Warning: The first scene describes what happened when Neal was held prisoner and may be too graphic for some readers. If puncture wounds are a trigger for you, please skip the first scene and begin reading at the next scene break. I'm not a medical expert, and the injury and treatment described are intended for dramatic effect rather than medical accuracy.
Chapter 10: The Dinosaur and the Bumblebee
Azuma Bank. December 9, 2004. Thursday evening.
It must have been at least thirty minutes since Hiroki and Shogo hustled Neal to the garage. Neal had tried to remain conscious throughout the ordeal, but he was sure he'd blacked out more than once. The pain from the skewer was relentless.
How long had it been since Shogo plunged it into his side? Maybe an hour? Seemed like an eternity. The first minutes—descending those stairs—were a blur. Hiroki had allowed him to collapse on the floor when they finally entered the utility closet. He had no choice. Neal's legs were shaking so badly he couldn't support himself.
At the moment they thought he was still unconscious. Good. It gave him a chance to think. What did he have to work with? Hands? Not much help there. His wrists had been zip-tied behind his back before they left the guard station. If he'd been alone, he might have been able to free them, but not with his two captors practically on top of him. Watch? Broken. He'd seen its cracked face when Hiroki slammed his wrist against the guard's desk. Probably not sending a signal. No sign of the cavalry.
Neal pressed his wrist against the floor. If he could force the parts together to make contact, there was a chance it could still transmit a signal. One stroke of luck. The watch was on his left wrist. If it had been on his right wrist, the side where the skewer was, he couldn't have managed it.
Shogo had crouched next to him and was keeping a firm hand on him next to the skewer. Neal had been warned against making any sound or he'd plunge it in deeper. Neal had no doubt that he meant it.
He and Hiroki were whispering back and forth in Japanese. The words came too fast for his sluggish brain to process. Something about police, guns, a car . . . what to do with him. Hiroki was arguing they needed him. Yeah, you want to keep me alive. Shogo wasn't happy about it but agreed.
The space they were in was barely deep enough to contain them. Heavy steel doors. Concrete floor with electric conduits and meters on the walls. The cold penetrated his bones, reinforcing the pain. Neal willed himself not to shiver but his body wasn't cooperating. When a tremble shook his frame, the skewer shifted, and he involuntarily gasped.
Hiroki slapped his face. "Hey, Nick, old boy, wake up."
After a few more slaps it was obvious Hiroki wasn't going to give up. Neal slowly opened his eyes.
"That's better. We're gonna take a little trip now. You behave yourself, and we'll drop you off after we're outta here. Sorry we had to hurt you, but we couldn't take a chance you'd do something silly like try to escape."
Neal concentrated on faking a greater weakness than he felt. If they left the closet, he might have a chance to break free and escape. It was the best chance he had. Billy had told him to be an orchid. Time to cowboy up and be a flower.
Hiroki and Shogo got on either side of him and hoisted him up. When Shogo had first skewered him, Neal had screamed so loudly he retracted it at little. It might work again. Neal focused on the pain and amplified it. His head dropping forward, he let out a low moan. Hiroki cursed at Shogo in Japanese for being too rough. Neal moaned again. His plan nearly backfired when Shogo grabbed his shirt and caused the skewer to move. Neal reeled, his senses swimming, as Shogo hissed, "Not another sound if you want to live."
Hiroki lectured him in Japanese, "Cool it! He's our shield in case the cops are out there. Thanks to you he's in such bad shape, it won't be easy getting to the car. Don't make it worse."
"Well, we better go now before he faints again."
Hiroki had switched places with Shogo so that he now controlled the skewer. Switching to English, he said, "Don't try anything, understand?"
Neal nodded. Now that he was on his feet, he was growing increasingly dizzy. No need to fake his weakness.
Shogo opened the door. After the dim obscurity of the locker, Neal had to blink several times to adjust to the bright light. Hiroki and Shogo each had an arm around him. They slowly walked out into a vast space.
Neal hadn't seen the garage before tonight. It was filled with vehicles. Didn't look like anyone had left. The bank must be on lockdown. There were no sounds. No hum of car engines, no screeching of tires, no voices. They were alone.
