Chapter Ten: Pin or Plunder
Saturday, October 15, 2011
12:31 a.m.
As Neal slept, he dreamed about his father. His subconscious brought back a childhood event when his father slapped his mother because she had made a birthday cake for her young son. His father had dumped the entire cake—plate and all—into the garbage. It was chocolate and had small plastic multi-colored clowns gingerly placed on top.
His mind flashed on images of his father roaring like a lion down into his face saying that only pussies had birthday parties. His father would strike him. The physical pain had been intense.
It was intense. It awakened him. Neal was glad to wake up so he could put the memories of his abusive father behind him once again. But the pain didn't stop.
His mouth hurt. His neck hurt. He was struggling to breathe. It was just a dream. What was happening?
Neal opened his eyes and saw Bancroft standing over him holding one hand over his mouth and the other hand over his throat.
"Nothing has changed," Bancroft whispered into Neal's left ear. "You still have a choice. Is it Option C?"
Bancroft's hands had a slight tremor. His clothing, while still a three piece suit, looked unkempt. But it was Bancroft's eyes that informed Neal that he had gone over the edge. His eyes looked crazed. They were splotched with jabs of red and jutted from side to side.
Neal was frightened. He had never seen Bancroft look this way before.
Then he thought about Peter, the model law man. As stealthily as possible, Neal reached up his hands and dug his nails into Bancroft's arm. He dug until he was confident that skin or flesh or blood would be lodged under his nails.
When Bancroft felt the pain of his flesh being torn, he grabbed Neal's throat even tighter. Neal lost his breath. The last thing he remembered seeing was Bancroft's crazed eyes. Soon darkness overtook Neal. Into the darkness he heard option C.
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Saturday, October 15, 2011
2:15 a.m.
Neal was still unconscious when the night nurse made her rounds. At first she didn't see the bruising around his throat-just that the oxygen tubes had been removed out of Neal's nostrils. When she couldn't rouse him to take his vitals and temperature, she turned on the lights and realized that something sinister had happened. She checked to make sure that her young patient was still breathing, and—much to her relief—he was. She reinserted the oxygen tubes into his nose then paged Neal's doctor for an examination as she thumbed through his chart for the next of kin contact.
As the doctor and several medical students checked Neal over, the nurse went to the nurses' station so she could phone Neal's next of kin.
Peter Burke answered on the second ring.
On the first ring, Peter thought something had happened to Elizabeth because she was still out of town. As his mind awakened a little more, he remembered that Neal was in the hospital. He hadn't been in bed too long because he, Jones, and Diana had been examining every shred of evidence for some indication that Neal was telling the truth about Bancroft.
"I'll be right there," Peter told the nurse. He quickly hung up the phone and dressed and ran out the door to go to the hospital. Once he arrived, he ran directly to Neal's room. The doctor had completed his examination, but a nurse was with him continuing to monitor his vitals.
"He only lost consciousness. No part of his throat was damaged," the nurse said to Peter.
Peter looked down at Neal's throat and saw the bruising in the pattern of a hand print.
"Does anyone know what happened here," Peter asked.
"The only person who saw anything was the evening housekeeper. She said a well-dressed African American gentleman entered Mr. Caffrey's room around midnight."
"Can I get the housekeeper's name," Peter asked.
"Uh, yes, but we've already given the information to the police."
Peter realized that an assault case—and even attempted murder— was out of the jurisdiction of the White Collar division of the FBI. "Okay, thanks," he answered her.
Neal stirred as she put the thermometer in his ear. "Looks like your partner is waking up," she said to Peter.
Peter felt relieved and guilty and so incredibly torn. He should have been there to protect Neal, but he also needed to work on the evidence of the case to prove that Neal was telling the truth.
He patted Neal on his shoulder. "You better quit giving me a heart attack," he jokingly said to Neal.
"Hey Peter," Neal whispered. His voice, which had been raspy, now came out as a strained whisper.
"It was Bancroft, wasn't it," Peter asked.
Neal shook his head in the affirmative to avoid having to speak.
"We may be able to get him now. He was seen by the night housekeeper."
"I've got something even better," Neal whispered as he held up his hands.
Peter looked inquisitively at him.
"DNA," Neal answered.
"Oh my God," Peter yelled. "Do not move. I'm calling the evidence technicians."
"How do we know who we can trust," Neal whispered dejectedly.
"We don't," Peter replied with a disappointed tone in his voice. Neal was right. They didn't know who they could trust.
