Chapter 2
New York, Neal's loft, Tuesday morning
Neal adjusted his tie again. It was perfectly in place, but he felt nervous.
After countless transactions and miles of red tape, he had finally obtained the authorization to visit Peter in prison. Since he was a former inmate, the prison ward and Calloway, White Collar's new boss, didn't see his presence in a penitentiary building with a good eye.
He was pretty sure he could get Peter out, but the agent wouldn't agree, so where was the risk?
He straightened the knot another time, put the tie-clip in place and smiled. It looked faked even to his own eyes. He felt guilty. His own father was responsible for Peter's imprisonment and the man had disappeared.
His relationship with his father was complicated to say the least. As a child, he had admired the man, who had died as a hero fulfilling his protective mission, and he had wanted to follow in his footsteps, become a police officer, save lives. Then, on his eighteenth birthday, Ellen had told him the truth. His father was a crooked cop… and he was not dead. Neal had run away then, finally achieving his childhood fantasy of following his father's example: he had become a criminal.
Then, James Bennett had reappeared, and while Neal tried to get to know the stranger, giving him a trust born from blood, he had finally revealed that he was indeed… evil.
The problem was that Peter was paying for it. Peter, who, once again, had crossed the line for him, was now charged with the murder of a senator, when the real culprit was James.
Despite his past as a criminal, conman and any other names his colleagues labeled him with, Neal had a deep trust in justice. He had to. He had to believe that Peter would be cleared; it didn't help him feeling less guilty though.
So this visit, strongly battled for, had a bittersweet taste. He was happy to see his friend, but worried about what he would see in his eyes.
He moved the square in the breast pocket one millimeter, sighed deeply and went to the door.
When Peter had been incarcerated, the authorities had found out that nothing had been planned in case Neal found himself without a handler. The first solution proposed had been to send him back to prison. For a few hours, Neal had been detained in the FBI offices, waiting for a decision to be made. Looking back, he wasn't ashamed to admit he had been terrified.
Four years in prison hadn't been a walk in the park, but he knew that going back in now would sign his death warrant. Too many people were behind bars because of him. In the end, that risk had saved him. Calloway, even if she didn't trust him, had admitted that there was indeed a threat to his life. Furthermore, no one could deny the help he gave the service; losing him would be bad for their success rate, especially now that their best agent was out of the game.
While they decided who would be his new handler, Diana and Jones had been charged with the joint custody. A temporary solution, unfortunately. They didn't have enough seniority to keep doing it in the long term. But Neal had been greatly relieved.
The two agents knew the deep bonds between Peter and Neal, and they had tried to lighten the mood. "Don't expect me to invite you for dinner," Jones had said. "Don't think you can con me as easily as Peter, I'll break your arm if you try," Diana had warned. They had laughed, but it sounded dangerously close to tears.
Jones was driving him to prison. He was waiting for Neal in front of June's house, admiring the building with a smile. No matter how many times he had come to this place, he couldn't help thinking that the conman was too lucky. He lived in an under floor, when Neal had a terrace with a view to die for. He wasn't jealous; he just thought life could be weird.
Neal opened the door of the house and came quickly to the car.
"Hi, Jones."
"Hi, Neal."
They got into the car and drove towards the prison. Neal was silent, looking distractedly through the window. Jones observed him from the corner of his eye. He knew him well enough to know the calm was only a façade.
"Nervous?"
Neal winced and Jones didn't insist. He knew most of the complicated twists that had led to Peter being in prison, but he still couldn't help holding a grudge against Neal. He knew he wasn't responsible; yet, if he hadn't escaped prison four years ago, then Peter wouldn't be behind bars now… Of course, then they wouldn't benefit from the best success rate that Caffrey had made them achieve. He could understand why Neal was nervous; he was having trouble sorting things out too.
They reached the visitors sector and Neal couldn't help thinking that it had been easier getting out of the place four years earlier. Apparently the guards had been warned about his past, and he kept being controlled until he finally reached his destination. He would meet Peter in the visitors' parlor.
When Peter arrived, dressed in the ugly orange jumpsuit, Neal felt his throat tighten. The man really didn't deserve to be there. Peter, obviously glad to see him, smiled broadly and went to sit on the designated booth. Neal blinked quickly to clear the tears he felt coming up. Peter was there because of him, yet his friendship was untouched.
"Neal," Peter said putting his hand on the glass partition.
