Author's notes:
Hi! I hope you're doing well. ❤ Once again I want to tell you how much your comments mean to me. It warms my heart to see you're enjoying the story. :) ❤
Guests Hillary, Macy and MarJan53, thank you for your kind comments! I was very happy to read them. ❤
I hope to post the next chapter in three weeks (30.05).
The illustrations 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 18 "Bad Times"
"The Lord looked down from the holy heights,
viewed the earth from heaven,
To attend to the groaning of the prisoners,
to release those doomed to die."
Psalms 102:20-21 (NABRE)
Neal has not been kidnapped. The reason the adult has ordered him to get in the van is because they need his help with something. With feds sniffing around, calling Neal and then waiting for him to come over would just be too impractical. This way is much quicker. As to the zip ties… Anyone can get a bit paranoid at times. So they do not mean anything. Not really.
The van takes a sharp turn to the right. Neal fights the acceleration. Somehow, he manages to remain still and not fall onto the adult sitting on his left. Their shoulders are touching, and he hates it. The adult who grabbed him back in the workshop coughs and Neal's gaze for a moment flicks to him.
It was his voice he heard back in the mansion. Kyler, the other adult called him. The man's face is indifferent as he absent-mindedly rotates the gun in his hand. Neal recognizes the pistol as Five-seveN. He turns his gaze back to his hands. His knuckles are white. The zip ties feel tight on his wrists. His fingers hurt from the tension. He tries to flex them. They tingle.
/\_/\
='x'=
As the van comes to an abrupt stop Neal stirs. Has he been sleeping? The van door opens and Neal is blinded by the light.
The adult sitting next to him grabs his armpit. "Get up," comes the man's command. His grip on Neal's shoulder is strong.
His heart is pounding and his legs go numb. Finally, he manages to comply and scramble onto his feet. The adult pushes him out of the van and Neal stumbles. The adult's hand steadies him.
Looking around, Neal can see that they are at what appears to be a parking lot of some private property. He notices that three other cars are parked to his left. His eyes linger on the registration plates. Two of them are not from New York.
"And where's his hood, you idiot!"
"No, wait―" Neal whispers as the scratchy bag gets pulled over his head. He tugs at the fabric, trying to take it off.
"Calm down," the adult says, his hands keeping Neal in place.
Blood is pumping in Neal's ears. He can feel the prickle of tears in his eyes. The air under the hood feels hot. They are not going to kill him, are they?
The pressure on his shoulder increases and Neal understands the adult wants him to start walking.
/\_/\
='x'=
Neal's head is dizzy. His breaths sound unbearably loud. There is no air. Instead of in here, he could be at the workshop right now, Neal thinks. He could be painting Wheatfield with Crows. One of Vincent's greatest works.
Neal smiles, imaging the strokes he would make to paint the artwork. Then, suddenly his smile falters.
Wheatfield with Crows is one of Vincent's last paintings. Only in a couple of days or so after its completion the artist will die! And he does not know it yet! Neal needs to warn him, tell him―
Neal stumbles, but the adult jerks him upright.
"Sorry," Neal mumbles.
His guide remains quiet, but the grip on Neal's shoulder becomes almost painful.
Wheatfield with Crows was completed on the tenth of July. In letters to his brother Vincent wrote: They are vast fields of wheat under troubled skies, and I did not need to go out of my way to try to express sadness and extreme loneliness.
Neal tries again to take refuge in the brushwork of the masterpiece. They are vast fields of wheat under troubled skies―
His feet lose touch with the ground and Neal cries. His guide throws him over his shoulder. "Calm down," the adult tells him.
Breathing hard, Neal says nothing. The hood slides down his neck enough, so that he catches a few glimpses of the stairs. But nothing more. Just the stairs the adult is climbing.
When they get to the top, Neal sees someone's shoes. They are covered in mud.
"Leave it with Skinner. Then come to the boss," the new voice informs them.
"Alright," the guide says.
"I- I c-can walk on m―," Neal breaks off. His voice sounds so quiet, so weird. He can barely recognize it as his own. The adult does not seem to have heard him anyway. He keeps walking as if Neal has said nothing.
/\_/\
='x'=
Neal's legs collapse under him as his feet hit the floor. The guide grips Neal by the arm and steadies him.
"Thank you, sir," Neal mumbles.
"Skinner," the guide says suddenly and tugs on the hood.
The light of the room blinds Neal.
He blinks savagely.
He needs to remember to be polite, cooperative, to do everything―
Blood.
There is blood on the adult's clothing. Blood spatters on the man's face, on his hands, on his shirt…Neal's wide-open eyes shift from one bloodstain to another. Breathing hard, he tries to break free from the grip on his shoulders, but all his attempts are in vain. His gaze meets that of the adult.
