First of all I'd like to say thank you to "Dobby and Padfood", thank you so much for your comment, it meant a lot to me, it really did! :) I hope that you and maybe a few other people enjoy the third chapter, too. So, here it comes:


When Jones, a young and dedicated black agent and a member of his team, showed Peter what he'd just found out, Peter couldn't help but grin like a little child right before Christmas. He was holding a photo of a little boy in his hand. It came along with a short description of the boy's specifics, including his name, Neal Bennet and his age, 10. A good-looking kid, very thin, with incredible blue eyes and wavy brown hair.

"Finally, a proper hint! Can't believe it. Tell me all about it, Jones!", Peter shouted out, full of excitement.

"We found a single fingerprint on that box of doughnuts, but he's not in our system as an offender. So… I thought it couldn't hurt to try out a couple of other possibilities. And I found a match! He's listed as a runaway in the missing children database. Four years ago, he left his foster family one morning to go to school and never came back."

Peter stared at the innocent looking child, lost in his thoughts. "So, he should be 14 at present. Clearly not old enough to be the man we're looking for. But it's something to work with. Maybe he's his errand boy or something like that. Good work, Jones!"

The young agent beamed with pride. "Thanks boss. I'll phone his former social worker tomorrow morning, to get to know some details about the kids past."

"Excellent, that should help." He went back into his office, still looking at that pale, a little lost and defiant looking boy. "Wherever you are, Neal Bennet, I promise I'll find you.", he mumbled with satisfaction.


When he arrived at Mozzie's, Neal could barely stay on his feet. He had to calm down before he could face his best friend. On the one hand, his whole body was in pain, insane pain, even by his standards. On the other hand, he felt that his shaking limbs weren't just due to his physical condition. He hit his father, who may be dead. Even if that wasn't a big loss and he had no other choice, he could feel the uncontrolable anger inside him while using that book as a weapon and he had to admit, that he literally enjoyed hitting his father's head.

He shivered. Violence had been part of his life for as long as he could remember and he was determined not to follow in his father's footsteps. He leaned against the wall next to him and struggled against the urge to vomit. He ran his hand through his wavy brown hair and felt the beads of sweat rolling down his face.

Oh dear, this life really sucks! he thought and took a deep breath before entering the old building behind him. It took him several minutes to climb up the stairs to Mozzies small penthouse. He knocked and waited.

A suspicious voice came from behind the door. "Todays password?", his friend asked.

"Come on Mozzie, it's me. It isn't really the right time for this crap right now. Please just let me in."

Mozzie hesitated for a moment and then opened the door. "You know, Neal, with this kind of behaviour you'll be in prison or, even worse, dead sooner or later. You really need to…" He stopped talking. "Holy shit … Neal! What happened?", he gasped, his eyes widened in shock.

"Ohh, come on Mozzie. It's not that bad. Just let me in!", Neal said half-heartedly and made his way in his friends living room.

He sighed with relief when he had managed to lay down on the couch and closed his eyes.

Mozzie followed him, still upset. "Not that bad? What are you telling me? Damned, Neal, your face looks like a battlefield. And I bet that's not the only damage he caused, your walking as if there's no healthy bone in your body. Let me see your upper body!", he demanded.

"Forget it, Mozzie. I won't take my shirt off for you, I heard that there are some well enough establishments to deal with that type of desires downtown." He managed to grin, hiding his pain as best as he could.

"Stop joking Neal. This is serious. Take it off."

Neal groaned annoyed and slowly obeyed, clenching his teeth. Mozzie held his breath and couldn't believe what he saw. He felt the pain only by looking at the bare torso in front of him. There were bruises in different shades of blue, lilac and yellow, red stripes, some covered with dried blood, several swellings and small scars that, Mozzie thought in horror, looked like scars from cigarettes. His mouth went open and he felt himself unable to speak.

Neal looked at him embarrassed and lowered his gaze. "Sorry, pal, it's really none of your business. I shouldn't have shown you." He grabbed his shirt and started getting dressed again.

Mozzie shook his head. "No, mister. Don't move. We'll treat that mess as best as we can and after that you'll tell me what has happened! I suppose you won't withdraw from the plan?". He gave his young companion a worried look.

