Author's notes
I decided to change the day I update from Wednesday to Sunday. This is why you get this chapter early. :)
MarJan53, thank you for your comment! You're right, Satch does have the makings of an effective bodyguard! And… Of an undercover agent, maybe? ;)
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/Warning! child abuse: Nothing explicit, but Keller is a manipulative bastard and Neal—as is oftentimes the case with children who grow up in an abusive environment—is heartbreakingly blind to it./
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The illustration for this chapter you can either find on my DoodleAddicts account (…/vincentthecat/) or on the story Rooftops of New York that I post on Archive Of Our Own (VincentTheCat).
This chapter was inspired by season 1 episode 14 "Out of the Box"
Chapter 5 "After the bidding"
Vincent does not know when the-barking-menace became the-yellow-idiot.
What he does know, is that having a dog has not turned out to be as torturous an experience as he thought it would be. Surprisingly, having a dog has its perks.
His second is better behaved. His second's scent is happier. His second stopped pretending not to understand Vincent's demands to let him inside their hideout.
And the most important thing. Tuna.
Under Vincent's orders, the dog works for his keep. The tuna hunt is now a daily occurrence. His second leaves with the-yellow-idiot in tow and they return with sweet, sweet, deliciously fishy tuna. Surprise, surprise. The dog can hunt.
Vincent is unsure what exactly the-yellow-idiot did to his protégé, but he cannot argue with the results. His second has become more disciplined. Come to think of it, they should have snatched a dog for themselves ages ago. Evidently, his second needed his own loyal underling to finally take his responsibilities seriously. And thank the fishes for being lucky enough to be blessed with an underling who understands the importance of tuna. Because. Tuna.
Moving on from the matter of tuna and onto the matter of security.
What Vincent cannot comprehend, is why his human has not yet taken advantage of the-yellow-idiot's presence to drive the-evil-one from their domain once and for all. Certainly, the-yellow-idiot is not the brightest tail in the litter; on the one paw, he does not understand hierarchy at all, but on the other paw, why keep a dog if you are not going to use him to ensure victory over your enemies?
Vincent is not the one to fail to pounce on an opportunity when he spots it.
And so the day has come.
Today is the day he will approach the-yellow-idiot. It is time for Phase Two. It is time to make an alliance.
Vincent carefully observes his target, then huffs in amusement. Who would have thought that after all this time the answer to his woes would come in the form of a barking-tail-wagging-yellow-idiot.
Vincent jumps off the wardrobe and begins his careful approach. His ally-to-be is lazing about on the floor. He sneaks upon the-yellow-idiot and pats the dog's nose.
Vincent takes a step back the moment his future-comrade-in-arms cracks his eyes open. He sits in front of him with his chest puffed out and his tail curled neatly around him.
I need to talk to you, he begins. There is a matter of the utmost importance that we need to discuss.
The-yellow-idiot blinks his eyes at him in assent. Vincent's tail twitches in satisfaction. So far so good.
Let's touch noses and form an alliance, Vincent solemnly meows. Let's take down the-evil-one. Together.
It is hard for Vincent to contain his glee when he sees the dog's enthusiasm for the Grand Plan.
/\_/\
='x'=
The gentle pat on his nose is what wakes Satchmo up. Opening his eyes, he is surprised to find he-who-walks-by-himself sitting right in front of him. He does not remember the cat ever getting this close to him without the-missing-one's assistance.
The meows are sincere and to the point. Satchmo listens to the speech with fascination. He-who-walks-by-himself has never been this voluble.
The moment the-pup's-little-friend is done meowing, Satchmo answers. He knows exactly what to bark.
That's right! You understand! You are my pack! You are pack!
He gently bumps noses with he-who-walks-by-himself. He is beyond happy.
I want both you and the-missing-one to come back to the Burke-den with me, he tells his-little-friend. Both of you will love it there!
As he-who-walks-by-himself meows in response, Satchmo wags his tail. It is agreed.