The man named Skinner regards him in silence, and as the seconds stretch, Neal's struggle eases. Finally, all Neal can do is look at the adult. Frozen, he stares at his bloodstained features. His indifferent, cold eyes. Neal feels his legs giving in under him. Still, he is not able to look away.
Finally, Skinner releases Neal from his gaze. His eyes meet those of someone behind Neal. "Put him back with the other one," the man says, and his voice is as dispassionate as his gaze was. He takes a step back and makes a sharp go-ahead gesture.
Neal somehow manages to obey the hand weighting down on his shoulder. He stumbles forward and the guide pushes him into a small room.
Neal gasps.
Frozen, he is staring at the corpse. Horrific wounds cover it.
Feeling sick, Neal covers his mouth. He recoils and his back hits the door with a thud. It is closed, he realizes. The adults have closed the door. The adults have left him in this room, along with the corpse…
Suddenly, a long, pained moan can be heard.
Neal stares down. Is he alive? Swallowing the bile in his throat, Neal moves his lips. No sound comes out. He tries again. "A-Are you okay, sir?" His voice is just a whisper.
A shiver runs down the body, but otherwise the man makes no answer.
Neal clenches his hands into fists. He stands up with difficulty, using the wall as a support. Two steps carry him to the middle of the room and only then does he finally see the man's face.
It is swollen and shapeless. Blue is mixed with black and scarlet. The left eye is barely visible under the lesion. The man's weirdly crooked nose is bloody. The left corner of the mouth is open. Neal watches the blood trickle down the adult's chin onto the floor.
Legs give in under Neal and he falls to his knees. He stares at the man that… That cannot possibly be―
Somewhat jerkily, Neal lies his hand on Mister Keller's bruised shoulder.
Immediately, the man lets out a frightened shriek, and Neal winces. He closes his mouth and watches the sobbing adult try to crawl away from him in vain.
"N-no… No…" his mentor sobs. "P-please. D-don't…"
Finally, Neal regains his speech. He has to move his lips for a moment before he manages to make a sound.
"M-Mister Keller," he whispers. "It's me, Mister Keller."
The adult's sobs intensify.
Slowly, Neal takes off his jacket and tucks it around the man, who yet again flinches at the touch.
"Mister Keller," he repeats pleadingly. "I'm not going to hurt you…"
His mentor does not seem to hear him.
Neal leans over the adult so that he would have to look at him. "It's m-me. Georgie."
Finally, the adult's dazed gaze focuses on Neal. Something like recognition appears on the man's face. Neal watches his mentor blink for a moment owlishly, then twist his mouth in a snarl.
"A kid. They've sent me a kid," he croaks. He is no longer shaking. He closes his eyes heavily and as moments pass and the adult says nothing more, Neal clenches his fists.
"M-Mister Keller? Please, you can't― I mean, I d-don't think you should be falling asleep, you n-need to―"
The breathless sneer interrupts Neal's pleading. "Shut up," the adult says. He opens his bloodshot eyes. "Shut up and help me sit up, boy."
After a moment of hesitation, Neal takes the adult by his armpits. The adult groans in pain as Neal drags him into a more sedentary position. He leans his mentor's back against the wall and lets go of his hand.
Neal listens silently as the adult start cursing again.
Finally, Mister Keller calms down. His gaze locks with Neal's.
"What, Neumann, you think that if you scare the kid enough, you won't have to get your hands dirty," Mister Keller sneers. There is a maddening gleam in his healthy eye. "The bastard is watching everything, you know."
Neal does not answer, but as he stares at the ceiling, his eyes meet an unblinking, dead eye of a camera. It is located in the right corner of the room. Neal feels his stomach tighten. He looks away.
"On the other hand, maybe you just want to play with the kid," his mentor continues, with a weird smile on his face. "I can't say I don't understand. It's fun watching people sweat."
"Mister Keller…" Neal does not know what he wants to say. He looks at the adult pleadingly.
"Mister Keller, what?" his mentor spats.
Neal closes his eyes. He tries to calm himself, but he just cannot. The tears pile up in his eyes. Wishing he could disappear, he hides his face away from the adult.
Suddenly, a hand rests on Neal's shoulder.
Alarmed, he opens his eyes, but then realizes it is just Mister Keller. There is a pained expression on his face. "Where is it, boy?" he hisses, and as Neal is not answering, staring blankly at the man, a snarl twists the man's mouth. "Where is it?" he spits. Droplets of blood are falling from his mouth.
"Does he have it?! Do you have it!?" The adult's nails dig into Neal's skin.
"Speak!" the adult commands yet again, and his grasp becomes more and more painful. "You little shit… You're going to regret this… You…" his mentor spats. He lets go of his arm and tries to reach Neal's eyes.
