Author's notes
Hi! Due to real life, I won't be able to update as frequently as before. I'm planning to post the next chapter in two-three weeks (11.10-18.10).
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).
Chapter 9 "Before the Storm"
"There is an appointed time for everything, and a time for every affair under the heavens.
A time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away."
Ecclesiastes 3:1,6 (NABRE)
Jones grimaced. He was hidden behind a car and could easily observe George. The boy was standing in front of the supermarket talking to the shop assistant. Apparently Jones was privileged to witness the outcome of the conversation the child had with Peter. Jones was relieved to find that the boy sincerely desired to repair the evil he had unwittingly done. Thank God for small mercies!
He had never thought he would find himself following a subject on a quest to return a dog he had unknowingly kidnapped. Then again, he had never had to follow such a young subject. Jones's early years were not exactly a fairy-tale. He was a poor kid from Queens after all. He knew a child like George spent most of his time in survival mode. He did not have to be told that.
Still, as a kid, he did not remember ever hearing about his peers committing crimes of such severity that they would have attracted the attention of the FBI. George had such a childlike innocence about him that it was jarring to know that he was working alongside such hardened criminals as Keller and, apparently, had an important role to play during the upcoming heist.
The boy displayed such obvious delight when confiding in Peter—while telling him a story about an unwanted puppy who had lost its mum—that it was easy to infer that it was a rare occurrence that the kid met an adult who was willing to listen to him and not immediately deride him for being childish.
Just that moment, the child finally handed over the leash to the shop assistant, and Jones had to stop his rumination. The boy patted the dog on the head and turned on his heel. Jones rose from crouching behind the car. His subject was on the move again.
/\_/\
='x'=
Saying goodbye to Bella has been hard. Saying goodbye to Lucky, Neal knows, is going to be even harder. It is really a good thing the little puppy has not been living with him longer than just one day. If Neal ever had to say goodbye to Satchmo it would really feel like the end of the world to him. It is a good thing Satch had no adults to begin with.
Thinking again about his conversation with Mister Morris makes Neal feel a bit embarrassed. The adult was right, it was unnecessary to panic like that over not having Lucky's collar. After all it should still be in a dumpster, outside the workshop. He really hopes that Neumann's man does not think ill of him now, that he does not think Neal is weak.
Neal? You'd better use the rooftops, Vincent cautions. Neal slows down.
Why? he asks warily. It is true that someone has been following him since at least the supermarket, but it does not mean… Or call Mister Keller, the cat hisses.
Quickening his pace, Neal shakes his head.
Let's not trouble him, he tells his paranoid friend. Still, he considers his options and sighs. Maybe using rooftops is not such a bad idea. Hopefully, whoever it is that has been following him since at least the supermarket is more like a dog than a cat. Meaning, he cannot climb very fast.
/\_/\
='x'=
They were halfway through the conference when Peter's phone rang. It was Jones, so he put him on speaker.
"I think we have the location," the agent said. "He disappeared into a building just now."
"We'll request a list of residents," Peter said, writing down the address.
"Did he seriously return that dog?" Andy, one of the youngest agents in the division, asked curiously, then winced as Diana elbowed his side. Peter had barely noticed the exchange.
"He did," Jones's voice was deadly serious. "Judging from the shop assistant's laughter, the story the kid made up must have been quite amusing."
"Good, Jones. Good," Peter said a bit distractedly. "Keep an eye on the building. I want to know as the first thing when he leaves to return Lucky."
"You got it, boss," Jones said and Peter ended the call. It was hard to keep the confidence in his face. To pretend that he had everything under control, while in fact he had no idea what he was doing. The child was a big unknown. Peter carefully surveyed his subordinates, who were uncomfortably crammed into the small conference room. He wondered how many of them realized how easily the case could turn into one of the most tragic in their careers. Smith—a father of two—looked furious. Peter was consoled that at least some of them were aware of the danger in which the twelve-year-old George found himself.
"All right people, as you know, we do not have much time to prepare for tomorrow, but—" Peter paused. He looked at his probie. "Diana, warn the SWAT team there will be a child there tomorrow."