They'd advanced about ten paces when Neal heard the most beautiful-sounding words in the world: "FBI! Freeze!"
Peter, Jones, and Diana had appeared from nowhere to face them, guns drawn. They must have been crouching behind a car, waiting for the right moment. Neal blinked, trying to get rid of the sweat dripping into his eyes. He wished he could alert them he wasn't as bad as he must look, but couldn't take the risk. Shogo had pulled out a gun and was holding it to his neck.
Peter was trying to negotiate a way out. "You can't escape. You'll never be able to leave the garage. Let your hostage go. It's your only chance." Neal saw his eyes flick over him, pausing at the skewer. His wound hadn't been bleeding much at first, but all the jostling on the stairs had done it no favors and once they'd hoisted on his feet the bleeding had intensified. A hardening of Peter's jaw was his only reaction. Good, Peter. Maintain my cover.
His captors were in no mood to make a deal. Hiroki was doing all the talking. "Pull your agents back! We want free passage out of here or he dies. Stand back now!" He was practically screaming, his voice echoing loudly.
Shogo shoved a knee hard into Neal, making him falter. "Keep moving," he muttered. "Go for the red Mustang."
Neal slanted a glance to the right and saw the car they were aiming for, maybe fifty feet away. They were moving backwards, dragging Neal back with them, always keeping Neal between them and the agents. Neal was trying to stall as much as he could, faking imminent collapse. Surely Peter had a plan?
His eyes were fixed on Peter who was continuing his efforts to persuade them to surrender. While he was talking, Peter looked straight at him and then moved his eyes to the right. Neal followed his eyes. What was he seeing? Jones had his eyes fixed on Neal's face. When he saw Neal look at him, he moved his eyes down to his knees. Neal stared at his hand. He should know those movements. Morse code. V. . . A . . . N. Blinking his eyes slowly, Neal gave a slight nod.
Peter sounded so calm, so reassuring. Why weren't they taking him up on his offer? He would have in a heartbeat. Neal focused his eyes on the hands of the agents, darting from one to the other. He caught Diana tap on her watch.
The next few minutes were chaos. Off to his left Neal heard the screech of tires and the roar of a racing engine as simultaneously a horn blared. For the slightest instant Hiroki and Shogo eased up on him. Neal kicked out at Hiroki, making him slacken his grip enough that he could jerk himself free. Neal flung himself behind a car in the direction of the sound, twisting to land on his uninjured side. He slid along the concrete, crashing into the tire of a SUV.
His leap had caused the skewer to move and the waves of pain were crippling. Neal lay as still as possible, trying to ride it out. Dimly he was aware of the sounds of gunshots and pounding footsteps.
Someone had crouched next to him. Neal forced his eyes open. It was Travis. He slid his arms around his upper chest and said, "We gotta get you out of the line of fire." Badillo had moved alongside him and was preparing to lift his legs. Despite himself, Neal moaned at the movement. The van was only a few paces away. Lifting him into it, they eased him onto the floor where he lay like a fish flopped onto the deck of a boat.
"The medics are waiting outside. As soon as the shooting stops, they'll come in." Neal didn't attempt to answer. Outside the gunfire continued. Hiroki and Shogo weren't giving up. Travis reached for his knife and cut the zip tie binding his hands. When Neal reached for the skewer to pull it out, Travis grabbed his hand and held it. "We have to leave it in, sorry. If we pull it out, it may cause worse damage. Just a few minutes more."
Neal focused on breathing as shallowly as possible to still every muscle. He felt someone wipe his forehead with a cool cloth. It made him forget the pain for at least a moment.
He heard the sound of the van door opening. A familiar voice, low and worried, was right above him. Neal reached out blindly and felt his hand grabbed. Clinging to Peter's hand, he pleaded, "Pull the damn thing out!"
"Can't do that, buddy. Not yet. Hold on to me. The medics are on their way." He could hear Peter's voice continuing to reassure him but it was getting harder to follow the words.
