Chappie numero dos, as promised! Please RR&R folks!
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers Prime in any way, shape, or form. Sadly. Also, any and all other recognizable sources (like White Collar) go to their creators and I do not own them as well.
Chapter 14: A Question of Religion
—Later, Church, Aria's POV—
"Nobody in this church caught the flu?" Burke goggled aloud as we walked through the rows, his voice echoing in the cavernous room and causing the few people that were there to send him dirty looks.
"It's true."
"Why these guys and not the church down the block?" Burke half-complained, looking around and taking in the numerous crosses, golden arches, and stained glass window mosaics. "Because of a book? Tough to swallow."
"I thought you were Catholic," I stated, looking at him with a funny expression.
"Lapsed."
"Oh, so you don't think some higher power could've saved the congregation?" I surmised.
"Oh, I'm more inclined to think they kept the door shut and loaded up on vitamin C."
I snorted; how Red Masque of him. I just loved debating things with Burke just to get a rise out of him or to listen to his 'logical' and blunt-as-possible responses.
"Maybe God works with what he's got," I suggested, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my lips, black shoes barely making a sound on the polished tile floor.
"And if God said, 'Shut thine doors and eat thine oranges?'" Peter probed, obviously unimpressed.
I shrugged. "Why not?"
I could practically feel his exasperation and nonbeliever attitude.
"Alright, look," he said when I turned around to face him. He sounded like a parent trying to explain a vast concept to a small child. "When they dug up King Tut, everybody made such a big deal out of the curse of the pharaoh."
"Yeah, two dozen people who entered the tomb ended up dead," I said, watching him.
"Yeah, they probably caught some old bacterial infection. Germs," he persisted, "There's your divine intervention."
I arched a gold brow, smirking. "God can't use bacteria?"
Peter inhaled deeply before opening his mouth to respond. "I prefer my miracles with a little more smiting and lightning," he said, his voice echoing a bit around the polished, marble-columned room.
"That seems a little counterintuitive to a miracle but okay."
Before Burke could reply, Father D'Allesio walked up. "Can I help you?" he interrupted.
"Thanks for seeing us again, Father," Peter greeted, ever the diplomat. "We wanted to run down one thing. You didn't tell us your Bible was also known as a healing bible."
The man blinked, looking a little confused as he stopped before us with his fingers interlocked. "I didn't think it was relevant."
I mentally rolled my eyes; even the most obscure detail could prove to be useful in an active investigation.
"Could be," Burke agreed though didn't really sound like he meant it as he watched the Father carefully. "Was there anybody in your church who was a true believer of the healing power of the bible?"
"Someone who was terminally ill? Someone who had a sick family member?" I added helpfully, earning a minute glare from Burke that said "I think he gets the idea. Now shut up."
As the man considered the words, an odd look came over his face.
Oh, he knew something alright.
"I was afraid this might happen," he said, slightly pink in the face and looking as if someone had just tossed him under the bus as he walked a slight ways away from us.
"What?" Peter prodded.
The dark-eyed man sighed softly before turning to face us again. "Mr. Barelli has discouraged the homeless from the church," he began carefully.
"He made you shut down the soup kitchen," Burke acknowledged, tacking on a sarcastic "How Christian of him" to the end of it when the pastor nodded.
"The night of the theft, I let a homeless man sleep in the sanctuary," he confessed in a slightly shaky voice. "His name's Steve."
I rolled my eyes discreetly.
Steve. Very helpful, I thought sarcastically. This is New York buddy! There are like fifteen million other Steve's out there!
"Is he sick?" Burke asked as I kept an eye on the dark-haired man's micro-expressions.
"No. But someone very close to him is."
—Later—
Walking into the park, we spotted a homeless man who fit the description the pastor had given us.
On a wooden bench, there sat a dark-skinned man wearing dark grey-brown cargo's, a tan camo cover that was obviously military issue, and large, worn-looking button-up shirt that could have either been a navy blue or a dark blue-grey that was rolled up at the sleeves. He had the traces of stubble on his mocha-colored features, as if he had only managed to shave several days ago. Despite his situation though, the young man did not look particularly unhappy—if a bit melancholy—as he lovingly stroked the head of his companion. Next to him sat a black Labrador who had a frosting of slivery-grey on her muzzle on as she laid her head contentedly in her master's lap. She looked a bit thin and her fur looked a bit dull, not shiny and glossy with health. And judging by the look in his dark eyes, you could tell that her master was worried about her a great deal.
"Steve?" Peter tried cautiously, causing the dark-skinned man sitting on the bench to immediately look up at the sound of his name. "Hi. Uh, my name is Peter. This is my friend Aria," he introduced, gesturing to me.
"Hi," I greeted softly, noting how the man eyed us warily.
"Do you mind if we ask you some questions?" Peter asked.
When the man did not verbally object, Burke continued, "The church you stayed in last week, they're missing a bible. You know anything about it?"
Steve looked at us, averting his eyes for a moment to pet his dog, before looking back up at us again. "Yeah. I-I took it," he admitted, his voice getting stronger as he confessed.
I blinked, sharing a look with Peter.
Well that was easy. We usually need to drag an answer out of most people.
I cocked my head to the side slightly. Steve looked pretty shameful as he confessed to what he had done, but the funny thing was I didn't really take him as a thieving-type, especially after that confession. If anything, he seemed more worried about his dog than anything as he continued to stoke her fur, always touching her as if the continuous contact put him slightly at ease.
Apparently also surprised by the response, Peter said, "Great. We need it back."
"No," Steve said, shaking his head as he started to sound frantic. "No, I need it back."
"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to keep a calm and even tone so as to not invoke more hysteria in the man. "Where is it?"
As it was though, it didn't seem to help much. "I took it from the church like he asked me to. Now, he said that he'd show me how to help Lucy get better. Then he took it from me. Now, he has not brought it back," he said, his voice rising slightly as his words came out more rushed; he sounded a bit like a rapper as he spoke. "Do you know where he is?" Steve asked, looking between us and sounding almost like a small child who was lost.
Working in my line of work, you learn to exploit weaknesses. You manipulate greed, fear, pride, to make people do what you want. But when you're dealing with true believers, those weaknesses aren't there. All you can do is help or get out of the way.
"No. I wish I did," Burke said simply, shaking his head.
Meanwhile, I surveyed the homeless man more skeptically. "Who asked you to take the Bible from the church?" I asked gently, curious as to who 'he' was.
"Look, he said that he would help Lucy get better," Steve said, his hand still on the dog to whom he was obviously still referring to. "She's not getting better, okay? She's getting worse."
Figuring that this situation called for a change in tactics, I kneeled down and offered a hand for the dog to sniff before gently scratching her behind her ear. "What's wrong with her?" I asked, adopting a concerned tone, though it wasn't hard to do with such a sweet dog.
Immediately at the mention of his dog, the panic in the man's voice faded, replaced with quiet but slightly pained and worried tone and he said lowly, "She's tired all the time. She don't eat nothing." It was pretty obvious how much this man loved his dog as he added in a more hurried tone, "Now if I get that Bible back, she'll get better."
"The man who asked you to take the Bible, did you meet him at the church?" Peter enquired, phrasing his words carefully.
Steve looked nervous once more as I finally stood and he said softly, nodding a bit, "Yeah."
Once more, Burke and I shared another look before turning back to the homeless man.
"Steve, if we showed you some pictures, do you think you could recognize him?" Peter asked.
"We just need to get the Bible back, okay?" Steve said. "'Cause she's fading, all right?"
Well that answers that, I thought.
—FBI NYC HQ—
"I'm glad we followed your hunch," Burke approved as we walked through the office mostly side by side though that was a tad difficult with how crowded the place was. "Hope it takes us somewhere."
"Oh, ye of little faith," I couldn't help but say with a smirk akin to the Cheshire cat's grin.
Burke, of course, noticed and said accusingly, "You've been waiting to trot that one out, huh?"
I didn't even deny it. "Been holding onto it since lunch."
Coming to a stop in the small kitchen-like area, Peter immediately made for the well-loved coffee maker intent on having another one to keep himself going. I, on the other hand, stood off to the side watching Lauren and Steve go through a binder that undoubtedly held multiple mugshots of different criminals in New York City, as proven by the several other binders on the table that could be seen through the glass walls of the in the conference room. I didn't need to read their lips to know that looking through mugshots of criminals could be very draining. Trust me, I know this from experience.
Lauren must have felt my gaze because she looked our way before turning back to Steve and saying something. Hopefully, she was finally giving the poor guy a break as she then got up and exited the room.