"I've already done it." Diana smiled. "I've also told Jack not to be too surprised if he sees a Labrador or two guarding the mansion…"
A couple of agents laughed, while Peter once again had to suppress a grimace. Inside, he was a nervous wreck. He hoped none of them would notice. It would do them no good if his subordinates knew how much the child's presence was getting to him.
/\_/\
='x'=
The interior of the apartment looks nice. So does the lady holding the little puppy close to her chest and crying her eyes out. She places the little Labrador in the arms of her daughter, then turns her teary gaze at Neal.
"Thank you so much for finding him," she says holding out her hands as if to hug him. Too occupied with watching Lucky, Neal does not manage to back away in time and gets imprisoned in a full bear hug. He freezes and then the little girl joins the embrace.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She exclaims wrapping her arms around his legs.
"…No problem," Neal mumbles uncomfortably and the woman and her child let him go. When released, he takes a good two steps back, then smiles at the duo. "Just happy I could help," he says and then, before any of them can start either attacking him again or asking questions he most definitely has no ready answers to, he turns away and runs.
"I will be on my way then! Nice meeting you!" he shouts over his shoulder and does not stay long enough to hear an answer. Once outside, he sighs with relief.
Learned your lesson? Vincent asks. I told you we did not need any more dogs.
"Yeah, I promise, no more additions," Neal says aloud and then chuckles as the Labrador dog whom he left outside, noticing he is back, comes to him running at full speed.
"From now on it will be just you, me and Satch The Nameless," hugging Satchmo, Neal promises his cat and Satchmo barks in agreement.
And unlike Lucky, we're not going anywhere, the yellow Labrador promises, and then starts to happily sniff Neal's sleeve. For some reason, Satch, ever since Neal returned to the apartment to take Lucky back to his home, has been rather… Excited. Much more than usual, that is.
Still chuckling, Neal hugs the dog. "You two are the best friends I could ever wish for!" he tells his pets affectionately before taking one last thoughtful look at Lucky's apartment block. "You know, to be frank, I am really glad we won't have to take care of the puppy anymore…" Neal mumbles under his breath, remembering the mess that Lucky's visit left in the workshop. They would have to clean it all up before Mister Keller gets back.
So you'd better come and help me get started… Vincent meows and Neal shakes his head. Unfortunately, knowing his pets, he will end up being the only one doing all the cleaning.
It's because I have paws, Satchmo tries to save his face. Vincent is just lazy, but if I had hands I would have helped you.
"Uhuh, right," scratching Satchmo behind the ear, Neal smiles and then laughs when Satch jumps on him in response. He guesses there is no harm in playing a little bit first. He tries to get up and run but Satch does not let him. The dog is once again sniffing Neal's clothes. Chuckling, Neal rests his hand on the top of his friend's head. "Bud! What's gotten into you? Ever since I came back you've been acting crazy!"
/\_/\
='x'=
Taking in the scent of the-missing-one, Satch barks. He sniffs his two-leg's hands and clothes and keeps on barking.
You found him! You found him! You found him! The pup chuckles, hugging Satchmo.
Where is he?! Where?! Satch barks, sniffing the little two-leg' s clothes again.
Where is he-who-smells-of-home?!
"Oh! I know! You're excited to get the music box, aren't you?" the-missing-one barks, obviously sharing Satchmo's joy. Soon, their pack will be whole.
You found he-who-smells-of-home! Satch woofs yet again.
/\_/\
='x'=
Rubbing his throbbing forehead, Peter sighed. Was it time to concede defeat? The only criminals his team managed to keep track of were Miller, Douglas and Travis. Three out of five was not bad, but… Right that moment, he could not care any less about those three.
George. He needed to locate the kid almost as badly as he needed to locate Keller. As hours went by and no child with a puppy left the apartment block, Peter started to suspect they might have underestimated the boy. No one on the list of residents seemed particularly suspicious to him, and neither did Keller show up …
Sighing heavily again, Peter dialled the number of his subordinate. Jones picked up only after one signal. "Jones? Leave Meg to it. I'm calling you back."
The silence after his words was an eloquent one. Finally, Jones sighed. "I think he used the rooftops."
