A/N: To all the readers, thank you so much. To the loyal reviewers I baked you cookies except I couldn't figure out how to send them via the message system. :( So lots of good Karma instead!
I know this story doesn't have the hurt/comfort/whumpage scenes that seem pretty popular among readers, and I apologise. I have some rough plans sketched for that in future chapters, but I am doing my best to stay true to the show, so too much whumpage doesn't seem to fit. But the next chapter is supposed to have a cute interaction between Peter and Ender since one reader requested that.
Did anyone figure out where the next robbery will be? Read to find out…
The Palest Ink Is Better Than The Best Memory
"Neal… This is by far the worst idea you've ever had. And that's including when we robbed the Uffizi in drag," Mozzie hissed. "And by the way, I'm a spring. That deep mauve made me appear washed out. "
"Next time you can choose your own dress," Neal shot back. "Besides, that job was designed for Alex and I, it's not my fault she bailed at the last minute."
"Neal," Mozzie continued in a too loud whisper. "In all seriousness, if your anklet shows you've been hanging around in the MOMA the night it gets robbed, the Suit will string you up by your ears. And that's only if you aren't back in prison."
"And if this kid sees the feds again, he won't show. He got caught last time. He won't want to make the same mistake twice."
"Ha! Mozzie suddenly exclaimed triumphantly. "So you do think the kid is responsible. "
"Shhhh. Keep your voice down." Neal hissed back, then responded haughtily. "I never said he wasn't involved, I just don't think he's pulling the strings."
"I can't believe you're ignoring the obvious Neal. First, he got it in and out of four museums, and made off with hundreds of thousands of dollars in art without triggering a single alarm. Second, he's a foster kid who's spent his life in the system. Plenty of time to be programmed for government use. Finally, his self-proclaimed nickname Ender. That's the equivalent to wearing a flashing neon sign saying 'I'm your genius thief'."
"You're paranoia is really starting to freak me out Moz."
"Paranoia is simply having the right information."
"And ignorance is bliss."
Neal and Mozzie were currently hiding in the fifth floor bathroom of the MOMA waiting for midnight to roll around. This bathroom had a large air vent the two could wait in until closing. As far as ideas went, Neal had to admit this wasn't his most brilliant. The vent had been cramped and Mozzie was right about Neal's future if he was caught there when art went missing. Neal was banking on Peter and the Marshals not checking his tracking information this late at night, especially since he was in his two-mile radius. He had no curfew, so as long as that light stayed green, he was usually okay.
Neal's only consolation, in case Peter found out, was that if he caught this kid and more importantly the mastermind behind these thefts, Peter would give him a lecture about playing with others, but most likely leave it at that. Peter had forgiven other 'cowboy' type behaviour if they got their man, and after the stress of this case Neal wouldn't be surprised if they gave him a medal.
Neal also knew Ender left the origami star for a reason. Almost every other piece related to a heist and Neal was confident this piece was the clue Ender couldn't leave at the Frick. The most obvious choice was Van Gough's Starry Night, since the MOMA had yet to be hit and Starry Night was the most well known piece of art in New York City involving stars.
Neal also understood the kid. At Ender's age you didn't con for pleasure, you did it out of necessity. Neal first learned the art of the con at age four when he realised people liked you better when you smiled. By age seven he'd discovered talents made you useful, but it also made you a target. And at age nine, he learned lies for the greater good were better than truths told with the best of intentions.
In fact, Neal's entire childhood was defined by shades of black and white. Even if the world defined his actions as egregious, survival made them right. Something was only wrong if it wasn't a necessity, or it was done with malicious intent.
It wasn't until Neal was a teenager that he began stealing just for fun. Because only then did his world suddenly have grey in it, that allowed for such choices.
This was how Neal knew Ender wasn't playing a game for the sake of a game. Whatever mess the kid was in, he viewed this as his only way out. He was a child, and a child's logic differed from an adult's, no matter the kid's intelligence on an IQ scale.
To the casual observer the origami animals and coy notes looked like the work of a spoiled brat, whose parents had yet to give him a much-needed smack to the rear.
To Neal they were a message. I don't have any other choice.
It had been along time since Neal didn't have a choice, but he still knew what that felt like. In a way he didn't have a choice about his actions now. Breaking in was for the greater good. His actions helped a person who desperately needed him, and that trumped self-preservation.
"Neal!" The conman was caught of guard by a hand smacking into the side of his head.
"There's no need for violence Moz." He rubbed at the spot Mozzie had hit, scowling in frustration.
"I've been calling your name for the past five minutes and you keep ignoring me."
"Just thinking." Neal responded.
"Anything important?"
As much as he sometimes wanted to share Neal didn't think Mozzie would understand. He and Mozzie learned independence at a very early age, but for very different reasons. Mozzie chose his way of life, Neal didn't. Mozzie was that brilliant, bored kid who got sick of being picked on and decided to get other people before they got him.
