8 - Hard Sell

"What are you gonna do with your money?"

"Put it in a secure 401K and mutual funds" Neal replied, "It's all about security, bro".

Brad gave him a disbelieving look and he grinned.

"I'm just messing with you man. I'm gonna buy a cruise ship, hollow it out and turn it into a floating mansion".

"Damn".

"How about you?"

"I'm going to buy an island" Brad said.

"An island?"

"Yea, I'll learn how to play the guitar and just chill".

He gladly accepted a glass of champagne from the waitress.

"You don't need an island for that".

"Don't kill the dream, broheim".

He forced a laugh as they turned to watch the waitress go.

"I've got dibs on that one".

"Oh yea?" Brad asked, "Does she know that?"

"Since when does that matter?"

The words made him sick to his stomach, but he had a cover to maintain and needed an excuse to disappear for a while.

Brad grinned, "You're gonna be back in time for the celebration, though, right?"

He turned and pulled the fake cigar case from his pocket.

"Wouldn't want this to go to waste".

"Yes!"


He waited until the man looked away before quickly setting aside his untouched champagne glass, and making his way to the secure vault in the heart of the house. His eyes immediately latched onto the very obvious wooden box on the table in the centre of the room.

"No…"

Surely Avery wasn't that stupid.

He carefully lifted the lid and found the ledger inside.

Apparently he was.

Neal glanced around the edges of the box, finding the two conspicuous blue wires connected to the base of the box. A fail safe insure policy, then.

"Trip wire".

He turned back to the ledger.

"Must be a pressure plate".

He began to feel around the edges of the box. There had to be some sort of kill switch or timer on it, so that Avery could take it out when needed. If he could find that, and activate it, then he should be able to take the ledger and leave without anyone realising what had happened. A quick run down with his sweater over the box would remove his fingerprints, and then it'd be a home run.

"Neal!"

He startled and turned, just as Peter ran into the room, Avery and his partner right behind him.

And Avery had a gun.


He panicked, looking between Peter, the box, and the door. Avery wouldn't hesitate to shoot, he knew that, and the shotgun that he was using would leave very little chance of survival. He had to protect Peter.

Waiting until the man was just inside the vault, he grabbed the ledger, and pulled.

The bullet proof door immediately slid into place, just as the gun went off, saving both him and Peter from the force of the blast. But it wouldn't save them from the air problem.

"Alright, we need to find the kill switch" Peter said, even as Neal pulled the cigar case from his pocket.

"Take this!"

"No, no!" He protested, "We look together, we share the oxygen until Jones comes".

"There's not enough time!" He snapped, "Five minutes for one person, two and a half for two!"

"No, Neal-"

"We're wasting time! Peter, I trust you".

He shoved the breathing device into Peter's hands, and thanked whatever deity out there that he took it.

He had El to get back to, after all, and Satchmo. He had a family, a job, a life.

Neal didn't even have Kate.


Ransacking a room without oxygen was very much a new experience for him, and not one he could say he particularly liked. Shoving the comic boxes out of the way revealed nothing, so he turned his attention to the opposite wall. From the corner of his eye, he could see Avery walk up to the glass. The comics clanged silently against the wall as the last of the oxygen was sucked from the room. But then, eventually, he found the kill switch.

Spinning around, he tried to shout Peter's name, but no sound came out. He banged on the wall with the same result. The man finally turned around just as he began to see black dots swarm in front of his eyes. He pointed in the general direction of the switch, then felt himself sway to the side, before his legs gave out and he fell.

Neal briefly remembered Peter running over to him, and then a hand shaking his shoulder, but he felt tired, exhausted even, and couldn't open his eyes. It was a strange sensation, choking on nothing. He'd almost drowned once or twice before, during cons that had gone bad, but at least then, he had felt the water rushing around him and filling his mouth and nose and-

Now, however, there was just… nothing.


Peter quickly turned as he saw Neal move wildly from the corner of his eye, and watched as the man pointed at the small black switch behind him. Then he stumbled, hand dragging along the wall as he sank to the floor and stayed there, eyes closed.

He was suffocating.