Eventually, the tired-looking woman came over next to us.
"That bad, huh?" I asked.
"Yeah, 'that bad' was about an hour ago," she deadpanned. Honestly, was the ability to be as blunt as possible a requirement or something to be on Burke's team?
Peter, who had just finished pouring a cup of coffee, noticed Lauren's gaze as she watched him empty the pot. It was quite amusing as she looked ready to fight him over a simple mug of coffee.
"Just give me the damn thing," she demanded of her superior, immediately receiving the object.
—Couple Minutes Later—
"No luck, huh?" Burke asked Steve as we entered the room.
Poor Steve looked dead tired. His camo cap lay in a rumpled heap on the table and a steel thermos with a black handle stood off to the right of him. Multiple black and dark blue binders emblazoned with the FBI logo on the front of them lay strewn across the table.
On the floor, Lucy was laying on a navy blanket next to her owner's chair.
"No. Not- not really, no. Look, um…I'm sorry I'm not more help to you," he apologized, exhaustion evident in his voice. "My bell got rung pretty good in Fallujah."
"You were in Iraq?" Burke asked quietly, apparently interested as I was.
"Yeah. T-that's where I found Lucy," the veteran admitted quietly, smiling briefly as he looked at his beloved companion and stroked her a bit. "We called in this predator strike on this trigger house. Two hellfires came in…and just destroyed everything. Then I hear this little whimpering so I lift up this piece of roof, and there she was, just wagging her tail." He had such a happy look on his face as he said that that it was almost impossible not to smile a little too. Almost.
"Well, you think you could look at one more book?" Burke asked gently, the silent "for Lucy" hanging suspended in the air.
The man nodded, but my attention was now focused on what was happening outside the conference room as a great disturbance seemed to take place.
"…the rest of you go over there and make sure NYPD doesn't touch anything," I heard Hughes say. "Let's go get it."
There was a soft chorus of "Yes, sir", as the man himself made his way up the stairs to the second level with Jones in tow.
"What's going on?" Burke asked, looking at his boss.
"One of Barelli's men just got shot," he replied.
Everyone seemed to stiffen a bit, even Steve, though I think it had to do something with the palpable tension in the air.
"Who?" Peter asked.
This time Jones answered, sliding over a red file across the smooth surface of the glass table. "Paul Ignazio. Barelli's number two."
The mugshot paper clipped to the front depicted a man that had a slight resemblance to Barelli himself though with more hair, or stubble I guess, and a more tanned complexion holding up a board that read "NYPD 2nd PCT." Above the images and to the right, there was a complete report and other such info as to why Barelli's nephew had been arrested.
Name: Paul Ignazio
No.: 268
Crime: Grand Larceny
Address: 4831 West 26th Avenue, New York
When Arrested: August 29, 2005
Previous Arrest: Multiple
It went on to list other stuff that I didn't care nor did I have time to read at the moment.
"Barelli's nephew," Peter stated, drawing me out of thought.
It was then that Steve caught sight of the picture, his eyes widening. "That's him."
We all looked to him.
"Who?" Burke asked dumbly.
"That's the guy that asked me to take the bible."
—Later, Docks—
It was late afternoon when we arrived at the crime scene, just a couple hours until sundown. We were on the docks in Brooklyn and you could see that the sun was starting to make the buildings cast late shadows on each other and on the choppy waters of the East river.
Anyways, listening intently to the conversations on the other end of my phone, I ignored the looks I was receiving from some of the other agents and police officers in favor of watching as Burke stepped onto the crime scene with Hughes. I hadn't been allowed onto the crime scene since I was technically a civilian, so I had decided to just hang back at Burke's car as I listened in on the conversations around Burke from the listening bug I had planted on him. Without his knowledge.
He was probably going to flip if he ever found out but it was a necessary evil in my mind. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Or at least I hoped so.
Through the phone, I heard Hughes talking to Peter as they walked toward the body, something about being able to wrap this up quickly.
I listened as was a soft fwump sound of a blanket being pulled back as I heard Peter say afterwards -{That's our boy.}-
Why did he sound so pleased as he said that?
-{Close range.}- the man noted.
-{No eyewitnesses.}- Hughes added in the background, probably standing behind Burke as said man crouched to examine the corpse no doubt.
-{Body's not waterlogged. So it's…fresh.}- There was a shuffling sound and for a moment, I feared that Burke had discovered my bug before I heard a soft clinking sound and him saying, -{Twenty-five caliber casing. European gauge.}-
-{It's a twenty-two caliber. This is Brooklyn, buddy, not Bavaria.}- a rough-voiced man said disdainfully, sounding like he had come to kneel beside Peter. He sounded like the actor Kirk Acevedo from the TV series Fringe. -{Pete Burke. This is a homicide, not an art exhibit. What are you doing here?}-
I scowled; I knew who this asshole was.
-{Ruiz, I see they let you out of your cubicle.}- Burke volleyed back with false cheeriness, trying to hide his mutual disdain of the man before him. At least he did a better job of it than that dick Agent Joseph Ruiz.
-{Yeah. This is my show now.}- He sounded so proud of himself as he said that. The turd. -{Where's your pet convict?}-
Oh he did not just call me someone's pet!
Scowling deeply, I tried taking what was supposed to be a calming breath, closing my eyes, and rubbing the bridge of my nose irritably. My list of people I disliked was seriously growing longer and longer. No wonder I could count the number of people I trusted on one hand. Literally.
-{I left her in the car with the windows cracked.}- Burke replied evenly, not backing down.
-{What are you doing at my crime scene?}- Ruiz the irritating prodded, the mere sound of his voice not helping my blood pressure levels in the slightest.
-{This tails into my case.}- From his tone, it sounded like Peter was also having trouble controlling his temper with Ruiz around too.
-{This is mob retaliation.}- the stupid man argued, his very voice causing my blood to boil. -{It's my investigation now. If you don't believe me, ask Hughes.}-
"Oh I will." I snarled under my breath, the knuckles of my clenched fists turning white as I added in a couple choice swearwords, too.
Tearing the device away from my ear, I snapped it shut with enough ferocity to possibly crack the screen, glaring out at some passing agents who stopped to stare and causing them to shrink in their skins a bit as they hurried away.
If there was one type of person I hated more than sexist pigs, it was prideful people whose egos were overly inflated. Sometimes I really wish that I had a shrink ray, then I could minimize the size of their ego's in an instant.
—Later—
"We're off the case?" I questioned, feigning ignorance as the water sloshed underneath the wooden dock.
Burke was leaning against the railing with his back to the city, facing me as I sat on a bench.
"We've been asked to step down," Burke amended, looking as if someone had taken the wind out of his sails.
Getting up, he came over and sat down next to me on the bench, looking out at the dark water.
"You think this is a retaliation killing by the other family?" I asked lowly, looking at him.
Peter shook his head. "I don't think Paul would've met a Moretti alone by this river, not with all the bad blood in the water."
I continued to watch the man carefully as I said, "Now, if Ruiz is right—"
"That Moretti killed him?" he finished, both of glancing around behind us before turning back to each other. "We may be sitting on the edge of a mob war."
"So, what do we do?"
"I can't do much of anything," Burke growled, though I noticed how he only said 'I' not 'we'. "Ruiz is not willing to share the case file."
"So where's that leave us?" I tried, trying to ignore the mention of our figurative roadblock.
"Like I said, I can't do much of anything." He looked at me meaningfully as he said that.
We sat in contemplative silence for a moment after that. My mind seemed to be working a million miles per minute to figure out a solution to my dilemma. How could we continue the investigation with our hands tied like this?
Hours seemed to pass in a matter of seconds before it finally hit me.
Feigning a chill, I said nonchalantly, "I'm getting a little chilly by this water. Aren't you? Can I borrow your jacket?" Like magic, he turned to me with an accusing look on his face that showed that he was on the verge of saying no. "I swear to you, Peter," I said, my hands held up in surrender, "under no circumstances will I impersonate the FBI."
—Next Day, Mozzie's POV—
Walking confidently over to the officer in front of Paul Ignazio's apartment with the FBI windbreaker on and a small black case in hand, Moz gave no sign that he wasn't a part of the bureau.
"Where do you think you're going?" the guard asked, stopping him from entering the apartment that had a white fence and yellow tape over it.
"This is Paul Ignazio's apartment, right?" Moz asked, eliciting a nod from the officer. "Hi, Ted Jefferson from the Evidence Recovery Team," he lied easily, holding out his hand for the other man to shake.