Finally. Finally, after all this time, he-who-walks-by-himself has come to his senses! Satchmo has never suspected how hard of a task integrating two packs would be, but now…
With the cat finally on board, all that is left to do is to make the-missing-one understand that he is missing. Satchmo is certain that together with his-little-friend they will be able to get the-missing-one home in no time.
/\_/\
='x'=
Vincent has to put his and the-yellow-idiot's strategy session on hold when he hears his human's yawning, and then feels his second's hand gently pat him on the head.
Oh! Right there, right there, over… Vincent pushes his spine against the palm. Yeah… That's the spot, he purrs. His human's scratches are the best.
"Morning!" his second laughs. "Aw, Satch, Vin! I see you two are finally getting along!"
His ally is eager to get his dose of scratches too and Vincent lets him.
We're at war, Vincent informs his protégé, adjusting himself so that his belly could be scratched as well. The-evil-one is going down.
"Yeah, I know, Vin! I am also wondering how the bidding went… Hopefully, Mister Keller will tell us soon." His second's battle spirit pleases Vincent. He knew his protégé would understand the importance of the Grand Plan. Closing his eyes, he curls up in his human's lap.
After the exhaustion that was Phase Two he deserves a good nap, he thinks.
Falling asleep, Vincent envisions what a great warrior the-yellow-idiot will make.
Having a dog is the best.
/\_/\
='x'=
List of stolen items: antique cork duck decoys from the store room, wax sealed supply list and French soil samples that belong to Doctor John Bartram…Peter sighed reading the ridiculous report of last week's heist of the Natural History Museum. "Who is doctor John Bartram anyway?" he muttered under his breath putting away the file on the pile of cases for the rookies. For the kids.
"Father of American botany," Jones remarked and Peter found himself having to mask his surprise at the voice with a frown. Usually a detail such as one of his subordinates lingering in the doorway of his office would not have escaped his attention. Unfortunately, things were lately far from normal for him. Who had heard of an FBI agent who, after a whole month, still could not find his lost dog? And yet that was exactly the person Peter had slowly grown into within the past four weeks. No extra hours, no LOST flyers, no calls and visits to shelters and veterinary clinics had helped him and Elle find their dog. For all Peter knew Satchmo could have gone underground.
"18th century?" He asked gesturing agent Clinton Jones to come into the office. He did think the name Bartram sounded familiar.
"Yeah," his subordinate nodded, then looked at him expectantly. Peter gestured for him to sit down. Jones was about to hear some pretty bad news.
"The auction house is not pressing any charges," he stated once Jones was seated.
"What? Two Franklin bottles make it to the action, both pass all the standard tests, the action house runs the cesium test which proves one of the bottles to be a fake and they… What, they still don't want us to investigate?!"
"By the looks of it," Peter shrugged, then gestured to the pile on his desk. "And, apparently, due to the client confidentiality, they don't have to."
"But we know it was Keller who submitted the fake bottle, it had to be him," Jones said, his eyes were hard. It was mostly his case to begin with and so Peter understood the rage. They really thought that this time they were going to pin down Keller for good. Unfortunately, without the action house's cooperation, their hands were tied.
"We don't have enough evidence," he simply told Jones. "And we have other cases to worry about," He tapped the pile of files on his desk. "You've spent over three weeks on Keller, we have to move on. Hughes's orders."
"I can't believe it," Jones grimaced, then nodded to himself. "Yep, that's a downer." After those words they both sat in a loaded silence. The cases involving Keller really had this way of getting under the skin. The crook was linked to everything from arms smuggling to stolen antiquities, and yet they never had anything more on him than hearsay. This time was supposed to be different and yet… They still had nothing. Just another file to add to the stack of the unsolved cases.
The sudden knocking interrupted Peter's thoughts. It was agent Diana Berrigan and unlike them, she was actually smiling. "Boss, got a minute?" she asked entering the office, then frowned noting Jones's presence. "Aw, Clinton, why the long face?"
"Keller has slipped us once again," Jones grimaced.
"He has, hasn't he…" she slowly said and then, her smile turned into more of a grin. "Or maybe not."
"How so? What am I looking at?" Peter asked straightening in the chair. Diana handed him the file.
