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After the briefing in the conference room, which wound up lasting nearly an hour, Neal was eager to go through all the new case files available on Messier and his known connections. He particularly wanted to focus on Jason. That association was his natural potential transition back into this world. Despite some trepidation, he also felt renewed energy to get his head into this case and to revamp his old persona to do it. His heart was beating fast with the thought of going back into this type of organization and integrating himself.

With case folders tucked under his arm, once they finished in the conference room, Neal aimed to head back to his desk. He needed to text Mozzie. There were new names for him to look into, and he wanted to tell him to meet him at his place later so he could run some ideas past him on how to get back into this circle again smoothly. Moz was pulling his own information as well, and cross-checking that against what the FBI had would be critical.

But as Neal had anticipated, though hoped to avoid, Peter had other questions first. The man exited the conference room just behind his CI and walked in step with him, keeping up with his quick place. "Neal. You have a minute?"

"Not really," Neal replied, trying not to sound uncooperative, just busy. He kept walking. "Besides, Peter, haven't you interrogated me enough for one day?" He moved forward towards the stairs, without stopping. He did want to ask Peter when they could head to the warehouse to see the art, but he prioritized the need to throw a few things to Mozzie first, and a juvenile part of him wanted to show Peter that he was still somewhat irritated at his apparent suspicion of his involvement in the activities at Messier's office the previous night.

However, he should have known better that lobbing a sarcastic comment like that to Peter would not expedite his journey back to his desk. In fact, quite the opposite.

"Hey. Not so fast." Peter caught Neal's arm before the younger man could reach the first step to head back to the bullpen. Peter gave him a tight smile as Neal turned towards him. "I think we should talk."

Neal pulled his arm free and gave Peter a disgruntled look. "You know, Peter, I think I'd be a lot more effective at my job if you stopped assuming I'm involved in every crime you hear about." He knew he sounded petulant and wasn't helping his wish for a short conversation and to be at his desk. He regretted the words, but also needed to get it out of his system. He felt slightly better now that he'd let his feelings show. He hadn't bottled it in. Didn't Peter tell him not to bottle his feelings?

Neal glanced towards Hughes office where the man had already disappeared behind a closed door. He'd been the first one out of the conference room.

"Listen," Peter began, a little curtly. He looked like he would have preferred Neal to bottle these particular feelings. "I don't want to do this with you. But if you need to, you're going to do it in my office. What I really wanted to ask you about was your alias…"

Neal felt impatient. Was Peter just going to dismiss his previous suspicion like it hadn't even happened? That wasn't right. It was a big deal. Didn't he trust him? Neal also didn't want a big conversation about trust. He could see Peter spinning it. In fact, he'd probably say something like, 'could I trust you yesterday at the stakeout to stay out of the building?' and Neal wouldn't have a good response to that. Or even on top of that, he could see him going further, revisiting yesterday with an added, 'could I trust you not to pickpocket?' They had surprisingly never really talked much about that, and he didn't want to.

Neal considered whether or not it was worth taking it any further while taking a deep breath and letting their eyes meet. Peter's expression was one of mixed sentiments.

A moment of silence passed between them as he thought further what to say before breaking eye contact and glancing away in the direction of his desk. His beacon in the distance at the moment.

Peter then sighed and reached out to take Neal's arm once again, holding him by the elbow as he gently steered him the short few feet into his office with a mumbled, "Okay, c'mon."

Neal didn't resist, but looked at Peter through narrowed, guarded eyes as they entered the office and Peter shut the door behind him. They remained standing, and Neal leaned back against the closed door silently, keeping the case files tightly tucked under his arm, as Peter stood a couple feet away.

Peter ignored the look he was receiving. Instead his expression appeared relatively calm, and he gestured at Neal with a wave of his hand as though to say 'let's have it.' After a beat passed and he verbally said, "Go ahead. Say what you're thinking."

Neal erased the frustration from his face, taking a chance at redirecting the discussion as he continued to pause and then replied earnestly, "I'd like to go to the warehouse, Peter. Like you suggested. Let's see what they got. Two hundred and sixty-three is a lot to go through."

"It is. And we will, Neal. But clearly you have something else on your mind."

"Mostly the art," Neal answered with a shrug.

"Yeah? Is that why you just said I always assume you have something to do with every crime I hear of?"