"I don't care if you're Thomas Jefferson. I need ID," the man said rudely, ignoring the outstretched hand as he towered over Mozzie.
"Oh, sorry. I pulled a double hommie last night," he apologized, pretending to pat his pockets as he 'searched' for his ID. He sighed, pulling a face that looked slightly panicked. "It's in the van. M-my partner took it to see his girlfriend in Queens."
The man nodded but once again stopped Moz from entering.
"Not my problem, brother," the man said.
"Look, I-I just need a urine swab from the vic's toilet," the balding man persisted to the giant. "If I don't get it soon, it'll spike the cross-reactivity and then—"
"I got orders too, pal," the officer interrupted. "No ID, no pee."
Oh the responses that Aria could come up with in reply to that statement.
Deciding that it was time for a change in tactics, Moz looked around for a moment, knowing that Aria was nearby, though he couldn't see her, before he gasped excitedly as if an idea had just occurred to him. "Oh, I know. You can get it," he said, opening up the case and pulling out a long white package containing swabs and an orange tube. "It's easy. All you gotta do is swab around the rim of the toilet. Then drop the swab into the tube, screw the cap on the tube. And bam, we're good to go."
Immediately, the man looked horrified at the idea.
"No way," he blatantly refused, shaking his head. "I'm not doing that."
His expression could only be labeled as 'grossed-out'.
As brilliant an actor that he was, Moz assumed an affronted look, saying snappily, "Okay. Now it's your problem." He then pulled out his little silver flip-phone and dialed hit speed dial. "Yeah, cap. I got a local hero by the name of—"
"Okay, okay, pee boy," the officer interrupted, holding up his hands in surrender. "Get it yourself."
He held up the yellow tape and allowed the Moz inside.
"Oh, it turns out the hero is on our side," Moz said to the nonexistent person on the other end of the line. "Never mind."
—Minutes Later, Aria's POV—
"Any problems getting in?" I asked when Mozzie let me in from the kitchen's back door.
Paul Ignazio's apartment smelled of old take-out and cheap beer. The place was a tad older-looking with visible attempts to make it more modern-style. Of course, some of those attempts may have been hidden underneath piles of dirt laundry, empty take-out boxes, and other bits of assorted garbage.
"None. He thinks I'm swabbing toilets," the bald man confirmed, closing the door behind me. "I figure we've got about ten minutes until he gets curious."
I raised a brow at the given time limit. "Why? Is that the standard toilet-swabbing time?"
"Yes. That's exactly what it is."
We both split up and began searching the apartment.
"You know you look pretty comfortable in that FBI windbreaker," I commented playfully as we split up to search the apartment. I made my way over to the living room with its plush furniture and walls painted a sickly orange color. "Maybe it's time to consider a new career path."
"No. I prefer to keep my soul," the man said, still standing in the kitchen. "What are we looking for?"
"Paul convinced our homeless guy to steal a bible," I explained, looking around the book covered coffee-table. "I want to know why, I want to know who killed him, and I want to know if they're related." I looked down at the table before me. Unlike my usually immaculate shop, Paul was obviously not a neat-freak. Pizza boxes, take out cartons, and foil wrappers lay strewn about all over the place. However, there was one thing that caught my attention amid all the cluttered mess. "He was researching something," I noted. "Hundred Years' War…the Crusades…" I looked up, realizing something. "Illuminated manuscripts."
I got up and made my way over to a shelf near Paul's bed that contained several books, most of which laid on top of it. "Why is a mob guy researching medieval history?" I wondered aloud, looking at the various titles before pulling out one heavily bookmarked tome and riling through it, revealing a librarians nightmare; several pages were marked with multiple handwritten notes, underlines, and circles around certain words or names. Eventually, I closed the book and glanced at the back cover which had the usual summary of the book and a picture of the author too.
"Do you know the name Mario Fiametta?" I asked, looking at the picture.
"Doesn't ring a bell," Mozzie admitted looking at a calendar on the wall. "Who is he?"
"Art historian, Brooklyn State," I informed him, looking through the author's bio on the last few pages of the book.
"Serendipity. Paul had an appointment…at Brooklyn State."
I nodded. "I better call Burke," I said, pulling out my phone and dialing the number.
He picked up on the third ring. -{You find anything?}- he immediately asked.
"Your hunch was right. Ruiz is on the wrong trail," I said, pacing a bit as Moz looked around the place some more.
-{And how did you learn this?}- he asked gruffly.
"A friend," I half-lied.
-{The same friend who—?}-
"Same guy," I finished glancing back at Moz. "He's real. I'm not making him up."
-{Oh, I know he's real.}-
"How much do you know?" I asked, eager to find out more on Moz if I could, though I sincerely doubted that it was more than what I already knew.
-{Enough.}- Burke said ominously before getting back on track. -{What'd you find?}-
"A professor who writes about the black market," I said, looking at the book in my hands. "Sicilian grave robbers, Egyptian smugglers, and Serbian mobsters. I mean, you can't run with those crowds unless you're willing to get dirt under your nails."
-{What's her name?}-
"His name is Mario Fiametta," I said, glancing at the book in reference.
-{A man. A regular Indiana Jones.}-
I made a weirded-out look though Burke couldn't see it as I tried to imagine him watching old Indiana Jones movies. Trust me, it's harder than it sounds. Anyways, the ensuing awkward silence after his statement must have been enough of an indication though.
"Do you want to go meet him?" I asked after a bit.
-{Yeah, I think I do.}- he replied quickly before hanging up.
—Evening, Later—
"You gentlefolk are with the FBI?" the man asked striding into the room after we had gotten past the secretary.
He was tall, being only about the same height as Burke and had slightly tanned features and dark eyes. He had dark brown hair that was cut short but longer than Burke's cut and wore a simple work suit that was probably meant to impress clients. Now facing him in real-life, he somehow looked more womanly to me with his thin-ish brows, high cheekbones, heart-shaped face and delicate-looking nose despite his rather solid build.
"Yes. We're hoping you can help us out on this one," Burke answered while I remained silent. "We're working on a stolen bible," he explained before turning to me. "Show him."
I handed the images of our missing religious tome over to the man. "Thank you, Agent…?"
"Aria Slade-Cage."
He chortled a bit, smiling in what was supposed to be a charming way. "That's funny," he commented, looking through the photos. "There's a very talented manuscript forger also named Aria Slade-Cage."
"How talented?" I smirked devilishly, pretending to preen at the talented complement.
Hearing the apparent pleasure in my voice, the man glanced back up at me and a figurative lightbulb seemed to flick on above his head as comprehension dawned on his features.
"You're her," he concluded smiling and chuckling a bit despite the fact that he technically had just met and was in the presence of a convicted felon, however alleged the charges may be. "And you're with the FBI?" he asked, gesturing to Peter.
"Ah, it's…sort of a work release," I lied, glancing at the FBI agent too and deciding to stick to my 'criminal' history story. I didn't need Burke crawling up my ass for revealing work sensitive info.
"I have to ask," Mario began, smiling shyly, "um, is it true that the Vinland map is yours?"
"How could it be?" I smiled dazzlingly, my facial muscles screaming in pain. "But if it is a forgery, it's spectacular."
"How about we get back to my current problem?" Burke hastily butted in, apparently not wanting to be ignored or caught between two people flirting. "A pre-Renaissance bible stolen from a church in Brooklyn," he prompted, handing Mario a couple images of the missing tome book.
"It's…very beautiful," the Brooklyn state professor admitted taking the pictures and examining them under some kind of fancy magnifying glass. However, while it did look like he was actually examining the images, I noticed how his eyes just merely seemed to pass over it, like he had seen it before and was merely sparing it a glance for show. "But it's not a bible."
"It's not?" Peter asked, surprised.
"Pre-Renaissance, yes, uh, but it's too small to be a Bible," he informed us.
I wanted to smack myself on the forehead.
Stupid Moz and his aversion to any non-wacky religion.
Knowing him, he probably either didn't know or either knew and didn't care since he wasn't all that big on religion. Of course, I wasn't either and would have probably have done the same thing so I couldn't exactly complain.
"Then it's a book of hours," Burke surmised.
The professor tilted his head to the side and smiled a bit, though no warmth reached his eyes. "Most likely, yes. In the Italian style."
"A large prayer book," Peter explained to me, apparently seeing my slight confusion, "To show their devotion, monks and nuns had to recite the psalms, hymns, or chants at specific times all day long."
