Author's notes:
First of all, I really wanted to wish you all the best, especially now, when some of you may be having a difficult time. May peace be on your lips and in your hearts. ❤ :)
I'm very sorry for the delay. On Tuesday I updated notes for Chapter 12 to let you know that I was going to be late. In the future, if such a situation happens again, I will let you know about it the same way.
I'm planning to post the next chapter in six weeks (Sunday 14.02).
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 13 "Satch's Home"
"Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, love is not pompous, it is not inflated,
it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury,
it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth."
1 Corinthians 13:4-6 (NABRE)
Somehow, they managed to get home without any further adventures. Neal seemed to be content in the silence and both Elle's mind and heart were too chaotic for her to think of anything more to say. The little hand in hers felt terrifyingly fragile. It was almost as if she was not holding Neal's hand, but his whole fate. She had to contact the child's uncle as soon as possible.
"We're here." Elle stopped and pushed the gate open.
The boy chuckled, letting go of her hand. "Satch knows we're here!" he said in delight, pointing at the dog as he ran up the stairs and to the front door.
"So he does," Elle said, closing the gate. Her throat felt tight.
Did the boy really just tell her first that he loved her, then that he hated her, and then that he wanted to stay at her home? What happened to his mum? And why was his uncle not picking up?
"Oh, that's why you chose 106! That's awfully lazy, Elle!" Neal said as she got to the top of the stairs.
She blinked. "What?"
The boy grinned. "Your PIN. It's not safe. You should seriously consider changing it to something more random," he said.
"My PIN? What do you—" Elle paused. 106. "You saw my PIN?!"
Neal stopped smiling. His eyes took on the wild, frightened expression she had already known before. She wanted to kick herself for her lack of calm. The poor child needed her calm. Even if… He spied on her PIN somehow when she was paying for pizza.
"I'm sorry, sweetie. I did not mean to raise my voice," she immediately apologized, ceasing to search for the keys. Then, suddenly, she chuckled. "Oh, you're right," she turned to look at Neal in awe. "You know I did not think there was a connection until now?" She shook her head and snorted again, as she realized… that Peter hadn't noticed it either. They lived at Cambridge Place 106 and part of her PIN consisted exactly of those three digits. Exactly the same order.
"Thanks for the tip, kiddo," she said.
/\_/\
='x'=
Smiling in relief, Neal nods. Not that it is useful to have a good password when you enter your PIN the way the lady does. He decides not to say it though. She does not seem to be a forger after all. Maybe an anonymous artist then?
He would like her to be an anonymous artist. They would have a lot to talk about then.
"Okay, found them," Elle says and then turns the key in the lock. Neal does not have to go inside to know Mister Keller would not find anything of value in there. The lock says it all.
She opens the door and Satchmo immediately runs inside. Neal pauses on the threshold. Cautiously, he takes a look around.
He notices a plant – some exotic kind, a blue chair and…
"The rug says wipe your paws," he mumbles.
The lady chuckles. "Yep, it does. But Satch never listens anyway."
He meets her eyes. "Well, it's not like he can read…"
She smiles. "Unfortunately not. He knows sit, paw and fetch but… That's about it, I guess. Stay is still a headache."
Neal enters the house. Snuggling Vincent close to his face, Neal cocks his head at Elle. "What do you mean?"
"Let me show you," she says. "Satch!"
Satch comes running back. Before he can jump at her, the lady extends her hand in a stop gesture…. And the dog comes to a halt. "Sit!" Elle then commands.
Surprised, Neal watches as the dog obeys again.
"I did not know he could do that!" He has had no idea Satchmo could actually understand him!
"Huh." Elle gives him a smile. "Okay, then watch," she turns to look at Satch, who is now smelling large, black tuxedo shoes. "Satchmo!" The dog happily abandons the task and jumps back to her. "Sit." The dog sits. "Paw!"
Satchmo gives Elle his right paw and she shakes it.
"Good boy!" Elle smiles.
"Aw!" Neal exclaims and squats next to Satchmo. He puts Vincent down on the floor.
"This is my most favourite one, Neal. Watch." She turns to look at Satch. "Satchmo, slippers! Slippers," she says.
/\_/\
='x'=
He is so excited. Finally, they have made it to the Burke-den. Finally, he can rest. But where is he-who-smells-of-home? Is he still lost?
"Satchmo, slippers!" she-who-smells-of-home says. Satch cocks his head.
