4 - By the Book
"I'll keep watch" Mozzie said, finding a corner to stand behind.
"Alright" Neal replied, picking the door to Sal's Lounge as subtly as he could.
"Hurry up!"
Any second now...
"I'm hurrying, Moz".
Waiting until the lock clicked, he silently slipped in and made sure to catch the door as it closed to keep that quiet too.
"Enough! I don't care about a girl".
Neal frowned.
Looked like he was in the right place then.
"I care about my money".
Sneaking around the corner, he could just about see five men at a table in the inner room, with three sitting and two standing. The leader, the one who was speaking, looked oddly… familiar.
"Our driver drops off a package, walks out with $100,000 cash. My cash".
He crept around the corner, keeping his back to the wooden walls, and got as close as he dared to go.
"In Colombia, we'd all go for a walk in the jungle right about now".
"So that's what we do".
"Really, Vince?" the man asked again, "We go for a walk in the jungle to get my money back?"
"Yeah, but it's a park".
A drop off, then, or an exchange. The girl for the money. In theory, it was a good plan, but there was no way of securing Gina's safety unless they knew who these guys were trying to meet with.
Neal froze as his phone started to buzz loudly in his pocket.
"... Someone's in here".
Shit.
He pulled it out of his pocket and hastily read the message from Diana.
Contact Burke ASAP.
Did Peter know?!
Crouching low to the ground, he quickly considered his options. The Colombian men knew that someone was here, and even as he panicked he could hear loud footsteps coming his way. He could always make a run for the door, but then they'd definitely see him, and he didn't want to risk showing his face this soon. But on the other hand, he'd rather let them see his face and escape than get caught and… you know… no longer have a face.
His phone buzzed again.
Mozzie.
GUNS!
Well, there went that option.
Jumping up, he dashed into the nearest room, unfortunately one that had a glass panel in the door, before firmly wedging his lock picking set into the door knob. It would prevent anyone with a key from entering, but once Neal caught sight of the guys he was dealing with, he quickly realised that they weren't the sort to talk things out.
"Open it" the man ordered, stepping back, "Let's do this face-to-face".
One of his thugs stepped forward, a shiny silver gun in hand.
Shit.
Neal frantically looked around for a way out, finally finding a vent high up in the wall that he might just be able to squeeze through. He'd gotten out of tougher situations than this, after all. Or, at least, he tried to convince himself.
"He's going for the roof".
If he could just get back outside, then he'd have a chance.
The thug raised his gun and fired one two three and the glass door shattered.
Neal yanked the metal grill away from the air duct and pulled himself in.
"Get him!"
Elbows and knees, he crawled faster than he ever had in his life. He didn't even know if this duct led anywhere or if it was a dead end, but quite frankly, he'd rather die of suffocation than be beaten to death by a Colombian drug lord. Or weapons dealer. Or kidnapper. Or whatever the hell that guy was into to have $100,000 in suitcases just lying around.
He heard movement and curses behind him but forced himself to keep going.
"What are you doing? Just shoot him!"
Shit shit shit.
Up ahead he could see the end of the air duct as it turned upwards, forming a vertical shaft that he hoped led to freedom. At the same time he heard the cocking of a gun a few meters behind them, and then there was a deafening bang and something sharp and deadly slammed into the metal just inches from his right leg.
On one hand, Neal was terrified.
On the other, how the hell had that guy missed?!
"You idiota!"
Apparently drug-weapon-kidnapper-leader guy thought so too.
"You two, stay here, make sure he doesn't come back. The rest of you, with me!"
Neal reached the turn in the vent and awkwardly turned to sit upright. The room he'd locked himself into was nothing but a rectangle of light about six or seven meters away, but he could see two grimly smirking faces looking back at him.
He turned his gaze to the tunnel above him and wondered if he was choosing the lesser evil.
If he went back, there was one less man to deal with, but there was also an increased chance of them shooting before he even made it back to the ground. The roof would have more men, and angrier ones at that, but if he was fast enough then he might get there before them and…
And do something. Neal didn't know yet. He'd worry about that if he made it.
Getting his feet underneath him, he reached up with both hands, cursed as he cut his wrist against a jagged screw, and then took a deep breath, sneezed from all the dust, and jumped.