"The best detective work ever completed," she announced. "Using this little recipe I now know for sure who the real Franklin bottle seller was."
"You don't say…" Peter mused under his breath opening the file.
"Douglas Neumann. An art dealer and collector officially in possession of over fifteen artworks worth approximately thirty million. Boys from DC were investigating one of the paintings he had sold. It was a forgery, but they failed to prove Douglass had known about it. Still, ever since then, his credibility in the art world has really been low. Basically, he cannot sell a single piece for more than half of its value anymore. What did draw my attention, however, are those seven paintings in his collection… You can see them on page five."
"Huh… Very poor provenance and yet all insured," Peter cocked his eyebrow at his probie. "Thanks to Keller he just made a million on a bottle. You seriously think he's planning to do an insurance fraud now?" he asked her.
Diana shrugged. "I realize it's a long shot, but I feel like this coupled with Keller's presence on the auction… I don't know. What if it's not a coincidence two bottles got submitted? What if it has been a start of some sort of business partnership between Keller and Neumann?"
"And Keller has more than a few insurance frauds under his belt," Peter nodded. Then, he grinned. "Diana, I think you might have just resuscitated our case."
Diana smiled back, then grimaced. "But even if I am correct about what they are planning… It still does not change the fact we don't know when. Or by what means."
Peter nodded. Keller was slick. In the instances like this one the best thing to do was to get someone inside the crew - either a CI or an agent. Unfortunately, Keller's crew was a tight one. Various agencies had tried to infiltrate it over the years with no success. To be quite honest, they were not even exactly sure who, except Keller, was in it. But there was something about that Douglass Neumann file that gave him an idea. Because what if…
Peter stood up. He met both of the terrible duo's eyes in determination. "Call the conference. This time we'll try to bite the sandwich from the other side."
"Meaning?" Jones asked.
"Meaning let's forget about Keller for a while and completely focus our efforts on Neumann. He may just turn out to be our in."
/\_/\
='x'=
"Douglas Neumann," Mister Keller announces decidedly putting his glass of whiskey onto the table. Neal forces himself not to flinch away at the abrupt movement.
"What about him?" he asks, his voice is small. Since the adult burst into the apartment to tell him that the bottle, they had counterfeited, had not passed the cesium test, Neal has been edgy. If it had not been for Satchmo, he would have run away the moment he heard the news. Such as things are he has to stay put. For an hour now he has been waiting for Mister Keller to finally burst into anger directed at his lack of skill. Even if being angry at Neal would make no sense whatsoever. He could not have known there would be an original sold at the auction. It is Mister Keller's job to know about these things. Unfortunately, it is Neal's job to take all the blame when the things go wrong so… Yep. All he can do now, is just to watch the adult sip on the whiskey and wait. Patiently wait for what is coming.
"He's the one we lost to," unexpectedly, his mentor smiles. Neal feels a shiver run through him. Biting on his lower lip, he forces his body to stay put. Satchmo. Satchmo. He needs to think about Satchmo. He cannot leave the dog alone with the angry adult. "You don't drink?" Mister Keller asks and when Neal shakes his head, his mentor frowns. "You sure? You look kind of pale. Just get yourself something to drink, will you?"
Getting up from the chair and crossing to the fridge, Neal says nothing. He scrutinizes the contents of the fridge, but there is just whiskey. His moves are mechanical when he pours himself a glass and tries the bitter liquid. It tastes just as awful as he remembered. Feeling dizzy, Neal returns to sit down across Mister Keller again. The adult's gaze at him is weirdly bemused.
"Well? How is it?" he asks and Neal tries to smile. He feels on the edge of tears. This waiting is what is going to kill him in the end. "And here I thought you hated good whiskey!" Mister Keller chuckles. "Then again, today's the day to celebrate!"
Neal blinks. "What?" he blankly asks not understanding a single word he has just heard.
"What, what?" Mister Keller teases and Neal takes a deep breath.
"You have just said today's the day to celebrate," he says softly and when the adult nods… Neal can just gape at him. "But we lost!" finally, he exclaims. His mentor just laughs.