It does mean something. He knows it does. He whines.
Hesitantly, he looks around the room. There are so many smells here. So many new smells! It is amazing and so wrong at the same time. He cannot smell himself anymore. This needs to be fixed.
"Slippers," she-who-smells-of-home says yet again.
Overcome with joy, Satch barks. Then, in one quick move, he picks up the shoe that smells of he-who-smells-of-home. He brings it to she-who-smells-of-home and then runs for another one.
Where is he? he barks.
"Amazing!" the-found-one whines.
"Good boy," she-who-smells-of-home chuckles. "Though I meant my slippers and not Peter's poor shoes." She takes another shoe from Satch and then ruffles his fur.
/\_/\
='x'=
After lovingly petting Satch one last time, Elle gets up from the floor. "Feel at home, sweetie. Come on. I'll show you around," she says.
Curious, Neal follows.
"Here's the living room," the lady says as they leave the entryway. Just outside of it, on the wall on his right, there is a security control panel. Further on, there are comfy looking sofas placed around a fireplace. "The bathroom is the first door on the left, if you need to use it."
He nods, staring at the warm, pastel colours of the house. This place would really be completely worthless to his mentor. Something on his right catches his eye. It is a reproduction of the Almond Blossoms. "You like Vincent too!"
Elle smiles. "Yeah, I do. Peter got it for my birthday."
Neal frowns. This Peter the husband again. He already does not like him. He tries to ask a question, when, behind the lady, he spots another familiar artwork. Amazed, he runs towards it. This time, it is a reproduction of a pastel drawing. "And you like Stanisław!"
The lady joins him. "Stanisław Wyspiański, yeah," she sighs and for a moment, Neal thinks she looks almost sad. Then, she meets his eyes, smiling softly. "What do you like about his art?"
"This one is called Motherhood," Neal says, somewhat cautiously. Elle's smile gives him the courage to continue. "He made a lot of pastel drawings with that name, but this one he completed in 1904 which… I mean," he snorts, pointing eloquently at the date written under Wyspiański's signature, "is in a way obvious…" his voice trails off as he looks at the artwork again. "This is his wife, Teodora, holding one of their children in her arms… Staś, maybe? I know he was the youngest and he does, kind of, look around three here."
Elle sits on the edge of one of the armchairs. "You really know a lot Neal."
"Was it a birthday present too?" he asks.
Looking away, the lady shakes her head. "No, Peter gave it to me shortly after we had learned about our first—" she breaks off abruptly and reaches over to pat his arm. Her smile seems a bit fragile. "It does not matter now, sweetie. Tell me, are you hungry? We can make some dessert if you want to."
"Yeah?" he asks a bit warily. She is not angry with him, is she?
Elle nods. "Come on. Let's see what we have in the fridge."
After giving the reproduction one last, thoughtful glance, Neal follows the lady into the kitchen. He distractedly takes note of two more framed pictures but does not ask about them. His eyes are on Elle.
He watches her open the fridge, then frown at its contents. She glances at him.
"Okay. I say we bake chocolate chip cookies."
"Bake?" Neal echoes.
"Would you like to help me?"
Can he? "I've never baked anything before."
Except for the paintings maybe. He knows how to age those.
"That's okay. It's very simple." Elle takes out milk and eggs and puts them on the table. "All we need is…"
/\_/\
='x'=
Elle knew she had switched to baking due to stress. She found cooking to be calming. And she needed to be calm if she were to help the boy.
Neal was happy to help. After giving the water to both Satch and Vincent, they prepared the dough together. She was just finishing placing the rounded spoonfuls of dough on the baking tray when Neal helped himself to one of the little bowls from the cupboard and poured milk into it.
Almost the very moment he finished, the ginger ball of fluff jumped onto the table top and started to lap the milk thirstily. While his cat was on it, Neal started drinking milk too - straight from the bottle. Elle had to hide her amused smile.
She glanced sideways at Satch and thought once again, that the dog… Looked a little rounder around the edges since the last time she had seen him. Remembering how Satchmo had eaten nearly half of the child's pizza in a restaurant, she could not say she was surprised. Whining, Satchmo rested his front paws on her legs as she patted his head. He was not going to take much liking to the upcoming dietary change, she knew.
She felt Neal's gaze on her and turned to face him. "Do you want to ask something, sweetie?"