Neal is quicker than the adult. Jerkily, he moves out of his reach.
His mentor, losing his balance, falls onto the bloody ground. He lets out a shriek of pain.
Neal reaches out to help the adult sit up again, but Mister Keller pushes him away.
"Fuck off, fuck off," he yells. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you, boy, I'll end…"
With a loud pounding heart, Neal listens to the adult's curses interspersed with gurgling.
He tries to reach his hands towards him again, and this time Mister Keller does not have enough strength to push Neal away. The adult still swears when Neal lays him on his back.
Neal listens to his mentor for a while. Finally he turns away.
Feeling too weak to stand up, he crawls away from the adult. He slides into the right corner of the room, where the only blind spot of the camera is. He curls on the floor and covers his ears.
He does not want to be here.
/\_/\
='x'=
Peter closed the door. No barking welcomed him. Elle, Satch and Webster were long gone. Peter headed for the back door. He wanted to have a look at the backyard before deciding on anything else.
Suddenly a ginger cat sprung from one of the couches. Startled, Peter paused mid-step and then watched the animal run up the stairs. It paused on the eighth step, its tail flicking and ears flattened. Eyeing Peter with unfriendly eyes, the cat gave a low growl.
"Where did you come from?" Peter asked surprised.
Suddenly, his phone rang and the cat puffed up. In two quick jumps it disappeared upstairs. Diana was calling him, and Peter immediately answered.
"Boss, a taxi driver came up. He said that about three hours ago a young boy got into his taxi and asked him to drive him to Queens. He matches Neal's description."
Peter was at the front door the next second.
"What's the address?" he asked as he got into his car.
"The driver says Neal jumped out of the car at the intersection of 32nd Ave and 137th Street," Diana said.
Peter frowned, typing the address into the GPS. "Jumped out?"
"They had a red light and the driver says Neal did pay."
"Alright." Peter nodded, then hesitated for a moment. "Just one more thing," he said. "We seem to have acquired a wild resident. Could you ask Elle if she knows anything about a ginger cat?"
/\_/\
='x'=
If Peter had not felt guilty about Neal before, Elle's retelling of yesterday's events would definitely make him feel remorseful. During the thirty minute drive that took him to get to the address from home, he was quietly listening to every detail his wife could remember about the child. He hang up with a heavy heart and a new perspective on his run-away suspect.
Walking down the street and looking around, he remembered again how disappointed Neal had been when Peter had told him he did not like mixing his personal life with work. Now he knew exactly why it had hit the child so hard. As Elle described, the child's plan was to at least establish a base in their home, if not exactly living with them – a place he could perhaps hide when things with Keller were bad. The mere fact that Neal did not see anything wrong with asking Elle whether he could not just walk Satchmo, but also spend the night at their home the next day, spoke a lot about how dysfunctional his current living arrangement with Keller was.
Peter stopped at the bus stop. He could see maybe two or three connections that might make sense for a runaway. If it were Keller who was on the run, Peter doubted the man would have chosen to arrive at this location.
But Neal was so young. Inexperienced and impulsive. Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Neal was a child. A child. A little orphan suffering from the abandonment. He had proved to be easily attached to animals and people. He was easy-going, he sought contact with anyone he spoke to. Like any child, he wanted stability. The possibility that his caretaker might have been arrested must have shaken him up. And then the boy found out that Peter was responsible for the FBI ambush…
Neal immediately had told the taxi driver where to take him. It had been the impulsive, hot decision of the moment. Peter suddenly realized, looking around the scruffy old buildings, that it must be the place Neal used to come to before. It must hold some sentimental value, some meaning for the child. Perhaps it was the place he could come back to, when he did not feel safe.
Peter turned right. He was going to look at the apartment blocks first.
/\_/\
='x'=
Peter had already been half an hour into aimlessly wandering around the apartment blocks when something did catch his attention. At first he was not sure what it was. And then, he understood.
There was a cat sitting next to the garbage bin. Its pelt was grayish. Seeing him, it meowed, but when he tried to come closer, it hissed, showing its teeth.
Peter stopped. Distractedly he noticed an empty bowl that one of the residents must have left for the street cats. Still keeping his eye on the cat, he looked around more closely.
There, under the Honda, he spotted another cat. It was black and its eyes flashed as it gazed back at him.
Thoughtfully, Peter turned away from it and looked at the balconies of the apartment blocks. Neal liked cats, didn't he? Elle mentioned that the ginger tabby in their house was not the only cat the child cared for. There were more. Perhaps…
Suddenly, the cat next to the garbage bin sprang up. Peter watched as it nimbly climbed the tree and then jumped onto the balcony. Without taking his eyes off the thin shape of the cat, Peter started walking again.
