So he could've just OD'd, passed out face first,
- and suffocated. - Oh, no. It's definitely murder.
How can you tell?
Someone torched his fingers.
Burned off his prints.
They wanted to erase his identity.
And they did a pretty good job, too.
His wallet's missing,
and we've been through the room a couple of times.
There's nothing here to tell us who this guy is.
Did he pay for the room in cash?
Yeah, and the clerk said that he registered as Jack Sparrow.
Oh, there's a possibility that's his real name.
Sure it is.
We're running it just in case.
The clerk also said
he appeared nervous when he checked in.
He, uh, kept looking behind him.
- Did he have any visitors? - He couldn't say,
but this isn't the most secure building.
I saw a camera in the lobby.
- It's a dummy. - It's not the only one.
It's used to scare away drug dealers.
Okay, um...
you don't go to the trouble of trying to erase
someone's identity
unless you have a very good reason to.
Lanie, what are the chances of us recovering
some of the prints?
Depends on how bad the burns are.
L-let me get him back to the morgue.
Okay, in the meantime, let's get Ryan
to run his photos through missing persons
and... see if anything pops.
You got it.
John Doe in a seedy motel
with his fingerprints burned off.
How did we get from there
- to here? - Whoa.
Whoa, easy, easy there.
Hate to state the obvious,
but we're kind of joined at the hip here.
Okay, let's just get up. Come on.
Are you always like this in the morning?
Oh, this is...
- this is awkward. - Yeah.
They couldn't just handcuff us "Midnight Run" style?
Wait a minute. Ryan did run our guy through missing persons,
and there wasn't a match. Then what?
Then...
Ryan asked me...
if he spent Thanksgiving at his family's house,
did that mean he had to spend Christmas
at Jenny's family's house?
Castle, I'm talking about our case.
If you want me to reconstruct it, I have to do it in order.
Okay, fine. Um...
burnt fingerprints, suffocated,
uh... needle marks.
The morgue. We went to the morgue.
I told you, it's none of your business.
Of course it's none of my business,
that's why I want to know.
Know what?
What she and Esposito were fighting about.
It's none of your business.
That's the point.
Where are we?
No ID yet,
but his hands have calluses,
so most likely, he had a job that required physical labor.
What about fingerprints?
Outer skin's too damaged.
But... I may be able to macerate the skin,
pull some from the underside of the epidural layer.
You can do that?
Yes, in some cases.
But it's gonna take a couple of days.
In the meantime, I did find this.
It was tucked in the fold of his pants pocket.
It would've been real easy for our killer to miss.
"147 West 97th Street, 4:00 P.M."
It's the address of the Cambury Cafe,
half block off Broadway.
4:00 P.M. he was meeting someone.
Or met someone.
Okay, you and Esposito take this up there and see
if anyone remembers seeing our victim.
Maybe that'll help us ID him.
On it.
What was so special about our victim
that our killer wanted to erase his identity?
Don't say spy.
Or mob hit.
Mob hit of a spy?
Crazy theories aren't gonna help,
not until we figure out who this guy is.
Beckett?
What?
This is a postal bar code.
Our victim wrote this note on the back of an envelope.
A postal bar code?
Yeah, those little hash marks
you see on mailing labels and envelopes.
It's a way of exactly identifying an address.
But in a machine-readable way.
We get that decoded,
we'll be able to tell exactly where our victim was
when he wrote that note.
Okay, then we called the post office,
and they gave us the address.
The house in Queens.
So do you know what Lanie and Esposito were fighting about?
Everything.
They both want to be together,
but neither of them wants to admit to it.
Ugh. Why do people do that to themselves?
Maybe they just don't see it.
How could they not? It's so obvious.
This is the place?
Matches the address.
Doesn't look like anybody's home.
Hello?
NYPD. Anybody here?
Hello?
Anybody here?
Bill and Nora Ranford.
Maybe Bill is our John Doe.
NYPD. Identify yourself.
Help me.