"Well…" Neal said slowly. The door felt hard against his back. "Not every crime, I'm sure. I expect you're more selective than that. You're a highly skilled, discerning FBI agent, after all. I would hope you don't suspect me of blue collar crimes, for example."

"Oh, Neal, cut the crap, will you?" Peter shook his head in disapproval. "Listen, I knew you were home last night."

Neal gave an affirmative nod. "Because you checked."

"Because we had an agreement that you'd be home last night. End of story. Do you really want to waste time arguing with me about this?"

"No," Neal admitted. "I don't. But—"

"If the answer is 'no' then there are no 'buts', Neal," Peter said firmly. "And then we're done talking about it. And then we'll go to the warehouse, but not until you're really actually done with this conversation. So are you?" He seemed more hopeful than exasperated.

"No," Neal persisted. He paused. "You…" he trailed off, frowning and debating his next words. You did, he wanted to say. You did suspect me. But Peter was right. He didn't want to argue, and he certainly didn't want to have a circular conversation with Peter that wouldn't go anywhere. He just felt hurt by it, and that's all he wanted to express. Haven't I proven myself yet? he wanted to ask. But a simple, "Peter…" was all he could say next.

"Neal, let's not do this," Peter said simply, tone softening. "You were acting uncharacteristically quiet most of today, and that was it. That's why I asked if something was up. I was fairly certain you had nothing to do with what happened last night."

Neal continued to frown, not responding for a moment. Then he said, "Fairly certain?" with skepticism.

"Well," Peter said, smirking slightly, "in addition to obviously being home, there's also a video that looks nothing like you." He was obviously trying to make light of the situation by downplaying it, likely in hopes of more easily dismissing the subject, but paused and sighed at Neal's displeased expression. "Neal, will you drop it?" Peter asked with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. He waited another few seconds and then shifted gears. "Now tell me about this alias," Peter said. "Let's talk about that. The case is what's important here. What's the name?"

Neal paused. He felt slightly irked at Peter's understatement of the other topic, but he gradually convinced himself to allow the subject to change, acknowledging being resentful of Peter was going to get him nowhere, at least at the moment. It had hurt, but he had to shake it off. "Willy," he responded.

"The name's Willy?" Peter asked. At Neal's nod, he asked, "Willy what?"

"Willy Loman."

Peter tilted his head slightly and smiled at the younger man. "Death of a Salesman."

Neal returned the smile at Peter's recognition of the name. That's why he liked Peter. Peter could pick up on his references. He suddenly felt better. "Yeah... Exactly."

"And why that alias?"

"Why the name or why do I want to use it?"

"Curious about the first, but moreso the latter," Peter responded slowly. "Why is it so important to use that alias? And why haven't I heard this name before?"

Neal's look turned pensive. "Well, I was pretty selective with what I used Willy for… He hasn't been around in several years, but he has a reputation that these guys will find compelling."

"What kind of reputation?" Peter asked. "You said in there that you thought there could be overlap with these guys. Can't say I'm surprised, knowing you… But what overlap? What did you use Willy for?"

Neal hesitated, frowning slightly.

Peter picked up the hesitation and his curiosity heightened. "Neal."

"I'd rather not say specifically."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Why?"

"Because, Peter." Neal looked past the man, altering his focus to the window. "There's stuff you don't know about." He paused. "And I don't know the statute of limitations."

"I know there's stuff I don't know about. You remind me often. What, you think I'm going to re-arrest you?" Peter said sarcastically. "C'mon. Give me an example."

"No," Neal objected. He didn't want to share. While Peter had at times in anger threatened the possibility of arresting him for indiscretions, he knew it was unlikely in this case. He was less concerned about the statute of limitations on these crimes versus Peter having more to add to his list. More Caffrey crimes. Even if they were from before he knew Peter, he didn't want the list to grow. He knew if he gave any examples Peter would get that disappointed look on his face. He glanced back at his handler and attempted to redirect the conversation elsewhere. "By the way, if I'm going to do this as Willy, which I need to, then I'm going to need a few things. First and foremost, a bike."

"A bike? Wait, what?" Peter shook his head, an incredulous look passing over his face. "Okay, hold that thought and back up… You know we're going to have to run a background check on your alias. Need to make sure it's safe for you to use. And as for the background check itself, honestly now that I know about the name, I would do anyway…"

Neal looked at Peter quizzically and then shrugged. "Sure. That's fine. You won't find anything though. Willy was never caught."