It seemed as if the cat had finally reached its destination. It stopped on one of the balconies of the fourth floor. The blinds in the apartment were shut. Peter watched the cat scratch the door and meow. It jumped onto the windowsill and then down onto the balcony. Then, a screeching sound could be heard as if the cat had found something metal to play with.
Suddenly, a small object fell from the balcony. It hit the railing of the lower balcony and then continued its fall until it hit the pavement. From there it rolled until it hit a utility pole.
Making sure he remembered which balcony the cat belonged to, Peter rushed to where the mysterious object lay silently. He picked it up.
It was a tuna can.
/\_/\
='x'=
The front door of the apartment building was left open. Peter quickly got to the fourth floor. He stopped. There were six doors, but only three of them could belong to the apartment with the balcony the cat had climbed onto.
Slowly he passed numbers 23 and 24. The doormat at number 25 was lying crookedly on the floor. He squatted next to it and examined it.
A strand of yellow animal hair caught his attention.
Peter stood up. After uncocking his gun, he tried the door knob. The door was unlocked and it swung open effortlessly.
Waiting for him inside was an unpromising, sinister scene. One he had seen so many times before.
Passing silently past the overturned chairs, Peter went to check every room for intruders.
The bathroom seemed to have taken the least amount of damage.
The broken glass in the kitchen crunched under his boots.
All the cupboards in the bedroom were left open. The black clothes, paints, paintbrushes and sheets of paper were lying in messy piles on the floor. There were also some art tools for which Peter had no names, not to mention all the little things that one was bound to find in a thief's liar. A rope, a padlock, a few pick-locking tools…
And among those, other, more surprising things. The bedroom walls were plastered with sketches, most of which depicted only two models – a ginger cat and a yellow Labrador retriever.
Peter pocketed his gun. Holding his phone with his shoulder he put on rubber gloves.
"I found Neal's apartment," he said the moment Diana picked up. "It's wrecked."
/\_/\
='x'=
He is going to tell Mister Neumann the truth. This must be his strategy. With Mister Keller gone, this is the only strategy left now, really. And Neal really does not want the adults to do to him what they have done to his mentor.
So, he is going to tell the adult that yes, Mister Keller made him steal the music box, but that Neal does not have it. He had it till this morning, but then he got careless and left it behind, so if Mister Neumann wants it for himself, he will have to go to Satch's home and…
Suddenly, Neal opens his eyes. His heart is in his throat. Satch's home?
That is right. That is where he left it. On the rooftop of Elle's house.
He shakes his head. It does not matter where the music box is. What matters now is how to make the adult like him and not kill him. So he is going to tell him to go to Mister Morris's home and…
What if Elle is still there?
She has to be there, right?
It is her home.
And her husband is the one arresting people, not getting arrested, so there is really no reason for her to hide or run away. It is her home.
It is a fed's home.
Violently, Neal stands up. He clenches his fists.
It is a fed's home. Elle was asking for trouble when marrying a fed. She should have married someone normal, someone like Mister Keller or―
Neal comes to a stop in front of his mentor. Mister Keller has stopped cursing, he suddenly realizes. He is not dead, is he?
Neal kneels next to the adult. In silence, he observes the adult's chest. He is still breathing.
Neal exhales carefully before looking up at the camera observing them. Adults. Adults. Adults. He clenches his fists.
His plans do not matter. Not really. The adults will make him tell the truth no matter what.
And they know Neal was the one who stole the music box. Mister Keller has told them so. So it is not like lying can do Neal any good. Mister Neumann will see through all the lies. And even if he doesn't, it will not change anything in the end.
If Neal says he does not know where the music box is – the adult will make him tell the truth.
If he tells the adult it is in some random place – the adult will check this place and if it turns out not to be there, which it will, the adult will return even angrier and again, make him tell the truth.
Of course, Neal does not necessarily have to know the location of the music box. He could have always given the music box to someone and if that someone is good at hiding…
But no. If that person is good at hiding, Mister Neumann will get frustrated with the fruitless search and, once again - will go back to questioning Neal.
So there really is no way out. He will have to tell the adults the truth. That the music box is in Mister Morris's house, and if Mister Neumann wants to get it, he will have to hurry, because if he does not, the feds will surely discover it and―
Neal pauses in his pacing. But does Mister Neumann know? He is the one who hired Morris, right? So he could not have known. Of course… He is free, so he could always be another rat but… No. If he were a rat, why would he need Neal? And anyway, if Mister Morris and Mister Neumann were still working together, why would the feds try to arrest Neal?
So Mister Neumann probably did not know, at least till yesterday.
But does that really mean he still does not know?