"Um," she watched the boy run his hand over Vincent's fur and struggled to keep her face neutral, seeing where the hair was about to land. The poor cookies. "Vincent may or may not be hungry for tuna."
"Oh." She creased her brow. "Do we have tuna?"
She could not remember. She opened one of the drawers, then another one. Neal stood by her side. She felt his presence just as before. Like a little, so very fragile responsibility that she did not feel prepared for. They had to try calling his uncle again.
"Will salmon do?" she finally asked, as the last can turned out to be just tomato puree.
"Yeah," the boy easily agreed and she gave him the can and a small plate. In a moment of clarity, she took the child by the arm and gestured to the counter on her right, away from the cookies.
"Vincent can eat there, okay?"
"Sure," Neal nodded and opened the can. Elle picked up the bowl of milk and moved it so it sat by the child's elbow. Almost immediately, Vincent jumped off the table onto the counter, purring loudly, followed by a tornado of fur. As Neal served Vincent the tuna, Elle stifled a sneeze.
The oven beeped. "It's ready," Neal announced happily.
Smiling, Elle looked down at the dear child. "Looks like it," she nodded. "But how about if we pick out all that fur first?"
"Fur?" Neal asked, just as Elle picked up the first few strands of hair that had found their way into the dough. "Oh…" he said, a moment later.
Elle chuckled softly, meeting his eyes. "As a dog owner I'm very familiar with the problem. I don't know about cats, but with dogs at least, brushing them daily helps."
"Really? I never brush Vincent," Neal said, helping her pick out the cat's fur.
"Oh? But he looks so clean!" Elle glanced sideways at the long-haired cat.
"Huh." For a moment, the blue eyes on her were thoughtful. Then, Neal shrugged. "Maybe it's because he does not mind water."
"You bathe him?"
"Sometimes," the child said. "When he gets too stinky. When I tried to bathe Claude though, he immediately ran away and avoided me for a week."
Elle frowned. Claude? Another cat?
"Claude the Original, I mean," Neal said after a moment, not looking up from his task. "Claude The Second would never have come close enough to me that I could pick him up. I only managed to pet him two or three times. While he was eating tuna." The child paused, then took a cautious look at Elle. "Do you think that's why he does not come anymore?"
She blinked. "Who?"
"Claude The Original. Because I tried to give him a bath…"
"But you've said he did come, avoiding you for only a week."
Neal's gaze grew distant. He shook his head. "Yes, but then after just a month or so he disappeared. And I haven't seen him since."
"Was he a stray cat?" Elle asked, just to make sure they were on the same page.
The child nodded.
"Well, maybe he found a family. Maybe someone adopted him and that's why he could not visit you and Vincent anymore."
Neal gave her a fleeting smile that faded as quickly as it appeared. "When I asked my uncle about it, he told me the stupid cat probably got run over by a car."
Elle's stomach tightened. "And what do you think?" she asked in an even tone of voice.
Neal cocked his head at her. "Huh?"
"If you were to guess, what do you think happened to Claude?" she clarified.
"Oh." The child furrowed his forehead. After a moment he shrugged. "I don't know. In the street people disappear all the time."
What?
Neal smiled. "Still," he said. "If I were to guess I would say he just betrayed us." Neal chuckled. "That's what Satch told me when I interrogated him."
Elle shook herself. "Sweetie, I thought Claude was a cat."
Neal glanced up at her, confused. "He is."
"Oh, okay," Elle nodded, still feeling a bit strained. "So… Claude betrayed you?"
Neal's shoulders stiffened and his expression shuttered. He looked away. "I know cats can't betray, ma'm," he said tightly.
"Maybe they can't," Elle agreed, trying to hide her surprise at his change of mood. "Nevertheless, it was an interesting story you told me. I would be happy to hear more. You've said you interrogated Satchmo?"
The child's expression remained blank. "Don't talk like that Elle. Dogs can't talk so they can't be interrogated," he said tonelessly, still not looking at her.
"Yes, of course," Elle said mildly. She gave the child a soft smile. "I think it's nice to imagine stories sometimes."
Neal did not seem to hear her. "The cookies are clean now." His gaze flicked back to her. "Ma'm," he added stiffly.
Elle blinked. "Okay," she nodded. "Want to open the oven for me?" she asked putting on the gloves.
Neal obliged without a word. They put the cookies inside. "Now what?" he asked.
Elle glanced at the clock. "We have to wait ten minutes. Meanwhile we can clean the kitchen, if you want to help me."