"Only because I didn't know about him," Peter pointed out with a small smile.

Neal gave Peter an impish smirk in return. "Oh, I'm pretty sure he would have given you a run for your money. There's a reason you don't know about him, after all… As for the bike…. Well, Willy rode a bike. It was a big part of his character. He rode it with –" Neal cut himself off before continuing, realizing he'd been about to admit Willy rode with Jason. "He rode it everywhere he went."

Neal remembered that bike. He had just gotten it around the time he was taking on the Willy role, and he loved it. There was such a sense of freedom. He felt so independent on it. It just so happened Jason was into motorcycles himself. So he made it one of Willy's interests. He learned everything he could about bikes. However, he gave it up about a year and a half later following a nasty turn on a rainy afternoon taking the exit for Coney Island…. He would leave that out for Peter's sake. That happened post-Willy anyway.

Peter looked increasingly skeptical. "If you're referring to the type of bike with a bell on it, then we can talk. Otherwise the answer is no."

Neal smiled brightly. "I can put a bell on it."

"Cute. But if it has a clutch and a throttle, it's not happening. FBI's not funding that."

Neal shrugged. "Fine, I'll just get one myself."

"That's up to you…" Peter responded, though he looked disapproving, like he wanted to say no but realized he didn't exactly have that authority. "You're an adult. Just be sure you don't tell El," he added, giving Neal a look. "She is not a fan… You don't want to find that out the hard way." He glanced at his watch. "We've got to get over to the warehouse soon if we want to see the art today. Tell me this - why Death of a Salesman, Neal?"

Neal shrugged. Lifting the arm not holding the case files, he ran a hand down the front of his shirt, as though focused on smoothing out his tie. "I don't know. You need to develop aliases from somewhere. And it's a modern, American tragedy. It's a classic. He's going through a crisis. He's created a myth about himself."

Peter nodded, wanting to ask what crisis Neal was going through at that time to want to use the persona of a tragic story. What myth had he created for his own self? Death of a Salesman was not a happy tale. But he decided not to ask further, at least not yet. Neal's expression was pensive, almost brooding, and he felt any further questions would make him more reserved.

"The only thing you've got in this world is what you can sell," Neal quoted.

"Speaking of which…" Peter said slowly. "Let's go to the warehouse. Ready?"

Neal nodded.

Peter tried to use the time in the car with Neal strategically to go over the immediate timeline of the case. Though he hadn't expressed it out loud, he was nervous about Neal's involvement at this level, so if there was one thing he could control, it was the details. He needed to make sure Neal followed a plan. That he was safe. As he spoke while driving, he wasn't quite sure if Neal was completely listening, as his head remained bowed down, chin to his chest with his gaze intently on his cell phone, fingers rapidly typing away in a series of text messages. But Peter tried anyway.

"We'll run the background on your alias today, Neal. Shouldn't take long, but it's already late in the afternoon, so they'll probably need until tomorrow."

"Okay," came the monotone response as fingers continued to text.

The next question Peter felt pained to ask but needed to know before spending resources and time that would be dismissed by Neal. "And as for Willy himself... Are you going to… uh, need any sorts of documents made up or do you have—"

"I have it."

Peter took his eyes off the road briefly to look over at his CI. "You said it was several years ago. You still have it? You sure?"

"I'm good."

"Unexpired?"

"Unexpired," Neal repeated, still text messaging.

Peter suspected the recipient of the texting was also the same individual that was aiding Neal to reclaim his old alias among many other things. Mozzie. He sighed but didn't say anything. The less he questioned the details perhaps the less it would contribute to his sure-to-develop ulcer. One thing he trusted Mozzie on was to take care of Neal to the extent he could. Bad influence or not, the guy shared a mutual interest in keeping their friend safe.

Neal looked up in time to see them take the onramp to the FDR. "Where is the warehouse?"

"Queens," Peter answered.

"Queens is big," Neal answered. "Where?"

"Border of LIC and Astoria." Peter glanced over again, watching Neal's attention to the phone. "Neal. Who are you texting that to?"

"I didn't text that to anyone," Neal answered. He dropped the phone in his lap for a moment and leaned over in his seat to gaze out at the East River and the view of Brooklyn as they headed north. "So is my radius going to change for this or are we taking the anklet off?" He turned his gaze back to Peter with an innocent expression.