More hands on him. Voices, talking fast and low. He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids had turned to concrete. Felt the prick of a needle…
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
Floating. Neal drowsily looked around. He was resting on a soft, billowy cloud. Odd feeling to be weightless, but his cloud was warm and comfortable. He vaguely considered sinking into the cloud, but his limbs were too lazy. He let his eyes drift around. More clouds. Strange shapes. Didn't realize clouds could be so angular. They almost looked like ceiling tiles, but fuzzy, soft . . . Dimly he was aware of pain in the past, but that was so long ago. His cloud rose even higher. If he could just break through the clouds overhead, maybe he could see the sky. But no hurry.
Neal sighed blissfully and started humming "Up, Up, and Away." He heard someone chuckle. Peering over the edge of his cloud, Neal saw a meadow filled with flowers. Peter was standing in the meadow, looking up at him. "Hey, Peter," he called out. He seemed so far away, he figured he better call particularly loud.
But Peter didn't seem to think it was loud. Didn't even act like he'd heard him. Neal gave a big yawn and looked again at him. What was that he had on? Neal laughed.
"Feeling better?"
"Yeah, is that why you're . . .? Why are you . . .?" Neal's cloud must have drifted down to the ground or maybe Peter had risen on his own cloud. No matter. He could touch him now. Neal patted the top of his head. Green and furry, but it felt nice. Like something he'd felt before. Couldn't quite place it.
"Whatcha doing?" Peter smiled at him.
"Why are you in that getup?" Neal snickered. "Although, don't get me wrong. It's really cute. The green tail. . . nice touch. Those red spikes on your back . . ." Neal blinked his eyes. Too bad he was so sleepy. "Did Janet make you wear this? Gotta say—you make an awesome dinosaur. She should take . . . picture." He reached out to touch him, but then his cloud started lifting up again. Peter seemed to be a very happy dinosaur. Neal waved at him and he waved back.
Somewhere down below a door opened. Neal was in the midst of trying to catch a hummingbird as it zipped by but stopped to look down. "Hi, El!"
El flew up to greet him. She patted his head. That was nice. Said something. Neal couldn't figure out what. When had she grown wings? He didn't remember she had wings. But they went well with her bumblebee outfit. Did he say that or think that? Neal wished he could touch her antennas, but she flew off before he had a chance.
He smiled down at El buzzing around the flowers. Now Peter was ambling along the meadow with her. He was getting awfully close to El. "Peter, watch out! She's gonna sting you!" Had Peter heard him?
Neal tried to raise himself to alert him, but his arms weren't working so well. His cloud started to rock. Oops. Nearly fell off his cloud. Peter had flown up to steady him. When did he grow wings? Why was Peter helping him? He should keep his eyes on El. She was buzzing very close. Was she going to sting him too? A big bumblebee like her was really going to hurt.
"Shh. . . shh. It's okay. I won't let her sting you." Peter's voice sounded reassuringly low in his ear.
"But, Peter, she's . . ." Neal's cloud was rising again. Carrying him away. Bumblebees couldn't fly this high could they? Wish he weren't so sleepy . . . Too hard to think . . .
Peter knew that too. "Rest. It'll make more sense later, I promise you . . . Rest."
Up, up, and away . . .
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
El put a hand on Peter's shoulder, her eyes bright from suppressed laughter. "What was that all about?" she whispered. She'd left the room to fetch them coffee when Neal was still unconscious. After all the anxiety they'd experienced for the past few hours, Peter was glad she'd returned in time for the show.
He glanced over at Neal who was apparently fast asleep. He motioned her away from the bed where they could talk without disturbing him. "The closest I can figure out is that he thought I was dressed up as a dinosaur and you were in some sort of bumblebee costume getting ready to sting me."
She smiled softly. "He remembered. That must've made quite an impression when I told him my folks used to call me Bumblebee when I was young."
"When was that?"
"On Father's Day. We'd watched the DVD Noelle had sent and found out his grandmother had nicknamed him Baby Bear."
"I never said anyone called me Dino when I was a kid," Peter grumbled.
"But you loved dinosaurs." El put an arm around him. "It all makes sense, Dino."
Peter harrumphed as he patted her hand. "Maybe to him. The part where he worried about being stung certainly does."
