Without a word, Peter followed the ambulance taking Mozzie to the hospital. Neal sat in the passenger's seat beside Peter, totally perplexed that someone had wanted to kill his friend. Maybe it was random, but by the witness' statement, it did not feel like it. Moz may not have a legal bone in his body, but he was nonviolent, just like Neal. They did not leave that kind of hate behind them.

"It must be connected to the music box," Neal said. There was no other explanation. Peter did not reply.

The ambulance in front of them stopped and Peter let Neal off to follow Mozzie inside. He was soon guided away from the commotion saving life and left in a waiting room with the paperwork.

'Full name' he read on the form. All he knew was 'Mozzie' and he was certain that was not his real name, nor a name he wanted in any records. He smiled as he wrote a name he was quite sure his friend would agree with.

Peter joined him and could not help peeking at the form.

"Ivan? Don't tell me he has Russian origin."

Neal shrugged.

"None that I know of."

"So his name isn't Ivan?" Peter asked. Neal preferred not to answer. "You come up with an alias just like that? Oh, don't answer that. I know you do."

Neal could not help a slight smile.

Then it was time for hours of waiting. It was night by now though they did not see much of it. Jones came by with decent coffee. Elizabeth joined for an hour and brought sandwiches. Neal loved her for it, but he was not hungry. She was not motherly enough to insist.

At last, a doctor joined them, telling them that the patient, Ivan, should live.

Neal and Peter visited Mozzie's room, where he lay in a bed, unconscious, connected to a row of equipment making sure he stayed alive.

Neal watched the world outside through the window by the bed and thought of Sara and how she had felt when everyone thought she was dead. The world moved on as if nothing happened.

"Neal..." Peter's gentle voice behind him. "We need to go." Neal did not move. He could just as much be chained to the bed. He would stay. "He's in a medically induced coma. There's nothing you can do for him here. But there's something you can do out there." Neal blinked and faced Peter. What? "Come on."

Peter watched Neal by Mozzie's bed. The kid's friend in the bed was a criminal. The kid himself was a criminal. Still, violence seemed so far away in their world. These two were obvious proof that you did not need violence to get what you want.

Neal was probably right in his conclusion that the music box was involved.

"Neal..." he said, calling the kid's attention. "We need to go." He got little or no reaction. "He's in a medically induced coma. There's nothing you can do for him here. But there's something you can do out there." He had the kid's attention now. "Come on." He walked out of the hospital room, certain that Neal would follow.

They got in the car and Peter headed towards the office.

"The hospital," the kid started and paused.

"Yes?"

"It's outside my radius."

And naturally, he wanted to visit Mozzie.

"Let me know when you want to visit and I make sure you get there." Peter was in no mood to hand out more favors than that to a con-man who officially was under house arrest and had been close to killing a man less than twenty-four hours ago.

Neal did not argue.

"Thanks."

Peter took the kid up to the office and his room. He opened a file on his desk and handed it to Neal.

"Our suspect. His name is Julian Larssen."

"This is who shot Moz?"

"We think so," Peter said. Diana and Jones had worked all night. "And, according to Fowler, he's the right hand behind whoever's manipulating you, Kate, the music box, everything."

"Where is he now?" Neal asked. Peter hoped the kid would not run away on a new crusade.

"He's gone underground. If he's smart, he'll leave town, and we need to make sure that doesn't happen." Peter watched the young criminal in front of him. "How'd you stay ahead of me when I was after you? And don't say good looks and charm."

"Aliases. I had several."

"I kept burning them."

"And I kept making new ones." Peter nodded and they shared a grin. The kid showed him something from the file. "But this passport... I recognize the work. It's a forger out of Belgium."

"Larssen doesn't forge his own I.D.s."

"It's not easy. You need specialized equipment, ink, paper…" While listening to Neal a plan formed in Peter's head. "If we burn all of his aliases, he'll have to have new papers made by someone here in the city," the kid voiced his thoughts as if they were thinking it at the same time.

"Exactly," Peter grinned and sat down by his computer. "I'll work up a list of all of Larssen's aliases and start shutting 'em down, put him on every watch list until he has no way out of New York."

"All right, I'll talk to the forger community to make sure he can't buy another one."

Peter picked up his phone and suddenly…

"Wait." Neal turned by the door. "What if we let him buy one, one that we pick?"

The kid's smile was all the approval he needed.

"I'll arrange that," he said and was out of the door.

And Peter started getting in contact with anyone who knew anything about Larssen. An hour later a fine young military officer sat in his visitor's chair.

"Julian Larssen worked intelligence in Special Forces. You served with him. We need to find any aliases he might be operating under."

