Chapter XI
Neal's legs were shaking so badly he could barely walk and only managed by holding on to the railing along the passageway wall to keep himself on his feet. He was shivering from the air on his burned scalp, face and chest; his heart raced with on setting shock and the effort to dispel the heat from his body but did nothing to dim the unrelenting pain. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, Neal didn't notice the tall man turning into the passageway until he heard a familiar voice calling his name, his real name in shock.
"Peter," he slurred the name softly, as he fell back against the hatchway, nearly sobbing in relief and exhaustion. He slowly slipped down but was only stopped by Peter's arms catching him
"Okay, its okay, I'm here, I've got you, Neal, I've got you, buddy," Peter said seeing the pain in Neal's eyes. He half carried Neal inside his quarters and laid him out on his bunk. Seeing that there was no lock on the door, he used a chair to jam it closed.
Shock must be setting in, thought Peter as he could feel Neal's body trembling, his eyes glassy, his extremities cold. "Neal, stay with me. Tell me what happened so I can help you."
Neal's eyelids fluttered slightly, "He, he," Neal lifted his arm and pointed to the top of his head. "poured hot coffee."
Peter could not believe this as his anger rose and he gripped the edge of the bed hard, gritting his teeth, ready to kill the bastard who could do this to anyone.
But there was no time to indulge his rage. Red and white blotches had already formed on Neal's face that could be first and second degree burns. Peter rushed to what he could see was the bathroom and soaked some towels, and layered them on Neal's face and head. "Alright, we need to get you out of these clothes, I need to see where else you're burned and how else you're hurt." Peter stripped a nearly unconscious Neal down and threw the coffee, and was that wine, soaked clothing into a corner.
Peter changed the cold compresses on Neal's head and face and put some more on the reddened areas of Neal's neck, shoulders and chest. Then he dosed a glass of water with some high powered pain killers he carried with him on under cover ops for just such an emergency. They also contained an energy booster. It was dangerous with Neal in this condition, but he needed Neal on his feet if they were going to be able to get off the ship without getting noticed. Gently helping Neal to a sitting position he made him drink it before letting him rest, pulling up a chair himself to the bed, replacing the cold towels to minimize the damage from the burns as much as possible.
After a few minutes the drugs kicked in and Neal came back to himself, "Peter?"
"Yeah, I'm here. How do you feel?"
"Not good, and please, don't ask me if I've looked in a mirror today. I get enough of that from Green."
"My G-d Neal. I barely recognized you. You look like a par boiled lobster. I should have pulled you out yesterday."
"Gee, Peter thanks. Either I look like a cartoon or an over cooked crustacean. Is there no satisfying you?" Neal tried to smile but it hurt and only emphasized his injuries to Peter.
"Who did this too you, why?"
Neal grimaced, "I was distracted. I saw the music box, Peter and Mei Lyn Wong. They're here. When I saw them I almost spilled some wine on Armeni."
"You almost spilled wine and he did this to you? And what the hell is your buddy from Interpol doing here with the music box?"
Neal ignored the question. "Why are you here?"
"To get you out."
Neal shook his head. "No, no I mean, what's your cover story?"
"I'm Troy Miller, I haven't gotten paid and …"
Peter stopped at the look of realization and then horror on Neal's face.
"Neal, Neal, what's wrong? Talk to me."
"That bastard, that fucking bastard, but why, why, I don't know why he'd do it."
"Neal, who are you talking about?"
"Keller. It was Keller."
"Matthew Keller, your bizarro opponent of the Franklin bottle?"
Neal just nodded.
"Is he here?"
"Yes."
"I don't know why they call it a super max prison if you guys just walk out whenever you damn well please."
"I wouldn't say it was that easy. It did take me a month and a half. I beat Keller by a good six months though."
"That's because you wanted to find Kate."
Neal grimaced a little at that, "so did he, to kill her."
"What?"
"Peter, Keller hired Armeni as a middle man to hire Miller to kill Kate and me."
"How do you know this?"
"Keller's here to meet with Miller and find out why the job was only half done. He hasn't paid Armeni and Armeni hasn't paid Miller. That's why Miller was coming here. I heard them talking this afternoon but I hadn't made the connection until you told me about Miller. I, I'm not surprised Keller paid for my death after we arrested him but I just don't understand why Keller wanted Kate dead."
"Most likely because if he couldn't have her, then he didn't want you to have her either."
Neal pondered that for a while, "Just because she chose me?"