The door opened and Christie walked in, or Dr. Vintner as he supposed he should call her. But after taking part in the Thanksgiving feast at Columbia, she'd always be Christie to him. Peter had been relieved to discover she was on duty at the Bellevue Hospital Emergency Room when they'd arrived last night. During the initial hours of uncertainty about Neal's condition, she'd been a reassuring presence.
"How's our patient?" she asked in a low tone, as she checked the readings by his bed. "Has he awakened?"
"Briefly, but he wasn't alert. He was hallucinating."
"I'm not surprised." Christie motioned for them to follow her outside Neal's room so they could talk. "The painkiller we used can have that effect. I'll make a note on his chart. Did he seem in distress?"
Peter chuckled. "No, he was humming and smiling. Appeared to be having a good time, that is, until he thought El was a giant bumblebee out to sting him."
Christie laughed. "Neal must have a vivid imagination. Sorry I missed that."
"The fact you're so relaxed leads me to think Neal's injury wasn't too severe?" El asked.
Christie turned more serious. "You're right. Neal was very fortunate. Although extremely painful, that skewer was the equivalent of a gigantic splinter. It had lodged against one of his ribs and caused some tearing to the musculature on his side, but didn't penetrate any internal organs. We needed to diagnose the extent of the injury before we could remove the skewer, and administered the drug to keep him comfortably sedated. If the skewer had gone in any deeper or slightly lower, it would have caused significant injury and elevated our concern for peritonitis. We'd be holding a very different conversation right now."
That had been Peter's concern too. The thought of the skewer still made him cringe.
Christie smiled at them. "But the good news is it didn't. We were able to extract it with a minimum of additional damage. It's like when you remove a splinter. The relief is instantaneous."
"What will the recovery be like?" El asked.
"He'll be discharged as soon as he's alert enough to leave. That should be in a few hours. I don't expect he'll want to do anything but rest today, but tomorrow he should be able to resume normal activities. He'll continue to experience some pain from the wound. I'll send him home with a prescription which should help with that. The puncture was sealed with a few tiny stitches which will dissolve in about two weeks. He'll need to take antibiotics and monitor the site to make sure no inflammation or swelling appears, which would be symptomatic of an infection."
"I assume the blood work came back negative?" Peter asked.
Christie nodded. "We wanted to verify that the skewer hadn't been dipped into a chemical, but that doesn't appear to be the case. There were no toxins in his blood. Infection is really the only matter of concern at this point. Mind you, his muscles will need time to heal. He should avoid anything strenuous for a couple of weeks."
After Christie took her leave, Peter and El sat down on a bench outside Neal's room for a moment before going back inside. Peter grasped El's hand. "Neal had a narrow escape. The injury could have been so much more severe."
She rested her head on his shoulder. "We just got our Christmas miracle."
Neal's loft. December 10, 2004. Friday afternoon.
"Door's open."
Peter walked in to the loft to find Neal stretched out on the couch, reading a book. He tossed off his throw when Peter walked in and started to get up, but Peter held up a hand. "You stay put. I got this." Peter walked over to the table and set out the containers of takeout he'd brought. He'd gone into the office for a few hours in the afternoon but had left early so he could be at Neal's by five.
"You're not gonna make me eat lying down, are you?" Neal groused. "I haven't mastered the art of using chopsticks while horizontal. It's not going to be a pretty sight."
"All right, you're allowed to sit at the table, but I'm dishing up. Where's your teapot?"
Neal looked at him incredulously. "You're kidding. You're making me tea? Aren't you overdoing the mother hen routine?"
"Wouldn't you rather hear me cluck than roar like a dinosaur?"
Neal groaned. "You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"
"Nope," said Peter smugly, having found the teapot. "I only wish I'd thought to record you. You would have been the smash of the office holiday party."
"Don't mention holiday party ever again. I've crossed them permanently off my list." Neal moved over to the table and watched with a look of amusement as Peter bustled about Neal's tiny kitchenette, getting out plates and setting the table. When he pulled out a teabag, Neal snorted. "Since when do you carry teabags in your coat pocket?"