"The bigger picture, Georgie! Remember what I constantly keep telling you, remember the bigger picture!" Neal watches the adult finish the glass of whiskey with a content smile. "You still can't see it, can you?"
Neal does not answer. Looking down at the glass in his hands, he feels confused. So Mister Keller… So Mister Keller is not mad? There will be no punishment…?
He risks taking a glance at the adult and the man is still smiling. He gestures to the table. "Come on, I am in a mood for a game of chess," he announces and Neal's moves are again mechanical. He gets up, opens one of the cupboards and then places the chessboard on the table in front of Mister Keller. "I'll explain everything during the game," his mentor promises when Neal takes his seat.
/\_/\
='x'=
Neal is going to lose this one. He knows he is unfocused and because of the alcohol flooding his system, it is also really hard to hide it from the adult. Still, Mister Keller does not seem to mind. Not being mean in the slightest, rather cheerfully, the adult knocks one of Neal's knights, then turns to grin at him.
"So, kid. Let me tell you what the plan is now," the adult says and Neal can just numbly nod. He still does not understand why he is not being punished right now. He watches the man fish out an envelope from his pocket. The writing on it is in golden cursive.
"Look who has just invited me over," the man tells him and Neal frowns. Invited? Who?
As the silence between them stretches, the adult finally waves the envelope in front of Neal's eyes. "Georgie, Georgie, Georgie… Douglas Neumann, obviously!" he tells him.
"The same one whose bottle turned out to be real? Why!" Neal exclaims and Mister Keller shrugs.
"Make your move," he rushes him and when Neal does, the man shakes his head. "Kid, you're way over your head, aren't you," he scolds him. "Come on, just think. It shouldn't be this hard."
Feeling dumb, Neal focuses on the chessboard in front of him. He tries to change the position of the pawn again but Mister Keller just scoffs. Now it is coming. Now it is going to be bad. Neal bites on his lip. "But it's hard," he whispers half to himself, half to his cats and only half aware that Mister Keller can hear him. This whiskey he has just drank must have been a strong one. Instead of answering, the adult slaps his hand, then takes the pawn away from Neal and places it on the chessboard. "Oh," Neal stammers.
"Yeah, well, don't thank me, by the looks of it you'll lose anyway," Mister Keller says, then chuckles. "Actually, you know what, I'm going to play against myself now, it will be more challenging this way."
Neal does not answer. Slumping in the chair, he feels somewhat relieved. His head is really too dizzy to focus on anything now.
"All right, so as I've been saying. Douglass Neumann is the one we lost our bottle to. But, it is also Neumann for whom I stole this bottle a couple of months back," the adult says.
"Oh…" after the initial shock has passed, Neal can only feel in awe of his mentor. "Seriously?! You knew all along the authentic bottle would be on that auction!" he exclaims and the look Mister Keller gives him is an amused one.
"Without competition, the bottle would have passed for a third of the price it went for yesterday. Intrigue creates desire, remember that." Neal nods in enthusiasm at the wise words. "But that is just half of what we wanted to achieve." Not understanding a thing, Neal nods yet again. "The other half," his mentor gestures to the letter, "is here. Because we have just got invited to join the party held by Neumann next Tuesday. They are having a banquet, one of those you like - with lots of art enthusiasts and other rich people you can amuse."
For a longer moment Neal does not answer, but then as the words catch up to him… "Us?" he repeats in awe. Filled with excitement, he grabs the envelope and quickly opens it only to feel disappointed. There is no mention of a single George Devour on the invitation. "Not us, just you."
The adult shrugs. "And where I go, you go," he tells him. "Even uninvited."
And that is when it hits him. Dear Vincent, no… No. His mentor cannot be serious.
"You want us to rob one of your business partners again!" Aggravated, Neal stands up. The floor looks weirdly unsteady now. "No, no, no, I'm not getting into that mess again, last time was really enough to―" Neal does not finish as the wave of nausea hits him hard. Desperate, he makes a run for the bathroom. That whiskey was definitely a mistake and now he is going to pay for it.