Ma'am.
Ma'am, are you okay?
And an old woman in a cage.
Yeah, that's the last thing I remember.
Me, too.
What the hell is going on?
Sync by YYeTs, corrections by Alex1969 www.addic7ed.com
It's just, I always spend Christmas with my family.
Right. Well, you were the one
who decided to get hitched, bro.
Yeah, but I didn't think that meant driving down to Florida
to spend the holidays with her grandmother.
Driving? You're not flying?
During the holidays? Are you kidding me?
Besides, Jenny thinks that, a-a road trip
will give us some quality time together.
That is no road trip, brother.
That...
is a relationship test.
A relationship test?
We're getting married in a month.
Well, we'll see what happens after the test.
It's the pre-wedding road trip test.
Locked together for hours,
that way she can confront you with any lingering doubts
she may have about your future together.
And you... will have nowhere to hide.
Hey.
Have either of you seen Beckett?
She's probably following up on a lead.
Don't think that I don't know
that you guys cover for each other.
Mm. What's that?
Any progress on our John Doe?
Yeah. Turned out, he did show up at the Cambury Cafe yesterday,
and he wasn't alone.
Waitress recognized him immediately,
said he sat in the corner booth,
met with a guy-- long hair, goatee--
said our vic looked nervous.
We have the waitress working with an artist
to see if we can come up with a sketch of the goateed man
to use on a canvass.
All right. Keep me apprised.
Come on, Jenny loves me. She wouldn't test me like that.
Right.
Just watch out if she wants to take you canoeing.
Okay?
Canoeing? C-canoeing is a test?
It's all about power, direction,
like a marriage.
If the canoe goes straight,
it shows her that you can compromise,
work together, find a rhythm,
move forward in the same direction.
But if it's going around in circles,
so is your relationship.
Castle, would you just work with me?
How about you work with me?
How come you always have to lead?
How come you always have to step on my toes?
Since when do I-- okay, you know what?
Tell me this--
why do you always have to be first?
First out of the elevator,
first through the door.
Um, I am a cop. I'm the one with a gun.
Being first through the door is my job.
In the elevator?
Look, how about this?
Would it kill ya to let someone open the door for you
once in a while?
You do realize, if somebody opens the door for me,
then I will be going through it first anyway, right?
Oh, yeah, that's right. I forgot.
You have to be the smartest, too.
Everything's a competition with you.
That is so not true.
Are you always like this in the mornings?
You know, I'd argue with you,
but then I'd have to let you win.
Okay, fine. Go ahead. You lead.
Thank you.
Where did you want to go?
I think that there's a light switch over there.
Or do you want to stay in the dark?
Ooh. I liked it better in the dark.
This door is steel. There's no way we're getting through here.
These walls are cinder block.
Whoa.
What do you suppose is in that big freezer?
You think it's the old woman?
I mean, what if we're in some psycho's lair
and we have to kill each other, like in "Saw"?
Castle, stop speculating. It's not helping.
Oh, come on. An old lady in a cage,
us cuffed together in this creepy room.
What am I supposed to think?
You're supposed to think that we need
to get the hell outta here before someone comes back.
How long do you think we were out?
Couple of hours.
How can you tell?
'Cause I'm hungry.
Oh.
I got some beef jerky.
What?
Hold my hand.
So the cuffs don't cut into us.
We could just try to get 'em off.
You got a bobby pin?
What is this, the 1940s?
These are my police cuffs.
You're not gonna open them with a bobby pin.
Face it.
We're stuck.
Think anyone knows we're missing?
Martha and Alexis will notice if you don't go home, right?
Actually, my mother's taking Alexis
on a tour of colleges this weekend.
Esposito and Ryan--
Yeah, they'll probably notice, but it doesn't mean they'll...
find us here.
What is that?
It's a hatch.
If we can get up there, we might be able to get out.
Yeah, well, it's too high.
Not if we climb on top of that.
That was Lanie.
Preliminary autopsy report shows that our victim
was in fact smothered.
