Chapter 4
"So, you're telling me. That you went freely to the FEDS?" The small but wildly gesticulate man seemed to take up more space than his mass allowed. A personality that defied physics itself.
The youth, who lounged with his shoulder rested against the building, smiled. "Mozzie, it was either this or prison, and you know that they would just have locked me up until the end of time. And then some."
"Oh, come on Neal. You can't use that excuse with me. I know you could break out of any prison they put you in." Mozzie turned away, glancing over his shoulders. Neal's friend always seemed jumpy and unsettled. Completely the opposite of Neal's outward disposition. Perhaps that's why Neal liked him so much.
"You're working with the other side!"
"There not actually that bad Mozzie."
"You're defending them?" Mozzie threw his hands up in the air, turning away in exaggerated disgust. "I can't even look at you right now. Wait, what's that on your ankle?"
Neal looked down, casually unconcerned. "Oh, this? It's a tracking device."
Causally unconcerned – Neal's speciality expression. He could emulate it even in the toughest of times. And he had. It gained him repute in the criminal industry. A myth rather than a man… or boy.
"They've turned you into nothing more than a dog! You're more than this. We're more than this. We don't live by their rules."
"Maybe you don't Mozzie, but I've got bigger things on my mind right now."
That seemed to subdue that the overly eccentric man. He paused.
"Oh? Oh." Understanding began to dawn on his face. "I warned you not to work with that man."
Neal reached into his pocket and pulled out a brick phone. "Yes, well you know me Mozzie. When have I ever listened to your warning?"
"Well, you should! I hope you're not using that cell phone. The government keep track of your every move with –."
"What part of Tracking Device did you not comprehend?" Neal chuckled. "The government doesn't need big brother to keep track of me. Take this with you, I've memorised the number. If it rings you'll know it's me."
Mozzie looked apprehensively towards the small device and then glanced towards the looming glass building before his eyes settled firmly back on Neal again. He reached out and took it.
"If I die from unknown and mysterious circumstances in the next month I'm blaming you." Mozzie chastised.
Neal's face cracked into a grin. "I'll make sure to include that in your obituary. Now, Keller – I need to know what happened to him after I was caught."
"I don't know much." Mozzie replied. "he got out of the building somehow, went underground. I'll do some sniffing around, see what putrid smell he's left on the streets."
"Good. I'll need to check. See if you can find out what the word on the street is about me as well." Neal checked his watch. "I've got to get back. Peter will be getting suspicious. 12 tonight. I'll call."
Neal turned to walk down away, but Mozzie's arm caught him.
"Just…" Mozzie began. He locked eyes with the younger Neal.
"Just be careful," Mozzie said.
"Mozzie. When am I not?" Neal reassured, before running across the busy street, dodging between cars, towards the FBI building.
Mozzie glanced over his shoulder. He wasn't sure what he was looking for – something? Someone? Yet, in all outward appearances, the street was decidedly normal. Mozzie felt a shiver. Most would dismiss such a feeling as cold, but Mozzie knew when to trust his instincts.
To many Mozzie seems paranoid, suspicious, distrustful. Mozzie preferred to think himself prepared. Proper preparation was the key to success in any high crime heist. Creepiness isn't just an arbitrary feeling. It's always catalysed by something. And something is creepy when it is so close to reality, so close to how we expect to see the world, yet not. It's unsettling, confusing. So, what was it? What wasn't right about this situation?
Mozzie glance behind, again. His mind tried to reach for it but it slipped through his fingers like wet soap. People were walking, streamlining around each other as they went about their day, falling in beat with the city. The brick buildings cast shade over the path, coating pedestrians in a layer cold. Dressed in scarves and large coats, everyone moved, unwilling in linger in the chilling air. Everyone… except for one girl. She stood, peering into a store window. A store which, Mozzie noted, was closed. Mozzie looked closer, not closed – disused.