Peter nodded. That was the only scenario that made sense. They hang up. Putting away the phone, Peter started to drum his fingers on the desk. He felt distracted. His eyes caught on the clock.
"Damn," Peter mumbled, suddenly noticing the time. Supper with Elizabeth. He forgot. Again.
/\_/\
='x'=
"Hey! I know what we're going to do tomorrow! Besides the heist, I mean." It is late evening when Neal and Satchmo leave the workshop. This is one of those rare occasions when Vincent decides to join them on their walk.
What can possibly be done besides getting ready for the heist? You've heard Mister Keller. We should keep memorizing the schematics, Vincent rebukes Neal. The look in the cat's green eyes is reproachful.
Neal shrugs. "I know Vin, but… Everyone deserves a break, don't they?"
Not really. Not before a heist, the cat meows, then takes a running start and jumps into Neal's arms. As he catches the cat, Vincent purrs. They stop and Neal feels an unexpected lump in his throat. He squats and wraps his free arm around Satchmo.
"Whatever happens tomorrow… The music box's not going to change anything, right?" he asks them almost imploringly.
Satch licks him on the face in response, while Vincent just keeps on purring. Neither of them knows what else they can say. They cannot guess the future. Neal feels tears in his eyes.
"Nothing will change," he repeats more strongly. "Mister Neumann will be angry with Mister Keller, not me, and anyway, he won't know a thing."
Again, just more silence from the animals.
"Nothing will change," Neal repeats yet again. He takes a deep breath, then smiles down at the two. "So? Want to know what I've planned for tomorrow?"
They nod and Neal takes a deep breath. "Tomorrow…" he starts to explain the game he thought of during the meeting for all three of them to play.
/\_/\
='x'=
It was almost 1AM when Peter finally got home. The house was submerged in darkness, and as expected, no barking greeted him. Trying to be quiet, Peter closed the door, took off his shoes and went up the stairs.
He found Elle in their bedroom, surfing on the internet.
"The Chinese is in the fridge," she said even before he managed to open his mouth.
"Thanks, hon." Coming closer, Peter saw she was going through the websites with missing dog announcements. He pursed his lips. "Any luck?" he asked softly.
Elle turned to him with a sigh. "Does it look like it?" she asked, running a hand over her face. Peter hated to see her like that. He sat on the bed next to her and kissed her hand.
"I'm so sorry."
Elle shrugged slightly, resting her head against his chest. "We'll find him."
Hugging his wife, Peter decided against reinforcing that idea. He was not so sure anymore they would. "So…" Elle sighed. "How did today's meeting go?"
Peter ran a hand over his face. He did not know what to say. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Damn it, he was not at work anymore, he should not have to pretend.
"I'm tired," he said after a moment. He really had no strength to talk right then.
"It's all right, hon," Elle told him gently, wrapping her arms around him. "I'm here."
/\_/\
='x'=
"Have I already written to you about the storm I saw recently? The sea was yellowish, especially close to the beach; a streak of light on the horizon and, above this, tremendously huge dark grey clouds from which one saw the rain coming down in slanting streaks…" stopping for a moment, Neal yawns. He loves reading Vincent van Gogh's letters, but he is so tired right now. Vin is lying next to him, his eyes are already closed. Satch blinks a couple of times. They are all so warm.
Neal rests his head on Satchmo's belly again. He raises the book to the light and strokes the little sketch that the editor put next to the translation. "The wind blew the dust from the small white path on the rocks into the sea and tossed the blossoming hawthorn bushes and wallflowers that grow on the rocks…" Neal yawns once again. His eyelids feel heavy and the letters begin to blur together. He blinks one time, then another and… Finally giving up the fight, he buries his face in Satchmo's fur. Sleep wraps around him like a comfy blanket.
/\_/\
='x'=
Neal does not remember the nightmare that has woken him up. All he knows is that one moment he is drifting through the comfy darkness and the next… He is lying wide awake. His heart is pounding as though he has been running. He slowly crawls out from under the bed where Satchmo and Vincent are still asleep.
