Eighteen Hours Ago
"So which alias are you using?" Mozzie asked Neal as he downed another swig from the wine bottle.
"Paul Richards, the rich antiques dealer from Maine. He likes buying paintings, especially surrealism, which seems to be what Gadson deals in." Neal answered, as he paced the room. Mozzie had been in the apartment when he'd gotten home from the FBI and Neal had immediately begun to tell him about his next 'assignment.' The FBI had already set up a buy, and he was supposed to meet Gadson, make sure the paintings were real, and get the hell out when the FBI stormed the place.
Neither of the conmen were strangers to Mitchell Gadson, the man was a legend, both for his conning ability and his propensity for violence, and that made Neal nervous. If things got out of hand, there was no guarantee that Gadson wouldn't just pull out a gun and shoot him through the head. Neal had tried to tell Peter, but Hughes had cut him off, saying that Neal didn't get to pick and choose his assignments. He would take the case or he would be behind bars the next day.
"Richards, I remember him," Mozzie slurred fondly, he was definitely getting a little drunk. "He owned a yacht and vineyard. One of your better aliases if I do say so myself."
"Let's hope he's good enough to fool Gadson." Neal said. He stopped pacing and looked at his watch. "Peter should be waiting outside."
"Give him my best," Mozzie yelled drunkenly as Neal ran out the door. "And tell him that if you die, I'm holding him personally responsible!"
"Thanks Moz, very reassuring!" Neal called back.
Peter was waiting in the car as Neal rushed out the front door. Breathless, the conman slid into the passenger seat. "Anxious?" Peter asked, genuinely concerned. He wasn't happy with putting his partner into such danger, but Hughes had left no room for argument.
"I just want this over with," Neal said, not looking at Peter. He wasn't mad at the FBI agent, just frustrated with the situation.
"Alright," Peter said, picking up on the hint to drop the matter. After a few minutes of awkward silence, he said, "So, Elizabeth wanted to know if you wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow. She's making pot roast."
Neal smiled; Elizabeth Burke was an amazing cook. "I might just have to take you up on that offer," he answered.
"So I'll tell her around eight?" Peter asked, quickly glancing at his partner. Neal looked much more at ease than when they had left his house, which was a good sign. If he was too nervous when he went to meet Gadson, it would make it even more likely that everything would go downhill.
"Sounds good."
The rest of the car ride was quiet and uneventful, and they arrived a few blocks from the meeting point, where Lauren and Jones were waiting with a pair of scissors and another tracking wristwatch. Lauren pointed to Neal's ankle and he grudgingly lifted up his pant leg so that she could cut off the tracking anklet. Meanwhile, Jones fastened the watch to Neal's wrist.
"Alright, you know the drill." Peter said, "You turn off the watch if they search for bugs, otherwise you leave it on at all times or we come in there and arrest both you and Gadson. Am I clear?" Neal nodded and Peter popped the trunk of the car and pulled out the briefcase with money for the exchange. "I want this back at all costs," he said, handing it to Neal, "Or it's my head. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly," Neal smiled.
"Alright then, the meeting's in that warehouse," Peter pointed to a spot about three-hundred yards down the road. "You just need to see the paintings and make sure that they're real, and then we'll do the rest."
Neal nodded, straightened his jacket, and began walking down towards the warehouse. "And Neal, one more thing!" Peter called. Neal turned around as Peter said, "Be safe."
***
Neal walked confidently through the doors of the warehouse. Despite Peter's worries; he was quite good at keeping his anxiety about the meeting hidden.
There were several men stationed around the interior, placed at strategic points to guard the man and the truck in the center. Neal ignored the muscle and walked towards the man in charge. He was accompanied by a small, attractive woman in a pantsuit that Neal could tell was expensive. She held a small pocketbook in her hand, with a bored expression on her face. Neal couldn't tell if she was a buyer or Gadson's girlfriend.
"Mitchell Gadson, I presume." Neal said, sticking a hand out, which Gadson ignored.
"Mister Richards," Gadson answered curtly. "I hope you don't mind, but I would like to finish this as quickly as possible. These days, you just don't know who's watching." Gadson turned back towards the truck and motioned for the man standing guard at the doors to open it. He then turned back to Neal. "I would like to introduce you to Miss Duchene; she is also in the market for…rare paintings."
"Among other things," the woman said, nodding to Neal. She had a lilting British accent, which Neal had not expected. "It's a pleasure Mister Richards."
Neal smiled, had it been any other time he would have already been flirting with her, but given the situation, he was a bit too nervous. Instead he just shook her hand and turned back to the truck. Gadson was unloading paintings from the back, and all Neal would have to do was verify that the paintings were the ones that had been stolen and the FBI would come rushing in to save the day. At least, that was the plan.
What actually happened went something like this: Gadson unloaded the paintings from the truck and was about to uncover them when one of his guards signaled to him. Immediately, everyone in the room, excluding Neal, Duchene, and Gadson, pulled out a weapon, and aimed it towards the unarmed pair in the center. Gadson stepped nonchalantly out of the way of fire.
"I've just received some troubling news," Gadson said amicably, not looking troubled at all. "It seems that there are some men outside my warehouse from the FBI, and they would like very much to take me into custody."
"And what, you think it was one of us?" Duchene asked incredulously. "That's absurd. Is there somewhere I can drop complaints about customer service."
"Miss Duchene, I would suggest that you remain silent." Gadson said, reaching into his pocket. "If it's any consolation, it's not you that I suspect." He pulled out a gun, cocked it, and aimed the barrel at Neil's head. "Now Mr. Caffrey, if you'd be so kind as to surrender the watch on your wrist, and any other bugs your friends at the FBI gave to you, this would go much more smoothly."
Neal glared at Gadson as he unhooked the watch and threw it to the ground. Gadson stomped on the watch, and pointed the gun once more at Neal. "It's a shame, Mr. Caffrey. Under other circumstance, I would have been honored to do business with you." He fingered the trigger. "It's a shame to have to kill such a brilliant conman."
Neal closed his eyes as Gadson pulled the trigger.
***
A/N- Sorry, I'm a big fan of cliffhangers, and that was just too perfect a spot. Anyway, I'll try to update this ASAP, but I can't make promises, seeing as schoolwork keeps getting in the way. At the very least, I'll have Chapter 3 up this week.