"Michael Glassuner is the only one I remember."

Peter wrote it down and gave the note to Diana. The officer left and a bar owner took his seat. A third guy passed the doors.

" Jones, put him in holding till I finish with this guy." He closed the door to his office and handed the man a photo of Larseen. "Larssen's a regular at your bar. What name does he use there?"

"Uh, I can't remember."

"And keep in mind that I know about your expired liquor license."

"Kyle. His card says Kyle Albertsson."

"Thank you."

Peter worked himself through the cue of people.

"Diana, how's it going?" he asked over the phone when he had a moment alone.

"We've burned Larssen's Kyle Albertsson alias."

"Good." He drew a line across the name on his list. "I've got another name to add to the list. Brian Blitek."

"Our suspect," Peter said, handing him a file. "His name is Julian Larssen."

Neal was utterly baffled about how open Peter was.

"This is who shot Moz?" he asked, just to make sure they spoke about the same thing.

"We think so. And, according to Fowler, he's the right hand behind whoever's manipulating you, Kate, the music box, everything."

Neal admitted to himself that he wanted to kill the man, but he knew better by now. He would do what he did best, and do the right thing the legal way. Maybe he was not at his best at the combo but he would try.

"Where is he now?"

"He's gone underground. If he's smart, he'll leave town, and we need to make sure that doesn't happen." That would not be easy. "How'd you stay ahead of me when I was after you?" Peter asked. "And don't say good looks and charm."

"Aliases," he answered. "I had several."

"I kept burning them."

"And I kept making new ones." He had had ten id cards with different names once. But he had had an advantage Larsen seemed missing. He showed Peter an image in the file. "But this passport... I recognize the work. It's a forger out of Belgium."

"Larssen doesn't forge his own I.D.s," his handler grinned. Neal had.

"It's not easy. You need specialized equipment, ink, paper. If we burn all of his aliases, he'll have to have new papers made by someone here in the city."

"Exactly. I'll work up a list of all of Larssen's aliases and start shutting 'em down, put him on every watch list until he has no way out of New York."

"All right, I'll talk to the forger community to make sure he can't buy another one." They would do that for Mozzie.

"Wait," Peter said, phone in hand. "What if we let him buy one, one that we pick?" Neal smiled. Perfect. He left the White Collar office and jogged to the nearest Internet Café where he quickly arranged a site with info about where and when to meet. It was a place no one would find unless they locked for it. Then he swung by the printout shop next door and ordered twenty business cards with the site's name as only content.

Now he had three hours to find those intended to have them. Luckily, he had a pretty good idea where to find most of them.

One of them walked towards him eating nachos. Neal pushed one of the cards into the paper cone as he passed. Not very subtle, but it did not have to.

The next guy he found selling cheap stuff by a stand on the sidewalk. The man recognized him. Neal picked up one of the wallets from the pile and slid one of the cards inside.

Things went smoothly. They would check the site, maybe check with each other. They would be too curious not to show up. Hopefully, they knew him well enough to know he would not frame them.

He knocked on a door and Tracy, the one he would use if he had to, swung the door open.

"What?" She saw him. "Forget it, Caffrey. The only thing you ever bring is trouble." She was about to close the door but Neal stopped her and held out a card.

"This isn't about me."

She watched him, considered, and took the card.

"Does this in any way include the feds?"

"They will be far away from you and never hear you were involved."

"Good." She banged the door shut.

Neal checked his watch and walked to the meeting point. He had picked a small, privately-owned art museum, closed Wednesdays. Like many small collectors, they had no money to spend on security. Neal picked the two locks easily and was then inside.

He took a walk upstairs admiring the ambition of the museum. When he walked down he counted to eleven.

"All right, I think that's everyone," he said, walking into the room with a marble statue in the middle. "Thank you all for coming."

"What's this about, Caffrey?" Devlin asked probably surprised to ever hear from him again since he 'exposed' him and Mozzie to the feds not that long ago.

"The man in this photo is going to come to you looking for a new identity," Neal told the assembled, showing a photo of Larsen. "When he does, I want you to make him the best I.D. that you can."

"What's the angle?" Tracy asked.

"I'm gonna tell you what name to give him." He gave Tracy the photo to be passed around. "Justin Springer."

"Come on, Caffrey," Devlin said, walking away. "It's bad for business."

"It's not for me. It's for Mozzie."

Devlin stopped in his tracks.

"Is this the guy who...?" Tracy asked.

"Yeah."

"You want New York I.D. or out-of-state?" Devlin asked. And Devlin and Mozzie did not even get that well along.

But Mozzie had earned respect over the years and burned very few bridges.