Chapter 8: Sedated
Hospital, New Haven. January 1, 2004 – Thursday morning, barely.
Neal had paid close attention to the layout of the emergency ward, but it was too soon to play the Hospital Game. They'd given him something to relax him, and it had worked very well. He couldn't walk yet.
The evil inhaler was in a plastic bag on a table. It was a stretch, but after a few tries Neal was able to grab it. He turned the device around in his hands, wondering how to dismantle it.
Suddenly someone snatched it away. "Don't even think about using that again."
Neal smiled. "Hey, buddy!" He'd been lying down, but sat up now and leaned over a little too much, trying to see behind Peter.
"Steady, now," said Peter. He grabbed Neal's shoulders to bring him back in balance, and then stepped back and studied Neal. "What did they give you?" he asked.
Neal had no idea, and didn't care. "Is Kate with you?"
"No. We got the backpack, but she eluded us."
"Aww, that's nice, Peter. You let her get away. Thanks, buddy."
"No, Neal. We didn't let her get away. She pulled a gun on Jones, fired off a round, and made it to a car before he could catch up with her."
That didn't make sense to Neal. They never used guns. "She had a gun? A gun-gun? Not a fake?"
"Jones was in the military. I trust his judgment when he says he saw a gun."
"But it was dark," Neal suggested.
"It isn't open to debate, Neal. She had a gun and she fired it."
Neal slumped back against the wall. "I hate guns."
"From the audio feed, it sounded like you got Marie's gun away from her without much of a struggle. How'd you do that?"
Neal shrugged. "She didn't know how to hold it. You shouldn't pick up a gun unless you know what to do with it."
"Is that something Ellen told you?"
"Yeah. She taught me to shoot. I got good at it." Neal pointed a finger at Peter, and squinted as he aimed. "Put 'em up!"
Peter pushed Neal's hand down. "Pack it up, cowboy."
Neal closed his eyes and asked, "What's the difference 'tween woozy and dizzy? I think I'm one of those."
"You could be both."
"No, that's too much. I'll be one at a time. You know, I don't like it here, but I don't think I'm ready for the Hospital Game, yet."
"I got news for you. I will never be ready for you to play the Hospital Game, so don't even try. And that brings us to something I wanted to discuss. Just who the hell is Henry Winslow?"
Neal opened his eyes and grinned at Peter. "That's sneaky, asking about Henry when I'm impaired. You know, he asks a lot of questions about you, too."
"I don't find that comforting."
"Don't worry, Peter. Henry's me."
Next thing Neal knew, Peter was checking his forehead. "Are you running a fever, kid? I just spoke with Henry Winslow, and he was definitely not you." Peter removed his hand. "Not hot. What kind of drugs did they give you?"
"No, no, no, no, no. Not the same person. He's the alternate me. Henry's who I'd be if my dad didn't… if the Marshals didn't… if we'd stayed, you know, like a normal family. Then I'd be Henry, only younger. Because he's older than me," Neal explained, as it seemed Peter didn't get it. "I'm gonna a throw a huuuuuuge party when he turns thirty. You wanna come to the party, Peter?"
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It was like St. Louis all over again, Peter thought. Drugged and loopy, Neal was telling him something that was probably packed with meaning in his own mind, but made virtually no sense to Peter. But he had figured out, eventually, that Neal's cold-medicine induced ramblings had been about being abused as a nine-year-old child. Peter would figure out this "alternate me" bit, too. He was tired of playing cat-and-mouse with Neal about who this Winslow person was. He'd use all of the resources at his disposal to get the truth.
"Neal? Neal, look at me."
"Still wearing the same ugly suit as the last time I looked."
Peter was surprised into glancing down at his own attire. "What's wrong with this suit? I like this suit."
"Makes you look like a Fed."
"Yeah, well there's a good reason for that."
Neal chuckled, and looked a little more lucid. "Did we get them, Peter? Are Benny and Marie going down?"
"Yes and no. The notes in Kate's backpack provided a vital missing link in our investigation. Benny wasn't the one cheating at L&B. He noticed there was a lot of unreported revenue, and his own investigation was at cross-paths with ours. His notes proved that someone was selling goods on the black market, and not only pocketing that income, but also embezzling some of the company's legitimate income. It was another one of the partners, a 'Wild Bill' Wickham, who was behind it all. He's getting 2004 off to a very inauspicious start."
"I think I met him at the party."
"That's right. Tricia is arresting him, and getting more information from Sinclair. You did a good job of making sure no one knew the FBI was at the party. If Wickham had guessed we were aware of the fraud at L&B, he would have used Sinclair's computer or gone home early to use his own equipment to access and obscure records of what he'd done."
"I did good." Neal flashed a brief, tired smile. "What about –"
"Mr. Caffrey," interrupted a petite, brunette doctor in blue scrubs, "sorry for the wait. New Year's Eve. Short on staff, long on drunken idiots who hurt themselves or each other." She pulled out her stethoscope. "Take a deep breath for me. Another one. Good. Good." The stethoscope went into a pocket, and she grabbed Neal's wrist. "Heart rate staying in normal levels. Open your mouth. Wider." She shone a penlight into his throat. "Mm-hmm. You can close your mouth, now. Your throat's still sore, I'll bet."