Bracing himself against opposite sides of the air duct, he slowly but surely began to climb. He'd gotten into more than a few museums like this, after all, but in those situations he usually had far more flexible clothes than a devore suit and italian leather shoes. The screws continued to cut his hands, and the tips of his fingers soon bled from gripping onto the end of metal sheets. He counted under his breath as he passed panel after panel, and decided not to think about how far he'd fall if he slipped, or if the metal panel below him would be strong enough to take his weight from a drop of this height.
Neal sneezed again, his arms shook dangerously for a moment, and then he continued shuffling upwards.
Above him, he could see a metal vent with a glimpse of blue skies beyond. He had almost made it. Just another five feet… four… three… two… there!
Pressing his back against one side of the vent and his legs against the other, he reached up with blood and dust covered hands.
The grill was wedged in place, and he quickly searched his pockets for his lock picking set except-
Except he'd left it in the door back in the room he'd sneaked into.
Neal closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then pulled out his phone.
He just had to text Peter, let him know that he was in trouble and try to leave Mozzie out of it. The little guy wouldn't be too impressed about him bringing the Suit into this, but he'd be even less impressed if Neal suffocated to death mere inches from the outside world.
He scrolled through his contacts, fingertips leaving bloody marks on the buttons, before finally finding Peter's number. Clicking on it, he began to type.
At Sal's Cigar Lounge. Stuck on roof-
*BANG*
Neal jumped, loosing his grip on the phone, and he only barely managed to hit send before it slipped from his hold and plummeted into the darkness below just as a blinding light suddenly appeared above him.
He squinted and tried to keep his grip on the vent but strong arms grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up and out onto the roof. He was thrown to the gravelled ground, blinded by the sun, and then kicked squarely in the chest.
Neal groaned, rolled, and tried to stagger to his feet, but a punishing fist around his tie yanked him forwards and dragged him across the roof.
Staggering and stumbling, he frantically blinked and scrabbled and scratched at the hand controlling him.
He had barely adjusted to his new surroundings when someone backhanded him across the face and sent him sprawling back to the ground. The gravel bit into the wounds on his hands and he could taste blood.
"Get up".
Another kick to the stomach.
"Get up!"
Slowly, reluctantly, Neal got to his hands and knees and then forced his legs to support him as he stood. He swayed on the spot as he looked around. The Colombian-whatever was standing a few feet away, hands clasped together in front of him the same way footballers did in a line-up. Next to the grate, which had a bullet hole in the padlock that'd once kept it closed, stood thug number one. Thug number two, Vince, he guessed, was standing in front of him, gun in his waistband and Neal's blood on his knuckles.
"... Hey fellas".
Vince drove his fist into his stomach and Neal doubled over with a groan.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"You know, those are two very good questions-"
Another punch.
"Who are you?!"
"I'm batm-"
Vince grabbed him by the throat and squeezed.
Neal gasped and struggled and clawed at his hands.
He had black dots dancing in front of his eyes before the leader raised a hand to tell his goon to stop.
Vince let go and he fell to the ground, scrabbling to loosen his tie as he choked for air.
You owe me one, Moz.
"I won't ask again" He spat, "Who are you?"
"I'm… I'm… I'm your worst night-"
He was hauled back to his feet, backhanded strong enough to split his lip, before Vince was dragging him across the roof once more.
This time he didn't stop until they reached the edge.
Neal glanced down at the passing cars and tiny people below, swallowed thickly, and then slowly turned back to face them.
There was a gun pointed at his head.
"You can answer our questions, and not live long enough to feel the splat. Or I can kick you over the edge now, and you can feel each and every single one of your bones shatter on impact".
Well.
That wasn't much of a choice.
Neal closed his eyes, blocked out the pain the blood the bruises, and thought.
They had Gina and they were going to use her to get their money back from the driver who'd stolen it. He'd seen photos of her with another man in the apartment he and Mozzie had broken into, so chances were that the man in the pictures was the same man these guys were looking for.
He'd sent a message to Peter.
All he had to do was stall.
"Who I am doesn't matter" Neal said, throat protesting against every syllable, "What does matter, is that I can get you your money back".
Vince clocked the gun.
"I know where it is!" He quickly continued, holding both hands in the air, "I'm friends with Gina's boyfriend. He asked me to come here to sort things out".