"Sunday school," I summed up, wanting to vomit at the idea; there is only so much religious stuff I can take before I get thoroughly sick of it.
Burke nodded. "Lots of Sundays."
"This is a particularly nice example," Mario added, glancing back at the pictures for a moment.
"Paul Ignazio thought so, too," Peter said, apparently wanting to broach the subject of our now dead suspect.
Mr. Fiametta looked understandably confused, though I did catch some kind of look that passed briefly through his eyes. "Sorry?" he asked, looking back up at us from the pictures.
"Do you know him?" Burke pushed.
Mario's eyes flitted about slightly as he shook his head. "No."
Liar, I thought.
"We believe he stole it," Burke informed the professor, watching his expression like I was.
"Oh, well, I hope you catch him," Mario said coolly, not looking directly at the FBI agent before him.
"Can't. He's dead," Peter informed the man as bluntly as ever. I noticed how Mario didn't even remotely seem too surprised though he did a good job of faking it as my companion continued talking. "Looks like a mob hit. But we're still hoping to figure out who took the book."
Nice Burke. Real smooth.
"Well I'd love to know," Mario said slightly louder than necessary. "It's quite beautiful."
Why does he keep glancing at those pictures like that? I mentally wondered, noticing how the professor would look at the pictures about every fifteen seconds or so for about five to ten seconds then focus back on us. And every time he did so, I swore that some kind of look akin to longing flickered in his gaze.
Peter smiled appreciatively at the other man's sentiments. "Here's my card," he said, offering it to the other man. "If you hear anything or come across anyone who's looking to buy or sell something like that..."
"I will call you," Mario finished in a tone that suggested that the card was going into the trash as soon as we were gone.
Burke nodded. "Thank you."
"It's a pleasure," I said watching the professor as Burke made to leave.
Mario smiled charmingly. "If you are ever in the mood to discuss medieval manuscripts…" he began, looking at me.
"Oh, you'd be surprised how often I'm in the mood for that," I flirted back before finally paying attention to Burke's unimpressed look that told me to stop and leave now.
I did, following after him, but I took note of how the professor's eyes watched me as I left.
—Next Day, Streets of New York—
Walking side by side with Mozzie through the foot traffic of the city that never sleeps, I listened as he went on and on about the device from MECH he was trying to examine and MECH's head-honcho, Silas.
I honestly caught only about maybe 2/3rds of what he was saying though. That's not to say that I wasn't interested. In fact, quite the opposite was true. I was just having trouble focusing on what he was saying because of my paranoia and claustrophobia. Most of the time, I had a firm handle on it in large crowds but sometimes I still had lapses. It always would seem like everyone was purposefully trying to invade my personal bubble of space. I knew that they weren't but it still sometimes felt like it. That didn't help my paranoia much either because when others got too close, my hands immediately jumped for either my batons, my wallet, or my phone. Not a good thing in my opinion.
"…getting rich dirt on this guy is like next to impossible. It's like trying to find water in the desert after a heatwave."
"I'm sure you'll find something Moz," I said as coolly as possible, trying to control my breathing. "You always do."
Apparently satisfied with the statement, he went on about the difficulties of turning up clues from the device. Apparently he was experiencing similar difficulties to what I had had.
Suddenly, a sharp ringing came from my pocket.
"Oh, your FBI friend keeps you on a tight leash," Moz said sniffily when he saw who it was.
"Keep looking, Moz. Something's there, okay?" I said, not wanting another headache to contend with.
He nodded and walked off, leaving me to walk to Burke's alone.
—Later, Burke's House—
"He's lying about Paul," Burke declared as we sat across from each other at the dining table, eating take out from a nearby restaurant. "And he's two degrees away from our homeless guy, but I also have trouble buying the fact that an attractive history professor offed a mobster so neatly."
Over at the front door, there was the click of the lock before an angry woman's voice reached us.
"No, you don't want me to see the missing inventory. If I come down there, there's gonna be a lot more missing than centerpieces. You got that?"
We both silently watched as a beautiful woman stormed into the nearby living room and set down a folder on the coffee table.
"Okay, maybe it's not a complete stretch," Burke admitted quietly turning back to me as the woman set her stuff down before coming over.
I nodded, a tad fearful that speaking would cause an incident.
"Hey, guys," she greeted cheerily.
Meet Elizabeth Burke: Peter's fantastic wife. While shorter than my towering height, she was definitely more beautiful than I was with lovely long hair that was the color of dark chocolate and curled perfectly as the ends, a nice bust, and an excellent figure. Not only that but she was also quite intelligent and blue eyes. Married to Peter for ten years now and working as an event planner, she was very understanding of her husband's occupation and often offers excellent advice and as well as fresh perspective into a case when Peter has trouble. No offense to Peter, but I have absolutely no idea how he scored such an amazing woman.
Anyways their marriage is pretty much perfect, and I could not think of two people better suited for each other; and that's saying something since I technically have zero dating experience under my belt.
"Hi," I greeted politely.
"Sorry. Um, it was just my vendor," she explained, laughing awkwardly.
"No, it's fine. We were just trying to decide if a man is capable of a clean murder."
"Oh, I think so," Elizabeth immediately agreed. "What's the issue?"
Peter and I looked between each other before I eventually spoke.
"I-I think we're dealing with a shell game," I said, standing up and clearing the immediate area on the table in front of me.
"Visual aids," Peter commented. "Nice."
"Big Gulp is Paul, dead mob guy"—I held up a large, empty white and red cup, before turning it upside down in front of me—"Coffee cup is Steve, our homeless vet"— I set down the much smaller cup next to the first in the exact same way—"Mug is Mario"—this time it was a black mug set in between the first two—"Napkin's the Bible"—I finished up by putting a crumpled white napkin between the mug and the big gulp cup.
"Make Mario the saltshaker," Peter demanded.
"Mario's the mug. Watch," I stated in a tone that dared him to argue. "We'll start with Paul, who for some reason reads Mario's book and realizes the Healing Bible is worth a hell of a lot of cash." Taking the overly large cup, I set it over the crumpled paper napkin. "But it's also Barelli's pride and joy." Now I was moving the cups around exactly like a game of shells. "He doesn't want to risk Barelli's wrath. So, he…"
"Gets Steve to steal the Bible," Burke and I chorused as I nudged 'the bible' under Steve's coffee cup.
"Plausible deniability," Peter said.
"But if it doesn't work, then he lets the homeless guy take the fall," Elizabeth surmised. "Well, that's evil."
"He takes the Bible from Steve, calls Mario to make the deal. Something happens," I explained, still moving the cups around.
"Yeah. The deal goes down wrong," Peter said, getting up out of his seat like I was and gripping the back of his chair as he watched the 'people' move around. "Or Paul decides he wants both the cash and the book."
"Well, whatever it is, Paul ends up dead," I said, knocking over the scarlet and white cup on the right and revealing the empty space underneath. "The Bible goes missing. Steve never even met Mario," I finished, also knocking over the white cup with the brown grip around the middle and once more revealing nothing underneath; I sat back down.
"And our guy walks away clean with a very expensive book," Peter summed up, lifting up the mug to reveal a twenty-dollar bill. "Okay, how'd you do that?"
"Never reveal your secrets," Elizabeth also smirked, sitting down at the end of the table to my right.
"Well, how do we get Mario to reveal his?" I queried.
"Well, if I stretch it, I might be able to get a warrant to get into his place," Peter said but the way he said it made it sound like getting that warrant was a very big 'if'.
"You know, if he's smart, he's not gonna have that Bible anywhere close to him," Peter's wife said.
Burke looked at his wife, smiling a bit as he teased, "El, I've never seen this devious side."
She smirked, winking at her husband. "Don't cross me."
"Elizabeth's right about the bible," I said, not wanting to be caught in the middle of two people verbally making out; I guess karma had come back to bite me in the ass. "He won't keep it close."
"I've got it," Peter smirked, looking at me. "He knew who you were. Aria Slade-Cage, master forger."
"Alleged," I corrected, not sure if I liked where this was going.
"Alleged. Whatever." Peter waved the details away. "If he's got the book, it links him to the murder. He's gonna want to get rid of it. We've got the usual channels locked down, but if he thinks you might be interested…"
"Convince him I'm pliable," I finished seriously.
Peter was now in his FBI command-mode as he said, "We find some street contacts. Float it out that old Aria Slade-Cage is back in business."
I shook my head. "No, that could take time to reach him and there's no guarantee."
"Why don't you just ask him out?" Elizabeth said suddenly, surprising us with the simple yet effective plan.
