June

Neal took the file to his room. It was gloomy and it smelled of cigarette smoke. A dog walked on its own in the corridor. He was not sure what he had expected to get. As usual he had been too blinded by it all to think of practical stuff. Well, there was always another way. And this did not mean he had to stay here for good.

Maybe this was Peter testing him. He put the file on the small desk and left for a walk. It was not without it felt strange. He knew the anklet was not visible but it felt like he was dragging an old-fashioned iron ball behind him. Still he could move as it pleased him. Though he knew someone could check it up where he had been. It was an odd form of half-freedom. He would have to get used to it. It was better than the alternative. It also meant he would work with Peter which he looked forward to. And Kate could be within his reach.

Neal browsed through the thrift store's mediocre supply of men's clothing. He had a minimal supply of cash and he needed at least two shirts and a pair of pants. Not to mention underwear. He could not wait until next month to get money enough for his first pair of socks.

"I've come to donate these." A deep, melodic voice caught his attention. He turned and saw a classy elderly woman leave two packages on the counter, suit-sized dust-covers.

"Men's suits?" The woman behind the counter asked. And the elderly woman agreed. Neal moved closer. The covers were opened and a hat and a suit were unpacked. Neal adored what he saw.

"Those are fantastic." The donator of the suits turned and beamed at him.

"Oh. They belonged to my late husband, Byron. He really did have great taste in clothes."

"May I?" Neal asked the young woman unpacking the suits. She handed him the jacket. "Thank you." He saw the brand. "This is a Devore!" He stared at the old woman. It was the wrong part of town for a Devore. The lady appeared wealthy but considering where she was he had presumed it was just for show.

"Yes. He won it from Sy himself."

"Won it?"

"He beat him at a backdoor draw."

"What? Your husband played poker with Sy Devore?" It felt as he traveled back in time with the woman to her youth, to the 50th. A time of Humphrey Bogart, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin.

"He certainly did. And so did I."

"No." Not that he did not believe her. It was just so amazing to meet a woman who had met the man who tailored the best suits in the world. Sy Devore in turn had met Sinatra and Dean Martin and all the others in the rat pack gang. It was as if this wonderful lady could give him a part of the period in time he wished he had grown up in.

"Yes. The guys would even let me sit in once in a while on a hand. And I was good." Neal put on the blue fedora packed with one of the suits. He loved it. It felt as if the last four years were gone. "I'm glad to see you appreciate these. I was hoping someone would. I've got a whole closet full of them."

"A whole closet?" Now she was more than a sweet meeting.

"Mm-hm. Well, actually, it's a guest room but I haven't used it for anything except storage for years." Neal put a light blue suit jacket on. Her eyes glimmered when she saw him. "Oh, Byron used to wear that one whenever we went dancing. The neighborhood was- Let's say it was much nicer then."

"Do you live nearby?" Neal asked, hoping the friendly face in front of him would not turn suspicious or hostile. The woman's eyes studied him.

"It's not far." Though he had always been confident of his charm and ability to make a perfect impression if he wanted to, he now had to search for the right words to say. If this came off right, he would live in this woman's home for the next four years, and he wanted to do it right from the start.

"I'm June." She held out her hand. He took it.

"Neal." First names to break the ice, but only first names to not give away too much. A caucus lady. And rightfully so.

"I believe" she continued "that you want to ask me about the guest room I just mentioned." Neal beamed. This woman was direct and unafraid. And she also read him like an open book. Since he had nothing he wanted to hide, it made things easier.

"Yes. Yes, I was."

"And don't you just look glorious in that suit." He felt at least an inch taller. June turned to the woman behind the counter. "I donated that, so it's yours. But I would like to repurchase it. And the hat." Neal's eyes met the woman's, and she blushed and turned her head away. She had been staring at him.

"Well…" she said, uncertain. "I haven't accepted these yet, and they are not tagged with a price, so if you want them back, they are yours, ma'am."

"Did you hear that, Neal? Go and put that whole suit on and we'll go and see if Byron had any shirts in your size."


Outside the store, Neal halted June. She gave him a puzzled look when he did not explain why he stopped. He felt that whatever he said would ruin it. He wanted so much to be honest with her, but straight truths had never been his way to handle things. He knew he had to work on that to have a functional relationship with Peter and keep the deal, but this was his first day out. Finally, he just pulled up the left leg of his new pants and showed June the anklet.

