Chapter Three

Peter and O'Malley parted company in the lobby. O'Malley headed out the double doors, and Peter approached the window marked Registration and gave them the information they needed to get Neal into the system. When he finished that, he called the Bureau and had the switchboard direct him to the HR office. The second the hours of operation recording began to play, he remembered it was after midnight. Obviously, no one was in the office. He hung up and dialed again. The second time the operator answered, he explained his emergency. She assured him the documentation would be pulled and faxed to the hospital within the hour.

He stepped into the elevator and punched the second-floor button. He waited until he'd emerged from the other side to call Elizabeth. He didn't give her details about Neal's injuries, he didn't have many to offer. Plus, he knew the more he told her, the more she would worry.

She was concerned about Neal but also worried about him.

"I know how seriously you take your responsibilities where Neal is concerned," she said, "but this is not your fault."

He knew she was right, but a part of him still felt he should have done something to stop this from happening. Neal was his responsibility; he was supposed to keep him safe. The memory of his battered body flashed through his mind; the handprints on his arms and the shoe-shaped bruise on his chest. No matter what Neal had been doing in that part of town late on a Wednesday night, he hadn't deserved that. Again, the feeling that he should have intervened swept over him. He'd known something was off. He should have confronted Neal about it, let him know he would be keeping an inordinately close eye on him. Maybe he would have decided it best not to venture down to Vinegar Hill. Maybe he wouldn't be on his way into surgery. He said as much as he followed the wayfinding to the Surgery Waiting Area.

"Despite what you think, Peter Burke," Elizabeth continued, "you are not all-knowing." He smiled at the reprimand. "Neal isn't under house arrest, and as long as he stays in his radius, he's free to go where he pleases. You couldn't have known this was going to happen."

"I know," he conceded as he headed for the complimentary coffee station. "He shouldn't have been down there in the first place."

He poured a styrofoam cup of the steaming hot liquid. It was going to be a long night.

"Maybe not," Elizabeth said, "but he didn't deserve to have that happen to him." She echoed his sentiment. "Did they rob him?"

"No," Peter said uneasily, his recent exchange with O'Malley still fresh in his mind. "He still had his wallet." If Neal was carrying actual ID, he wasn't playing the part of someone else. That was a bit encouraging. He found an unoccupied corner and sat down. "I guess that's how O'Malley knew his name."

"Neal didn't tell him?"

When she'd asked him if he'd talked to Neal, he'd said he didn't get a chance to. He hadn't said he was unconscious.

"No, El," he confessed. "He was unconscious when the officers got there. He's been that way since."

There was a moment of silence as she took in the new information. He knew she knew Neal's injures were more severe than he'd let on.

"How bad is it, Peter?" she said. "Tell me the truth."

He let out a sigh. "I really don't know," he told her. "The doctor wouldn't tell me much. He looks bad; there were four of them, and they worked him over good."

"Four?" He heard the shocked horror in her voice.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "They think he's got internal injuries." He thought of the shoe marks on Neal's chest. "That's why he's headed to surgery."

Again it took her a moment to respond. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Yeah," he tried to pour confidence into his voice. "He'll heal. Probably try to milk it for all its worth, though."

He could almost hear her smile. "Probably. What is it he says? Work with what you got?"

He knew she was trying to lessen the weight of dread that was settling in between them. "He'll no doubt get some mileage outta this," he agreed.

"Are you going to stay with him?"

Of course, he was. He wouldn't leave until he knew Neal was going to recover. That he was going to be alright. Plus, he'd been reminded several times already that he was all Neal had.

"At least until he's out of surgery and I can talk to the doctor," he told her. "Plus I have to put the tracker back on his leg. He can't be left unsupervised."

"I'd think being hospitalized would count as supervision." There was a tone of disapproval in her voice.

"Well, the US Marshalls don't see it that way," he replied. "And 24/7 supervision is mandatory. That's the only way they agreed to this whole work-release arrangement in the first place."

"Will you call me after you've talked to the doctor? Let me know how the surgery went?"

"I don't know how long that's going to be, El," he pointed out wearily. "I promise if anything happens, I'll call you. But in the meantime, try to get some rest," he urged. "No point in both of us being up all night. I will fill you in on everything in the morning."

"Okay," she said begrudgingly. "But promise you will call if..." He understood her if. "if anything changes," she finished.

"I will," he assured her. "Try not to worry. Neal is tougher than he looks. He'll be okay."

She agreed and said she'd try to rest. Then they said their goodbyes, and the call ended. Peter sat and sipped his bad coffee. He hadn't asked how long the surgery was likely to take, so he didn't know how long he'd be waiting for the doctor's update. He was about to go inquire at the nurse's desk when his phone rang.

"Burke."