"That could work," her husband agreed. "Think he'll say yes?"
"Yes," Elizabeth immediately said at the same time I started to say, "I could probably give him a call."
Of course inwardly, I was definitely not happy with this turn of events because now I was guaranteed to be forced into a dress with makeup and heels, especially with how Elizabeth was eyeing me critically.
—Later, Night, Restaurant—
"To history, old and new," I said, clinking glasses with Mario before each of us took a sip.
As it turned out, getting Mario to go on a date with me hadn't been all that hard. When I had called him up out of the blue after my conversation with Elizabeth and Burke, he had obviously been a little shocked at first but had quickly agreed to meet up at a place of my choice.
Now we were sitting together at a small table in some swanky restaurant that I forgotten the name of. The overhead lights were dimmed considerably so as to give the scene a more 'romantic' feel as the shadows played across my 'dates' face. Of course, that may have also been also been a clever attempt to hide how horribly put together the theme of the restaurant was with its simple and cheesy crystal chandeliers, brick walls, and white, frilly and doily-like table cloths.
Meanwhile as I was placating our dear professor, Burke and the rest of the team would be planting a bug in Mario's place. All I had to do was keep our suspect occupied for a bit.
Anyways, I had indeed been correct; Elizabeth had forced me into a torture-, I mean, a lovely dress and pair of heels. And while I would admit that the outfit was quite pretty, I would rather have not been the one wearing it right now. They are a bit too breezy downstairs if you know what I mean. Honestly, how do women wear these things?!
It was a short A-line dress with a black leather corset that had a semi-sweetheart neckline and had a royal blue accordion style skirt that stopped right above my kneecaps in the front but elongated toward the back, tickling the back of my calves. The straps were the interesting part though. They were also made of black leather and were about two fingers wide. However, hanging off one side of the left shoulder, a few stings of fake diamonds draped over it. On the left side, a black chiffon angel wing draped over my right arm, effectively covering my bandaged covered bicep, which I refused to take off despite Elizabeth's rather vehement protests.
If being put in a dress wasn't bad enough, Elizabeth had strapped me into a chair before the 'date' and coated my face in this horrid glittery eyeshadow and thick black eyeliner that I knew I would have a time getting off later.
Finally, to add insult to injury, or possible literal injury in my case, Elizabeth had stolen my usual shoes and had left me no choice but to wear these painful black heels or go barefoot. Thank god they weren't that high.
"How does an FBI agent get a table here?" Mario asked inquisitively. "It's, like, a six month wait."
"Oh, an FBI agent doesn't," I smirked, trying not to grimace at the pain I felt in my face. "Don't forget, I had a previous life."
"Oh, yeah," he smirked back before asking, "Do you believe in reincarnation?"
Thinking on it, I cocked my head to the side slightly. "You could say that. How about you? Who were you in your previous life?"
"Same person I've always been…with '90s hair," he said causing us both to laugh a little at the bad joke and amusing mental image that was conjured.
"I doubt that. Let me see your lifeline," I said holding out my hand for his.
Mario shook his head though there was an amused light in his dark eyes. "No."
"Come on," I encouraged with a playful tone. "It'll help fill in the blanks."
He snorted. "You're not seriously gonna read my palm right now, are you?" he asked incredulously, though his smile never wavered as he held out his hand anyway.
I looked at his hand critically, letting myself take my time as I took in the details. "Oh, calluses," I commented, looking up at him. "Not afraid to get dirty."
It was a bit of a sly, underhanded jab on my part, but I didn't make it blatantly obvious, acting for all the world as if the statement hand no meaning at all. After all, I didn't want to make this too easy for him. If I did, he would get suspicious.
"Well, that's true," he agreed ominously making it seem like there was a double meaning to that statement. "What else?"
"No ring," I also noted. "Between that and the calluses, I'm guessing work gets in the way."
"No ring for you either," he retorted in an accusing yet playful tone.
"Yeah. Big Brother got in the way."
"So it must be weird for you working for the FBI," he said sympathetically as if he understood what I was going through.
Yeah right.
"I don't know," I mused thoughtfully. "It's always interesting to read from the other team's playbook."
"'The other team'? I thought you were out of the game," he stated picking up on my little hint there.
"Oh, I am. Retired and rehabilitated," I confirmed, knowingly baiting him but still letting Mario make the move. I wanted him to make the decision on his own so that when it came down to it, he would think that it was all his idea, not mine. It wouldn't do for him to become alert to my actions immediately after he started digging around.
"Have you found your missing bible?" Mario hedged seeming politely curious.
"Not yet," I replied before shooting back, "You know anyone who wants to buy one?"
"Maybe. Looters approach me all the time," he admitted, shrugging a bit. "So do buyers. It's…a very attractive offer."
"It sure is."
—FBI Van, FBI POV—
"Judge Rattigan faxed the warrant," Lauren informed Peter, papers in hand.
"Excellent. All right, Aria's got orders to keep him away from his home for at least an hour," he informed the van at large. "Can you bypass the alarm?"
Lauren nodded. "Two minutes."
Peter clapped his hands together. "Let's do it."
—Restaurant, Aria's POV—
To anyone else observing our conversation, it would have seemed like we were a simple young couple enjoying the night out or possibly two good friends having a little get-together. But I knew better. Ever since this dinner began, Mario and I had been playing a dangerous game, dancing about each other as we each dropped subtle hints but watching the other like a hawk to see who would crack first.
"Surprise me," Mario said, offering the menu to me in a playful manner.
"Oh, you sure?" I teased, accepting it. "I might order something you don't like and then where will we be?"
"I trust you," the professor said, though I knew he was lying. "After all, you work for the FBI."
For a moment there, I just sat, observing Mario before asking carefully, "More wine?"
"Now you read minds?" the man asked amusedly, also watching me and no doubt taking in the fact that I had not confirmed that I worked with the FBI.
I had him right where I wanted him.
Leaning in, I asked quietly, "The question is, do you?"
—Mario's Flat, Jones and Lauren's POV—
"It's not bad for a college professor, huh?" FBI agent Clinton Jones asked his partner, Lauren, as they walked into the roomy flat, using flashlights to see where they were going in the otherwise dark room.
"Yeah, well, she's either a crook or a trust fund baby," Lauren said dryly.
The dark-skinned man snorted. "Tch. Yeah, maybe it's both."
Lauren rolled her onyx eyes. "Ha. They usually are," she said, catching a weird-looking cup full of pens, pencils, and other utensils in the nick of time as she accidentally ran into a desk and knocked the vase over.
Unknowingly, both she and Jones breathed a sigh of relief at the same time. It would not have been good if their sneaky professor came home and found the pencil holder cracked, broken and mysteriously lying on the floor.
"Nice catch," Jones commented a tad shakily as the female agent carefully righted the vase.
"And not a bad place to drop the bug either," Lauren admitted, considering the object carefully before going to her bag and pulling out the little device.
"Yeah. Yeah, yeah. That's good coverage. Let's do it," the man agreed, coming over to help as his phone chirped from an incoming text message. Pulling it out and reading over the message, Jones couldn't help but huff a little in exasperated amusement.
Title: Subject Enroute
He invited her back to his apartment. You have ten minutes to plant bug and get out.—Burke
"Wow. He's bringing her back here for dessert," he commented aloud for his partners benefit.
Again Lauren rolled her eyes. "Of course he is."
"Oh, you jealous you ain't getting any of it?" Jones teased.
"Aria?" she scoffed, shaking her head as she stuffed the last of the gear back in her bag and made her way out with Jones tailing behind her. "No. I'm perfectly fine with the stale ass coffee I have in the van, thank you."
—FBI Van—
"We good?" Burke asked when they tromped back into the van, not looking up from the computer screen in from of him.
"Yeah, we're good," Jones confirmed, sidling past the back of Peter's chair to get to his own seat.
"Careful, Lauren. Don't spill that stale ass coffee," Peter said as the other agent set her bag down, his words earning him a look. "It's a bug. I can hear," he said simply, earning a snicker from Jones and listening as the sound of a door opening reached their ears from the speakers. "They're home. Roll tape."
—Mario's Flat, Aria's POV—
"After you," I said, letting Mario lead the way into his home.
"Some wine?" the man asked, turning on some lights as he made his way through the living room turned work office.
I shrugged noncommittally as Mario grabbed two crystal glasses and made his way over to a mostly uncluttered countertop. "Why not?"
"So, what shall we talk about?" the man asked flirtatiously, uncorking the bottle.