Until Elle told him, Neal surely did not know. But Neal is just some kid, while Mister Neumann is like Mister Keller. He is cunning, he is smart, he is…
Neal glances to his left where Mister Keller is lying. He tries to recall if any of the curses the adult spat were directed at anyone but Neal, Neumann and his men. From what he can remember… No. There were no mentions of the FBI nor of Mister Morris.
And that would mean… That he does not know, right?
Starting to pace around the room again, Neal clenches and unclenches his fists. Okay, he tells himself. Let's say that neither Mister Neumann nor Mister Keller do know.
Let's say that Neal manages to convince Mister Neumann that Mister Morris is the one who has the music box, and that if the adult wants to find it, he needs to find him first…
What will be the first thing Mister Neumann does?
He will try to call him, of course.
And Mister Morris? Well, if he is a true fed, he probably wants them all to be arrested, just as badly as Mister Neumann wants the music box. He must be probably dying of shame right now, that they all got away so easily. Because out of their whole crew, he arrested, what, just Mil and Travis? That must look bad.
Okay, so Mister Morris will pick up the phone and hear Mister Neumann blubbering something or other about the music box. What will the fed do then?
Even if Mister Morris does not yet know that the music box is on his own rooftop, he will still probably try to bluff, just to make Mister Neumann meet him and…
"Oh, shit," Neal mumbles, pausing again in his pacing.
Because; tracing. That is what feds do best, right? They trace your call to find your location, and if Mister Morris gets a call from Mister Neumann, what he will want to do is to keep Neumann on the phone for as long as possible. And if he somehow succeeds…
In that case, not all might be lost after all.
/\_/\
='x'=
In the end, before the team arrived, Peter had managed to find five fingerprints. Four of them seemed to belong to a child and one to an adult. He had also found numerous paw prints, but that was beside the point. What he had realized at the beginning of his search, was how wrong he had been at first thinking of the apartment as a common thief's liar.
In fact, it was a forger's liar. And a very skilled one at that. Among numerous art supplies, Peter had also found two passports and three fake ID's in the making.
Neal's apartment must have been Keller's workshop as well, which meant that Neal had to be much deeper in Keller's business than Peter had initially assumed. The child had an artistic talent, and Peter was no longer surprised that Keller had decided to keep him so close. He did not know to what extent Neal had been able to help Keller with the forgeries, but it was clear that the child had helped.
Unfortunately, none of the neighbors saw anything out of the ordinary and after one more hour of asking questions and segregating the items found in the apartment, Peter decided there was no point in staying any longer. He had to head back to the office and coordinate with the rest of the team.
After leaving Jones in charge, Peter left the apartment. Walking down the stairs, he could not help but once again think of that orphaned child trying to build a life for himself within those cold walls. Those were the very same steps that Neal took when he ran errands for Keller or walked Satchmo. For a moment he could almost see Neal happily skipping a few steps at a time and recklessly jumping over the handrail.
Peter quickened his pace.
/\_/\
='x'=
Neal's plan is perfect. He will protect Elle and Satch, he will get Neumann and all his men arrested, and perhaps he will even save Mister Keller's life. Getting arrested is not the end of the world after all. Mil was in a big house once and then they let him out again and he was just fine. He did not talk well about it, but neither was he dead. So it is going to be okay.
Not to mention, that Neal doubts Mister Morris will really arrest him. No, most probably, thankful for Neal's help with the arrests, the adult will just let him go. At least that is what Neal would do in his place. But even if he turns out to be a jerk and does not let Neal go―
The sound of the key twisting in the lock makes Neal stop mid-pace. With his heart pounding, he stands tall and faces the door.
It opens and there, in the threshold, stands Skinner, wearing the same bloody clothes he was wearing when they first met. He looks past Neal at Mister Keller. His first victim.
"Still not dead, is he?" he asks unfeelingly.
Neal tries to answer, but suddenly realizes he cannot get the words out. There is a lump in his throat. He cannot move. He is frozen and looking at the adult wide-eyed.
When Skinner takes a step into the room, Neal's legs carry him to the opposite wall. His back hits it with a bang.
"Please, don't," he hears someone's whimper, and only after a moment he realizes… It is his own voice. But it sounds so changed. So weird.
The adult comes closer. Blood pulses in Neal's ears.
Before he realizes what he is doing, he once again tries to avoid the adult by backing up to another wall.
"Stop," the man says, and Neal freezes. He looks up at the adult with wide eyes. Into his indifferent, cold eyes.