There was a tantalising moment of pure unadulterated fear before the man in the fancy suit gave a small nod, and Vince lowered the gun.
Neal let out a heavy sigh of relief, even as the leader stepped closer and thug number one jabbed the conman forwards.
"You know Tommy?"
The driver?
"Yea" He said, "Gina's boyfriend".
"And you know where my money is?"
"Of course. I'm the middle man".
Neal gave his signature grin and hoped that he looked more confident than he felt.
"So you're… what? Here to set up an exchange?"
"Something like that. You want your money back. I want the girl".
He hummed, "You see, the problem with that, is if it were true, then why did you run?"
His grin froze on his face.
It was always the little things.
The leader smiled, slow and shark like, and made another gesture at Vince.
"Kill him".
"No, no, no! Wait, please! I just-"
"Everything alright here?"
Peter.
Neal could have collapsed from the relief as his partner appeared on the roof, stepping through the emergency exit door with Diana a few feet behind him.
"We're closed for business" the man replied.
"Special Agent Burke, FBI" He replied, "Got a report... someone broke in here. Thought I'd do my duty and stop a crime in progress".
His eyes met Neals, raking down over his hunched frame, lingering on the split lip, his cut palms, the boot prints on his shirt.
"... But I see you men are already on that".
He gave him the two finger point and Neal gladly limped over as fast as his trembling legs would carry him.
"If this man entered your place of business illegally, you have every right to press charges".
"I care deeply about the trees" the Colombian replied, "I don't want to waste paper on this guy. And don't worry, Officer… we all have permits for these guns".
Peter smirked, "I'll be back another time to check those permits. I can understand why the proprietor of a cigar lounge is so heavily armed… you never know who you're gonna find in your humidor".
Diana took his arm and led him back towards the stairs as if she planned to arrest him. Neal honestly wouldn't be all that upset if she did, if it meant he'd get away from these guys. No one spoke a word until they made it back to ground level, and Neal decided it'd probably be best not to mention that he'd left a lock picking set behind.
Once they were out in the open, his legs buckled, and Diana swore before carefully helping him lower to the steps outside the building. Neal pressed his head between his knees, breathed heavily through his nose, and focused on trying not to throw up.
"Where's the little guy?" Peter asked.
It took him a moment to answer.
"Moz! Come on out".
He immediately appeared from around the corner.
"Suit, I must say your timing is impeccable- What the Faulkner happened to you?"
Neal groaned and kept his eyes shut.
"What the hell do you think happened?" Peter snapped, "Did you send him in there?!"
Mozzie was still staring at the blood dripping from Neal's palms to the cold concrete below.
"I… I, um…"
"He could have been killed! All because you decided to stalk your little girlfriend-"
"Peter-" Neal started to protest, but the agent cut him off, "No! No, you don't get a pass on this either. He may have been the enabler, but for you to go along with this ridiculous plan… They were two seconds from shooting you, Neal!"
"I know" He replied tiredly, "I was there".
"Just-" Peter cut himself off and turned on his heel, "You two can fill me in from the beginning back at the Bureau".
He stormed off, Diana close behind.
"He wants me to go to the Bureau?"
"Yeah, Moz, if you want the FBI's help, you got to go to the Bureau" Neal snipped, tired and sore and beyond annoyed with this stupid idea that he never should have agreed to in the first place and-
He got site of Mozzie' heartbroken expression and felt his anger abate a bit.
"Just do it for Gina".
He shook his head, "You know what they do to guys like me at the Bureau?"
Standing up with a curse, Neal gestured at his tracking anklet with more force than necessary.
"I do, Moz. I do".
He stalked after Peter, image somewhat ruined by his dust covered suit and obvious limp. After a second, Mozzie started to follow, staying a step or two behind.
"... I'm sorry".
"It's fine".
"No, Neal, it's not" He replied quietly, "You're my friend, and… and I shouldn't have put you above a waitress from a Maple's diner. I'm sorry".
Neal risked a glance to the side and the last of his anger drained away at how miserable the older man looked.
"It's fine" He repeated, "Just don't do it again. I don't have many suits left".
"Well, at least you'll always have that Suit" Mozzie said, gesturing at the black car Peter had disappeared into, and Neal huffed a laugh, feeling his bruised throat tighten as a result.
"Come on" He replied, reaching for the car door, "Let's find your future girlfriend".