Guy his size, you'd think he'd put up more of a struggle.
He couldn't. Tox report showed that
his system was flooded with so much sedative
that it could put down an elephant.
Where are we with that sketch?
Well, I got unis looking through mug books
and I sent a team uptown to canvass.
Still not back, huh?
No.
It's been hours.
Every time I call, it goes straight to voice mail.
You think they're really running down a lead?
What lead?
There was nothing new on the board when we came back.
You think you can hit up dispatch,
see if they'll run a trace on the transponder
in Beckett's unit?
I want to know where they are.
Ohh! I can't get a good angle on it.
Yeah. Try this.
Ready?
You better not be enjoying this, Castle.
I'll let you know in a minute.
One, two, three.
Push.
Oh. Okay.
Whatever's in here is a hell of a lot heavier
than a little old lady.
It's like... it's filled with rocks.
What if we emptied it?
That's a great idea, Castle,
except it's locked, and I'm fresh out of bolt cutters.
Yeah, but it's a combo lock.
So?
So when I was writing "Storm Rising,"
I studied with one of the best safe crackers in the biz.
I can open this. I just don't know if we want to.
Let's get crackin', Castle,
before our captors get back.
Transponder says her unit's right over here.
That's definitely Beckett's car.
Looks like it's been dumped.
Yeah, call it in.
Time stamp puts this at five hours ago.
So that's Beckett's car.
But that's not Castle or Beckett.
And he's not alone. Someone picked him up.
Do we know who they are?
No clue.
Can we get a plate number?
Too far away.
I also ran Beckett and Castle's cells.
They're both off grid.
What the hell did Castle get her into?
I want CSU on that car
with a fine-tooth comb for any possible trace evidence.
They were working the John Doe with you.
Where could they have gone?
Been over it a dozen times. We still don't know.
And still no hits on our long-haired man from the cafe.
Do whatever it takes to get an ID on that victim
and find out what in the hell he was into.
If Beckett and Castle are still out there,
then they're running out of time.
Oh, for God sake, Castle.
How much longer are you gonna keep doing this?
Oh, I almost had it.
Yeah. Like you had it the last hundred times.
Oh, ye of little faith.
You know, you would make a terrible conjoined twin.
Can I have my hand back?
So you got a story to explain all of this--
the old woman in the cage,
John Doe with his identity removed,
us handcuffed but still alive?
Yeah, I don't think that's a story you want to hear.
Why not?
With those elements,
I can't think of a version that ends well,
not even a Disney version.
Yeah, I was afraid of that.
The good news is, we've been gone long enough,
they've started to look for us by now.
Hundred and first time's the charm?
Come on, Lanie. There's gotta be
something else about this guy from this autopsy.
He was in the beginning stages of heart disease.
He had a degenerative hip condition,
and mild scoliosis, probably from sitting too much,
and the last thing he had to eat
was a pastrami sandwich--
none of which will get you an ID.
His hands were callused, suggesting physical labor,
and yet--and yet, he spent too much time sitting?
Maybe he drove a forklift. I don't know.
Come on. We need something concrete, now.
Then I can't help you.
Lanie, they're out there.
God knows where or what kind of trouble they're in.
You don't think I want to help? They're my friends, too.
So Beckett said,
with enough time, you might be able to recover prints.
Yeah, in a couple of days. Why?
What happens if you do it now?
I could damage the print beyond recognition.
"Could." So it's possible that it might not, right?
We gotta do something.
I did it.
- You did it! - Ha ha!
How bad can it be?
I mean, we've seen dead bodies before, right?
Right.
It's not a body.
No.
It's worse.
Manacles and bloody instruments of torture.
Yeah, looks like your crazed, sadistic, psycho killer theory
might not be far off, Castle.
Well, I don't know whether to be smug or horrified.
I vote for motivated.
Right you are. Let's get the hell outta here.
Javi.
What?
I can feel your impatience all over my backside,
and rushing me is never a good idea.