"No way!", Neal stated without the slightest hesitation. "I won't get another chance like that!".

Mozzie knew that he was right and that he couldn't do anything to stop him. "So you better get some rest after that to charge your batteries. You'll really need that tomorrow."

A few hours later, Neal was lying under a blanked on his friend's sofa. He tried to be as honest as possible when telling him what had happend, but he left out that he wasn't sure whether James had been still alive after he left and didn't tell him that his father mentioned the heist, either. None of this felt right. But he couldn't change it right now. He had to do it, no matter what. He'd take his share and one of his fake IDs and would simply vanish, forever.

When he tried to move a little, to find a more acceptable position, he groaned in pain. Mozzie gave him some painkillers and a cream to treat his body with, but refused to let him distribute the pain relief on his back. He couldn't bear to be touched, even by his closest friend. So his back had to remain untreated. He tried to fall asleep for half an hour and then sat up, glaring in the dark. He never ever felt so lonely and helpless before.


At ten thirty pm Peter was the only one left in the office. Elizabeth phoned an hour ago and he told her that they probably had a breakthrough in his most important case. His wife wasn't pleased at all when he told her that he had some more work to do, but, patient as ever, she accepted it in her stoic manner.

His phone rang and Peter expected it to be his lovely wife again.

"Hey, Hon. Still not ready here.", he said.

"Wow, Peter. I didn't know we were that close.", a young, well known voice chuckled. "How come you're still in your office. I told you, you've got to spend more time at home with Elizabeth. She really deserves your attention."

Peter felt his heartbeat rising. "Hello again, Neal Bennet.", he said triumphantly, looking forward to the boy's reaction.

The young one remained silent for a while. "You're still there?", Peter asked nervously.

"Yeah… How did you find out?", the kid asked in a husky voice.

"You didn't watch out; we found a fingerprint on your generous gift."

"Aww, what a shame.", the boy sounded very tired and a bit resignated, but Peter couldn't identify any signs of fear. "But I have to tell you you're wrong. That's not my name."

Peter leaned back in his chair. "Come on, buddy. It's time for the truth now." The young felon hesitated for a moment, considering his options, Peter assumed.

Then he answered in a steady voice. "You're right, my first name is Neal. But it's Neal Caffrey. Please don't ever use the other surname again, especially not in front of me."

Peter raised his brows. He couldn't explain, but he believed that kid. "All right, Neal. It doesn't matter…".

The boy interrupted sharply and full of emotions. "It matters to me, Peter."

The agent felt a bit confused by that outburst. "I'm sorry, I got it. Won't happen again.", he said kindly. "By the way, as you mentioned before, we're not THAT close, so it's Agent Burke for you. Understand? You're talking to a Federal Agent."

Now the boy chuckled again. "Right, Peter. I'll remember.".

"I suppose so…", he smiled, listening to the boys laughter. "Neal, would you mind visiting me in my office? I think there's a lot I'd like to know from you."

The young felon chuckled again. "Nice try, Peter, but unfortunately that won't happen. I'm not stupid, you know? I'm not keen on sitting in an interrogation room with you for hours, even if you're a very sympathetic man."

"Are you afraid of being punished? I bet we could work something out. I'd really like to help you, buddy. You're not the one we're really looking for."

The boy fell silent for a moment. "Thank you, Peter, I really appreciate your offer. But no one can help me… I'll better stop now, thank you so much for your time."

"Wait!", Peter yelled. "What does that mean, no one is able to help you? What are you involved in?"

To his surprise, the kid was still there.

He replied softly and with so much dispair in his voice. "I really can't tell you. It's a huge mess and I'm afraid it's too late to turn around." He heard the boy moving and trying to hide a little cry of pain.

"Buddy, you really need to tell me what's going on. Are you somewhere safe? Are you hurt? And is someone with you?", he asked, now really concerned.

When the boy answered, he sounded very young and yearningly. "You're a good man, Peter, you really are. Thank you so much for your time, I enjoyed talking to you. Please take care." He knew immediately that Neal was gone.