"Please, don't do anything, sir. I'll tell you everything, okay? Everything you want to know," Neal hears his own voice. Terrified, he realizes, that he cannot make himself stop. "My name's Neal and I'm twelve-years-old and oh, look, Mister Neumann's men did not search me well enough before and I didn't say, because I thought it might be useful, but I know now that it's not." With trembling hands and still keeping his eyes on Skinner, Neal reaches under his sock. There is a razor blade hidden underneath. Neal fishes it out with a decisive move, then offers it to Skinner. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean anything wrong, I didn't. I'm so sorry I stole that music box, I swear, I didn't mean to offend any of you a-and" As the adult takes the offered razor blade from him, Neal pauses again. His tongue feels heavy and his head is spinning. "Please, don't do anything― I'll tell you everything, I swear."
Skinner regards him for a moment in silence, then nods. "Good."
/\_/\
='x'=
The hand on his shoulder feels heavy. It is difficult to breathe, it is hard to walk. Neal does not understand why he could not have told Skinner everything back in Mister Keller's cell. Why is he being dragged here? He does not want to be here. Has he somehow made the adult even angrier with himself?
They stop in front of the big wooden door. Skinner knocks on it and a voice commands them to come in. The room, except for three armchairs, a chair and a small coffee table, is empty.
Neal immediately recognizes the man sitting in the armchair and smoking a cigar. Mister Keller did show him the photos of Mister Neumann before the heist.
Skinner silently leads him in front of the man. "Sit," he tells him, gesturing to the empty chair. Trembling all over, Neal slumps down on it. His heart is in his throat.
"I don't think we'll be having problems with this one," Skinner says impassively to Mister Neumann. "He's ready to talk."
Neal nods shakily at the words. "I do, I'm sorry, I―"
The squeeze on his arm makes Neal stop mid-word. Skinner has told him what will happen if he speaks without permission. Neal shuts his mouth. His ears are ringing.
"But before that, I want to show you how well Jenkins searches people," Skinner says with a kind of an amusement in his voice. He hands Neal's razor blade to Mister Neumann.
Mister Neumann clenches his jaw.
"Yeah, exactly," Skinner sneers. "I also found this," he adds, giving Mister Neumann a piece of crumbled sheet of paper that Neal for some reason had in his pocket. Neal does not even know what is on it because Skinner did not show it to him.
This time the sheet of paper makes Mister Neumann smile rather than look more angry.
"It seems you've made the other bird sing too well," he tells Skinner.
"Seems so," Skinner agrees. "But why he wanted us to believe that the kid was some kind of forger, is beyond me."
Mister Neumann snorts, then carelessly throws the sheet of paper they have been talking about onto the table. Finally Neal can see it.
This is the doodle of a cat Elle gave him yesterday. Neal looks at its plump, smiling face. The crooked tail. Its whiskers… Three on each side of the cat's face. And suddenly he seems to hear Elle's voice. Laughing. Telling him about the paintings and how much she liked cooking together. How glad she is that they met. And then he remembers how she cried Neal seeing him in the garden today. How she took him to her house, and tucked a blanket around his shoulders, and told him that everything would be alright… How she checked his knee, even though it was just a scratch…
"So, boy. Ready to tell me where it is?" Mister Neumann's voice brings Neal back to the present. He can still feel Skinner's hand tighten on his shoulder. He feels his own heart pounding, his ears ringing, and yet… It does not matter.
He will not let them hurt Elle. He will not. He cannot lead them to her home. Plan. He had a plan. Mister Morris. He needs them to call the fed.
"Yes sir," Neal's shaken voice says. "I-I don't have it. Y-your man took it."
"Gibberish. My man?" Mister Neumann frowns. "Who?"
"M-Mister Morris," Neal whispers. "T-this morning b-before your men took me, I m-met him. He knew w-where I lived t-too. He was waiting f-for me, sir. H-he has the m-music box."
/\_/\
='x'=
Peter put aside another useless file and closed his eyes for a moment. Massaging his temples, he once again tried to think of the bigger picture, to find what he was missing. But his mind was blank. He had no answers. None.
After four hours of ringing doorbells, Jones finally found a witness who had seen Neal getting into the black van with two men. Peter felt quite certain that eventually they would be able to find out the number plate and track down the van's destination. He was afraid , however, that it would be too late.
This was the reason why he himself had spent the last three hours looking through everything they had on Neumann, trying to find some clues as to where the man might have his hidden base. He knew the clue had to be somewhere. But he just could not see it.
Ever since the heist Neumann did not pick up any of Peter's calls. Whether it was because he suspected something or because he just chose to lie down after FBI's ambush, Peter did not know.
Feeling someone's presence, Peter opened his eyes. Beside his right elbow he saw a cup of steaming coffee, a glass of water and a sandwich. When he looked up, he saw Elle. She just turned on her heel to head back to the conference room when he grabbed her hand.
"Hon, wait," he said, and she stopped. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked so tired. So troubled. And yet so calm, Peter thought. The rosary was clenched in her right fist.