"Since today. I figured you might not have any so I filched some from the break room. There." Peter eyed the table with satisfaction. "Dinner is now served. El sends her regards, by the way. If she didn't have a performance tonight, she would have joined us and made you stay on the couch. The Hollow is sold out again tonight. I'll join her there later on. And don't worry, I'll make sure she doesn't sting me."
Neal dropped his head to his crossed arms on the table. "This is what my life will be like from here on," he said in a muffled voice. "Next time I'm injured, just drop me off at the morgue and let me die quietly."
"Oh, no. No more injuries for you, kid. You've used up your allowance on injuries for the next twenty years." Peter dished out some Sichuan shrimp on his plate and ordered, "Eat."
Neal looked around at the table. "Where are the chopsticks?"
"Somehow, after last night . . ." Peter's voice trailed off as he fumbled for words.
"Hey, I have to eat Chinese food with chopsticks," Neal insisted. "Don't worry about last night. I'm fine. Although . . . I may not order any shish kebabs for a while."
Peter went over to the takeout bag and pulled out chopsticks for Neal. "So how are you feeling, really?"
"Great. Christie was right. That was just one monster-sized splinter. Now that it's gone, so is the pain."
"That's good." Neal did look relaxed, but once the pain medication wore off he might not be feeling as comfortable. Peter planned to persuade him to go to bed immediately after dinner.
"About last night, my screams"—Neal hesitated, looking embarrassed—"I'm sorry you had to hear that."
"Hey, you were being skewered. You had every right to complain."
"It wasn't as horrific as it must have sounded. I was trying to mislead them so they'd stop before more serious damage was done. I wish there'd been a way to let you know."
"Smart move. It quite possibly did just that. Christie explained to us what a close call it had been."
"Sometimes it's best to be an orchid," Neal said cryptically.
Peter looked at him, puzzled, but Neal didn't show any inclination to explain his remark. He was probably still a little loopy from the drugs. Peter wouldn't tease him about it. If Neal wanted to think he was a flower, he wouldn't hear any arguments from Peter.
Between bites, Neal asked, "So tell me about the case. Where do we stand?"
"Stratton's falling over himself to be helpful. He claims to have had no idea Hiroki and Shogo were yakuza. I tend to believe him. He was clearly terrified last night. The death of the guard, not to mention what they did to you, was more than enough to make him plead for a deal. He's identifying all the people who worked with him on previous frauds."
"Were Shogo and Hiroki involved in any of the other robberies?"
"He worked with them in Sydney. In Rome they'd given him the names of two other employees to do the job. Local authorities have already been alerted to take them into custody. As the extent of yakuza infiltration becomes known it's likely more arrests will be made. The sushi chef has been identified as yakuza. We assume his accomplice was too but that's not confirmed."
"You said those two were found with stolen funds in their possession?"
"That's right." Peter checked the tea and poured out two cups for them. "Over forty million dollars in bonds and cash. Stratton claims he was unaware they were going for more than the Samurai bonds and I believe he's telling the truth. It appears the yakuza were taking advantage of the bond operation to stage a robbery much larger than anything previously attempted. If you hadn't overheard that conversation at the gala, they would have succeeded. I suspect the earlier robberies had been trial efforts to test their procedures. They were counting on scoring big last night."
"What's the report on Hiroki and Shogo?"
"They'll live. Got through the surgeries okay. Shogo was alert enough to be questioned briefly, but he's not saying anything."
"I'd be surprised if either one of them talks. It would be a betrayal of the yakuza code." He added with an overtone of bitterness in his voice, "You don't want to know about the ritual atonement they'd have to perform."
"You're right," Peter said firmly, laying a hand on Neal's arm. "No more talk of yakuza."
"Don't worry about it, Peter. I'd rather discuss what happened than wonder about it."
"This I know will please you. Ruiz came by this afternoon to ask about you."
Neal looked at him, astonished. "Oh, really?"
"Yeah, he seemed genuinely concerned. What's your take on his actions?"
Neal shrugged. "Ruiz should have responded immediately when I used the panic phrase, but if he had, the gunmen on the stairs would have opened fire. As far as I can tell, the results would have been the same." He put his cup down. "But why didn't Ruiz respond? Was he asked about that?"