Gladly, I pounced upon the opening he had given me. "There's this story about these two spies," I began cautiously, making sure that I had his attention as I continued on. "A French duke and an Italian count." Watching him carefully from behind, I noticed how Mario seemed to freeze for a moment when his gaze fell upon an oddly shaped, wooden vase. It looked as if it had been moved recently since the slight layer of dust around the vase was a little off-center, a little tongue of dustless surface peering out from underneath the bottom of the vase. Dammit!
"They're sworn enemies," I continued, acting as if I hadn't noticed his little pause as I looked around the spacious flat. "Who spent the whole year trying to trick each other. But on New Year's Eve, they got to ask one question the other had to answer truthfully."
"Yes," Mario agreed a little stiffly, catching on as he slowly turned to me. "The trick was asking the right question because you may never get another chance."
"I've always said honesty is a more challenging game," I riddled out.
—Van, FBI POV—
"'Honesty is a more challenging game'?" Jones scoffed, hearing Aria's words. "Jeez, how come my dates don't go like this?"
"Because you don't say things like, 'Honesty is a more challenging game'," Peter told him bluntly.
"It's because nobody actually talks like that," Lauren stated with equal bluntness, also adding in her two-cents.
"They do in Aria Slade-Cage's world," Burke commented dryly, causing them all to smirk a little.
—Mario's Flat, Aria's POV—
"This wine needs to breathe a little," Mario said to me suddenly. "I'm gonna get a decanter. Why don't you put some music on?" he said as he left the room, the wine bottle in hand.
"What are you in the mood for?" I called, watching him go.
"Oh, you know," he called back vaguely.
"Surprise you," I surmised.
Very helpful, I thought sarcastically, looking about the room. It was then that out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a little red light winking at me from a fixed spot on the ceiling.
Security cameras. Shit.
Knowing that I had little time left to cover for myself, I saw behind me a perfectly angled mirror hanging in the hall that Mario had disappeared down. Perfect.
Calmly, I pulled out a small, handheld mirror and made it look like I was checking my make-up in it when I was really using it to spy on my quarry. Managing to find the right angle, I saw Mario was standing in another room, watching what looked like a security feed from a desktop computer. The backwards time stamp in the reflection said that it was shot at least half-an hour earlier, around the time that Burke's crew had planted the bug. Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! This was not good.
Snapping the mirror closed and tucking it away, I searched around for some kind of music player trying to not act suspicious. Thankfully, it didn't take me long before I found an old fashioned record-player with some black record albums nearby. As far as Mario's music collection went, it actually wasn't that half bad. I took my time in choosing a record before putting it in. I was going to have to be careful where I stepped next.
—Later—
"Ten years painting the same Bible," I said in slight awe, looking through a book on the mantle that Mario had shown me. "It's like stalking God."
"If it weren't for the monks' devotion we would've lost one of the most significant works of Greek literature forever," Mario said.
Throughout, the rest of the night, Mario had acted normal but still cautious around me, like he was unsure if I was trustworthy or not.
"It's stunning," I commented lowly, though I wasn't really concerned with the book before me.
"I agree," the professor whispered in my ear, pressing our chests together as he violated my personal bubble. "You know what?" he murmured, his lips inches from mine like he was going to kiss me. "I don't trust you."
And there it was. I had expecting this outcome all night and here it was.
"Smart," I whispered back. "I wouldn't trust me either."
—Van, FBI POV—
"I think we have a technical problem," Lauren said, when the feed from the bug suddenly went silent.
But Burke had a pretty good idea what was going on in the nearby flat and it wasn't technical issues. "That's one way of putting it."
—Mario's Flat, Aria's POV—
Our lips were dangerously close now and I had to forcefully restrain myself from pulling away in disgust. But I knew, I Mario so much as kissed me, it would be all over.
"Let's play the spies' game," Mario breathed against my lips. "I'll ask you a question."
"And I have to tell you the truth?" I finished.
"And you have to tell me the truth," the dark-haired man agreed.
"Okay," I nodded slowly. "Make it a good one."
"Which Aria Slade are you? Are you working for the good guys or are you working a bigger game?"
This was it, this was the make or break moment.
Stepping around Mario, I went over to the vase and easily pulled out the little black bug, showing it to the man before taking it and dropping it into my wine-filled glass. It wasn't that great of a wine either.
—Van, FBI POV—
As soon as the line went dead, everyone seemed to be sent into a bit of a silent tizzy the three of them looking unsurely at each other.
"What happened?" Lauren finally asked, eyes wide.
"Aria happened," Burke hissed under his breath as he stared blankly at the monitor before him. On the outside, he appeared to be in slight shock. On the inside though, he was filled with equal parts triumph and equal parts dread.
—Mario's Flat, Aria's POV—
"Did I answer your question?" I asked Mario.
"Maybe," the man admitted, still obviously wary but still warming up to me all the same.
Deciding to hammer in the final nail, I spilled what I knew to him. "The feds linked Barelli's Bible to Paul Ignazio and you to Paul through his visits to the college," I explained, the man's resulting silence speaking for itself as he thought about what I was saying. "Look, Mario, I'm living proof; if the feds want something from you they'll turn your life inside out to get it. They'll tell Barelli you have his book."
Judging by his conflicted expression, I knew that I almost had him.
"Even if I don't?" Mario asked carefully.
I took his much larger hand and put it on the table before us and sharing a meaningful look with him that said 'I know you do.'
"I can get you 250,000 in two days," I said without pause. I needed to appear confident and sure that I could get him that much and that short span of time.
Mario shook his head. "It is worth a lot more than that."
"Not if you're in prison or dead," I deadpanned, stressing that last word. "Between the FBI and the mob, there's no way you can move it. I can."
"The other team's playbook," the dark-eyed professor mused, watching me. "If I shouldn't risk it, why are you? Won't they send you back for good?"
Lifting up the skirt of my dress a bit, I showed him my false anklet that hugged my left ankle, the green light on it glowing a bit in an almost menacing way. "I'm already in prison," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "We have a deal?"
Our game of danger and deception complete, Mario and I both shared a wicked smirk.
—Next Day, FBI HQ, Burke's POV—
"How did you know she was in on it?" Hughes asked him as they stepped off the elevator, ferret-faced Ruiz in tow.
Peter smirked knowingly, loving it as he watched Ruiz twitched slightly with his irritation. "Lucky hunch," Burke replied, watching as the dark-haired man's knuckles turned white.
Hughes hummed, turning to look briefly at their third companion. "Ruiz?" he asked, looking for confirmation as they walked through the desk-filled area.
"I checked Paul's credit," the man said. "He got wired 10 G's from a shell corporation in Gibraltar owned by your professor."
"Oh, by the way," Hughes began when a thought occurred to him. "How did last night's fishing go? Get any tape?"
"Equipment failure," Burke lied with a slight sigh as they trod upstairs to Hughes' office. "But Slade says he has the book. He'll sell, but only to her."
Hughes scoffed, knowing the girl's personality. "Of course she'd say that. The terms?"
"Two-fifty, wired to a Swiss account," Peter said.
Immediately Ruiz jumped in, shaking his head vehemently. "No way. What if she cuts a deal with him? She runs away with the book."
"What choice do we have?" Burke countered.
"We don't," Hughes interrupted before either one of them could start throwing more than lethal glares. "I don't need another dead body washing up in the East River. We'll set up a dummy account."
Peter frowned. "That's risky. What if he takes a shot at Aria?"
"I wouldn't lose any sleep over it," Ruiz immediately stated, much to Burke's ire.
As if she had been magically summoned, Aria appeared next to them wearing that annoying fedora as she said cheerily, "Morning, guys. Everybody sleep okay?"
—Later, Aria's POV—
"Cayman's First National," Peter explained, once we were in his office. "I'll e-mail you the PIN right before the buy."
Getting up from his desk, he handed me the phone I was going to use during the op. However, it didn't take a genius to know that Peter was worried. You could see all the signs in his eyes and movements. He knew how risky it was sending me in without any protection, but there wasn't anything either of us could do about it; I decided it was better to not comment.
"First they're all for sending me to prison for crimes I didn't commit," I joke. "Tomorrow they give me a quarter million taxpayer dollars in an offshore account. Guess that shows how much confidence they have in you."
"And how much I have in you," Peter said with a look that said 'don't screw this up.'
I smirked. "Awe how sweet, you really do care, Pete."
—Later, Van, FBI POV—
"Look at her. Son of a bitch should be in leg-irons, you ask me," Ruiz complained, his voice alone grating on everybody's nerves as they watched Aria through the video feed.
