Chapter Three: The Patsy

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

8:24 p.m.

Neal scurried out of the Burke home and into the streets. He couldn't breathe or see or hear. Everything was spinning. Kneeling down beside Peter's Ford Taurus to try and catch his breath, he realized he was cold and had left his overcoat inside the Burke home. He decided it was better to be cold than to face Peter and Elizabeth during his moment of personal crisis. He was embarrassed that he couldn't become someone else by reading a script in his mind or by slipping on someone else's mask. He had always been able to smile largely and assume the persona of someone else in the flash of a second, but something happened to him at the mention of his birthday, the smell of his favorite foods, and the feel of the small wrapped gift. Neal honestly didn't know what was going on in his head. He felt sick to his stomach, so he remained stooped over against Peter's car.

Then he heard the front door of the Burke home open and saw light from their foyer ease onto their front porch. A figure emerged. Neal remained perfectly still so the figure—presumably Peter—would not spot him. A few minutes later, the figure retreated back into the Burke home. Neal pulled his legs out so he could sit on the curb between Peter's and Elizabeth's parked cars. After catching his breath and feeling more normal, he trotted toward his loft apartment at June's. He became acutely aware that the Marshall's office may pick up on his movement and call Peter. At that time, he honestly didn't care. He just wanted to get back to the security of his apartment.

Climbing the steps up to his apartment, he decided that a swim may be good for him to help him clear his mind. He shed his suit and dropped it uncaringly on his bed, and then he changed into jeans, a tee shirt, and a light windbreaker for the short trek to the gym. As he reached the intersection before the gym, he heard a noise behind him and frustratingly turned around to ask Peter to give him some space tonight and that they could talk tomorrow. As he turned, he first heard the crack. Then he felt the pain and then pressure on the right side of his head. Then nothing.

As Neal began falling, a large man grabbed him from underneath his arms before he hit the dark, cold pavement. Even though he was unconscious, another man slipped a heavy black cotton hood over Neal's head. They then shoved Neal into the back of the van that waited on the street where Neal was accosted.

"He's heavy to be such a small son of a bitch," one man joked to the other.

"Shut up," the other scolded, "and let's get the hell out of here. We're already over three hours late."

Within moments of striking Neal, the van sped toward its destination—a closed down restaurant on Broadway named Luchow's. Neal lay unconscious throughout the entire journey. Twenty-five minutes later, they arrived at Luchow's, which had become the center of their operations for the past six months. The two men dragged Neal's limp body into the basement level of the restaurant where a well dressed man, the mastermind of the operation, sat smoking a cigar.

"Hmmm, you must have cracked him good," the well dressed man spat out.

Neither man spoke. They slightly panted as they hauled Neal into what used to be the walk-in freezer and bound his wrists and ankles together.

"Remember," the well dressed man spoke again, "he's never met a lock he couldn't pick. Use those cables generously. Don't cut off his circulation; just make sure he can't Houdini on us."

The two men did as they were told. Then, for extra security, they looped the cable restraining Neal to a meat hook at the top of the freezer. Neal was still unconscious. Blood from the blow to his head had snaked around his scalp until it spread across his hairline above his forehead and then ran down the side of his face. The black hood absorbed some of the blood on the top of his scalp.

"Come and get me when he wakes," the well dressed man instructed then disappeared up the steps to the main level of the abandoned restaurant where he had created a make-shift office for himself. The men hated to bother their boss when he was in his office, so they kicked Neal's feet for continuing to be unconscious.

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Wednesday, October 12, 2011

6:40 a.m.

By morning Neal awakened with a headache like he'd never experienced in his life. The two men were still there, but their boss had gone with instructions for them to send him a text message when Neal awakened. They did as they were told.

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Wednesday, October 12, 2011

12:31 p.m.

By noon the well dressed man emerged again from the steps to the basement where Neal was being held. Two other men were there keeping guard. They first stood then sat down when their boss motioned for them to sit. He slid the rusty lock and stepped into the old freezer.

Neal could hear someone enter his crude prison cell. The pain in his head was so intense, and his wrists and ankles hurt from being bound for the past fifteen hours.

"Excuse me," Neal sarcastically stated, "but I have a doozy of a headache from that frat party I must have forgotten I went to. Would you happen to have some Ibuprofen I could have? About four would fix me up."

The well dressed man smiled at his cynicism. "Did you say four? Perhaps I can help you out. But you have to help me out first."

"No sir, I'm not in to that kind of partying."

"You're quite the jokester, now aren't you? You obviously don't know what kind of trouble you've landed yourself into. But I must thank you for being our patsy and for coming so willingly to this party we've thrown in your honor."

Neal's heart pounded a little harder and faster. He was then reminded of the dinner party Peter and Elizabeth had given to him the night before. He then remembered leaving it and going home, changing his clothes, and then walking to the gym near his apartment. He didn't remember arriving at the gym.

"So, this is what I need for you to do," the well dressed man continued, interrupting Neal's recollection of the events the evening before.

"I'm all ears," Neal answered.

"Good. I expected no less of you. That jewelry heist you've been investigating. Well, you'll need not dig any deeper. I have them. What I need for you to do is fence them for me. They're worth over three million, and I expect at least that. I hear Nick Halden is the best and knows the best."

Neal instinctively wanted to nod his head, but it hurt too much to move. So he remained still.

"What have you got to say? Anything? I trust you can get them out there for me."

"Sir," Neal answered, "all I have to say is that I know who you are. I recognize your voice. Seen any good White Bored exhibits lately?"

There was a long pause between them as the well dressed man's facial expression dropped from smug to disbelief to anger.

"Why yes, Mr. Caffrey. I have seen the most excellent White Bored exhibit. It was quite the commentary on the modern workplace, now wasn't it?"

"Yes sir, Assistant Director Bancroft, it was. I can't remember if I properly thanked you for escorting me to that exhibit," Neal answered.

Bancroft removed the heavy cotton hood from Neal's head. The two men smiled arrogantly at one another.