Thanks to all those who are following my story.
Warning: Neal whump in this chapter. Its up to you if you wish to read :)
Chapter 4: Face to Face
"Diana, what did Hughes say?"
"Detective Smith is a nut job! Hughes didn't say that, I'm saying… your presentation failed to win conviction of NYPD"
"Why am I not surprised", Peter was pacing back and forth in his office, exasperated by another lame attempt to target Richard.
"He wants this case be given to any handler other than you… saying it was 'sloppy, incomplete and biased investigation', and that 'they were expecting better from the FBI", Diana frowned and took a seat next to Neal.
"Richard warned you to quit and now NYPD wants the same", Neal voiced his opinion, slowly rotating a paper weight in his hand.
"I know what they want…they want me to drop this case-file so that it can rot on FBI desks for years!... and Richard keeps on getting all his riches!" Peter was so flustered.
"He even thinks that you have some 'personal agenda' against Richard", Diana said.
"Personal agenda?" Peter rubbed a hand on his face. "We were positive about the Brooklyn smuggling... I can bet, an insider is working for Richard… He knew about the meeting! He knew we will raid that warehouse!" Peter was using his index finger, pointing out in midair to emphasize his viewpoint.
"See if we can access Smith's official records. I need to check credibility of this guy".
"On it boss", Diana responded and left the room.
Deputy Marshal Thomas knocked at the door and Peter gestured him to enter, "Agent Burke... take my card. If your team has a lead on the case or need any security assistance, you can freely contact me"
"Sure...Thanks", Peter forced a smile, at least a Marshal supported him. When Thomas left Peter again had that boiling sensation,
"Neal, grab Richard's cash flow statement. There's got to be some strong link that we missed…I want to see how much he paid to bribe officials".
Neal didn't protest, he tried to stand up but suddenly sagged on his seat, weak-kneed, attracting the most unwanted attention.
A sheen of sweat covered his face. Peter was definitely saying something to Neal but his eyes were tight shut, left hand pressed on the temple to avoid constant ringing in his ears. He balled his right hand into a fist to regain energy... Then there was a strong comfort arm on his shoulder, and Peter's voice didn't sound alien any more.
"Here take this"
Neal tried to turn away his face with stressed shoulders- his neck was throbbing again. "You have a cookie jar?" he said half jokingly when Peter placed it in front of him.
"Don't get used to it"
Peter felt blameworthy, Neal showed his hundred percent today but it didn't guarantee that he was perfectly ok,
"I was so preoccupied…You should've said something…"
"Peter, I am fine, really…I don't know why it happened…I think I just need to get some sleep". Neal said grouchily, dismissing the sympathy. His face was smoothly inscrutable again.
"I'm calling Jones to give you a ride. No more work for you. Take your pills and for God's sake eat something. Don't do anything stupid. I'll check your tracking data. Call me if you need anything. Are we clear?"
"Crystal", Neal replied with a sulky shrug.
"I'm thinking of contacting Thomas... for providing you secur-"
"Peter I don't need a watchman, and you're suggesting a Marshal?...please, not today"
"All right... as you say"
Neal unlocked the door, dropping his bag on the couch... he loosened his tie, took a few strides to hang his hat and suit jacket on the wall mounted expendable rack, unbuttoned and rolled his shirt sleeves to rush towards the bathroom, overcoming his urge to vomit. Under the faucet, he splashed water on the face, wet down his hair, running fingers through the strands to slick it back. By the time he came out, he was feeling less awful.
To further ease himself, Neal walked over to the patio french doors, pulled them open and inhaled the dry summer air. Night was quiet especially for west side Manhattan where muted roar of traffic is rare. A slight cloud obscured the waning crescent. He felt a shadow scuttle across him without making any sound. Considering he had become victim of an illusion, Neal ignored. He placed his hands on the stone railing and looked down. A black cargo van was parked in front of his apartment entrance- which was odd. With cautious steps he turned to go indoors but skidded to a halt on the polished hardwood floor, his eyes widening in alarm -
"Please don't shoot", Neal yelled in a reflex.
A masked man barged in with a shotgun and forced him into the wall, three others came out of walk-in closet. Neal glanced over his shoulder. They were rummaging through his studio apartment; deranging furniture, knocking paintings off the walls.
"You're looking for something?…you can ask me, seriously it will save you time and effort" Neal pretended to be blank of emotion, swallowing against the gun pressed under his jaw, silently repenting his denial for Marshal's security plan. A wrought iron candle stand was being used to roughly pull out books from the shelves,
"Don't! These books have historical value-"
Neal soon regretted his words;after weighing his statement, they chuckled and began ripping pages apart, flying them all around the space. A green vase placed on the fireplace mantel was the next target, Neal couldn't stand it any longer-
"Listen you don't have to do this…Please don't, its fine china. I don't have much money…" His voice was slightly choked by the muzzle of the gun pushed against his throat. He kept on gibbering but they turned a deaf ear, just snatched and hurled things furiously to the ground. Neal was quite sure they were not the burglars or robbers he's talking to. Maybe just maybe they are… he hoped.