"I do," the child mumbled.
"Thank you," Elle said warmly. Neal looked up. "You're a great help, sweetie."
"I am?"
Elle smiled. "You are," she reassured him. "It's really fun to have someone to cook with."
Neal's shoulders relaxed. "I think so too," the child quietly said. "Elle," he added.
"I'm glad," she said softly, and Neal's guarded lack of expression turned into a sort of a smile.
The boy took a look around and after spying the sponge, he wet it and started to vigorously clean the countertop. Bemused, Elle joined him. She grabbed the baking mat, put it in the sink, and turned on the water.
/\_/\
='x'=
"They're ready!" Elle says, abandoning the dishcloth and putting on the oven gloves again. Neal stands by her side, curious to see what the freshly baked cookies will look like.
"They surely smell good," he says.
The lady nods. "Yeah. But be careful, the tray is ho— Neal!"
Holding the hot cookie in his hand, Neal freezes. Has he done something wrong?
"Wait for it to cool or else you'll burn your tongue."
"I'm sorry," he says, putting the cookie on the table.
"That's okay. I was just worried," Elle says, taking off the gloves. He watches her take a deep breath, as if to brace herself. "Now we just have to wait a couple more minutes. So maybe in the meantime we give your uncle a call?"
Neal sighs. Not this uncle thing again. "He's probably still busy."
"We should still try to call him again."
Neal tries not to roll his eyes as he takes his phone out of his pocket. He dials the number. His own number. Or rather the number of one of his still clean burn-phones.
Out of a corner of his eye he watches Elle move the cookies from the tray to the bowl.
"I was right. He's not picking up," he tells her after the ringing signal ends.
"That's okay. Try again," she says, taking the bowl, her coffee and his half-drunk milk bottle into her hands. "Let's move to the living room."
Dialling the number again, Neal follows Elle. She guides him to a comfy looking corner with sofas and armchairs lined up around the fireplace. She puts the bowl and drinks on the coffee table and sits down on one of the sofas. Neal drops down beside Elle and gives her a surreptitious look.
What exactly is her deal? Why does she want to contact 'his uncle' so much? He hopes that she will let go of the subject after he calls her tomorrow and gets Mil to pretend to be his uncle. Come to think of it, he probably should not be using Mil for that. Someone else then. Someone less willing to tell Mister Keller about the whole ordeal. Mister Morris, maybe? He had known the adult for just one day but he seemed alright. And he told Neal that he liked dogs, so provided that Neal would explain the situation to him and agree to do a little favour in return for this-
"Still nothing?" Elle's question intrudes on his thoughts.
"No," Neal shakes his head sadly.
He watches the lady rub her temple. "That's okay," she sighs. "We'll just try again in a little while."
Relieved, Neal pockets the phone.
"Okay," he says and then grins as the lady picks up the bowl with the cookies and offers it to him.
"I'm waiting for your verdict. Are we a good team of cooks, or not?"
He enthusiastically takes the offered snack and stuffs it in his mouth. The cookie is still warm and the chocolate is melting on his tongue. It tastes nothing like those packaged cookies he sometimes buys. "This is delicious!" he says around the crumbly goodness in his mouth.
Elle chuckles. "I completely agree. Good team effort."
Neal grabs another cookie.
"So, what do we do now? Do you want to draw?"
"Oh," he says. He completely forgot about that promise. "Okay."
Elle gets up. "Be right back with the supplies," she says briskly.
Munching on the cookie, Neal thinks it is hard to believe that there are only a few hours left till the heist… He stifles a yawn. He really hopes Mister Keller knows what he is doing. After a moment, Satchmo climbs onto the couch next to Neal and pushes his big head onto his lap, demanding scratches. Neal lazily strokes the dog's ears. He is so tired.
/\_/\
='x'=
The moment Elle was in the kitchen, she took out her phone. Looking at the hour, she suddenly realized she would need Peter's help after all. It was past 8PM already and the child's uncle was still not picking up. She could not imagine driving the boy to the empty house. If his uncle did not call back soon, she would just have to drop the child off around midnight when the man was supposed to come home from work.
However, at that hour, it would not be wise to go alone and she could use some help either way.
After writing to Peter, she quickly opened one of the drawers of her desk. She searched it for any art supplies she could find. There were not so many of them. Four highlighters, two pencils, five pens… At least blank sheets of paper she had plenty of.