When he knew she had seen what she had to see, he dropped the pants back, covering the hideous thing. June studied his face.

"You know what?" she beamed at him. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Neal relaxed and smiled. Since she had taken Bogart's famous line from Casablanca he imitated Captain Renault, the other part of the beautiful friendship, instead:

"I'm shocked! Shocked to find that gambling is going on in here."

June laughed.

"There is more of a Bogart in you, darling."

He pulled at his fedora hat.

"Here's looking at you, kid." It was a harmless flirt of appreciation. June did not seem to mind. They continued to walk towards June's home.

He needed to know for sure she knew who she was dealing with.

"I'm a criminal. Doesn't it bother you?"

"Not at all. And that thing on your leg proves that someone trusts you enough to be out on the streets. I'm June Ellington, by the way."

He wanted to give her one big friendly hug but resisted the temptation.

"Neal Caffrey."

"So tell me, what did they catch you on?" A curious question, like she had asked about his high school sweetheart.

"Bond forgery."

She nodded as if she approved. Bonds were old school, compared to hacking computers, and this was an elderly lady.

"Were you any good?"

"It took them over a year before they had a photo of me," Neal answered with pride. "And another three years before they finally caught me."

"And during these three years, all you did was forging bonds?" Her smile told her she was confident there were much more to the story.

"It was all they could prove." He grinned back at her.

"Then you must be good. So tell me, who is your guardian angel?"

"Special Agent Peter Burke."

"And your relationship to him?"

"Peter is the guy who caught me and sent me to prison."

June glanced at him.

"That must be an interesting story."

"How I got arrested?"

"How you came to be on a first name basis with the agent that caught you," she clarified. "And how the same man accepts the responsibility for you now."

Neal nodded. It was. But he was not sure if he could put what happened between him and Peter in words.

"So how long do you have left on your sentence?" She spoke of this with such ease.

"Four years."

June raised her eyebrows.

"Then you can't have been in prison for long."

"Four years."

"Are you telling me you got eight years for bond forgery?" For the first time, her voice rang of mistrust. Neal did not blame her. No one got eight years for something like that.

"No, I got four years. When I escaped, I got another four."

"Ohh, not a good move."

"It felt like the only move for the one and a half month it took me to get out," Neal admitted. "Then Peter found me after less than twelve hours and brought me back. Then Peter turned down my offer to help him with a case. Then I got to spend a month in solitary for the escape."

"Then you realized it had not been a good move?"

"Something like that." It had not been as much that he regretted the escape as such as the fact that Kate was gone, and it was no way he could find her from within prison. She had said goodbye to him, but he desperately needed to hear it from her, to talk to her, to touch her one final time. He could keep his ears to the ground and learn about the Dutchman, about new security, technical developments, and fashion, but he could not search and find someone who did not want to be found. Kate knew how to disappear. She had done it before.

"Here is where I live," June gestured up the stairs to a white, luxury residence. She opened the doors to a living room large enough to host a dining room table for at least eight people and a grand piano and sofas to that and still it did not appear cluttered. "The guest-room is upstairs."

When June opened the door to her guest room, his heart sank. It was not a guest room. It was a whole apartment. Small, but still a residence. June pointed at a door at the other end of the room.

"Bathroom, walk-in-closet over there. And a small bedroom, but I guess you prefer to sleep in here, in that one." She pointed at the double bed.

And the view. What a view! This could be Heaven. But it never would.

"What is it?" She searched his face for an answer. His despair must have shone through.

"I... I can't pay for this. I…"

"I know you've limited resources, darling," she assured him.

But they were more than limited. She was a wealthy woman. Her idea of 'limited' would not likely be the same as his reality.

"Where are you staying now?"

"The hotel in the corner two blocks from where we met."

"That dreadful place? And how much do the FBI pay for that?"

"Seven-hundred a month."

"It's a deal then," June stated with certainty. "Neal, just for the record, this apartment was yours when I saw that look on your face when you stepped in here. Even if you couldn't pay me a penny."

This time Neal could not help it. He hugged June. And she hugged him back.


Peter sipped from his coffee when he walked inside the lobby of Neal's hotel. He had to pick the kid up. Neal did not have a car, or a valid driver's license for that matter. It would take extra time every morning and leave him off again in the afternoon. Peter thought he could get used to it. White Collar crimes were rarely in such hurry that this detour would be costly. In that case Neal just had to stay put and wait.