"Maybe, maybe it was because she didn't choose him, maybe it had nothing to do with you at all. Neal, if Keller's seen you, why hasn't he snitched you out?"
"He may have and Armeni and he are just toying with me. I haven't figured it all out yet but you can be sure it's to humiliate me further. I think he wants to blackmail me, make me sweat. He already did that and is getting some jollies in as well, I assure you. But he knows you. You can't make that meeting."
"That's fine with me, let's just take the evidence you've recorded and get off this ship."
Neal wanted to but he wanted to finish the job he started too. "Peter, there's a vault in Armeni's office. I haven't gotten into it yet but from what I've seen it's huge and temperature and humidity controlled. I think it's a storehouse of all his loot."
"Neal, I told you, you can't break in. Anything you find in there would be inadmissible."
"Yeah, I know, but what if the door was already open?"
"What, why would it be?"
"Armeni is bringing art out of that vault for his guests after dinner, the art that they ordered. Then the door will remain open for his guests to view other art he's stolen that he's willing to sell. I've already been told I'm to serve his guests in the vault if they ask for anything. I can take pictures of what's there when I'm in there."
Peter wanted to protest, he didn't see how Neal could even stand on his feet but the man had gone too far to not finish what he'd started.
"Okay, but if those guests are here and the art is stolen and is being sold, we don't need a warrant. We can just come in, I can get you out of here Neal. You need medical attention."
That sounded good to Neal as well except for a few things. "Peter, I have to find out what that music box had to do with Kate's death, why is it so important?"
From the moment Neal mentioned the music box and Mei Lyn Wong the pieces of the puzzle were coming horribly together for Peter. It made sense that McMurphy aka Mentor, wanted that music box back. It was part of a much bigger political game that he was playing. He had the sick feeling that Fowler had been right, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. Unfortunately he couldn't tell Neal.
"I think she ordered Armeni to get the music box. That must be how she knew anything about who was holding Kate. If I go back to the salon and finish I can find out who she's getting it for, who started this whole mess."
"And probably get yourself killed."
"You saw my report. The evidence is in Armeni's vault. I'm sure when this is over the someone high up that we both know will find a way to use that to threaten me with sending me back to prison for life or for a needle. I'll get killed now or I'll be executed later. It's a no win situation."
"No, Neal," Peter couldn't believe that Neal was so willing to give up his life like this.
"I believe your report Neal, so does Hughes. We'll have forensics go over the evidence as well."
"Peter, they'll never believe my word, you know that, only the evidence and the evidence, which Armeni most likely had doctored will convict me. Armeni's done this before. There won't be anything to support that I was forced, nothing."
"Then you're going to destroy the evidence? We have you're report Neal. You could have just left that out. No one would have been the wiser."
"I would have."
Peter shook his head in confusion.
"Peter, how can anybody trust me if I can't even trust myself to do the right thing, even when I might suffer for it? I had to tell you and I'm not steeling the evidence or destroying it. If I stole it and destroyed it, then I'd be exactly what they think I am, a no good liar. If I don't steel it even if I know it will convict me and put me back in prison for the rest of my life or on death row, then no matter whatever else I do I'll know."
"You'll know what?"
Neal placed his hand on Peter's, "That I'm deserving of your trust."
"Neal," Peter's breath caught in his throat as Neal's words broke his heart. "Neal, you've got to let me help you get out of here. You can barely stand."
Neal wanted this whole thing over more than Peter but he knew that if he didn't find out who wanted the music box he'd never rest and it would never be over, he'd never find peace.
Neal tried to push himself up, the towels falling from him, revealing some lingering redness and blistering "Peter, please, help me get dressed. I'm due back in the main salon any minute now," he said too exhausted to stand up by himself. "Please, all Armeni's guests will be there and the art Armeni had stolen for them. We'll be able to nail not only him but all the people who hired him."
Peter helped Neal up and brought a fresh set of clothing to him as Neal watched Peter's face as he looked him up and down, filled with concern, so different than Armeni's search for flaws to exploit.
"Fine," Peter said reluctantly, already knowing that Neal would do what he wanted with or without Peter's permission. "But Neal you're in no shape to continue this charade. You do what you can in 30 minutes because by then the Marines will be here. I'm pulling the plug and calling them in. Take as many pictures as you can and meet me by the dockside hatch. Larry Green should be waiting for us there."