They would have to make do with what they had. If Neal liked to paint, she would buy more suitable painting materials tomorrow.
When she came back to the living room, she found the child snuggled on the couch, with Satchmo as his pillow. As she came closer, Neal opened his eyes.
"You're back," he said, sitting up and stifling a yawn. "Did you find them?"
"Yeah." Elle said and put the supplies down on the coffee table.
/\_/\
='x'=
Neal frowns at the bundle of office supplies that the lady has brought. All the pencils are HB. Looking at the highlighters hurts his eyes. The pens are black and blue… This whole set in fact is for taking notes, not drawing.
"Honestly, sweetie, I don't have any other supplies because I don't really draw very often," Elle says, as if reading his thoughts. "I hope that's okay with you. We can still have fun drawing with what we've got, right?"
Neal is not so certain they can. Elle, on the other hand is. He watches her sit cross-legged on the carpet and then glance back at him, a gentle smile on her face. "When I was around your age, I used to fill the margins of my notebooks with doodles," she says. "It was something to do when the lessons were unbearably boring. Is that still a thing at school?"
He does not know. He never went to school.
"Sure," he says aloud. Elle smiles.
"I think I want to draw Vincent." She picks one of the miserable looking pencils. "I told you this before, but I've never met a more laidback cat. The way he keeps calm and lets you carry him everywhere… If I saw you two walking down the street, at first glance, I would have mistaken Vincent for a small, ginger dog. Though I probably should not have said it as it might be insulting to the cat," she quips.
Neal cannot see her drawing from this angle. He tries to twist his neck to see, but Elle is just in the way and… Struggling out of Satch's hug, Neal slides off the couch to the floor. The dog opens one eye and yawns heavily, then just curls up in a different position and closes his eyes again. Someone needs a nap. Ignoring Satch, Neal sits on Elle's left and…
"Huh," he mumbles, seeing the caricature that most definitely is not his friend.
"Would you like to tell me how you met Vincent?" Elle asks, looking up from her doodle .
"Not really." Neal shakes his head, his eyes still focused on the doodle. It is not very good.
Like, at all.
He watches the lady draw three whiskers each on the sides of the cat's face.
"Oh. Okay. So maybe you want to hear the story of how Satch got adopted?" Elle asks.
"Sure," Neal mumbles. He thinks that Elle can still be just pretending to be an amateur, but…
"Okay. So I think it was about… Six years ago," Elle says. "With Peter we were…" Not much interested in the story, Neal keeps glancing at the lady. He lets her words wash over him and his thoughts rush.
No, he decides after a moment. She would not lie about something like this. So… Elle cannot paint.
Slowly, he takes a blank sheet of paper.
But if someone cannot paint, is it not an even more important reason for them to stick around someone who can?
For example, Mister Keller can paint, he just dislikes doing it, and therefore needs Neal, but if his mentor could not paint… Wouldn't Neal be even more valuable to him then?
Neal glances at Satch, who is peacefully napping on the sofa. This is a very high-stakes game, he suddenly realizes. He has to be perfect.
/\_/\
='x'=
Hearing the soft rustle of papers, Elle smiled but tried to hold back her curiosity for the moment. She focused on finishing her doodle. The cat only lacked a tail.
There. She eyed her handiwork with a critical eye. It was… A bit crooked maybe. Should she draw Satchmo now? Her eyes strayed over to Neal. She suppressed her amusement as she watched his tongue stick out from the corner of his mouth in childlike concentration. He looked cute. She looked distractedly at the sheet of paper the boy crouched over. She always liked children's drawings and was very curious about what he came up with.
At first she was not sure what she was looking at. Then she understood. From among the maze of confidently but slightly marked construction lines, was emerging not one figure but several, a whole complex, dynamic scene. The captured movement perfectly conveyed the emotions, combined with a perfectly selected composition and a dramatic angle, the viewer could not help but be drawn in. Mesmerized, she watched the drawing come to life with every stroke, every broad gesture, and every tiniest detail. A PEP officer, a running dog, a confused little boy. All of them within a beautifully sketched Central Park. She blinked. And an apparently furious, bellowing man rapidly closing in on them. It was a mapping of Neal's first encounter with Satchmo, there was no doubt about it.
Elle relaxed. She loved watching live drawing shows hosted by artists. She settled into a more comfortable position and rested her head in her hands.