"Hey. I'm here for Caffrey. Room 11."

The man behind the counter flipped a Rubic's cube in his hands without much progress since last night.

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Old Snake Eyes. A nice guy." He turned and pulled something from the board behind him. "Left you a note."

Peter stared at the man and then unfolded the paper. It read 'Dear Peter, I have moved 1.6 miles', and an address. It was signed 'XOXO Neal'. 'Hugs and kisses'. Very funny. He left and got into his car.

Two minutes later he stared at the house at the address. He got out of the car.

"You've gotta be kidding me." What kind of game was Neal playing now? He walked up to the door and rung the bell. A maid opened.

"Good day," he was greeted and as any expected guest let inside.

"Thank you. I think I have the wrong address."

Like a noble lady from an old movie a woman approached with a little lapdog.

"You must be Peter."

He blinked. What had happened to the world during the night while he slept? What kind of rabbit hole had Neal found and thrown him into?

"I'm looking for Neal Caffrey." He pronounced the name carefully as if someone who knew his name was Peter would not know the name of the man who told her. The woman smiled and winked at him.

"He's upstairs."

She walked ahead of him, knocked on a door and opened it. Peter followed her inside. A whole wall was of glass with a view over New York.

"He's out on the balcony. I'll just get my coffee." She left and Peter continued out.

"Whoa!" He had defiantly been thrown down into Alice in Wonderland.

"You're early."

He turned his head and saw Neal sit with a newspaper in silk pajamas and an equally exclusive robe. What was left of his breakfast was on the table in front of him. All on fine china.

"We're shaking a lead at the airport. We got a hit on Snow White."

"'Snow White'" Neal repeated. "A phrase you decoded from a suspected Dutchman communique to Barcelona." He pattered the Dutchman folder on the table to indicate that he had done his homework.

"You moved."

"It's nicer than the other place, don't you think?"

That was an understatement.

"Yeah. I don't remember the other place having a view."

"I went to the thrift store like you suggested. And June- "

"Lady with the dog? We met."

"-was donating her late husband's clothes. We hit it off. She had an extra guest room. You said if I found a nicer place for the same price, I should take it."

"I did say that. All this for 700?" Seven thousand was a more likely price. What had he done to find this place? Neal Caffrey was a felon, a crook, a bad guy.

"Yep. But I help out around the place."

"Oh, sure. Feed the dog."

"Yeah, wash the Jag. Watch her granddaughter from time to time."

"She's got you babysitting? How's it going?" Peter would have to have a talk with this June.

"Morning, Neal." A soft woman's voice and a young, slender supermodel passed him and took a chair in the sun with a look at Peter as if he was the one searching through a thrift store.

"Granddaughter?" Peter stared at Neal who smiled in return.

"She's an art student."

"Unbelievable. Go get dressed." At least Neal did as he was told and disappeared inside without argument.

Peter saw the breakfast table was set for two and the second seat was unused.

"You mind?" he asked the young goddess. She smiled and made an inviting gesture. He took a bite from a bread. It was home baked, he was sure of it. It was still a bit warm and tasted marvelous.

"Hey, Grandma," the young woman smiled whoever arrived behind him.

"Good morning, Cindy." June sat down on Neal's empty chair and served him coffee. Peter tasted.

"It's perfect. Even the freaking coffee is perfect." June laughed. "That's not jewelry on his ankle, you know. He's a felon." He hoped to break whatever illusion Neal had given this lady. He got a sly smile in return.

"So was Byron." He stared, not getting it. "My late husband." Why did he feel he should not be surprised?

"Pardon me for asking, but what has Neal told you?"

"You caught him for bond-forging four years ago. He escaped prison and you put him back. Now he's serving the rest of his sentence in your custody." It appeared as if Neal had been honest, he had to give him credit for that. "I hope to hear that story one day."

Peter nodded. A story worthy of a novel.

"So far it's only temporary" Peter added to the picture. "So you're okay with seven hundred a month to keep a convicted felon still in custody in your home?"

"As long as it's Neal," June assured him.

"I'll have the paperwork sent over." Peter rose. "Nice to meet you and thank you for the coffee."

"Take good care of him, Peter."

Neal seemed to take care of himself pretty well without his help. Too well.

"I'll try."