"He claimed he believed you said the phrase by mistake, but that's no excuse. Ruiz didn't follow protocol. He'll face a formal inquiry for his actions." Neal appeared satisfied, but Peter was a long way from feeling anything approaching equanimity with how the Organized Crime Unit had performed.
"Was the stairway camera spoofed with a photo?"
"The photo was still in place when we stormed the floor."
Neal shrugged. "It's a classic. One of the easiest tricks to carry out and still one of the most effective in that kind of situation."
"Stratton claims to have no knowledge of it. In the previous robberies there'd been no indication that the surveillance cameras were tampered with. We suspect the gunmen did it when they moved into position. Ruiz and his men should have been alert to the possibility, but they claim they didn't notice the switch."
"That's why the spoof works so well. To carry it off, all it takes is one second of the guard not focusing on the camera feed."
"Ruiz says he tested the cameras when they arrived, and everything was functioning normally, but you can be assured that the issue of the security cameras will be explored during the inquiry." Peter was pleased to see Neal handle it so maturely, but he didn't want him to dwell on it now. There'd be plenty of time next week to evaluate what steps could be implemented to prevent the situation they had last night. "What are your plans for the weekend? You gonna behave yourself? Remember what Christie said. Give your muscles a chance to heal. No strenuous activities. No fencing. No—"
"Am I hearing clucks again?" Neal said, relaxing into a smile. "What happened to 'Cowboy up?' "
Peter shook his head disapprovingly. "No cowboying up for injuries that require hospitalization."
"You can stop worrying. My Saturday morning lecture involves no heavy lifting. Later, Fiona and I have plans to visit the holiday window displays on Fifth Avenue and go out to dinner. I have tickets for the Broadway production of Phantom of the Opera. I should be able to lift up tickets without keeling over."
"You're pulling out all the stops," Peter commented. "Special occasion?"
"Early Christmas. She returns to London late next week. What are your weekend plans?"
"I promised El I'd take her shopping Sunday afternoon. We need to find a wedding gift for Noelle and Joe. El has tried to wheedle suggestions from both of them, but they insist on no presents, which, of course, El translates into 'surprise us with something wonderful that we never would have thought of ourselves.' "
Neal gazed on him with sympathy. "You've already been working on this for a while, haven't you?"
Peter nodded glumly. "If their wedding had been in Iceland like I recommended, it would have been so much easier. We could have given them warm socks and been done with it."
"Don't forget, you're meeting me for Sunday brunch at La Palette."
"You're trying to cram a lot into one weekend. We can take a rain check."
Neal was adamant. "Not allowed. I owe you after wrecking your Friday night last week. Besides, Jacques outdid himself with Christmas decorations this year. El should like it." La Palette was a small bistro and wine bar on the Upper East Side. Neal had introduced them to La Palette in the fall and El was now making use of the owner's catering services for her event-planning business.
"If you feel up to it, you could join us for shopping afterwards?" Peter said hopefully, trying not to sound too desperate. If Neal came along, El would worry about him overexerting himself and not shop too long. Otherwise, he was doomed to spend a long afternoon fighting the holiday hordes.
"Sorry, but I'm already booked. Keiko and I are teaching origami over at your stomping grounds at the American Museum of Natural History."
Peter looked at Neal in surprise. "I didn't realize you volunteered at the museum. I love that origami tree." Peter paused. "Particularly the dinosaurs."
"Couldn't resist that, could you?"
"Nope. Tell you what, after brunch we'll drop you off at the museum. El can check out the museum shop and I'd like to see this year's tree . . . search for the dinosaurs."
"Just keep an eye out for any bumblebees," Neal said with a grin.
Neal's cell phone rang. He'd left it by the couch and went over to answer it. Fiona was on the line. From the snippets of conversation Peter heard, she was asking about the plans for the next day. Neal wasn't saying anything about his injury. Peter's fuse started a slow burn and at last he couldn't stand it any longer. When Neal was wrapping up the call, Peter strode over and grabbed the phone from his hand.
"Hey!" Neal glared at him. "Give me that back."