/\_/\
='x'=
Neal's final touch is the collar that Satchmo lost on the second day. He knows that the lady has been watching him draw almost since the beginning, but only now, as the drawing is finished, does he really feel her eyes on him for the first time. He clenches the pencil in his hand.
Is it good enough? Mister Keller would probably say no.
Neal bites his lip. His mentor is good at pointing out all of Neal's mistakes, wherever he can find them. Which is good. After all, they want to pass the paintings for originals. He wishes his mentor could be here, with him, to tell him what to do next and how to talk to the lady. He really needs his expertise. He is not sure if he can-
"Finished?" Hearing the soft question, Neal looks up. Elle is smiling at him.
Glancing down at the drawing, Neal nods slightly. This is bad, he thinks. He should have chosen a different subject. He should have copied someone else's drawing.
"That's how you and Satch met, isn't it?"
He forces to nod his head.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but is that the owner of the food-stand Satch has robbed?"
"Yeah."
"Oh," Elle chuckles. "So he joined that chase too?"
Looking sidelong at Satchmo, Neal clenches his fists, his nails digging painfully into the skin of his palms. He will have to come back to the empty workshop tonight. And the night after that too. Because the drawing sucks and Elle must now believe he will not be able to forge anything for her. She thinks he is useless and it is his fault. And if it turns out that Mister Keller is wrong in his calculations, if it turns out that Mister Neumann somehow found out about the betrayal… There will be no one to turn to when his mentor's whaling plan is destroyed.
"I can― I can draw better," he hears his whisper. "This pencil is trash, that's why―" he pauses, his eyes return to Elle. It was she who has given him the pencil. "I mean, it's not like that, it's just―" he clumps his mouth shut. He puts his forearms on the table, trying to hide the stupid drawing. He can feel its edges crumbling. Maybe it is okay, he tries to reason with himself. Maybe Mister Keller's plan will work and he will not need Elle. Yeah. Probably. Mister Keller has promised.
/\_/\
='x'=
"Sweetheart!" Elle gasped and reached out to save the drawing. In response to her cry, the boy leaned even more protectively over his work. What is going on? "Sweetie," Elle repeated more calmly. "Let me see it, please?"
The distrust in Neal's eyes was evident. After a while, the boy slowly raised his elbows and deliberately shifted the drawing to her side of the table.
Elle delicately pulled the drawing closer to herself by its edges, taking care not to damage it further. She considered it carefully. She felt she was holding something precious in her hands.
"It's a lovely drawing, Neal," she said softly, looking at him with a soft smile. She looked down. "I really like how varied your strokes are. Each area holds so much interest, the interplay of shadows, the textures. Not a single part of it is boring, there are so many details. And yet the eyesight immediately turns to the main subject, the action. The composition is what really sets it apart, I think, you've truly nailed it, Neal." She looked up and flashed him a smile.
The boy's blue eyes were alert as he gazed back at her.
She pushed the drawing towards the centre of the table, studying it. She tapped her lower lip thoughtfully. It was not hard to say what she liked. There was not a part of it she did not. But what touched her most, though, was… "I may be biased, but what I like most about this drawing is Satch. I immediately recognized this jumpy, silly pose of his. I've seen it so many times during our walks… He is so lifelike in your drawing. All the characters are. Every individual is so distinct, with small features and details that make them unique, and the way you conveyed their emotions… I love when a graphic tells a story, and yours does it so well. In fact, I think each character has their own story to tell. You've really brought that moment to life, Neal. Now I feel as though I was part of your meeting." She looked up at the boy in front of her, her eyes shining. She enjoyed talking about art so much that she sometimes forgot herself. "What about you, Neal, what do you like best about your drawing?"
/\_/\
='x'=
Elle likes it. Elle likes this drawing. Elle… She really does like it. He swallows the bile in his throat and looks away, trying to gather his thoughts. He knows he had a plan, but he forgot… What… What is he to do now?
He looks at her doodle cat. He pulls it to himself, carefully looking at it. He scrunches his eyebrows in concentration. "Uh…" His mind is blank. What should he say? "Uh… Your drawing is interesting too, Elle. It is… cute?" he looks up at Elle. She is smiling.
"Thank you!" She beams at him. Suddenly his face turns hot. He ducks his head and sees the doodle cat again. It is smiling back at him. Would Elle notice if he took it?
