Christmas Toast

"What did you say?"

"I asked about your plans this week," replied Neal.

"Oh." Mozzie hesitated, radiating a hint of unease. Sitting at the dining table in Neal's loft apartment, he placed his wine glass down on the table and leaned back in the chair.

"You know I don't celebrate Christmas."

Even benevolent Mr. Jeffries, in his Detroit orphanage, couldn't soften Mozzie's heartache when Santa failed to bring him a real family every year, and his time in foster care during holiday seasons was best left forgotten.

"You usually go out of town," said Neal, bustling about the kitchen fixing a late meal. Peter had kept him longer than usual researching their current case. "Where to this year?"

"This year I may hang around the city. I've been asked to join some associates for drinks on Christmas Eve."

"Really? They must be quite interesting associates."

"Devlin has some hot information about an upcoming score. I can't resist the invitation."

"Devlin?" Neal failed to hide his surprise, earning a smug look from Mozzie. "ID Devlin and his forger community?"

Mozzie nodded. "Times change; people change."

"Moz, I've heard they hold an annual raucous holiday party on the West Side."

"That they do; in fact, it's become the talk of the town. One year, they even rented the Empire Hotel rooftop, the one with the magnificent view." He paused, worried. "But wait, June will be out of town this year. You couldn't possibly be planning to attend Devlin's party. I don't see you mingling with that uncouth crowd. Unless the Suit caught wind of the heist Devlin's planning…."

Neal deftly flipped his crepe and reached for a plate.

"No. Your paranoia gets the best of you sometimes. And Devlin is appreciated in very small units of time… and then only when we need his expertise. But have no fear," Neal added with a wink, "I have several holiday options to consider."

"I'm sure you do, mon frère," Mozzie said. "Hey, did you put any cheese in that crepe?"

"I thought you weren't hungry; I only made one… with French brie. Have I mentioned cheese enhances the flavor?"

"It does smell divine̶ ̶ "

"No problem," interrupted Neal as he set down his dinner and picked up the mixing bowl. "It'll only take a few minutes to whip up another pancake ̶ "

"Sans cheese."

"Sans cheese, of course."

Neal opened the overhead cabinet. "Moz, how about chopped fresh herbs, spinach, and two tablespoons of your favorite liqueur added to the egg mixture?"

"Thanks, Neal. Your creations are always fluffy, slightly crisp and evenly cooked."

Mozzie poured himself another glass of Spanish red Pagos Viejos, sighing with contentment. Happiness was having a best friend who, not only was a conman extraordinaire but a wine sommelier and superb cuisineir. If he could convince Neal to dump the Suit, life would be almost serene.

Whoa! he thought. The 'ho ho ho' season must be sending subliminal messages. He would need to be more vigilant. Maybe he should change plans and head out of town, after all.

"I didn't ask you about your plans, Neal. Are you, perhaps, spending the holidays with Sara?"

Neal reply held a secretive smile. "I'll let you know if she accepts the invitation."

"Just be careful," warned Mozzie. "No talk of our upcoming cons! She's too cozy with the Suit."

"You and I don't have any upcoming cons," answered his amused friend.

"We do if I can convince you to join me in this lucrative new year project I'm pursuing. It's right up your alley. Ditch the governmental brain-washing task masters and have some fun, Neal."

"Speaking of governmental brain-washing task master, Peter and I are heading over to the "Grand Tasting" winter wine festival tomorrow."

"At the Playstation Theater?"

Neal nodded his head, as he used a pastry brush to oil an ultra-thin coating on the pan. If he hurried a wee bit, he might be able to enjoy his own crepe without having to reheat.

"Fancy! The famous interior vineyard. World class wines, snazzy music, and artisanal hors d'oeuvres. Lots of fat cats will be showing their faces."

"Yes, and so will Ashley Coventry, our mark. He has his own booth of vintage wines."

"Are you getting closer to an arrest?" asked Mozzie, grabbing his plate from Neal and placing a napkin on his lap, contently settling in for his 'after-drink' dinner.

His friend joined him at the table.

"Peter is confident we're very close. He wants to wrap this up before Christmas."

"Oh sure. Put some poor wretch behind bars for the holiday," huffed Moz. "Make his celebrations complete."

Attempting to forestall Mozzie's typical bluster against a certain special agent, displayed to hide a covert fondness for Peter, Neal grabbed his wine glass and motioned to his chum for a needed refill.

"A refresher, please," requested Neal. He smiled. "And Peter is no Ebenezer Scrooge."

"Yeah, right!"

"Moz, you do know our quarry isn't Bob Cratchit struggling to put food on the table and provide for little Tiny Tim. He's a multimillionaire, rare-wine connoisseur fleecing the general public with vintage fraud."

"The same old wine in a brand new bottle. Lucrative scheme; we should work this one."

With a glint of con artist appreciation in his eye, Neal responded. "He's gone undetected for ten years. Amassed quite the fortune."

Delighted, Mozzie set down his glass careful not to spill a drop, grinning and rubbing his hands together in glee.

"That's the spirit, Neal. I knew you weren't lost forever."

Neal laughed. "Count me out on this one, Moz, and your mysterious new year's scheme. I have under two years left on my deal with the DOJ and I'm not ready to jeopardize it."

Mozzie sighed. He drummed his fingers for a moment, looked at Neal and looked away. He then sipped at his wine. Neal half expected him to shake his head and say, "Neal, Neal, Neal, what am I to do with you." But instead, his companion only nodded, not convinced.

"Fine. But I think I'll mosey over to the wine fest tomorrow to check it all out."

Neal grabbed his plate, stood up and walked to the sink. "Perfect. I'm sure Peter would be delighted to have your input on Coventry's modus operandi."

As Mozzie sputtered in dismay, the consultant chuckled inwardly and began to clean up the kitchen debris.