She knew it was his fault Neal had been kidnapped, and yet, since he came back to the Bureau, she had done nothing to suggest she was angry. She did not even look angry. But there was pain in her eyes that was very hard for Peter to look at.
"I just wanted to say thank you," Peter said.
"Thank you for working so hard," she said, squeezing his hand back.
Peter straightened. He nodded, and she let go of his hand.
Returning to the data on his computer, he pursed his lips. He had to be persistent. He had to be thorough. It was the only way to go. Scrolling down another file, he narrowed his eyes.
/\_/\
='x'=
Elle had just returned from her errand to her chair in the conference room, when she heard the phone ring. At first she thought nothing of it, as phones were ringing in the bureau all day, but then she caught a glimpse of a sudden movement in Peter's office out of the corner of her eye.
The next moment he ran into the conference room with a tense face. "It's Neumann. Diana, start the trace!" he commanded.
For a moment, Elle's heart seemed to have stopped beating. She watched Diana type a few commands into her laptop while Peter pushed the receiver button.
"I'm surprised you haven't tossed it, Pete," came the grim sounding voice. Elle clenched her fists, doing her best to stay in place and not run towards the laptop where Diana had started tracking. Thankfully, from her angle she could see a little bit of the screen.
"Douglas!" Peter said, sounding surprised. "You haven't been returning my calls," he added harshly. "Care to tell me the reason?"
There was silence at the other end of the line, and Elle felt her nails dig into the skin of her hands. However, her husband did not seem to be bothered by the lack of response.
"And please do not tell me 'cops'… That one coming from you, I could never believe it," Peter snorted.
The silence lasted unbearably for a few moments. But then… The criminal laughed. The sound chilled Elle to the core.
"Yeah, I guess I did have different reasons," he admitted in a dismissive tone. "But on the other hand, someone tells me you had different reasons for coming to my house too."
Elle covered her mouth to keep from making a sound. Someone?
"Oh, yeah?" Peter's voice sounded mild, but Elle saw that one of his fists was now clenched.
"Oh yeah," the criminal chuckled darkly. When Elle shifted her gaze for a moment from Peter to the laptop, she saw a red dot on the screen jump from the south of Brazil to the center of China. "…You have something I want, Pete."
"Really?" Peter asked, his tone of voice was without any inflection. What did Neumann mean?
"Yes. The question is why and for whom you have taken it," Neumann said, and Elle frowned. What was that supposed to mean? She saw puzzled looks exchanged around the conference room. Elle felt a mounting panic. They did not know either.
But Peter acted as if he did know. "Couldn't it have been for me?" he asked.
"It could," Neumann admitted after a moment.
"Still, I don't care as much as you think," Peter said calmly. "I never asked the kid to give it to me."
"But you did!" hearing the hoarse cry, Elle jumped to her feet. Neal!
"Shut up!" the third voice said and the child cried out. The sound died just as quickly as it appeared. Feeling tears in her eyes, Elle pressed her hands even more tightly to her mouth.
/\_/\
='x'=
Hearing the child's cry, Peter clenched his teeth. So far he had been correct in his assumptions. It was time to play his whole hand.
"No, George, no," he said quietly. "Today I was there for you. I wanted you, not that. But you got scared, left the bag and ran away. I don't know why it is so important to Matthew, I don't know why it is important to Douglas, what I know is that… That I want you back home. I want you back where you belong."
"Excuse me, what?" Neumann's voice sounded surprised but not disbelieving. Watching the tracing dot jump from one location to another Peter clenched and unclenched his fists.
"He's my nephew, Douglas," Peter said harshly, imploringly. "I needed the job Douglas, yes. But that is not the only reason why we met. There were rumors about the boy being in Keller's crew and I needed to check if they were true. I thought that I could get him out."
"But instead of grabbing the kid, you took the box," Neumann gritted out.
The box, the mysterious word, echoed in Peter's mind savagely. He was doing well, he told himself sternly. He was doing well.
"Yes, and if you want to see it ever again, you need to promise not to hurt him," he said aloud. "That's all I want. All I ever wanted. My boy back home. I don't care about the box."
"…Your boy," Neumann repeated hesitantly after a moment, and Peter rubbed his temples savagely. He had to think. Whatever Neal had told them, it could not be very far from Peter's story. If it were, he was sure Neumann would have already hung up. So there really was a way to sell it to him, he just needed to give the final blow.
"Ask him to tell you his real name." Somehow, Peter managed not to sound bewildered by his own words.
"What?"
"His name is not George, and I am the only one who knows it," he repeated. "Will this proof be enough for you? I'm not lying."
There was a sound of muffled voices, then finally Douglas spoke again.