His fingers draw idle patterns near the doodle's left ear. He can do this without her noticing a thing. He is a pro. "I think we forgot to turn off the oven."
"Oh?" Elle blinks in surprise.
It is the dumbest excuse his brain could have come up with. Neal swallows a grimace, holding her gaze. When did he become such a rookie? "We have to check it," he insists.
Mister Keller's rulebook says that if you began, you have to follow through.
"Oh. Okay." Elle stands up. "I'm thirsty. I think I will make myself lemonade. Would you like a glass?"
"Sure," Neal nods. This is so dumb. He cannot believe this is working.
Elle picks up the empty milk bottle and her mug from the table. "Yesterday, I bought a mango. I like to invent new lemonade flavours."
"Cool," Neal answers, giving her back a single, cautious glance. He follows her, but his attention is focused on the drawing. He has to fold the edges without her hearing the rustle of the paper. Being careful not to crease the doodle cat, he makes the first fold. Three more and it's ready. Stealthily, he pockets the doodle just in time. They are in the kitchen.
"No, it's okay. We turned it off," Elle says, glancing at him.
Neal smiles back. "Cool."
"Let's see." Elle takes a mango out of a fruit bowl. Neal perches on the counter stool. While Elle is in the preparations, Neal notices his leftover cookie. The 'too hot one'. Neal grins and shoves it into his mouth. Elle will be such a wonderful adult to work with, he thinks. Tomorrow, he totally has to start working on a Leonardo or a Raphael for her! Still smiling, Neal rests his chin in his hands.
Hopefully, she will like it even more than she did his drawing.
/\_/\
='x'=
Jones was on his way to Peter's office when he met Diana. As it turned out, they had the same destination. His colleague rushed past him, not slowing down until she was inside.
"We know Keller's location," she said, as she walked over to their boss's desk. She gave Peter the file. Jones quickly joined them as they examined it. "Smith's tailing him."
"Good," Peter said, his eyes shifting for a moment from Diana to Jones. Then he looked back at his probie. "And George?"
She shook her head. "No sign of the child, boss," she said quietly.
"Well," Peter sighed. "At least we know he's not with Keller."
They watched him drum his fingers on the desk. "Good, good."
He got up from his chair. "It's good you two are here. We have a change of plans."
Jones frowned. Change of plans?
"Basically…" They watched their boss pinch the bridge of his nose. "Satchmo's back."
"Satchmo's back?" Diana echoed.
"You mean the dog?" Jones asked, equally surprised.
Peter snorted. "Yes, the dog, Jones."
"But that's wonderful―" Diana cut herself off. "Isn't it?"
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose again, then sighed. "Yeah," he said. "It is wonderful. However, he did not come home alone. A troubled kid tagged along. Elle says the boy looks 9-12 years old."
"…Like George?" Diana asked, frowning.
Their boss grimaced. "I hope George is older than that."
"It's a hell of a coincidence after all," Jones said slowly.
Peter nodded. "And a really bad timing," he stated.
A bad feeling settled in Jones's gut. Change of plans.
"The thing is, his uncle is not picking up the phone. Neal claims there is no one else Elle could call, other than his uncle. What's worse, he says his uncle will not be home until after midnight. So Elle naturally does not want to let him go by himself. Instead, she set her mind on trying to contact the uncle, and if that does not work, driving the child off around midnight. And then taking the time to talk to the uncle in order to… Well, get a better understanding of the situation and decide whether someone should intervene."
"She can't go alone," both Diana and Jones said almost simultaneously.
"Yeah, I agree," he said. "And that's why I called you two here."
Jones rubbed his forehead. It was not true. Initially Peter called him, not Diana. Her responsibilities were more central during the takedown. He sighed.
"I'll go," he said. "Taylor can take over."
Peter nodded seriously. "Thank you Jones," he said. "I don't like this, but… Elle needs someone she can trust on this," he shrugged. "The kid's been acting troubled."
"I understand," Jones nodded.
"Good," Peter said. "We'd better get going then."
"You're coming too?"
"Yeah. I have to see George 2.0 that Elle had to deal with. Even if only for a moment," he said, putting on his jacket. "Gut feeling," he added. Jones and Diana exchanged glances.
"George 2.0," Jones snorted and Diana chuckled. Her laughter sounded nervous, she too must have already been feeling on edge before the action. Peter was absolutely right. That other kid's timing could not possibly be any worse.
Next (Sunday 14.02): Peter's Choice