"Remember what Mulder always said," Neal uttered.
"Look at you knowing your FBI television pop culture."
Neal just stared at him. His exhausted-looking eyes disclosed a very frightened young man.
"Yes, he always said to trust no one," Peter answered.
"Yep," Neal responded as he shook his head up and down twice.
"Do you trust me? How about Diana and Jones? Don't you trust them?"
Neal paused for a lot longer than Peter had expected. Then he half-way smiled up at Peter but said nothing. After a few more minutes, he amenably responded, "Call 'em."
As they waited for Diana and Jones to arrive at the hospital in the middle the night, Peter decided to press Neal for details that would help him fill in some blanks.
"So, why do you think someone on Bancroft's level would risk so much for so little?"
Neal looked blankly at Peter. His eyes blinked more than normal.
Peter recognized that signal as one where Neal would manage his language so as to not disclose too much information to incriminate himself. Peter knew there was a whole lot more to the story than what had already come to light, so he continued pressing. "A three and a half million dollar jewelry heist would hardly seem worth all this to a seasoned Assistant Director of the FBI. Why would he risk so much for so little."
Neal remained quiet. He knew it was worth so much more than three and a half million dollars in stolen jewelry. His mind flashed on Mozzie and how this con had been his idea all along. The Nazi plunder was beginning to put a strain on their relationship as Neal struggled with having to constantly deceive Peter. He didn't want to deceive Mozzie or Peter, but that was the position he was in. One man would be out. That decision was one of the hardest he had ever had to face in his life.
But right now he knew he couldn't come clean to Peter. He couldn't betray Mozzie right now. They had been through so much together, and he knew his mind needed to think clearer before he could say anything to Peter.
"What's wrong, Neal," Peter questioned. He knew something was wrong. He knew his partner was holding back on something. He knew Neal knew more than what he was saying.
"I'm just tired. My throat hurts a little," Neal raspily whispered.
"What are you holding back?"
"Nothing," Neal responded, trying to muster up his most innocent facial expression.
Peter cleared his throat. He knew Neal was a master chess player and was known for his strategic moves. He hardly ever had to sacrifice a chess piece to win the game. Confidence, intelligence, and strategy…that was Neal Caffrey. Peter continued poking, "There was something interesting that Mozzie told El that I haven't quite figured out."
"What?"
"When your tracking data implicated you, he said that you didn't need the proceeds from the jewelry heist. That's how he knew you were innocent. What did he mean by that, Neal? Isn't three and a half million a sizable chunk of change for you?"
Neal knew his best option was to remain completely quiet. He didn't know what to say to Peter. After all they had been through, he wanted to tell Peter, to come clean, but he also didn't want to be disloyal to his oldest friend and partner. Neal's physical discomfort was revealed on his face. With Peter it was coming down to the white collar criminal or the white collar division. He felt absolutely torn. If he chose the world of the white collar criminal, then he knew that he and Mozzie would need to leave immediately. Bancroft—and now Peter—was too close on his heels.
Peter reached into his pocket and held out his hand in front of Neal. He then placed the contents of his hand onto the nightstand beside Neal's bed. Neal turned his head to see what Peter had placed on the table. Shining vibrantly on the table was the gold FBI tie pin that Peter and Elizabeth had given him for his birthday the evening this whole escapade had started.
"You have a family who is there for you…a family who loves you. All you have to do is trust us and be truthful to us," Peter quietly said as he patted Neal's shoulder.
Neal could feel emotion rising up inside him.
Peter could see Neal's change in facial expression. He continued, "I know you and I have not always been honest with each other. I know our relationship hasn't been as personal as it could be. But I'm here for you…okay? All you have to do is talk to me. I can help you. I will, you know that…don't you?"
Neal reached his hand over and picked up the tie pin. Peter didn't stop him. At that moment, the FBI pin was more important that any DNA underneath Neal's fingernails that might get lost.
Neal clinched the pin tightly in his hand. He could feel the pain from the chains of his captivity radiating up through his arm.
"If in fact Bancroft is the mastermind behind all this, then we have a lot of work we need to do to bring him down," Peter continued.
Neal looked up at Peter with the realization that Peter might actually believe him that Bancroft was the mastermind behind the scheme. But more importantly, Peter's words revealed to Neal that Peter needed his partner.
"So you believe me," Neal asked.
"I need your help, Neal. I cannot do this alone."