The plan was set and everything was in place. All that was left to do now was wait for Mario to show up and the deal to go down before they could arrest the professor. Unfortunately, it also meant that everyone else was stuck with listening to Ruiz complain loudly about Aria in the meantime.
"Nobody asked you, Ruiz," Burke snapped, a warning in his tone while everyone else in the van, besides Ruiz, silently cheered Peter on.
"She conned you too, Pete, huh?" Ruiz retorted, not understanding the hint to shut up.
Thankfully, they were saved from any further argument when Lauren said, "Here he comes."
—Meeting place, Aria's POV—
"Hey," Mario greeted, strolling casually down the steps that led to his flat and walking over to me. We both embraced though there was no real affection in the gesture as I leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "We have a chaperone. White van over my left shoulder."
Mario moved us around so that he could get a better look at our 'stalkers'. However, every time he touched my skin, I had to battle down the urge to recoil. Gods this was what I hated the most about ops like these.
And you know what the worst part was? I had to let him touch me as part of the terms of our agreement to meet up. And cute and probably hot this looked to other people as we sensually patted each other down, I just wanted to soak in a bath of bleach for the next decade and never come up for air unless it was by necessity.
—Van, FBI POV—
"What happened to not mixing business with pleasure?" Lauren asked, bemused, watching the couple with a kind of horrified fascination.
"That's for us," Burke explained exasperatedly, accustomed to Aria's antics by now as he watched the feed too. "She's patting him down."
"I need a cigarette after that pat down," Ruiz muttered but no one paid him any mind.
—Meeting place, Aria's POV—
"You're clean," I said when I was done, pulling away from a quickly as possible.
"Thank you," Mario said with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he pulled me in and started placing false kisses on my neck and collarbone. "Your turn."
Oh Heaven and Hell, help me.
—Van, FBI POV—
"Well, what is that? He making sure that's not a gun in her pocket?" Lauren commented though no one replied as they watched the couple more or less feel each other up.
—Meeting place, Aria's POV—
"No bugs," Mario smirked when he was done, pulling away.
Luckily for me—I guess—he had merely brought out a small little device that scanned for bugs, tracker and other spy-satellite equipment. All he had needed to do was wave it over certain parts of my body and it would make a noise if it picked up something. Of course, being the asshole he turned out to be, he took much longer than was really necessary. "So where's my money?"
"Where's my book?" I retorted. After that little show, I wasn't gonna let him have it easy.
Mario chuckled, pressing out bodies together and acting like we were some lovey dovey couple or something. Anyways, like with all the guys that had ever tried holding me like thing, I could not suppress the feeling that this was so wrong. I did not belong in this guy's arms and I wanted out. And was he…? Yes, yes he was.
In response he raised his car keys and clicked a button, earning a barking chirp from the small red vehicle as all the doors unlocked.
"You ready?" Mario breathed in my ear lustily, sending the not-so-good kind of chills down my spine though the professor interpreted it as otherwise.
Nodding, I moved away from him, glad to be free of his arms.
"When I cut the anklet, our friends are gonna know I'm running," I said, making sure that Mario wasn't going to hesitate. "Can you lose them? 'Cause I'm not going back in."
Mario smirked cockily. "I've been chased by the Carabinieri, drug cartels in Bogotá—"
"I get it," I interrupted, not wanting to listen to the whole spiel. "You're good."
Reaching down, I pulled out a small knife from a space in my boots and cut the anklet in one swipe as Mario made for the driver's side.
"With all due respect, Aria we could make quite a fine pair," the professor said flirtatiously as I dumped the frantically beeping anklet on a sunny patch of sidewalk and made my way over to the passenger's side of the car.
"With all due respect, Mario, shut up and drive," I said, slightly snappishly as I got in, Mario mimicking my movements before putting the keys in the ignition and driving off.
—Van, FBI POV—
"She cut the tracker," Ruiz stated stupidly upon hearing the frantic beeps that could only mean one thing.
"Right on schedule," Burke said, completely unsurprised.
Ruiz immediately turned on him, his tone accusing. "You knew about this?"
Burke didn't even so much as flinch. "Of course. She had to convince him she's rigging the system."
"What if she really is?" Ruiz said.
"There are a dozen unmarked in the area," Burke reasoned. "NYPD has eyes in the sky. There's nowhere to hide. Let's go!" he called to the driver.
Besides, he thought inwardly, smiling mentally. I have faith that Aria will do the right thing, he thought, thinking back to the conversation he had had with his wife that morning.
—Flashback—
"Hey, did you find the Bible?" his beloved wife asked him earlier that morning before he went to work.
"Yeah. The professor had it," Peter said as he tried to tie his 'lucky' tie as it was called. "Aria's gonna buy it back."
Elizabeth looked up from her typing. "You're giving her money, wow. No wonder. Lucky tie."
Peter shook his head. "No way. We set up a fake wire transfer."
Elizabeth stopped what she was doing at the dining room table and now gave him a knowing look. "Then what are you worried about?"
Peter sighed from the living room. "She has to convince him that she's working us, which means she has to cut her anklet for real." Tightening his tie he walked over. "The book's worth a fortune. She could run with it."
Elizabeth got up and walked over, her dark tresses swaying with the motion. "Well, you have a lot more faith in a ratty old tie than you do Aria," she said, tightening his tie for him.
"Yeah, well, this ratty old tie has never forged a priceless map of Vinland."
"Why is it so hard for you to believe that she'll do the right thing?" Elizabeth suddenly asked looking him directly in the eyes.
"Let's just say that's not her first instinct."
"And trust isn't yours," El pointed out, sharp as usual.
Peter shrugged, smiling a bit. "Occupational hazard. I like to know I can count on something."
"I know you do," his wife said softly. "But sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith."
And with that, she kissed him on the lips before going back to her work and leaving him to think on what she said.
—End Flashback—
—Aria's POV—
After some wild driving and very close calls, we pulled to a stop at an abandoned dock area somewhere in Brooklyn and parked. It wasn't much to see except, city skyline, lots of gravel, smelly water, and rusting metal pieces left to the mercy of the elements.
"I can't believe I'm doing this. I spent a long time looking for her," Mario said sounding almost angry, as we got out and headed for the trunk where he undoubtedly kept the bible.
"I guess it wasn't meant to be," I said simply not wanting to incite violence until I got the bible. Slowly and carefully, Mario pulled the bible out of its heavy-duty case from the trunk and let me take a look at it, my hands covered with white latex gloves so I wouldn't damage the bible or smudge its artwork. Masterfully, I held the old tome with care, flipping through its pages and looking at the artwork for any signs of forgery. "It's calfskin vellum," I said, holding the book close to my nose and catching a whiff of that distinct smell before pulling back and thumbing through more pages. "The abyssus perfidia…Golden chalice of Paul…"
"You satisfied?" Mario asked hands reaching into a red bag that lay in the trunk. It looked as though it contained clothes but I kept a wary eye on him.
"Very," I said, nodding and closing the book. Taking out the cell phone Burke had given me, I typed in the correct number sequence that would allow me to send Mario his money. "Sending. It's on its way."
"And here it is," Mario said, once his phone gave off a little ping. "Thank you very much."
And now here comes the double cross/backstab moment.
"It's a pleasure doing business with you," I smiled emotionlessly.
Mario whipped out a small hand gun and immediately aimed it at my face. "You'll never know how much pleasure it could have been."
Called it.
"You know, I had a feeling all that lovey-dovey stuff last night was BS," I said, completely dropping my false façade as I leaned against the trunk of the red car.
"Next time, you should trust your instincts," the dark-haired man before me smirked triumphantly.
"Oh, oh, I did," I said, plunging a hand into my pocket and pulling out a full clip of bullets as I wore my own smirk of accomplishment. "Clip. Lifted it when I patted you down," I said shaking it and causing the bullets inside to rattle loudly.
"You forgot about the one in the chamber," the dark-eyed man said, never losing his own triumphant smirk.
"Damn it," I cursed, my expression dropping, "I've never been a gun gal."
"Give me the book, Aria," Mario commanded.
"Sorry. If you're gonna take me on, it's gonna cost you a small fortune," I said unapologetically, holding the bible in front of my chest like a shield and causing the man to falter a bit. Noticing that, my lips spread in a wolfish grin. "What's the matter? You can't do it? Is it 'cause of the money or the history?"
"You know the answer to that," Mario growled, readjusting his grip on the gun so that he had both hands on it to steady his aim.