Everything looks eerie bathed in the light of the street lamps filtering through the curtains. Moving silently through the workshop, Neal checks first the front door, then the balcony. All locked. He breathes with relief, then, not knowing quite what else to do, he opens the fridge. Fortunately, there is still some milk left.
He slumps to the floor and drinks the cold liquid out of the bottle. A shiver runs through him. He thinks briefly of Lucky and wonders what the puppy is doing now. He gets up from the floor to look at the sketches he has made of the little dog.
/\_/\
='x'=
An hour or two has passed since he woke up. There is a messy pile of sketchbooks lying to his left. He has already looked through all of them. The one in front of him now is one of his favourites. He smiles, his fingers hovering over Satchmo's black fur. He likes how this sketch turned out. The charcoal makes the dog look soft and fluffy. He flips through the pages, trying to find the earliest portrait he made of his friend.
A squirrel looks back at him. Just Before We Met, reads the title and Neal, thinking of that day, smiles. He shakes his head remembering Satchmo's food-stand robbery. A lot has happened since then. And to think he thought that PEP officer was after him, not the dog! He rests his chin against his palms, then looks at the drawing intently. He likes it. But he likes the next sketch even more.
The first drawing of Satchmo is perfect. Not really because of the quality of it, but the memories it holds. The smiling dog is lying on the grass with his tongue lolling out. There is a pizza box next to him. Empty, obviously. Smiling some more, Neal is just about to turn to the next page when a small detail catches his attention.
His eyes widen in shock.
Satchmo, you had a collar?!
With his heart pounding, Neal flips through the pages, searching for more evidence and… After that first day Satchmo's collar is gone "No…" he whispers. "No way."
Only there is. Because the more he thinks about it the more he remembers that… Yes. Just like with Lucky, Neal was the one who threw away Satchmo's collar. And he would not find it in a dumpster outside the workshop, he left it in the city. Feeling sick, Neal stands up. He starts to suspect he might know what that nightmare that woke him up was about. But what did Mister Morris say? That New York is full of missing dog flyers? That adults put them up in the veterinary clinics?
With trembling hands Neal puts on his shoes and jacket. He does not want to look into the bedroom where his friends are still sleeping. He is too afraid he will burst into tears if he even tries to look at Satchmo right now. Quietly, Neal opens the balcony door. He just has to know first. He needs to. Swiftly like a cat, Neal disappears into the night.
/\_/\
='x'=
Predictably, when Neal breaks into the vet's office, it turns out to be empty. It is the middle of the night after all. Turning on the flashlight, Neal looks around at what seems to be a waiting area. He feels agitated. He does not want to be here. Deciding that Mister Morris was wrong, he is just about to leave; there are no posters here, when suddenly… Something does catch his attention.
Coming closer, Neal feels dread. He sees a wall full of posters with words Lost Dog written all over them in bold letters. There are countless dogs staring back at him and one of them… He wrenches the poster from the board and clenches it in his shaking hands.
LOST DOG, reads the title.
There is a picture, he notes. The Lab… He knows him.
Of course he does.
It is getting harder to breathe. And there on the dog's neck… That cursed collar. Mocking him.
Name: Satchmo. Right. He feels tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He is so stupid. That stupid name. He got rid of the collar, but in the end he did not get rid of the name. He gazes at his friend for a moment. Then, he takes a deep breath and moves on.
There is a cheerful description below the photo. Satchmo is a very friendly, yellow Labrador Retriever. He's been chipped. Tag and blue collar with him. Answers when called. Will not bite. Please help us find him! They want him.
They want him back.
Area last seen: Brooklyn, New York
Those lying…! He found him in Central Park, not…
He rubs his eyes angrily, trying to reduce the blurring of the text. Bewildered, he scans through the rest of the information.
There it is. The date.
And there. The number. If You Have Any Information Please Contact…
Taking a shuddering breath, Neal crumples the flyer in his hands. He can feel the tears slowly running down his face.
"Why…" he whispers. He feels the bile in his throat.
He thought that Satchmo was alone… That he was…
Like Neal.
Unwanted.
Like Neal.
But he is… Satchmo is…
They want him. They want him back.
…
And because they are adults they will take him back.
Next (11.10-18.10): Have You Seen Me