Peter paused. It was safer to send Neal undercover without the device, as much as they might have hesitated early on in his agreement. Even Hughes acknowledged that now. There was no quicker way to be seen as a rat than someone noticing that piece of hardware. But no one was immediately going undercover, so the question seemed premature. "Probably off, Neal," he conceded. "But not until you actually go in as Willy. Which won't be until the background check and some other planning happens. And once that happens, we'll need some sort of surveillance on you. It'll be a day or two to get set up."

"Of course. Surveillance on me," Neal said, a little sarcastically.

"Neal, you always have some sort of surveillance undercover. Remember? Just like Jones. Just like Diana. Just like any of my agents. We need to know where you are and we need ears with you. You're no different."

"I'm not?" Neal replied, tilting his head sideways against the passenger seat headrest to look at Peter. "So you also insisted they tell you what they were up to last night, then?"

"Are we back to this, Neal?" Peter sighed. He was hopeful the discussion at the office would be the last of it. He had seen it in Neal's eyes as soon as the break-in was mentioned in the conference room. And at that moment, his heart had broken a bit because the look was a mix of disappointment and betrayal. He never predicted the day he'd feel emotion towards a conman, but here they were. Peter had then in that moment regretted his approach; that he hadn't mentioned the break-in to Neal right away that morning. "I thought we agreed to be done with this conversation."

"So did you? Ask them about where they were?"

"No," Peter responded. Peter stared at the traffic ahead of them, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "Of course not. And you know that." He wanted to be at the warehouse and away from this conversation.

"Of course not?" Neal repeated. "So do you think that's fair? "

"Oh stop." Peter cast a disapproving look Neal's way. "Don't tell me what's 'fair.' Do I need to remind you that you're out on a deal that others in your situation would beg for? And that deal gives me the right to know your whereabouts whenever I need to. Undercover or not."

"You don't do that with the others."

"No. I don't. They're not my responsibility. You are. Besides, I never insisted you tell me what you did last night. Only if there was anything I should know about."

"Like a break-in," Neal deadpanned.

Peter ignored the remark and gripped his hands even harder on the steering wheel. "Moving on. Let's talk about what's in the warehouse, Neal. Job number one. It's a lot of work in there."

"Two-forty-six." Neal turned his head back to the road.

"Yes. We need your help to do a more detailed inventory of the art," Peter explained. They had gone through this with Hughes back at the conference room debriefing but he felt the need to reiterate. "What's fake, what's not. Take detailed notes. Anything notable we should be aware of. To track origin or otherwise. You know. The works. You up for it?"

Neal nodded and let a little enthusiasm glisten through as the thought of the prospects in front of him returned. The resentfulness seemed squashed once more. "Yes. Of course."

"Good." This was the part of the case on which Peter hoped Neal would shine. And he hoped that gleam of enthusiasm he saw was enough to put Neal's underhanded comments on the break-in to rest once and for all. He knew Neal was hurt by any sense of suspicion towards him, but Peter didn't know what to say further. So he stayed on track with the case. "If possible, we also need you to help us identify the forger… Is it the same person, multiple, etcetera… Any information on that is critical."

A moment of silence passed. Then Neal slowly asked, "Why the forger?"

"Because, Neal. That could become a whole alternate path of this case. We get these guys on selling the forgeries, sure, that's one thing. But to get the forgers themselves… That would take a huge chink out of the armor of this underground industry. Without them, it doesn't exist. If we track that origin, even of a few of them, the good ones, then this is huge."

Neal was again quiet for a moment. Then he replied, "You know, I bet there's a ton. I bet it's not one person. There could be dozens. More."

Peter glanced over at him again, and noticed Neal's attention had turned back to the passenger side view of the skyline and river again. "Maybe, Neal. But I'd wager there are a few key ones." He turned his eyes back to the road. "And you never know. Maybe you'll know some of them. Like you said, you expect to have some overlap potentially, right?"

"Right… Overlap…" Neal fell silent again and then decided to change the topic. "Are you taking the bridge or tunnel?"

Peter gave him another quick look. "Uh…" He returned his focus to the traffic in front of him. "I was planning on the bridge. Free, after all. Why? Do you have a preference?"

"Bridge," Neal responded.

"You got it. Bridge it is."