Neal's childhood choices for often made for him, at least that was what Neal told himself whenever he felt a bit guilty. Thievery, breaking and entering, even the first time he fired a gun were things he did to survive or ensure the survival of others. If he is really honest with himself Neal doesn't regret his past. He did some very good things, and for the right reasons. Neal just knows the world won't understand.
During weeks like this Neal wants to blurt the whole story out, tell someone about his life before he became Neal Caffrey. But he knew Mozzie wouldn't get it. Sometimes Neal didn't even get himself. But he doesn't regret it, just that certain things happened that he wishes he could do differently.
"Not really." He finally responded. "Just want this case to be over."
"Well, next time you want my help, it better not be to hang out in a bathroom," Mozzie huffed. "I feel like a teenage girl."
"We could always paint our nails."
Mozzie was silent for a moment, his face contemplative. "Just as long as you don't tell the Suit."
After another hour of sitting, and almost wishing they had some L'Oreal 'Devil Wears Red' shellac, Neal startled upright.
"He's here."
"I don't hear anything." Mozzie looked around in disbelief.
Neal crept forward and carefully peaked out the door. Pausing to ensure it really wasn't the security guard, and being mindful of the camera's Neal edged into the foyer and towards the gallery.
Contrary to popular opinion, most robberies do not take place at night with thieves wearing little black ski masks. Usually the theft takes place during the day when a person could blend back into the crowd, or, more often, it's an inside job.
Mozzie followed at a safe distance as they slipped through the shadows towards the Van Gough. Neal felt like he was in one of those ridiculous horror flicks where the kids creep on a line, through the haunted house, hoping not to get caught by the monster. He hated clichés.
Inside the gallery Neal stopped short and stared at the far wall. Starry Night hung in its customary spot, but next to it was taped a sign with an arrow pointing down and the words, "I recommend the stairs." On the ground was an origami guitar.
"Shit," Neal swore. "A piece of art in the MOMA with a guitar?"
"Picasso's, Three Musicians?"
"Too big, remember it needs to be something a child can carry."
"Georges Braque'a, Man and a Guitar?"
"Where is that?"
"The floor below us, east wall of the gallery."
"Damn it," Neal swore again. He looked around doing some fast math in his head. "Just stay here," he hissed at Mozzie. "I'm going to gallery four."
"What do I do if he comes back, he might have a gun?" Mozzie probably detested weapons more than Neal.
"He's six."
Mozzie gave him a frustrated, yet disbelieving look. "That just means he's probably a poor shot."
Neal really didn't have time to argue, they were too thieves in an art museum during a robbery. They either caught the real thief, or Neal should start considering decorating options for his cell.
"Scream like a little girl," was his last piece of advice before he slid back around towards the stairwell. Fortunately years of practice made avoiding security camera's more a reaction than conscience thought.
The fourth floor of the MOMA was set up almost exactly like the fifth, with one large gallery and a stairwell in the back. Since Neal couldn't think of any good entrance or exit point on these floors that didn't involve a long drop out a window, he was hoping the kid would have to travel up or more likely back down to get out.
Cameras weren't set up between the fourth and fifth floor gallery stairwell, the way they were on others, because that stairwell was exclusive to those two floors. Other camera's watched the galleries themselves but Neal stopped short on the stairs to access the situation before creeping around to get a look at the back wall where the painting hung.
Neal was just about to step around the side when he heard shouts coming from outside the gallery doors in the foyer. He couldn't make out what they were saying but it sounded like the security guards were after someone.
A moment later Neal started when a hand grabbed his arm and it was only from years of practicing not giving away his position, no matter the circumstances, that kept him from making any noise.
"We have to get out of here Neal." Mozzie's voice was insistence, and Neal heard it even as he strained to listen to the other voices.
"I told you to watch Starry Night."
"And I'm not sticking around to be arrested. You're lucky I came back for you."
Neal hesitated for a moment, something very unlike him, since he was usually able to think well on his feet.
"You're not watching the painting." A look of horror passed over Mozzie's face, then in a rare display of clumsiness the two of them all but stumbled over each other as they ran back up.
At the top of the stairs Neal pushed Mozzie towards the door. "Get out of here, I'll check on the painting."
Mozzie didn't need to be told twice because he was gone before Neal could fully get his bearings.
Finding his focus Neal stopped short, starring at a now empty frame, where the painting once hung.
Left, on the floor, in place of Starry Night was a grey origami box with detailing drawn on to resemble an old fashion safe.
Somewhat in a trance Neal carefully opened the box to examine its contents. Inside were ten, new hundred dollar bills of monopoly money and one get out of jail free card. On the card were the words. Thanks for not tattling to the teachers. I owe you one, but if you square this I think we'll be even.
'Definitely not my best idea,' Neal told himself, deciding a fast exit and a reasonable explanation for Peter was now his best option.
Another Note: Since I'm not a criminal I'm not sure how realistic this chapter is. Probably not as much as I would like, but I think a lot of what we see on television is somewhat suspect, so consider this artistic license.