Lamps were smashed, remnants of wine glasses and plates cluttered the floor. Neal was helpless, thinking of what June would say?... he could not imagine being kicked out of his home because some paid intruders decided to have a little play time- ruining his life.
Neal earnestly tried to think any clever move but a rag was pressed over his mouth and nose, he wilted without protest. Just before his mind went numb, he heard someone saying, "We're done… let's get out of here!"
His drug-soaked brain started responding. Sense of feeling…he could feel his wrists and ankles...they were tightly wrapped; he was sitting in a chair, his mouth… it's covered with duct tape. He must've tried to shift a little because a polite voice greeted him,
"Welcome back Mr. Caffrey! I thought they've given you a lethal overdose".
Neal's blue eyes dart around, eventually his vision started setting on a nose, freckles, beady eyes, brown hair, gaunt face...expensive clothing. His heart skipped a beat at the man crouched in front of him.
Duct tape was forcefully peeled off-
"Officer Ryan Richard!…pleasure meeting you…I could've shaken hands but-"
Neal tried to free his wrists in vain, he glanced at other faces surrounding him- Those goons again- He recognized four of them- "Hey! I never thought we'll be meeting again... this soon", He weakly attempted to socialize.
Neal sensed Richard move, his mind was still swaying. When he managed to slit open his eyes Neal saw him sitting in a leather back chair, interlocked fingers placed behind the head, elbows stretched, his feet (shod in Italian leather) resting on a desk. They were in a small room, seemingly bigger for a van's interior. Neal's chair was opposing Richard's,a lighting fixture hanging directly above the desk while goons bordered the vacant space.
"Oops! Burke made a wrong call today… I had a better deal with the fence...Can you believe 30,000 dollars! for giving him two trucks of colognes from 'another' warehouse! Ah, I won't tell you the place…FBI will never be able to trace that", Like an adventure story teller, Richard boomed.
"You think you're invincible?" Neal said with his head bowed down. Richard didn't comment, just transfixed his gaze on Neal, without changing his posture.
Neal looked around with squinted eyes, "So this is your private torture cell?"
"Don't worry…I might spare your life, if you cooperate", Richard coolly replied.
"This is all you have on me?" Richard looked tense. He showed Neal two files- the ones Peter had given him to study. Richard's men might have fumbled them out of his bag in the apartment.
"I can't see properly" Things were still running in a slow motion for Neal.
"Better?" Richard said exposing him to intense flash of light.
"Ow! That hurts!"
Neal fully came to his senses. In fight-or-flight mode, his options were rather limited.
"I was looking forward to see you and here you are-" Neal dared to paste his usual smile but Richard was quite unmoved. He slapped his bony palms on the desk with such force that it rattled, but when he muttered through gritted teeth Neal had to lean forward to decipher his words,
"Answer me".
"Yes, I think that's all... Look I'm not the trustworthy kind. They-They don't let me into covert matters. I'm afraid you've got the wrong guy" Neal tried to stall, the rising panic in his chest kept on drumming the beat- I'm about to die
With an eye shrug, Richard gave a derisive snort, pushed four files across the desk, picked one of them and flipped the front cover, revealing Neal's photo, paper-clipped at the side, "I know who you are…see? FBI had two on me… I have four".
"What can I say...My reputation precedes me…", his mind was racing. Neal had to keep the dialogue going to avoid an early death.
"Life is a gamble. You're a living proof of that...escaped from prison, got caught by Burke... proved your loyalty to the FBI... escaped from workshop saving Burke! but here you are... caught again...this time by a 'cop'?"
People in the background chortled. Neal on the other hand clenched his jaw to suppress inner rage.
Now Richard was viewing his own file, "I like the nickname Burke has given to the case- Richie Rich",
"Yeah… It was before FBI ID'd you. We had one file on a dirty-cop but NYPD made it easier to judge it was you. It's kinda funny though…Richard is Richie Rich… Catchy name wins half the battle".
Neal paused, considering what he had just said. I'm panicking… He didn't want to say it that way. It sounded rude. He tried to jerk his ankle, he could feel his tracking anklet, C'mon Peter.
Richard read his mind, or maybe Neal had uttered Peter's name aloud."In case you're wondering Burke will come looking for you... Apparently, you're within your radius, and more interestingly at home. But it's eleven at night, he would be sound asleep", he smirked.