Mozzie quickly turned back keep walking. He turned down one street, slightly picking up his pace. He glanced over his shoulder. There was the girl, again. She had fallen in tune with everyone else, moving as a part of the crowd. She was approximately 1.6, dark hair, pale skin. The girl was too far for Mozzie to make out any defining features, but she moved with a sense of ease – almost grace. She looked familiar if only he could place it. Her eyes locked with his. He knew those eyes. That firm green gaze.
There was an alley to Mozzie's left. He turned down it. Looking behind himself all the time. The girl, if she was following him she would -.
"Mozzie! My man." He heard from behind him.
Swilling quickly, Mozzie found himself to face with Matthew Keller.
Those green eyes.
"Mr Keller!" Mozzie replied with a panicked smile.
Hearing footsteps Mozzie turned back to the alleyway entrance. The girl stood at the entrance.
"I see you've met my daughter." Keller smiled. He was always smiling. That same cheerful smile.
"Well, I wouldn't say met…" Mozzie trailed off.
This wasn't supposed to happen. Mozzie was the behind the scenes man. He was the planner. He was the mind. The getaway car, the genius behind the genius. He was not someone who was followed, cornered in alleys by teenage girls and their dangerous crime affiliated fathers.
"To what do I owe the honour?" Mozzie asked. He was tempted to accompany the words with a bow and tip of an imaginary top hat, but the severity of the situation held him back.
"I believe you are acquainted with Mr Caffrey," Keller stated. Right to the point.
Keller let his eyes wander, taking in his surroundings with casual disinterest.
It wasn't a question, but Mozzie answered anyway. "I have talked to him over the years, yes."
"And have you talked to him recently?" Keller's eyes snapped to Mozzies.
Mozzie paused. He wouldn't sell Neal out. Never. But he had to be smart about this. If Keller knew the truth, he would have no real reason to come after Caffrey. Neal didn't betray Keller. He didn't botch the plan. But Neal did get caught.
Information on Keller. Now would be a good time to get it.
"Depends." Mozzie answered carefully.
Keller sat down, relaxing against a box and a building wall.
"Don't worry. I don't want to hurt your boy." He assured. "I simply want to provide a way for him to make amends."
Keller gestured for Mozzie to sit down. "I have a message for him."
"I'm listening."
Peter Burke leant back in his chair, rested his feet on his desk and sighed. Peter absently tapped his pen against the unmarked papers before him. He glanced outside his windowed office to see Neal working in the room beside him.
The teenager shuffled through paper spewed across the desk, his legs anxiously bumping the desk, eyes intent. Peter sighed. He understood his co-worker's reservations. He really did. Bringing Caffrey in wasn't a unanimously approved move. Peter still held many of his own reservations. The kid lied, possibly compulsively. He had a complete disregard for the law and seemed intent on manipulating everyone around him.
But there was no way around it – Neal Caffrey was a genius.
If Peter could just get to him, Neal would have a life of great achievements ahead of him. The alternative life he's heading down would not end so well, for whatever unfortunate art owner happened upon his path, and for Neal.
At least that's what he told himself. But there was another inescapable fact – Neal Caffrey was just a kid.
Peter glanced back towards the stack of papers on his desk. It was late. They could wait until tomorrow.
He walked out his office towards the conference room Neal was working in.
He opened the door. "You need a break."
Neal pushed back in his chair, swivelling to face Peter.
"Oh, I think I'm fine here." Neal's body relaxed, mouth widening the grin that so often took residence on his face.
"Well, I need a break. Come on." Peter turned to walk out the door.
Reaching for his coat Neal chased after him.
"Where are we going?" Neal asked as he caught up to Peter striding towards the elevator.
"For ice cream," Peter stated.
Neal's left eyebrow shot upwards, "Ice cream?"
"Yup." Said Peter, ignoring Neal's prolonged incredulous expression.
Neal shook his head and the smile came back.
"Okay." He said. "Ice Cream break it is."
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