You're talking about that print, right?
Damn it.
- What? - It tore.
I guess the skin wasn't softened enough.
It's ruined.
Is any of it usable?
I might be able to salvage some from the middle. Why?
So what we did...
was, we were able to join the partials
from that scrap of paper
with the, uh, print pieces
that Lanie recovered.
Our victim is Hank Spooner.
An independent trucker out of San Antonio.
Owns and operates his own rig.
What was he doing in New York?
Well, according to his folks, he got a contract last week
to pick up a load from Del Rio, Texas,
and bring it to Queens.
Last they heard from him was two days ago.
What was the cargo?
Well, all Spooner told 'em was he got a last-minute call
from a special client who was paying him big money.
His folks also said,
it's unusual for him to be staying in a motel.
Apparently, Spooner never stayed in the city.
He thought it was safer and cheaper
to stay in his truck.
We need to find that vehicle.
Get an APB out to all the major truck stops.
If we're lucky, it may tell us
why someone wanted Hank Spooner dead.
I think maybe I can help answer that.
You looking for me?
Chuck Martinez, DEA.
How did you know we were looking for you,
agent Martinez?
We had Spooner's files tagged.
He's a person of interest, so I got notified
when you ran his prints.
Why did you meet with him yesterday?
Your man's dead, agent Martinez,
and two of my folks are missing.
We don't have time for jurisdictional games,
so I'll ask you again, what's your interest in Spooner?
All right.
About a half a dozen times a year,
Spooner takes a contract from Texas to New York,
but he always makes a pick up in Del Rio.
It's a little border town.
You think he's smuggling drugs from Mexico?
The cartels are really active in these towns.
They're extremely brutal.
And if you knew Spooner was involved,
why didn't you arrest him?
All the signs were there, okay?
But all we had him on was suspicious activity,
and we don't want the errand boy.
We want the people he works for.
How'd you end up at that cafe?
We needed some leverage.
So we set up a sting,
posing as runners looking to hire him to move some product,
only Spooner made my guy.
Now instead of running, Spooner--he wanted to meet.
Okay? And he was scared.
He wanted out, and he was afraid of what they would do to him
if he walked away.
So he agreed to tell us everything
if I guaranteed him safety,
and I took that to my bosses, they agreed.
But by then, he was already dead.
Right.
Excuse me.
So where were your colleagues when they went missing?
We don't know.
We just know they were on the case.
Did Spooner say anything to you about the New York operation?
All he said was,
"It's not at all what you think."
Troopers found a semi.
Truck stop north of the city.
Let's go, boys.
According to truck stop records,
the rig's been parked here for three days.
No one's seen the driver for two.
You're gonna want to take a look inside.
That's hair.
These could be air holes.
Hey, over here.
Still too high.
Not if I climb on your shoulders.
What? We've done it before.
Yeah, you say that like it was pleasant,
and we weren't handcuffed.
Who's got no faith now?
Come on, Castle. We have no idea when they're coming back
or even if they're coming back at all.
Last time, you were wearing sneakers.
Fine.
I think I'm gonna need your help.
"Lift up my shirt, pull off my boots."
You know, under normal circumstances,
I would like where this was heading.
You can fantasize later, after we get out of the room.
Just so you know, not as much fun if I have your permission.
How do you run in these things?
Shut up and pull.
Agent Martinez, are you sure these guys were smuggling drugs?
You know, if I had answers, I'd share.
- Captain Gates. - What'd you find?
- Waybills. - Spooner delivered
to a furniture store in lower Manhattan two days ago.
Get on it.
Call your bosses.
Tell 'em I want all the files on this investigation.
I'm getting my people back.
Okay, ready?
- Ready. - One.
Two.
Three. Oh! Oh, jeez.
Castle!
Okay, can you put me down?
Okay. Easy.
If we ever get outta here,
we should seriously consider joining the circus.
Let me try it from behind, okay?
All right. I'm game.
Okay.
- Ready? - Ready.