"I'm impressed by your daring tactics... Deliveries of drug money in a cop car... Fake raids without blowing your cover". Flattery might work. Neal thought but his insides plummeted, I'm about to die.
"Oh! I know how to make an official raid…just make it look like a sting", Richard whispered with a wink, folding his hands together on the desk."You know what money can do? It can buy people. You can't judge how many are working for me already".
"Ryan you were good. What happened? Why you become self-absorbed boss who demanded more money than required?" This strategy always worked in Neal's previous undercover assignments. You have to emotionally blackmail the suspect but Richard was not the usual kind.
He simply snickered, "I've heard you can sweet talk your way out…that's why I want you to work for me".
"Excuse me?" Neal was confused.
"You have to convince Burke to leave my case…"
A chance of survival...something to talk about..."What's my catch in this?" Neal said raising his eye brows in question.
"You think you are in position to make a deal?" Richard almost laughed, "One bullet in your head and you become history…"he snapped.
Neal made an indifferent face, "I know you can't kill me…coz if I die, you'd be number one on the suspects list".
Steepling his fingers, Richard replied,
"You're right. I have bigger plans...If you say 'no', Burke will die, that short guy who came to meet you day before yesterday would be no more…could be a hit and run... or a cardiac arrest...what do you say?… but if you agree, I'll let you all live…we'll be square...No offence-none taken sort of thing".
Face flushed with anger, Neal made the decision, he didn't have to think twice,
"Fine... I'll do as you say".
"If you cheat, i'll know in a second. Don't dare to con me" Richard was boring his eyes into him.
"I won't" Neal managed not to blink- a silent oath he had to keep up till Richard was satisfied.
After a moment's silence-
"Tell me... have we met?" Richard asked meaningfully.
"What? Yes.."
"Tell me! have we met?" Richard repeated stressing each word.
Neal understood what he wanted him to say,
"No"
"Good, I think we're done…Oh! one last formality, Michael, you ready?" At Richard's command, one of the goons-bald one came forward clapping something huge on his hand-
"That's a baseball bat! I-I know you have a soft spot for baseball… Y-You wan't me to play catch? But this setting is rather uncomfortable-" Neal shook his head, dumbfounded.
"Just show some sportsman spirit... accept penalty",
Richard said with a twisted smile.
"But-"
Another man came forward and gagged Neal. Bald one raised the baseball bat over his head and Neal tightly closed his eyes. Bat came crashing down onto his arm. Neal leaned forward and yelled in pain but only a muffled sound came out. They hit Neal again, same place and he fell off the chair, curled up on the floor.
Richard moved closer, crouched down in front of him, grabbed his hair. His strong arm seized Neal around the neck, pulling him upright, "This is a reminder…stop digging, you understand stop digging!".
Neal was wincing with tear shed eyes. Gosh his neck was being touched right where it shouldn't be. It was stretched beyond its normal elasticity. He screamed till his vision blurred.
"You know where to dump him", Richard referred to one of his men who nodded and Neal felt himself fall in the bliss of dark not only due to the pain he suffered but because he was forced to inhale through a wet sponge that clogged up all air.
Dogs bark when they sense their owners to be in some kind of threat. Satchmo never barks after midnight. Such loud and sharp howling? It was not very upbeat like when he is excited or being an attention seeker. It seemed highly unlikely- depicting anxiety, fear of the unknown.
Peter was unwilling to acknowledge all disturbance but finally, he recovered the power of motion. Flinching, his first act was to turn on the side lamp and draw forth alarm clock to look at the time. It was quarter to one. El got out of bed searching for her slippers. Peter raised a palm, extricating himself from the tangled sheets to accompany her and check himself what's going on before that barking goes quickly from nuisance to nightmare, alerting their neighbors. With eyes still half shut from sleep, he opened the bedroom door,
"What? …You sure you want to take a stroll at this hour of night?" Peter mumbled, bending down, slowly stroking Satchmo's back but he stayed there, panting, beckoning him to come. Peter didn't know why a nervous apprehension overwhelmed him; he picked up his revolver from the nightstand and resolved to go after his dog. This can't be good, sensing a tense feeling in the air, he descended the stairs and summoned the courage to slowly open the backyard door,
Neal was lying face down on the grass. Peter hurried, stowed his gun and turned him over. He barely looked alive. Peter noticed his clothes were rumpled, bruising on the wrists, misshapen arm obviously broken...
"EL CALL 9-1-1!" Peter bellowed while checking for a pulse.
It was not Satchmo's barking that caused the lights to glow in the neighborhood but Peter's unsuccessful and relatively strident efforts to wake Neal.
To be continued…