They hadn't even been allowed to a meeting room… The best White Collar agent, the one that in a coherent world should be leading the service, after Hughes' demise, was treated like a petty criminal. Yet, Neal couldn't help thinking that the choice of the location was more his fault. Calloway had been very clear, his authorization was exceptional –no one wanted him inside the prison–, he couldn't expect any favor. But seeing Peter behind that glass wall was almost too much.
Time to use your talents. Remember, best con ever? Neal forced a smile on his face.
"I always knew orange would suit you better than me," he joked.
"Not so sure, orange looks better on dark hair."
"Not at all. Look at Mozz. He loves that orange scarf…"
Peter raised an eyebrow. "I'm finding it difficult using 'hair' and 'Mozzie' in the same sentence."
The two men laughed.
Peter shook his head. "Well, don't get too comfortable. I don't plan on using it for too long."
Neal's face instantly went from laugh to distraut by remorse. Peter grunted in exasperation, as if he had already had that conversation. Actually he had. Except it had been with Elizabeth, who had kept him informed of the situation, and how Neal had slowly crumbled down as the charges were piled upon her husband.
"Neal, it is not your fault." Before his informant could protest, he went on. "We both know who did it; I need your energy to help me clear my case. Feeling guilty won't resolve anything."
Neal winced. Peter watched him in silence. He hadn't seen him since his arrest and their treasure hunt inside the Empire State Building. He remembered what they were doing there in the first place.
"So tell me, how did you manage to get the documents out of the Empire State? I know the terraces are protected to prevent daredevils of your kind from jumping down…" Peter added hoping to make him smile.
The memory of the parachute fall brought a smile to Neal's face. The adrenaline released by a forbidden jump in the heart of New York left traces for a long time.
"No. No base jumping this time. We built a miniature zeppelin and launched it from the 103rd floor."
"But the access to that floor is restricted!" Peter exclaimed, not surprised by his partner's invention. He frowned remembering what he had read. "Except in some particular cases." He opened his eyes wide as he remembered a leaflet Elizabeth had given him. "Oh my God. Neal, tell me you didn't propose to Sara!"
"Sara has her own views on legality; she was glad to help us."
He felt his chest tighten; the scene had been too close to reality not to hurt both of them. She had left for London that evening and had only sent a brief text message to let him know that she had landed safely.
Peter could see the pain in his partner's face and decided to drop the subject. Neal had enough problems as it was, no need to have him ponder on the "what ifs".
Neal blinked, closing that particular file, and turned to the matter on hand.
"I have somebody looking out for James…" he said.
"Ah, M–"
Neal cut him with a reproaching look. Mozzie would be furious to learn that his name had been mentioned in a conversation that might be monitored.
"I told Jones and Diana everything I knew; I'm afraid it doesn't lead us anywhere."
"It might take time…"
"Did your lawyer find anything? I can't believe your service records aren't enough to clear you!"
"Neal, you've seen the charges. I would have charged myself with that much evidence."
Neal shot him a cold stare.
"I may have other leads, but I'm sure Calloway keeps a close tap on me. It's not very helpful."
"So, tell me, how are things at the office?" Peter asked.
His informant told him about his daily life, the cases he worked with Jones and Diana. The non-stop surveillance from Calloway who seemed to be sure he was onto something. Hughes' calls in the evening. Life at the office ran smoothly, as if the world hadn't stopped turning the day Peter had come out, handcuffed, from the Empire State Building.
They left when their time was up and Neal went back to the office. They were working a new case and he had to go back, but what he really wanted to do was to go out and find the real culprit.
PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI
Around noon, Neal and Diana were coming back from a useless meeting with a banker. Their new case revolved around high finance and insider trading. But their meeting with a lower ranking employee hadn't panned out and Neal wanted to go undercover. Diana didn't want to put Neal in danger and wasn't relenting despite the informant's speech.
"Really, Diana. It would be for the best. No one would suspect anything."
"Neal, I said no. Stop insisting. I'm not Peter. You will not con me with your charming smile. If anything happened to you, he would kill me when he's back."
Diana didn't have any doubts about her boss' innocence. She trusted justice and new that sooner or later he would be back at the White Collar office. She was just hoping it would be sooner rather than later, she didn't want to have to explain why she had killed his informant during his stay in prison. She liked Neal, but sometimes she just couldn't understand how Peter kept up with him.
"Argh!" Neal yelled throwing his arms in the air.
He really missed Peter. Convincing him would have been easier. Diana seemed totally unfazed by his charms. And from the look she was giving him, he'd better stop before she threatened to put a bullet in his leg.
He combed a hand through his hair and looked behind him.
"Something wrong?" Diana asked, feeling the sudden change in his attitude.
"I don't know. I feel like I'm being watched."