One. Two.
Three.
Oh, okay. Oh.
Okay.
Okay, I'm lifting my right hand. Ready?
Okay.
Not so fun as I would've thought.
You know, I'm getting a little tired
of you walking all over me.
It's open.
Okay, I think I can pull my--
Hey! Let us outta here!
What do you want from us?
Captain Gates.
The furniture store owner verified that he took delivery
from Spooner a couple of days ago.
But he said it was just a couple of coffee tables,
packed near the rear of the truck.
And you believed him?
He's a family man, didn't have any priors.
But he did say something happened during the delivery,
something weird.
As they were unloading the shipment,
a box fell off a stack and hit him in the shoulder.
He said the box must have been empty,
'cause it bounced right off of him.
He tried to joke with Spooner,
asked him if he was shipping cotton candy or air,
but Spooner kind of got squirrely, said it was just
a couple of empties that were packed there to fill some space.
The owner thought it wasn't a big deal,
but then he heard something from behind the boxes,
something that sounded like breathing.
So Spooner takes a few small, legitimate jobs
in order to justify his smuggling trips,
and places a wall of empties in front of
whatever his real cargo is.
D-did the owner have any idea where Spooner was headed?
None.
Beckett and Castle were on to something.
Where in the hell did they go?
Well, the only thing we had at the time
was this address.
And we were already covering it.
Oh, they must have seen or heard something
that you didn't.
Okay, I want you guys to--
Go! Go! Go!
NYPD!
Hold position!
Room clear!
Clear!
This place is empty.
You really think this is where they went?
If they were here, they're not here now.
Hey, detective. Look in here.
There's some kind of hatch.
All right. Let's seal it off and process it.
Damn it.
It's hard-cased steel, Castle.
We're not getting out of these without keys.
You know, there is another way.
We don't go through the cuffs.
You... mean...
"Mad Max." "127 Hours."
Are you offering to cut off your own hand?
Whoa. Mine? No. I was thinking about yours.
My hand? Why my hand?
It's smaller.
They're coming.
Tell him it's a good price.
And if he likes her, I got two more that fell into my lap
that I could sell you at a discount.
I just need to move 'em now.
That sounds like Arabic.
They're going to the other room.
Castle, someone else is in there.
She is very beautiful.
Just like you asked.
They're holding someone else.
The old woman?
No, it's more like a girl, like--
Like they're trying to sell her.
It's human trafficking.
That's what this is.
They're abducting and selling people.
That's why we're still alive.
They're not gonna kill us. They're gonna sell us.
What? I'm a best-selling author.
I wonder what I'd be worth.
Let's not find out, okay?
Yeah, still...
Anything?
From the cut marks,
looks like this hatch was just installed.
Any idea why?
No.
CSU is gonna sweep for prints and trace.
What did the neighbors say?
Ah, that the bank foreclosed on the previous owners,
Bill and Nora Ranford, six months ago,
but a couple of weeks ago, new neighbors moved in.
Get an ID?
They kinda kept a low profile.
But neighbors think that there were two of them,
brothers, and they got an ID on their ride.
Black F-150.
A black F-150?
That means Beckett and Castle were here.
Not only that, but a couple of nights ago,
guy from across the street
says he hears some noises in the middle of the night,
so he goes to the window, and sees a semi pulling up.
Spooner was here, too?
Yeah. Whatever was going on, this was the place.
Why don't you wake up the registrar?
See who bought this property.
I want to know who these guys are.
Hello, can you hear us?
Castle, I can hear somebody breathing.
Maybe she's sedated.
Hello. Can you hear us?
This wall is stucco and tile.
So?
So the others are all cinder block.
If we start digging,
we might be able to break through and help her.
How is getting out of one prison and into another
gonna help any of us?
Well, let me ask you this,
if it was Alexis on the other side, what would you do?
Yeah. Okay.
The moment you hear. Thanks.
CSU?
Yeah. Negative on prints from the house.
Place was wiped.