Neal could feel a tear about to leave his eye, and he shuffled his arm against the side of his face to catch the escaped droplet before it glided down his cheek.
Peter continued to sit—still and silent. Watching his young partner have to endure so much pain made him hurt.
Neal pushed his eyes up to stare at the ceiling. He wanted to look at anything other than Peter Burke.
Peter turned as he heard Diana and Jones enter the room. They carried some FBI equipment with them to extract the DNA from underneath Neal's fingernails. They made small talk for several minutes after they had finished then stated that they wanted to get the evidence to the lab.
"You coming, Boss," Diana asked.
"Yes," Peter answered. He had ordered guards to stand post outside of Neal's hospital room. He knew that Neal would now be safe, but he still felt guilty for having to go. But he needed to go. Trust no one Mulder resounded in his head.
"I'm sorry…I really do need to evaluate this new evidence. You're going to be safe now. I've got to get out of here. Are you going to be all right?"
"I'm fine, Peter," Neal answered, not looking at Peter.
"Are you sure," Peter asked.
"Yes."
"Okay, then I'll see you tomorrow. I'm glad you're okay. Trust me, I'm going to get to the bottom of this. Bancroft won't get away with what he's done."
"Okay," Neal responded. But that worried Neal because Bancroft knew the level at which Neal was involved in the Nazi plunder. Catching Bancroft also meant the likelihood of catching Neal.
As Peter headed to the door, he turned around to look at Neal, "Remember, people can change."
Neal nodded, "I know, Peter…I know. Heard that one time." He smiled up at Peter, dropping his hand back to the nightstand to place the tie pin down.
After Peter left, Neal lay quietly in the hospital bed. He was so incredibly conflicted. He knew Bancroft was on to him and Mozzie, so they would have to leave as soon as possible if they were going to get away with the Nazi plunder. He knew Peter knew more than he was saying, and he knew that Peter knew he was somehow involved deeper with Bancroft. Shit.
He had come to think of Peter and Elizabeth as family, and betraying them by choosing the con over them would take away the only real family he had ever known. He wanted a family…had craved being included in a family…and Peter and Elizabeth had opened up their lives to him. Shit.
If he came clean to Peter, then he would be a Judas to Mozzie. Mozzie had been there for him for so many years now. He loved Mozzie and wanted to run off with him and the Nazi plunder while at the same time be there with Peter and Elizabeth and the FBI. Shit.
He wanted to scream. The entire situation was completely screwed up. Thumbing through the overcoat he had left at the Burke home that Peter had brought to the hospital, Neal retrieved his cell phone. He needed to call Mozzie. If they were going to leave, then the plans needed to be set in motion immediately. As he held the cell phone in one hand ready to hit speed dial, he picked up the FBI tie pin on the nightstand and held it in his other hand.
He let out a small laugh as he held out his two hands in front of his face. Pin or plunder? Shit.
In one hand he realized he held his life with the Burkes; in the other he held his life as a conman. Staring at his two hands, he recalled Peter's constant reminders that he couldn't be both a con and a man. He then closed his eyes with both items still in his hands, not knowing what to do. He clenched both tightly to his chest.
Several minutes later, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. He wanted, for the first time in his life, to actually think about what he would do and not act impulsively. He needed to think about consequences, which wasn't natural for him.
His eyes moved back and forth between his hands. He laughed at himself for being in this predicament. How did his life get to this? It was never supposed to be this way. He was never supposed to find a home with Peter and the FBI. He had always been a con, and a con was who he was supposed to always be. But Peter had opened an entirely different door to him…a door he never thought was possible.
Then, as he sat there staring at the tie pin and the cell phone, Neal's battered and bruised face looked up at the ceiling. He knew he couldn't be both a con and a man. Those words finally made sense to him.
Then, as he stared at the cell phone in one hand and the FBI tie pin in the other hand, a small devilish—yet sincere—smile crept onto his face. He knew at that very moment what he was going to do…what he had to do.
The end…possibly to be continued later in another story.
A/N: Thanks to all who continued with this story. I enjoyed writing it—especially being able to drop a favorite song title, a favorite TV line, and references to some literature. I really liked trying to get into the heads of two of my favorite TV characters. Please don't think I copped out by ending the story this way: that was my intent all along. In typical Eastin style, I wanted to end with the reader guessing what Neal will choose to do. I might possibly continue this story if readers are interested. If so, please let me know. I'll get working! Thanks for hanging with me. I appreciate the readership and the reviews! -Jenny