Neal nodded.
The doctor grabbed his chart, reviewed it, and added a few notes. "Someone tampered with your inhaler?"
"Right," Neal said. He didn't smile or make a witty remark. Peter didn't think he'd ever seen Neal too tired to flirt.
"I'm not a legal expert, but I can tell you tampering with an inhaler isn't a fun little joke. You should consider reporting it. Whoever did it needs to take this seriously and be held accountable. Your health insurance carrier may want to hold them accountable, too."
Peter stepped forward. "I'm with the FBI. I'll make sure it's handled." He flashed his badge.
"Fine. Mr. Caffrey, you seem to be in good health, other than the sore throat, and that will improve over the next few hours. I don't expect you'll have any more trouble breathing, if you take it easy and avoid irritants. However, your insurance provider will pay for you to stay here for twelve more hours for observation."
"I'll drive him home," Peter said, thinking of the Hospital Game. "He'll be better off there."
The doctor looked to Neal for confirmation. He shrugged, then nodded slightly.
She turned back to Peter. "Make sure he gets rest, and don't let him drive today. That was a strong sedative we gave him to relax his throat and lungs. Keep him hydrated. No alcohol, and soft foods would be best. Try to avoid anything that will irritate his throat. Do you smoke?"
"No," Peter said.
"Good. Keep him away from anyone who does. Smoke would be the most likely trigger of renewed inflammation. I don't think he'll have the energy for a workout, but that's something he should avoid today. No running, or any exercise that would cause him to breathe heavily. Mr. Caffrey, you're going to be a little unsteady at first. Take your time gathering your things. I'm going to send in someone with a wheelchair. He'll get you signed out and then take you to the parking lot." The doctor scurried out to deal with the next patient on her list.
"We didn't get to play the Hospital Game," said Neal. He reached for his suit jacket and said, "Wait. Did you say you talked to Henry?"
"That's right."
"This night keeps getting worse." He picked up his tie, looked for a moment like he might consider putting it back on, then placed it in a pocket of his suit coat. "Don't let him get in your head. He does that, damn armchair psychologist. He gets to con people legally. You gotta ignore him when he tries that." Neal yawned. "What did he plant in your head, Peter?"
Peter thought about that question. And he realized, he hadn't taken the time to think about what Winslow had said. Making sure Neal hadn't been playing the Hospital Game had been too urgent to allow time for thought. Now he reminded himself to use the skills of a decorated FBI agent to make an accounting of what Winslow had said.
First, Neal plays the Hospital Game. True. Neal had independently confirmed it. Winslow's reasons for telling Peter about it included distracting him from thinking about the rest of what Winslow said. Also, by starting with something true, it made Peter more likely to believe the rest. And yes, genuine concern about Neal was another reason for describing the Hospital Game.
Second, Winslow is Neal's oldest friend, and feels like his brother. Probably true. The warning about the Hospital Game, and the threats of getting involved if the FBI mistreated Neal sounded as if they were driven from the mind-set of a protective older brother. His reasons for telling Peter about this were to make Peter identify with Winslow, as another person who feels a responsibility toward Neal. It also set Winslow up as a good guy, trying to help his friend. And lastly, it made his threats more effective, by revealing a motive to carry through with those threats.
Third, Neal gets into the most trouble when he's being the least selfish. Probably true. Peter had witnessed this in St. Louis, when Neal made an impetuous decision to help protect Peter's cover by putting himself at risk. And one of Peter's biggest concerns returning to New York was that Neal would sacrifice his deal with the FBI to win back Kate. Winslow's reason for mentioning this trait of Neal's could be to paint Neal as a sympathetic figure who needs Winslow's support and the FBI's tolerance.
Fourth, Neal goes on guilt overdrive. Probably not true. Peter couldn't reconcile this claim with anything he had observed. Nor could he unravel a motive for Winslow to make this claim. This one was a puzzle, which Peter wanted to revisit.
Last, Winslow had the resources to monitor Peter and the FBI's treatment of Neal. Unlikely. That kind of access and data was limited. Even if Winslow were in the FBI himself, he wouldn't be permitted to monitor another agent without probable cause. But the reason for the threat was clear; Winslow wanted Peter to know that Neal wasn't alone in the world, that he had friends willing to stand up for him, even against an entity as large and powerful as the FBI.
Peter had to respect that level of courage and friendship, even as the law officer in him disapproved of Winslow's approach. Threats against the FBI and its agents were out of bounds. If Winslow had worded his warning slightly more strongly, he would have been breaking the law.
This "legal con," as Neal had described it, had placed a lot of information and assumptions in Peter's head, and had taken a while to untangle. The truth was, he still hadn't untangled it all.
"Peter?" Neal said.
Peter brought his attention back to Neal, who had kicked off this analysis of Winslow's words by asking what the man had planted in Peter's head. All of that, from one phone call. And he claimed to be Neal's oldest friend. "I think the better question is, what has he planted in your head?"
Neal shook his head. "He doesn't get to me. Not anymore. I'm a wall."
Peter withheld judgment on that one. But he should follow up on the most puzzling of Winslow's claims. "Do you regret anything you've done, Neal?"