What'd you get from the registrar?
Well, the house was foreclosed on five months ago,
it's still owned by National Bank.
Our guys must have been squatting.
Did you say National Bank?
Yeah, why?
The files agent Martinez sent over.
Hang on.
Spooner made a delivery
to a Brooklyn house two months ago.
A couple of days later, the feds raided the place,
but by then, whoever was in the house was gone.
All they found was a hatch cut into the floor,
which accessed the basement.
Sounds familiar.
Yeah, but when they traced the property,
it was bank owned, by National Bank.
Our guys must be targeting distressed properties
- to run their operations from. - Okay, get a list
of all the National Bank-owned properties in the New York area,
starting with the properties that have a basement.
If they're working off
the National Bank foreclosure list,
that may be where they're finding their safe houses.
Okay, that should do it.
Shift.
Okay.
Okay, ready?
Ready.
Go.
Shift over.
Okay.
Together. Ready?
- Yeah. - Go.
I've always liked your legs,
but now I respect them.
Yeah, yours aren't so bad either.
You know, for the next police picnic,
we should do the three-legged race together.
You're on. All right.
Hello!
Can you hear us?
I suppose you want to go in first.
No. You go ahead.
- Don't mind if I do. - Okay.
Hello!
Are you there? We're here to--
A tiger?!
Yeah, it's a tiger. It almost bit my face off.
Wait. No, that explains the cage and--and the chains
and the butcher knives for the raw meat.
A tiger? That's what they were haggling over.
Yeah, well, tigers are endangered.
Trafficking them is illegal. We walked in on their operation.
Yeah, walking in on their operation
is not our problem right now.
That tiger walking in here is our problem.
Don't worry, Castle. She's not gonna get through that wall.
Hey, back! Get back!
Is it just me,
or does she look a little bit hungry?
Yeah, that's bad.
What are you doing?
I'm just gonna buy us some good will.
No, no, no, Castle, don't go near her.
She's going for it.
Yeah, and then when she's done with that,
she'll want more.
Oh, God! She's coming!
So National Bank has close to a hundred properties
in foreclosure in the outer boroughs,
but our folks have certain needs, so we filtered out
all the ones without basements.
Come on, Castle. We gotta cover that hole.
Push.
Again.
The two houses we know they used
had other common elements-- close freeway access,
long, wide driveways that could fit a semi.
And both are situated in between empty lots
or unoccupied houses, minimizing the nosy neighbor factor.
Now you cross-reference all that,
it leaves us with 11 likelies in the outer boroughs.
Beckett.
What do we do?
Divvy up the list.
Get unis out to all 11 properties,
and let's bring them back alive.
We get in the freezer.
It'll latch, and we'll suffocate.
Would you rather be eaten?
I was looking for option three.
Get behind me.
I have a plan.
817 Fincher Drive.
Industrial building foreclosed on eight months ago.
Looks empty, just like the last three places.
Let's do a walk around.
See if there's anything in back.
Yeah.
This is your plan?
Do you know how high tigers can jump?
High.
Well, we're still alive, aren't we?
Okay.
Ooh.
Esposito, over here.
Call for backup.
Remember what I said about joining the circus?
- Uh-huh. - Changed my mind.
Whoa!
She's playing with us.
She's gonna knock it over.
What are we gonna do?
There's only one thing to do.
Scream like little girls.
Help!
- Get us outta here! - Wait. Listen.
- Help! Somebody! - You hear that?
- Yeah. - Come on! We're down here!
Help! Somebody, help us!
Help! Help!
Beckett, Castle.
Esposito.
Is that a tiger?!
Yeah, yeah, that's a tiger.
Hey, how about getting us out?
O-okay, hang on. We'll-- we'll be right there.
Drop the hardware, boys, or I'll blow you both away.
Help! Help us!
You guys, open the hatch!
- Guys! - Ryan, Espo, help!
- Open the door, boys! - Help!
Put your weapon down.