"But Peter…"
"Neal, no. I'm breaking security right now. I know what Fowler and Mentor want of you. I won't stand by and let you throw away your life for their schemes. This is a White Collar op, not a suicide mission. You are coming out in 30 minutes even if I have to drag you out."
In an unusual move, Neal reached out to shake Peter's hand and then suddenly drew him in for a manly hug. Unfortunately Peter did not feel Neal take his backup weapon from his waist holster. There were a few more errands Neal needed to finish before he left the ship, one or two Peter could not be a part of, one he didn't know if he'd survive.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Armed with the knowledge that the con was nearly over, Neal, bruised, burned, scared, in pain and nearly dead on his feet was able to pull it together and be the perfect butler or as Neal imagined Armeni thought of as the perfect butler one more time.
Neal found it immensely easier to play subservient, fearful, and obedient when he knew he had Peter here with him at his back. Also at his back was Peter's spare H&K Glock 22 stuck in his belt under his jacket. Clothing himself in the characteristics of the persona Neal found a silver tray of glasses with a bottle of Courvoisier VSOP and carried it into the main salon where the display of art was underway.
Schooling his features against any surprise did not stop his gasp as he entered the salon finding himself facing booth upon booth displaying the stolen art, beauty and artistic truth that would be hidden away in private collections, hoarded by the proud owners for as long as they could hold on to it. The salon took up the entire bow side of the 12th deck and looked out on the ocean on three sides. Instead of hanging on the walls, each piece of art had its own separate display booth, complete with the name of the new owner. Some had the price that was paid, some, did not for owner's wishing to exhibit greater discretion.
Neal, no stranger to high end art theft for select customers understood that Armeni, criminal genius psychopath that he was, realized that these new owners would never be able to demonstrate their superiority, their ownership by displaying the art, showing off their ability to acquire the unattainable.
This is why the owners risked their positions to attend the salon for, what they paid for, more than for the art. The art salon that Armeni organized for the delivery of the goods enabled the new owners their one safe opportunity to display what they had to the right circle of people. While it could get them thrown in prison in another venue, here it spread the word to the super rich, notorious and powerful that these people were their equals if not their betters. These people had the wealth, the power, the greed, the lust to get what they wanted. It enhanced their social standing, their influence and business reputations without endangering themselves.
Neal took his time, snapping their pictures with their possessions and their associates, searching for the amber music box among the art on display as he served Armeni's guests their drinks. As he moved among the guests, Neal realized that he was also on display, a symbol of Armeni's power. Some saw his face, the burns, scars and bruising and turned away, unable to stomach his appearance, others stared at him, fascinated by the wounds, still others picked up the his security badge and openly compared him to his image, commenting on the change in his appearance to their companions as if he was not even there, or just a thing, not a person at all.
This was Armeni's display of power, showing off how he controlled the people around him, terrifying them, marking them, and isolating them so that they had the choice, obey or die.
Neal endured it, what they said, what they did or thought did not matter, this was all part of the con and they'd all be thrown in prison anyway. His wounds would heal and in a month or so, they'd be gone, no more than a lingering nightmare from which he would wake up in his bed in a loft in a mansion on Riverside Drive. But these people would all be in prison for a long time, maybe for the rest of their lives. it's just a con, it's just part of the con.
Finally, with only one glass left on his tray, he approached Armeni standing with his wife and boyfriend at the end of the salon. Armeni, though his expression was as always genial, when he spoke his tone was livid as Neal served him his wine.
"You've shamed me Haldon. First, you were late and then when you finally arrived you made me wait while you served my guests. The need for your further instruction is becoming greater Haldon. Now I will have to devise some particularly creative way to teach you your place."
"I'll be anticipating the next lesson sir, with pleasure," Neal said, thinking of the impending Marine raid, turning his back on his self proclaimed better.
Satisfied that he had done his due diligence for the FBI's court cases, Neal left, grabbed a decanter of brandy and took the next five minutes filling snifters and snapping pictures concentrating on looking for Mei Lynn and the amber music box. He quickly found her, talking to some men, but the music box was not with her.
Focused on his approach to his target, Neal startled, almost dropping the decanter when his arm was grabbed by Keller. "This is good Caffrey," he said, "This is a memory I'll cherish, seeing you like this."
Neal fought to contain his sudden rage, "Why Keller?"
Keller did not pretend ignorance of what Neal meant. He smiled his half smile, twirled his goblet of wine and finished off a liquid brewed to be slowly savored in one gulp.
"Because…"