Ignoring him, Peter explained to Fiona that he'd been injured on a case and was under strict orders not to overexert himself. "No gymnastics tomorrow, okay?"
Turning off the phone in smug satisfaction, he faced Neal who was glowering at him. "Was that really necessary?" Neal asked, clearly indicating what he felt the answer should be.
"You want to complain that Fiona will shower you with TLC? I just did you a big favor, buddy."
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
The medication was making Neal yawn even during dinner, and he went to bed shortly after Peter left. When his cell phone rang and woke him up, it felt like it was the middle of the night. Neal's first inclination was to let it roll over to voice mail. He stretched out an arm to reach the phone and, blinking to focus his eyes, glanced at the display. When he saw it was Henry, Neal went ahead and answered. His voice came out sounding groggy even to him.
Henry's voice was loud in his ear. "You asleep? Did I wake you?"
Neal sighed. "Yeah, you caught me."
"What are you doing asleep at seven o'clock? What happened?"
Neal sat up and grunted at the movement before he could suppress it. The pain medication must have worn off. His wound was yelling at him to go easy. "Hold on a minute." He turned on the bedside light, and plumped up the pillows to recline against. By then Henry's alarm was blasting at full tilt. Neal hadn't told him anything about the op so it took a while to explain what had gone on. Fortunately he had a glass of water by his bed. Neal saw no reason to go into all the details. Any discussion of dinosaurs and bumblebees was off the table. But Henry was persistent, and Neal found himself going into a lengthier description than he'd intended.
"That Organized Crime team sounds like something out of Keystone Cops," he said. Neal could hear the anger in his voice. "They should have mounted more security cameras. You think there's any chance they were deliberately negligent?"
"No reason to." Neal took another sip of water.
"Fowler could have friends in Organized Crime. He may be out for revenge and persuaded some of them to go along."
"That's not . . . I . . ." Neal stopped. He hadn't even considered Fowler could be involved. Granted, Ruiz was Fowler's friend but if Ruiz had been acting under Fowler's direction, he wouldn't have given Neal a hard time. Much more likely he'd have acted like Neal's new best friend.
"Why not?" Henry challenged.
Neal hadn't planned to tell him about the Ruiz incident, but he decided to go ahead and lay it all out. Then he'd understand that Ruiz might be Fowler's friend but he wasn't his minion. Henry was acting like he had at Thanksgiving when he grilled Neal about the frame attempt, and he needed to give it a rest. Not everything in life was a conspiracy. Henry needed to focus on his own life.
"You're probably right. It doesn't sound like Ruiz acted under orders." Neal was glad to hear Henry's voice was calmer. "I should let you sleep. Sorry for talking your head off, kiddo."
"No, it's okay." Neal drank some more water. He was feeling better. "So, how's it going at Win-Win? Do you know where you'll be working?"
"The facial recognition project seems the best fit. The software has developed to the point that we can start marketing it in the new year."
They wound up talking another half-hour before hanging up. The facial recognition project sounded right up Henry's alley. He'd also signed up to volunteer with a UNESCO group. Something about education through music. Neal made a mental note to find out more about it. But that could wait. Sleep was beckoning. Neal turned off the light and sank back under the covers, this time powering down his phone.
Notes: Neal's hallucination of Peter the Dinosaur is in memory of my mom. Once when she was ill, a drug she was given caused her to see polka-dotted giraffes gamboling over her bed. May everyone who's sick or in the hospital only have happy dreams! Certainly Neal deserved them after the ordeal he went through.
The FBI surveillance van has been so often maligned, I felt it needed a moment of glory. Neal very likely will feel more kindly disposed to it in the future.
The account of the DVD Neal had watched with Peter and El on Father's Day which provoked the discussion of Baby Bear and Bumblebee is in Caffrey Disclosure by Penna Nomen. I've pinned the dinosaur and bumblebee costumes that Neal imagined to the Evening with Genji board of our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site.
Many thanks to Penna Nomen for getting out her sander and helping me polish off the rough edges, and thanks to you for reading and your comments.
The final chapter, A New York Christmas, comes your way next week with a few surprise packages still to unwrap.