Chapter 1
The knock was expected.
"Come in, Mozzie," Neal Caffrey called, his back to the door as he read from a large atlas of New York.
The door creaked as it opened. That, however, was not what attracted the young man's attention. The tread walking into the room was far too light to belong to his friend. He turned.
"You're not Mozzie." His visitor was, in fact, a woman. Neal's age and a little shorter than he, she wore her dark brown hair tied back loosely. Her clothes were cheap and ill-fitting, probably due to the fact that they were, for the most part, men's clothes. The too-large black carpenter's jeans were held up by a purple silk scarf. Her t-shirt was tucked in, but wrinkled. It was dark maroon and decorated with pale curving lines.
"Very astute." Her voice was not unusual. It was the accent that attracted attention. The girl had one heck of an Australian accent. "Mozzie's busy. He sent me."
She slung the cotton bag in her hand up onto the table. It landed with a soft thunk, like a soft object wrapped in protective coverings. Neal glanced at it before turning his attention back to the girl.
"And you would be?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"Molly Jay. And you would be?" She shrugged her name as if it was obvious.
"What, Moz didn't tell you who you were going off to meet?"
" 'Course he didn't. I'm his red-shirt, get it?" Molly flicked the edge of her shirt with a thumb before thumping down on the sofa opposite. "So who are ya?"
"Neal Caffrey." He held out his hand to shake. It was too late. Molly had been distracted by the atlas on the low coffee table.
"New York. Greenwich Village, yeah?" She pronounced the name correctly, 'Gren-itch'.
"Yeah. Trying to find a hiding place for a felon." After the FBI knocked in the door on a drug deal last night, the man they were looking for took off. After a three-block chase, the fugitive turned a corner and disappeared.
"A hiding place?" Molly leaned in closer, seeming to be looking for something. "You involved in the, uh, FBI and Hernandez last night? Heard about that." She tapped the map. "Y'want this place. 78½ West 10th. If memory serves me right, he went running through around 1:30."
"78 and a half? The Four Leaf?" Ah, memories. The last time Neal had been there, it was a relatively lawful bar run by an Irishman and his wife. Molly scoffed.
"Baird hasn't run the place in three years. It's the Nine Lives now. Anything-goes kind of place. Eileen- his kid- she's still in on it, but she spends most of her time in the storeroom." Neal smirked, ready to make one of his normal, innuendo-laden comments. Molly glared at him from the map, pointing a finger. "Don't even."
"What makes you think I was going to say something inappropriate?" He asked over her next 'Don't'. The question gave her pause. Molly shook her head.
"Mozzie… warned me," she claimed weakly. She leaned back on the couch. "So, what do you want to know?"
"Why didn't you go to the FBI with this, if you knew about everything that went on?" It was Neal's turn to lean in, elbows resting on his knees.
She sighed, thumping her head down on the back of the couch. "I'm a ghost. I don't have anything to show I exist, American or otherwise. They'd think I was lying, was a terrorist, some stupid kid. Not having an identity is a bad way to show you're being serious."
Neal could see that happening. "Still… "Why? Why don't you have any documents, even for a fake identity?" She shrugged, not looking up.
"Pick a reason. Don't have the resources, don't have the time, don't give a crap. I got looks from just about anywhere, and I can imitate any accent I feel like. Except Asian. It just don't sound right." Molly wrinkled her nose. "Makes me sound like some bloody Indian."
"Mozzie didn't send you, did he?" Mozzie wouldn't employ someone who'd bolt if the police started sniffing around. Not an illegal immigrant, either.
"Not per se. He was going to deliver the bag himself. I am his errand girl, not lying about that. He's told me about you, and I wanted to…" She paused. "Call me patriotic. Closest thing to going to the police."
Neal stood, done with the important questions. "So, what's Mozzie sending me now?" He hefted the bag, meaning it as a rhetorical question.
"One flash drive, 2 gigabites. Two disposable mobiles, worth about 25 bucks each. A striped tie with a note to pass it on to someone named 'Special Agent Burke' with his regards. Oh, and some groceries. Mozzie doesn't think you eat enough vegetables." The con man glanced over at Molly, who hadn't moved. She rolled her head to look at him. "Was I not supposed to answer that question?"
"Not really." He sat back down. "Want to tell me what happened?"
"I bartend nights at the Nine Lives. Hernandez comes dashing in around one thirty. Eileen hides him in the back for an hour, then he jets. Didn't even try to look down my shirt like he usually does."
"You keep calling him Hernandez. Do you know his name?" Neal had to resist rolling his eyes at himself. God, he sounded like Peter.
"His working name is Juan Hernandez. His real name is Michael Juanito. He's a Spanish drug importer. Has far too many aliases for my taste, even more than you." Molly sat back up, smiling a little.
"How do you know how many aliases I have?" Molly just grinned wider, obviously not willing to answer the question. "Fine. How do you think I'm going to give this information to the FBI?"
She blinked, frowning. "Bugger. I really didn't think that one through, did I? Suppose..."
Author's Notes: Hello there, reader. I'm Maira. This is my first ever! White Collar story. I hope you like it.
With every chapter, I'm going to have a trivia question. Send me a message with the correct answer and I'll give you a preview of the next chapter. Today's question:
In the episode 'THREADS', what color was the dress Ghovat wanted?
Oh, one more thing- you can see a picture of Molly at http:// www dot imdb dot com slash media slash rm2741935360 slash nm0221043