/\_/\
='x'=
When he comes to the living room again Mister Keller is still there, playing chess by himself. "Want another drink?" he teases the moment he sees Neal.
Feeling heat on his face, Neal crosses the space to retake the chair he so disgracefully abandoned earlier. His eyes pause on the schematics that somehow found their way onto the table. They have not been there before. "This job will be a bit different," Mister Keller says. "It's not a bank or a museum. Instead think of it as a fort."
Taking the plans in his hands, Neal does not answer at first. After a moment, feeling resigned, he sighs. "Then, if we had a tank, or an air force, maybe…"
"But we don't, do we?" Mister Keller states, his voice is dry. Looking at his mentor, Neal furrows his forehead. The adult sighs. "I'm sorry for how things turned out last time, kiddo. But I promise. This time it's going to be different."
"But doesn't the first rule say not to steal from your accomplices…?"
"Up to a point, it does," the adult admits. "But not when a prize is so high," he then adds, his smile is full of satisfaction. His mentor fishes out a picture out of his leather jacket pocket, then passes it to Neal. He takes it. It is an old black and white, heavily damaged photo. In it, a richly decorated music box can be seen, it looks 17th century, baroque era.
"Does not look too special to me," trying to sound light, Neal remarks. To be honest, it looks worryingly heavy and also - bulky. It would be difficult for him to carry.
"Really, it doesn't?" Mister Keller teases him.
"Worth maybe a million or two but certainly not all this trouble," Neal says, ignoring the adult and frowning upon the schematics again. Mister Keller is right. It is a fortress. And not just that, but also… Again recalling the events of the last summer, Neal grimaces. There are simply people you should never think of robbing. Has Mister Keller not learned that?
"No way!" Neal suddenly exclaims, getting up from the chair. "You've promised to keep me away from people like that, never to make me rob them again and now―"
"Enough!" Suddenly, the adult gets up. Before Neal knows it, he gets pinned to the chair. He opens his mouth to protest, but Mister Keller's eyes on him are cold. "I've said enough," the adult speaks softly. Looking at the adult, wide-eyed Neal closes his mouth. "Better," Mister Keller smiles. "Now it's my time to talk, all right?" Neal nods and his mentor lets him go.
Neal watches him light a cig, then frown upon him. "It's just a little mansion. And Russian mob has nothing to do with Neumann. This is different." Neal does not answer. No. It is not different at all. The only reason Mister Keller is asking him for help, must be because he realizes that none of his other men would be insane enough to jump into that fire with him.
Looking away from the adult, Neal bites on his lip. "I really don't like the risk, sir," his words sound soft, frightened. He realizes he is still shivering from the attack. Not able to relax and feeling suddenly very deflated, Neal waits for another outburst of anger towards him. And then…
"After all this time you still have no real concept of how much I trust you Georgie, do you…" the words come as such a surprise to him that Neal can just look up and gape at the adult. Meeting the amber gaze, he feels lightheaded. What? He watches the adult step away from him, look through the window, then sigh. After lighting another cig his mentor finally turns back to him. "Want to know what really is going on kid? What was going on then and what is going on now? Why we need to take such big risks." His mind blank, Neal does not answer. Mister Keller smiles. "Well?"
"…You're actually going to tell me?" he finally manages to utter. The adult chuckles, then draws out his hand to ruffle Neal's hair, and when Neal is not able to stop himself from flinching away… Mister Keller grimaces. Neal watches him slump on the previously unoccupied chair next to Neal's and then give him a long gaze.
"You deserve to know," he finally says. "After all… Unknowingly you've been chasing that white whale for some time now. It's the reason I've burned so many contacts over the years."
"A white whale?" Neal echoes and then, full of speculation, he shifts his gaze back to the music box. "You mean the box?"
Unexpectedly, the adult grins. "I mean, the treasure worth billions that it leads to," the adult announces, his voice quiet. "A treasure, Georgie, that we can make ours. No one else's to share. A score of a lifetime, just in our reach."