"Agent Burke, this is Detective Powell." Officer O'Malley had been as good as his word. "My partner and I are working the assault on Water Street tonight involving Mr. Caffrey. Are you still at Mercy General?"

"Yeah," he answered, hoping that at least some information might be on the near horizon. "I'm in the Surgery Waiting Room on the second floor."

"We're on our way there now," the detective informed. "We've got to pick up the reports and evidence from the ER. Don't look like we'll get a statement from Mr. Caffrey tonight, but maybe you can shed some light on things for us."

"I only know what Officer O'Malley told me," Peter told him. "I was hoping you could shed some light on things for me."

"So you have no idea what Mr. Caffrey was doing down there tonight?"

He swallowed down his irritation. It was a valid question. One any investigator would ask. One he had himself. "None whatsoever. Have you identified the suspects?"

"Not yet," the detective answered. "We talked to the witnesses and got a description. We also asked around in the Watering Hole." Such an apt name for a dive on Water Street. "Of course, no one remembered anything out of the ordinary, but the bartender confirmed all five were there."

"Five?"

"Mr. Caffrey and the four suspects," he explained.

Peter felt a sinking feeling. Was this some business deal gone wrong? "Where they there together?"

"The bartender didn't seem to think so, but people down there aren't exactly forthcoming," he pointed out. "Especially with us. Only reason he talked to us at all is that none of them were regulars. We're pulling in now, Agent Burke. We can continue this shortly."

None of them were regulars. All, including Neal, were clean-cut and well-dressed young men. All had converged on Water Street on a Wednesday night. Coincidence? It seemed hardly likely.

"I'll be here."

Less than half an hour later, the Detectives appeared from the hallway and stopped, surveying the waiting room occupants for the Federal Agent. Knowing they'd never single him out considering his attire, Peter got to his feet and crossed the room to meet them.

"Agent Burke," he said, extending his hand. "White Collar Division."

Detective Powell introduced himself and his partner, Detective Blackwell. They shook hands all around.

"What else do you know?" Peter asked, leading them to the corner of the room he'd claimed as his own.

"Not much," the detective admitted. "We are having security cameras in the area pulled to see if we can tie the suspects to a vehicle. We will issue bolos using the descriptions we have and ask that anyone with information contact us."

Peter raised a brow. "Do you expect bolos to work?"

"Not really, but it's all we can do unless we get more information. Turn up a cab or vehicle we can trace or," he gave Peter a pointed look, "Mr. Caffrey can identify his assailants."

"You already have descriptions," Peter reminded him.

"Yes, but names would be much more helpful, Agent Burke."

"You think he knew them?"

"Don't you?" he asked with a raised brow. "It wasn't a mugging, Agent Burke. It was personal. If Mr. Caffrey didn't know them, then why was he meeting them in an alley?"

"Why would he meet four men in an alley who wanted to kill him?" Peter shot back. "That makes no sense."

"Maybe it didn't start that way," Detective Blackwell suggested. "Maybe something happened. Maybe they had a falling out."

Peter already knew where this was going. "Even if they did, what these people did is wrong. Illegal," he reminded them. "It's assault with intent to commit great bodily harm at the very least." He knew it wasn't wise to cop an attitude with the Detectives, but it slipped out nonetheless. "Your job is to find them."

"Do you have any idea how many open cases we have?" Powell barked, his eyes flashing in irritation. "One murder, two stabbing, a drive-by, and three assault and batteries. We ran Caffrey through the system," he added. "Face it, Agent Burke, it's not like he's some kind of innocent bystander. He's a convicted felon."

Peter felt his temper start to flare. He understood, pragmatically, that cases had to be prioritized. Especially when you were overwhelmed. But the fact that a brutal crime against Neal automatically fell to the bottom of the list pissed him off. There was more to Neal than his rap sheet or the anklet attached to his leg.

"So a crime against Neal is somehow less criminal than a crime against someone else?" he said, feeling his blood boil. "You don't know a damn thing about him other than what you pulled up on your computer. He is a valuable asset to White Collar. This could have been retribution for one of the cases he's helped us solve. Maybe this should be a Federal case and not a case for the NYPD."

Hughes was going to kill him.

"Are you serious?" Detective Blackwell thundered. "You think you can take this case from us?"

Pride was a big motivator, and the battle for jurisdiction was long and well-established between the FBI and the NYPD. Maybe Hughes wouldn't have to kill him after all.

"I have no reason to do so unless I believe you have decided this case isn't worth your time."

"Of course, it's worth our time," Detective Powell cut in, shooting his irate partner a silencing look. "All our cases are." Peter knew better. "I understand Mr. Caffrey is..." he hesitated. "a valuable asset to White Collar. I assure you we will make it a priority to find and apprehend the people responsible."

"Good," Peter replied. "Then I will leave it in your capable hands."