A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews and the enthusiastic reception for my little tale thus far! I know I am revealing my mid-40s age with my dip into Remington Steele, but when the inspiration hit me, he just seemed like the perfect fit as Neal's real father. For those of you who are too young to appreciate Remington Steele, it's worth checking out some episodes on Netflix or Hulu! For those who do remember, see if you can pick up the little homages to the complicated character of Mr. Steele . . .

Chapter 2

Father and son continued to simply look at one another, doing nothing more than continuing to sip from the glasses of red wine each held in his hand.

Finally, the elder con-man broke the silence. "Well, I haven't asked you what you thought of what I placed in the storage unit nor have you asked me why I put it there."

It was as easy as slipping back into a comfortable pair of sneakers. "Apparently," Neal replied, "We're both suffering from an appalling lack of curiosity!"

And simultaneously the men pounced on the shared reference: "Sound of Music, Twentieth Century Fox, 1965! Captain von Trapp to Herr Zeller!"

The wine glasses somehow made it safely onto a table before the two embraced enthusiastically, the hearty back-slaps giving away the obvious affection between them. Stepping off the balcony back into the light of the main apartment, each gave the other a more searching glance, assessing whether the years had been friend or foe.

"Son, you look great!" Steele judged. "I am happy to see that you are no longer constrained to a wardrobe of orange jumpsuits. I haven't heard much of you since I learned you were – detained – for a little matter of bond forgery." He eyed his only child with a speculative look. "If my math is correct, you should not, actually, be due for such a wardrobe change yet." He then gestured to the wine on the table and the quietly elegant room around them. "How have you managed this? And," he added without skipping a beat, "when did that little fashion accessory become de rigueur?" pointing downwards to the ever-present tracking anklet around Neal's lower leg.

"I won't say that—" Neal's reply was cut short by a knock and an urgent voice at the door.

"Neal? Neal? Are you home? It's June. Are you all right?"

"My landlady," he explained over his shoulder to his father as he went to open the door.

He opened the door and the attractive older woman immediately stepped in, reaching up to put her palm against Neal's cheek in motherly concern.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you're all right," she said. "Mozzie told me you'd been nearly killed in a warehouse explosion today and I just—"

The elegant woman stopped in mid-sentence as she caught sight of the other dark-haired man in the room. She stared, eyes growing wide in recognition as she started to walk over to the tall man who was not a stranger to her.

"Tommy? Tommy Crown is that you?"

"In the flesh, June, my love," came the hearty response. "And nearly speechless at finding you as beautiful as ever!"

"Oh, Tommy, it's soooo good to see you," she exclaimed as she quickly closed the distance between them to wrap him in a hug.

Neal watched in amazement as his landlady wrapped his father in a familiar embrace. How did these two, of all people, know each other? And why was June calling him 'Tommy Crown'-? The answer dawned almost in an instant, as Neal recognized his father's penchant for choosing aliases based on movie characters. And whose name better to use than that of the great art thief played by Steve McQueen in the 70s classic film, The Thomas Crown Affair?

June withdrew from Steele's warm hold, but kept her arm around his waist as she turned to look at her tenant.

"Neal," she asked, "how in the world do you know Tommy Crown? I haven't seen him in years, not since Byron and I knew him before we worked the Lenox Lounge."

"Where is the old man?" Steele inquired. "I always warned him if that if I ever got you alone . . ."

"Tommy, I'm sorry, you must not have heard. Byron passed away several years ago," was the subdued reply.

Steele drew his old friend back into a comforting embrace.

"I am sorry, June. I didn't know," he apologized. "I've been out of the country for some time now and only just returned a few days ago. If I'd known, please believe I would've been here - for the funeral and for you as well."

June looked up into familiar eyes that were both sorrowful and sincere. She'd met this charming man when he was only slightly younger than Neal was now. In spite of that youth, he'd been a good friend to her and her husband, not to mention quite a capable accomplice in the little scheme Byron had concocted that summer in late 1978.

"I know you would have, darling," she reassured him. "Really, don't be so sad. I do miss him terribly, but you'd be surprised how delightful it is having this young man," nodding at Neal, "occupying this floor of my home, wearing Byron's suits, and . . . generally . . . providing . . . me . . .with . . . some…"

Her voice drifted to a halt as she looked from her friend Tommy to the dapper young man by the door. Then she looked at the two of them again.

"Neal," she asked, her voice trembling slightly, "How do you know Tommy Crown?"