For a longer moment Neal does not answer. He watches the adult smoking the cig, his eyes glistening as if from some inner joy. Thinking again about the last summer, Neal sighs. It would really be a bummer if things turned out like that again.
Suddenly, the adult scuffs. "Oh, come on. You're such a wimp."
"No, I just―"
"Then what is it!" his mentor demands. "I've told you before, as long as you stick with me you are safe! And last time really was an accident, you know I didn't mean for you to get hurt," suddenly feeling very small Neal, wraps his arms around his legs. Mister Keller is right. He can be such a coward sometimes. But then again, as his mum used to tell him… He is just a kid. So he really needs to be careful in picking his fights. And Mister Keller would usually understand that.
"I just don't want things to change," the admission surprises him and yet... Voicing the thought aloud, Neal realizes how true it is. A year ago it really would not have hurt that much to leave New York, but now… Now he really likes this life Mister Keller has helped him build. He has his mentor, his cats, now he even has a dog… Feeling shy he risks glancing up at the adult. "I am happy now," Neal admits softly. "I like where I am and I don't want things to change or… Or for you to flee."
Hearing that Mister Keller smiles. Neal watches the adult pick up the white king. "Sometimes change is good Georgie," gazing upon the piece, the adult tells him. "And I know the changes that are coming will be good," he meets Neal's eyes again. "I also know that to get the treasure you need to first give something up. My boy, yes, changes are coming, but you can trust me when I say it is for the better. I've included you in all my plans. Both those before and after finding the treasure. We make a great team, kiddo. You and I."
After those words sink in, for a while Neal can just gape at the adult. When he finds his voice again it sounds uncertain but also weirdly hopeful. If Mister Keller feels the same way about the New York life as Neal does, then maybe he is going to be more careful than the last time he attempted something as drastic as betraying one of his business partners. "You really think that?" he asks.
Mister Keller chuckles. "I do," he confirms. "Come on. I will explain my plan to you while we play chess," the man tells him and then gets up from the chair. He sits across the table from Neal again. Absentmindedly Neal starts repositioning the fallen pieces on the chessboard. Lost in thought, he observers the adult as he takes another sip of his whiskey.
"You know…" after a moment Neal dares to remark. "Till now, I kinda thought you were half-joking, when talking about that treasure. But it really does exist, doesn't it?"
"It does," the adult confirms. Then he picks up the black king in his hand and starts rotating the piece. "Georgie…" the man's eyes again lock with Neal's. "I trust you, you know that?"
Feeling a lump in his throat, Neal does not answer. This trust thing again. He has actually managed to forget Mister Keller told him such before. More than anything he wants to reciprocate, he wants to exclaim how much he loves the adult for taking him off the streets, for protecting him and yet… He feels as though, if he ever dared to voice that sentiment aloud, Mister Keller would disappear like a mirage. Also, it would probably be too touchy-feely for his mentor's tastes.
"Then I hope you find it," Neal decides to say instead and when the adult gives out a small chuckle, "I hope we find it," he decides to emphasize shyly. Mister Keller nods with approval.
"Your move," gesturing at the chessboard, his mentor then says.
/\_/\
='x'=
It is the middle of their second game when Mister Keller finally starts sharing again. "We don't have an air force, but the party will get us past the first wall of security and into the main ballroom." Forgetting all about chess, Neal's attention turns to the schematics on the table. "There's only one way into the inner sanctum. It's through this security door. This door is our biggest obstacle," the man taps the schematic and Neal nods.
"Looks like there's no keypads, no biometrics, no lock," he notices reading the markings on the paper.
"The only way is to either get buzzed through by a guard stationed in the security room or through the ventilation system," Mister Keller confirms his suspicions. "Once you're through, there's a long stretch of hallway monitored by a closed-circuit camera. When you make it down the hallway, you can get into the Neumann's office," his mentor continues, as if it were easy, just like that.
"Which safe is it, exactly?" a bit absent-mindedly Neal asks and the adult snorts.
"I'll let you know," his tone is dry. "When you find the safe, all you have to do is crack it. It's high-security and torch-resistant."
"Meaning I'll need heavy metal?"