"Fine. What's his name, then?" the criminal asked just as the red dot on the computer screen locked on the location not too far away from New York. And it remained there.
"Neal," Peter said softly. "My nephew's name is Neal. And now, give him the phone!"
/\_/\
='x'=
"Speak," Mister Neumann commands, sliding the phone across the table. Neal opens his mouth but makes no sound. It is a miracle the adults believed him when he said Mister Morris had taken the music box away from him. Even more miraculous is that Mister Morris has somehow managed to keep the adults on the line for so long, but this nephew story… Kind of weird. But then again, maybe Mister Morris needs more time and wants Neal to stall.
"Neal? Hello?" His 'uncle' asks and Neal clears his throat.
"Um, hi?" he says.
"Are you alright? How badly have they hurt you?"
Looking at his clothes, stained with Mister Keller's blood, Neal frowns. Come to think of it, he has not been hurt, actually. "Not really," Neal tells the adult after a moment.
"Not really? Define not really?"
"He can walk and he can fucking talk!" Skinner curses, and Neal, despite himself, cries.
"Neal?! Don't you dare touch him!"
Breathing harshly, Neal covers his mouth. He is going to die. He knows he is.
"No one is hurting him. Your nephew's just whiny," Mister Neumann says. He waves his hand to Neal. "Are you hurt, boy? Tell him."
Feeling the warmth on his face, Neal takes a deep breath. "N-no," he admits. "But Mister Keller is! T-They did something―"
Skinner's slap carries Neal from the chair to the floor. Trembling, Neal curls up and covers his head. "I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry―"
/\_/\
='x'=
"He's not hurt, Peter. Just spent an hour or two with a dead man," Neumann said roughly, taking over the phone. "You're welcome, by the way," the criminal continued. "From your words, I understand you hate Keller as much as I do."
From Neumann's words, Peter instantly knew that if he had not told him that Neal was his nephew, the man would have killed the child the moment they hang up. Or maybe even during the conversation.
Not that it might not still happen.
"Those mind tricks stop now, Douglas. Understand?"
Neumann laughed. "You know, I still wonder about one thing. How come the kid doesn't know you're his uncle?"
"My sister and I didn't keep in touch. But once I found out about Neal after her death, I knew I had to find him. Family is family, Douglas."
"Sure…" he snorted. "You don't know a zit about what you have, do you?"
Peter grabbed his chance the moment he saw it. For a long time, he had wanted to shift the dynamics between them and make Neumann be the one trying to soothe Morris's nerves down and insisting on a quick meet up.
"Maybe I do…" he said slowly. "It's worth much more than my kid, isn't it?"
"No," the man replied, not quite able to hide the alarm in his voice. "No, trust me. You don't want that kind of trouble on your head. Definitely not with a nephew who needs to be looked after."
"…Perhaps."
"Peter. One more second of this and the brat will get hurt."
"Don't you dare," Peter spat.
"Then let's talk about the place of exchange, shall we?"
"…Fine," despite the relief, Peter made his voice sound dissatisfied. The dynamics had shifted and if Peter chose his words carefully, from now on Neumann, not him, would be the one worrying and trying to secure their cooperation. He just hoped that Neal could hold on a bit longer.
/\_/\
='x'=
Mister Neumann's words blur together in Neal's ears. He does not dare to open his eyes or sit up. Trembling, he tries to somehow work through what has just happened. What is happening.
Mister Neumann does not know.
Skinner does not know.
Nobody knows that Mister Morris is not who he pretends to be.
Nobody but Neal.
They are going to kill him when they find out.
Shivering, Neal sits up on the floor. Mister Neumann does not notice it. He is turned away with his back to Neal. Skinner… Neal glances sideways and freezes. Skinner is observing him. His forehead is wrinkled in thought.
Almost immediately Neal looks away.
His gaze stops at the table and the drawing lying on it.
Elle, he remembers again. They cannot find Elle's home. Snitches get stitches and end up in ditches. But they cannot find Elle.
A hand lands on Neal's shoulder and he whimpers.
"Relax," Skinner snorts and yanks Neal to his feet.
The world in front of him wavers and his legs give in under him, but somehow, with Skinner's help, he manages to obey and stand still.
"Morris's dumb as fuck if he thinks he can order you to do anything." Skinner's grip tightens on Neal's shoulder as he speaks. "We'll make him regret it."
Mister Neumann snorts, then waves his hand. "Leave our guest with the others, then come back here. We have things to discuss." He turns away from them. "Oh, and tell them I want the kid to have at least his face washed. We can't show up with him looking like this."
"On it." Skinner roughly turns Neal around, then pushes him forward. Holding Neal tightly by the arm, he leads him out of the room.
Next (30.05): Showdown