"Neal, anything wearing a skirt within a two mile radius is watching you." Diana cast a glance at a young man walking past them. "Not necessarily skirts though…" she whispered to herself.
Out of habit, she cast a glance on the plaza behind Neal. The place was full of people enjoying the sun and their lunch break. Nothing out of the ordinary.
She slapped him gently on the shoulder. "Welcome back to New York. Bet you miss your island!"
Neal made a face at her and they went back to their offices on the 21st floor.
Back at his desk Neal couldn't help thinking about that feeling of being observed. He wasn't paranoid. Mozzie's paranoia was large enough for the both of them. His instincts were rarely wrong, but he hadn't seen anyone suspicious in the street. He picked up the file he was working on, but the little voice in his head wouldn't relent. Grunting in frustration, he dialed a number.
"Hi, Mozzie. Are you available later on? "
"Hi, Neal. How are you doing on this nice sunny day? I am enjoying the weather."
"Hello, Mozz," Neal answered with a smile.
"What's up?"
"Your paranoia tendencies may be spreading, but I feel like I'm being watched."
"Neal, of course you are being watched. You are inside the FBI building!"
"Mozz…" Neal protested.
"You think someone is following you?"
"Maybe. I haven't seen anybody, but you know…. that weird feeling that somebody is watching you?"
"You'd like me to check if anyone is stalking you?"
"Yes, please."
"You want me to stalk the guy who's stalking you…" Mozzie suddenly seemed quite amused.
"Mozz…" Neal repeated. He wasn't in the mood to follow his friend's twisted sense of humor.
"No problem. I'll check it out when you leave the building. Make a stop at Washington Square so that I can get closer if I notice anyone."
"Ok, thanks Mozz. I'll owe you. Come by my place, I'll give you a drink."
"That's the least I expect. I saw that you have a bottle of Château Margaux hidden away."
"I was keeping it for a special occasion!" Neal complained, that bottle was quite expensive.
"I'm saving your life, isn't that enough of an occasion?"
"Yes, it is. Thanks again, Mozz."
PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI
At 5:00 pm, Neal sent Mozzie a text to let him know he was leaving, then took his time. The nice weather had women wearing short skirts and big smiles, walking home had its advantages.
He stopped at Washington Square to listen to Tom. Tom was a jazz player. He used to be part of a group in the 60s, then the friends had drifted apart. Today, he played for pleasure and the change that people were willing to give him. Neal loved to sit and listen to him, there was something in the way he played that spoke of a distant past. As usual, he left a bill and headed to the loft.
On 9th street, Mozzie shoved him and disappeared so fast that Neal instinctively reached for his wallet. He jumped in surprise when he found a piece a paper in his pocket, but kept walking as if nothing had happened.
"DITCH YOUR PHONE". The message was short and in Mozzie's typical scribble. How could a guy that could reproduce the best calligraphies have such a poor personal writing?
Frowning, Neal turned his phone off, removed the battery and card, then disposed of the pieces in various places on his way home.
When he arrived at June's place, he looked back. So, somebody was indeed following him. The guy was good, he couldn't spot him. Neighbors, a tall guy with greying hair in a nice suit, some kids. The usual inhabitants of the upscale neighborhood he lived in. He closed the door slowly.
He climbed the stairs to his apartment and sighed as he entered. Mozzie would soon be there and he was going to be overexcited. His instincts were still good though, he was being watched...
He removed his jacket and tie, putting them on a chair, then opened a bottle.
Mozzie didn't bother knocking and came in, heading straight for the wine.
"You were right, somebody is tracking you," he said, gulping down half his glass.
He took a device from his pocket and started scanning the apartment looking for bugs.
"Mozzie, you checked this place last week…"
"Last week you didn't have an expert stalking you."
"Expert?" Neal repeated with an impish smile.
"Yes, expert. CIA, secret service type… any one of those lettered agencies. The guy is good, really good. I can't believe you spotted him. I mean, I saw him because I was looking for him."
"Why did you have me ditch the phone?"
"He blue-jacked it when you were listening to Tom."
"He what?" Neal exclaimed. "Damn, I didn't even see him."
"Told you, an expert."
Neal sighed in frustration and went to the window, looking at the extraordinary view without seeing it. After a few seconds, he went to his easel.
"You're gonna paint? Now?" Mozzie choked on the words, wondering if Neal had lost his mind.
A few seconds later, Neal took the easel to the terrace, facing one the terraces that seemed the closest.
"Neal?" Mozzie asked.
"If he's that good, I'll show him we are too."
TBC…
N/A: What's on the canvass?
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