Doesn't matter which one of us you shoot first,
whoever's left standing will kill you.
Maybe I'll shoot the pretty one first.
Luckily, I don't gotta choose.
Y'all put 'em down.
You first.
Let's just kill 'em, ma.
Let Tony the tiger have at the others like we planned.
Get us outta here!
Open the door!
The stakes are considerably raised!
Help!
- Help! - Help us!
- Your boys shoot... - Get us outta here!
I swear, the last thing I do
is put a bullet right through your head.
- Your choice. - Come on. Hurry up!
You New Yorkers ain't nearly as scary
as a Texas lawman.
That being said,
I'm betting more of you are gonna be here soon,
so I'm gonna tell you what's gonna happen.
Me and my boys are gonna back on outta here.
You either get yourselves killed trying to stop us...
or you can forget all about us and go save your friends.
That's your choice.
I'm so sorry. I've got nothing else.
Javi?
Kate--
No, Castle, I did not survive a bullet to the heart
to die as tiger kibble.
Let 'em go.
Oh, God.
It ate 'em.
It didn't eat us.
But it will if you don't hurry.
Nice hangout.
Nobody move!
Handcuffed together that long?
I'm surprised you two didn't kill each other.
Yeah, well, there were a couple of moments.
Until we found our rhythm.
I think we'll fly to Florida.
What?
I believe this is yours.
- This, too. - Thank you.
How did you guys...
even find us?
Well, we followed your bread crumbs,
and it led us here.
And lucky for all of us, some of my detectives
keep me informed as to their whereabouts.
Thanks to you two,
I'm instituting a new policy in our department--
no one goes anywhere...
without calling it in.
Thanks, you guys. Really appreciate that.
Well, at least we won't have to look so hard
next time we save your ass.
I missed you, by the way.
- Really? Prove it. - Oh, I'll prove it.
- How was that tiger? - Espo, stop it.
- What? - Was it gr-r-reat?
Her name is Ruth Spurloch.
And it turns out, her and her sons
were major suppliers of endangered tigers
to wealthy customers all around the world.
Hard to believe it's worth killing for.
The exotic animal trade's a billion-dollar industry.
And Texas, which has almost no regulations,
is one of the few places in the world
where selling and breeding tigers is not illegal.
Ruth and her boys were making millions off her breeding farm.
Spooner would truck them from Del Rio up to New York.
And then wealthy clients would smuggle them
past customs and ship 'em out on their private jets.
Right.
Except outside of Texas,
trafficking endangered species is a criminal offense.
So Ruth didn't want Spooner ratting her out.
Which is why, when we showed up at her house,
she played the victim so she could get the drop on us.
Yeah, and knocked us out using animal tranquilizers,
which can't be good for me.
I-I still have a taste in my mouth.
Yeah.
Well, I...
I'm--I'm gonna turn the trafficking case
over to the FBI and customs.
You can coordinate with them on your murder charge.
Thank you, agent Martinez. I'll walk you out.
Hey.
As expected, the hair from the truck is tiger,
and the blood is from raw meat.
They used the hatches to throw down food to the cats
or sedate them with darts.
So what's gonna happen with that tiger anyway?
Shoot him.
She'll get transferred to a sanctuary.
Or that.
Probably end up in a zoo.
Why, you want to go and visit her?
No. No, thanks. I'm good.
- All right, you guys get some rest. - You, too.
Yeah.
That has gotta be the strangest brush with death I've ever had.
Me, too.
But I'll tell you, after that experience,
if I ever have to be hitched to someone, it would be you.
Hitched?
No, I didn't say "hitched." I said "cuffed."
Handcuffed, not hitched--
the colloquial or any other connotation or meaning.
It's okay, Castle. I understood what you meant.
And for what it's worth, if I ever have to spend
another night handcuffed to someone again,
I wouldn't mind if it was you either.
Really?
But next time,
let's do it without the tiger.
Next time?
Sync by YYeTs, corrections by Alex1969 www.addic7ed.com