"Is that why you killed Paul?" I said, stalling.
"Paul wanted the money and the book," Mario snapped angrily.
"Yeah, that's what happens when you get greedy," I said before I could stop myself.
BANG!
I felt as my entire frame was hit with a sudden force, knocking me over with the unexpected blast, and completely winding me as the bible was smacked forcefully into my chest. Briefly my vision darkened a bit as I dimly registered my head hitting the sandy earth as well as a couple rocks, and my hearing faltered though I knew that Burke and company had arrived on the scene.
From somewhere nearby and over the din around us, I could hear snatches of Peter yelling at Mario as my hearing kept cutting in and out in my daze. "Drop…gun! Gun down…we shoot. Put…down! Right now…down…hands behind…head…Man down. Man down!"
Through closed eyelids, I saw a shadow looming over me. Coughing and groaning a bit from being abruptly knocked over, I opened my eyes a bit to see Burke looking over me worriedly. "Cut it a little close there, pal," I grumbled playfully with a smirk, carefully sitting up, though my ribs complained a bit.
"Guess the big guy had your back, huh?" Burke said in a relieved tone, helping me up and gesturing bodily at the bullet now embedded in the bible. Looking around a still a little dazedly, I allowed another rather familiar-looking agent to take the bible out of my hands as Burke turned his back on me briefly, glancing around at the scene as he talked. "Well, I'll tell you one thing. You made Lauren's day," he said, gesturing to the smirking female agent who was handcuffing our crook.
"Yeah, not Barelli," I said after dusting myself off and gesturing to the man in question who had almost magically appeared on the scene with a couple of his cronies in tow as they stepped out of a black van.
"How did you and your cub scouts find out about this? NYPD?" Burke asked Barelli warily as we walked up.
"I got one of those police scanners," the mob baron said before adding quickly, "It's a hobby."
We all stopped to watch as our professor was escorted past by a couple agents and officers to a waiting cop cruiser.
Sucker.
"He's Paulie's shooter?" Barelli asked curiously getting a small nod from Burke. "Some kind of lover's quarrel?"
Quietly I snorted in disgust. Ew, just, no, ew, bad mental image.
Okay, let me make myself clear, I am in no way against gays or lesbians or anything but after meeting Mario, it was pretty hard to imagine that him like that; he definitely did not strike me as that type of guy that flirts with anything that can walk on two legs.
"Just business," Burke said with a slightly more weirded-out look than I had. "I hate to break it to you, but your nephew decided to freelance behind your back."
"Oh, it's sad, you know? If you can't trust family, who can you trust?" Ruiz said with obvious false sympathy to which all present ignored him.
I looked away from them as rolled my eyes and shook my head slightly. Just shut up Ruiz.
"So if you guys are done, I'd like my Bible back. Mass starts in one hour," Barelli said a little impatiently, tapping the simple, black and white timepiece on his left wrist.
"Would it kill you to say thank you, huh? Would it?" Burke asked rhetorically. "Yeah, I guess it would. All right, just give it to him," he said to me in a tone that plainly read that he wanted Barelli out of here as soon as possible.
"What?" I asked dumbly, acting innocently confused.
"What do you mean, 'what?'? Give him the Bible," the FBI agent said snappishly.
"I gave it to some FBI guy," I told him in a 'I am innocent of whatever you may think I have done' tone of voice, and I basically was. Mostly.
"'Some FBI guy?'" Burke repeated incredulously.
"You think you can get over on me?" the balding mob baron growled, getting up in my face and trying to act intimidating. It might've even worked except I was several inches taller than him and I'd had some experience in dealing with mob barons before. "You'll wish you were never born, pal."
"Yeah, I seem to be getting this speech a lot lately," I said boredly.
Surprisingly, it was Ruiz that spoke up in my defense but that may just have been his need to impress his 'dominance' on another alpha-male like Barelli. "Hey. Just shut up, Barelli," he snapped.
"No way," the mob baron snapped back. "This ain't over."
"Where is it, Slade?" Ruiz demanded in a stern voice that I'm sure would've had first-graders spilling their guts to him in an instant. Note sarcasm. "I'll let Barelli give you a ride home."
"Look, I'm telling you guys, I don't know," I claimed, holding my hands up in surrender though all really just wanted to tell both Barelli and Ruiz to fuck off.
Cue lightbulb flicking on above Peter Burke's head, our savior of the day. "Oh. I know where it is," he said.
—Later, Church—
"Hey, pally. What are you doing with my Bible?" Barelli demanded when we strolled into the church and saw Steve, our homeless guy from earlier, sitting on some steps with the bible in his lap. Lucy was there too, resting her head on the bible in her master's lap as Steve stroked her head affectionately.
"She would've died without it if I—" Steve began, handing the book back, before being rudely interrupted by the irate mob baron.
"Not so fast, wacko," he said as Steve made to get up. "You know who you're messing with?"
"You've got it, Barelli," Burke said, intervening. "Just leave him alone."
"No, I'm not gonna let this go," the man said before his attention was drawn downwards by a tentative lick to his hand, courtesy of the sweetheart known as Lucy. Like butter before a hot knife, the stern look on the mob baron's face quickly melted as he let the lab mix lick his hand before carefully reaching out and stroking the chocolate lab mix. "Hey. Hey, sweet girl," he said softly, chuckling a bit.
"Her name's Lucy," Steve said quietly.
"Lucky Lucy," Barelli smirked, kneeling down before he noticed the unhealthy look about the sweet dog. "She don't look so good. What's the matter with her?" he asked the retired vet.
"She's been sick…until today."
Barelli seemed to consider something before saying slowly, "I got this vet in Yonkers. He saved my pugs from diabetes. Wanna take a ride, go see him, have her checked out?"
Steve glanced at Peter and I as we gave him similar looks that said 'go for it.'
The homeless man smiled, hope in his eyes as he looked up at Barelli and said, "Okay."
Silently, we watched as the odd trio got up and left the church, both of us happy to have helped out a bit.
"I was gonna give it back after…" I began, noticing the look Peter was giving me.
"I know."
"How'd you know?" I finally asked as we walked towards the front doors.
"Okay, I didn't know," my supervisor admitted. "But I took a leap of faith that you'd do the right thing."
"Elizabeth." It wasn't a question because there was only one person I knew that could effectively part words of wisdom like that that would stick with Peter like that.
With a small smile, the older man nodded, no doubt impressed as usual about how right his wife always was about certain things. "Yeah."
Deciding that I was not in the mood for more awkward silence I eventually said, "I told you it's a healing Bible."
"Oh, here we go," Peter sighed good-naturedly. "No way. Barelli's a softy for dogs," he said gesturing to the trio as Barelli handed the bible to D'Allesio saying something to the holy man before he left, no doubt to call a cab or something, before kneeling down and ruffling Lucy's dark coat fondly.
"Oh, not enough smiting and lightning for you?" I prodded, remembering his previous words.
"That's not a miracle," he insisted watching as the three then left the church.
"Come on."
"It's not a parting of the Red Sea," Burke stubbornly insisted.
"Well, I'll take my miracles where I can get them," I said.
Looking around, I watched as Peter's gaze fell upon his 'missing' FBI windbreaker, which lay innocently among the church pews. "Hey, is that my jacket?"
I smirked mysteriously. "He works in mysterious ways."
And with that, I strode out of the church. Ready to go home.
But just before I reached the door a familiar buzz from my back pocket drew my attention. Pulling out my phone, I glanced at the screen and couldn't help the true smile that played at the corner of my lips when I read the message.
Hope you are well and will come back soon.—Optimus Prime
Typing in my reply, I then closed the device and strolled out of the church and into the sunlight. This little trip hand been interesting to say the least and now that it was over, for some reason I couldn't help but think of a short but simple proverb that I had learned once when I was a little girl, back when I was still quite young and ignorantly impressionable. I don't know why I thought of it now but now that I did I couldn't help but find it quite fitting now that I had.
It went something like this:
"A friend loves at all times." Proverb 17:17.
It was always rather short, but I remember finding it sweet and two the point. Maybe I was a little naive to consider Optimus a friend just yet, but now that I looked back on it, I knew that somehow Prime was gradually making his way there his way there. And now that I had been away from him for a little while, I actually realized how much I missed his company.
Anyways with that realization in mind, I headed for home.
Heading home now. See you soon, Prime.—Aria
Looking forward to it.—Optimus Prime
And there it is! Finally! I have been wanting to get this posted for ages.
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