Peter ran towards him, hand above the kill switch, but Avery's smirk made him pause. The man stared him straight in the eye, and then raised the shotgun.

Fuck.

He reached down to try and shake Neal awake, to no avail.

The second he hit the kill switch, the blast proof door would raise, and Avery would be clear to take his shot. Peter could dive behind the desk to protect himself, of course, and he might even be fast enough to avoid getting shot, too. But he wouldn't be able to save Neal. And Avery wasn't too picky about kicking a man when he was down.

Decision made, he spat out the breathing machine, pulled his gun from the holster, and hit the switch.


The door slid up immediately, and he grasped his weapon with both hands despite knowing it'd do nothing against the force of the shotgun. But he had to try, he couldn't just leave Neal there, and if Avery took a shot then he'd have to shoot back for as long as he could.

"Now drop your weapon!"

Jones.

"Drop your weapon! Hands in the air!"

Peter could have cried with relief as his team came around the corner. Avery slowly, reluctantly, did as told, and Agent Cruz stepped forward to arrest him. Lowering his gun, he quickly crouched down beside Neal who had yet to wake. He held a hand in front of his mouth, checking for breathing.

There was none.

"Alright" He muttered, beginning CPR, "Come on Neal, come on!"

He expected the man to jump up, to gasp for breath and make a clever remark that they could laugh about.

But he didn't.


"Come on!"

He began chest compression's again, pressing down with the heel of his hands fast and strong, counting as he went. After 30 presses, he lifted up the man's head and leant down to listen for breathing.

Still nothing.

"Peter-"

"Call for an ambulance!" He snapped, not caring who it was as he started resuscitation's again.

Third time around, there was still no response.

"Don't make me kiss you, Neal".

His eyes searched the man's face, hoping for a quick comeback, but he remained silent and pale and far far too still.

Peter leant forwards and pinched his nose before breathing into his mouth twice, before continuing CPR.

"Peter".

The voice was closer this time, and distinctly male.

"Peter, you need to-"

"No!" He snapped, performing mouth to mouth again, "Damn it, Neal, come on!"

He knew the side effects of suffocation, could remember it clearly from his training days. After one minute of no oxygen, brain cells began dying. After three minutes, neurons suffer extensive damage and brain damage becomes a high probability. And after five minutes... death.

Peter didn't know how long Neal had been without oxygen for, but he hoped to god that it wasn't longer than three minutes.

There was a gentle hand on his shoulder trying to pull him back, "Hey, come on, let it go-"

He snarled and pulled away from the grip, still compressing the lifeless man below him and counting in his head.

"Jones, if you touch me again I'll break your hand!"

He tilted back Neal's head and breathed for him once more.

"Peter".

"Jones-"

Neal gasped.


He immediately turned back and the man began to cough, trying to curl up on himself from the sudden pain of it.

"There you are" He breathed, quickly turning him into the recovery position, "Breathe".

He panted for breath, hands grasping at his shirt, eyelashes flickering and wet.

"Atta boy" Peter said, grinning.

Neal gave him a weak smirk.

"That was a long five minute".

"Yea".

Behind him, Jones sighed in relief, "I'll fetch the paramedics".

Peter remained focused on the conman in front of him.

"You okay?"

Neal groaned, "Christ, I think you broke a rib".

He gave a startled laugh.

"Yea, well, I'd rather you have a broken rib than bury you, so there".

"Aw, Peter, you care about me!"

"No, I just know El would never forgive me if I got her taste taster killed".

Neal's smirk widened, and then fell as he saw the paramedics rush in with a stretcher.

"I can walk, you know".

"Sure you can, pal" He replied easily, "But now you don't have to".

A woman dressed in white strapped an oxygen mask over his mouth before he could reply, so he grumbled in annoyance instead. Peter smiled and stood, letting the paramedics do their job and load him onto the board.

"Besides" He added, just because he could, "I'm sure a few of the lads want to take pictures".

Neal glared as best he could, even as they gave him a mild sedative and his eyes began to droop.

"I'll meet you at the hospital, okay?" Peter finished, patting his leg as he passed, "Then we can talk".

And they had quite a lot to talk about...