"To get through the fire-resistant plate, yes." The adult smiles, then waves his hand at Neal. "But those are the details, you'll take care of them later. Now the important thing is, are you in?"
The question surprises him. And so does the seriousness he can see in those amber eyes. As if Mister Keller has to ask. "I…" Feeling shy Neal smiles. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, sir!" he grins. "But how about thirty percent?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself kid, the music box is not to be fenced," the adult chuckles.
"Then what is it for?" Neal asks, his voice is curious.
"It is to be solved." His mentor smiles and when Neal blinks in lack of understanding... "To be decoded," the adult adds in, then distinguishes the cig. "All right," he watches the adult get up. "That's all you need to know for now. I'll be dropping by on a daily basis now, we need to have it all perfectly rehearsed and also… I think…" unexpectedly his mentor grins. "Travis could serve as a perfect distraction, don't you think?" Following the adult to the doorway, Neal feels lost for words. Travis? A distraction? Their crew, a distraction? While he and Mister Keller are the only people who know what is really going on…? A treasure hunt. The thought makes him feel dizzy and only the tap on his forehead does bring him back to reality. Mister Keller's smile is wide when he gazes down on him "Well?" he asks.
"I'm in," not remembering what the question has been, Neal repeats and the adult sighs.
"Yeah, I figured as much," he then laughs and that is it. The adult leaves and the door closes after him. Left alone, Neal crosses the space back to the chair. He slumps in it, then glances up at the ceiling.
A score of a lifetime. A treasure. Hidden somewhere out there for me to find, Neal recalls the adult's words. Can you imagine, the treasure, our treasure. Waiting for us to find it… You think the ten percent I usually cut you is a lot? Now imagine having a billion in your hand.
Neal shakes his head. Admittedly, there has been something disquieting about those glistening eyes of the adult that he has taken no liking to. Something dangerous lurking deep within that gaze. Last summer he saw it too. They nearly died then because of that mad glint. Then again…. Mister Keller has said the prize is high. And if the prize is high you need to take even higher risks. So, really…
Closing his eyes Neal tries to imagine the treasure. What would it look like? What would it be? Mister Keller has said the music box is just another piece of the puzzle. Just as the Franklin Bottle. And apparently, the Franklin Bottle has been a success.
The meow behind the window causes Neal to look up. Seeing Vincent, he gets up and then lets the cat inside the workshop. Purring, the little artist jumps into Neal's arms and Neal chuckles. He crosses the space to open the door to the bedroom and is surprised to find Satchmo having a nap on the floor next to the door instead of waiting for him. Taking care not to wake him up, Neal steps over him and then squeezes himself, the cat and the schematics grabbed from the table, in the corner next to the dog. He opens the folder on Neumann Mister Keller has given him. As he gets to the third page, Neal suddenly cannot help but chuckle. The cat cocks his head at him and Neal grins.
"Looks like we've found a weak spot," Neal tells the cat and when Vincent too reads the paper, his purring becomes much louder.
His favorite artist is Fancelli, the cat says.
"Yep," Neal confirms. "And Mister Keller has said we need heavy metal to get through that safe. That means drilling. And what better hiding place than inside one of the Fancelli's sculptures?"
Always happy to contribute to the art history, Vincent purrs.
"I will need clay and also more research materials," Neal decides, then looks down at the sleeping dog. Lying next to Satchmo, he wraps his arms around his friend. "Bud? Wanna go for a walk?"
Vincent, already knowing what's coming, jumps away from Neal and settles himself on the bed to watch from a safe distance the crazy ball of energy that the dog always becomes when awoken. Neither the cat nor Neal have to wait for too long.
What has Mister Keller said?! What has he said?! the dog starts to bark and Neal, chuckling, can just protect his face from all the kisses.
"He's said we're going to make a sculpture!" when Satchmo finally settles down a bit, Neal dares to tell him and the look the dog gives him is an amazed one. "So. First. We need to get supplies," he explains. "And that means a walk," after a moment, much to the dog's joy, Neal decides to add. What a wonderful day today has turned out to be!
Next Sunday: Trust, but verify