Chapter Three

The Other Side

Nora paced on Peter's back patio, the case file clutched tight in her hands, stopping occasionally to spare glances thought the window where Peter was talking on the phone. He'd been very quiet since he'd been told to leave the FBI, and Nora felt helpless to do anything but watch. El was standing at the patio table, busying herself with idle work to keep distracted, but her face was drawn down with worry.

"What do you got there?" Nora wondered softly, eyeing the basket she was assembling, stocking with odds and ends.

"Oh, Mozzie's care package," she explained, "per his specific request. We've got gluten-free brownies and bendy straws."

Nora allowed herself a small smile. "He's definitely feeling better."

"Straws, though?" El mused.

Peter, finished with his phone call, came up behind El, sighing deeply, and put an arm around her waist. "We'll get through this," he assured her.

She put on a brave face. "I know." He kissed her gently on the forehead, and she took her basket inside, leaving Peter and Nora alone.

He leaned heavily on the back of the chair, taking a moment to gather himself before he spoke. "That was Diana. Department of Justice has pulled all my files."

"That was fast."

"Evidence tampering?" he huffed. "It doesn't get any worse than that. Every case I've closed will be brought into question."

"Maybe I'll get the anklet off sooner than I thought," she teased, unable to help herself from making a joke to ease the heavy atmosphere.

Peter didn't look too amused. "You might." His brow furrowed and he stared off into space. "How the hell did Larssen plant my print?"

Nora wracked her brain. It wasn't too difficult to plant prints… "He could have used a photo-edged metal master of the print and used it to cast a latex positive."

He gave her a hard look, clearly not surprised she had a possible explanation. "Okay, let me rephrase that question. Where the hell did Larssen get my fingerprints?"

That was a pretty good question. She considered it for a moment. "He didn't get it out of your personnel file," she decided, tossing the file down on the table, thought that wasn't very helpful. "The print on the gun has detail outside the print on file." She grabbed the mug of coffee El had left her, taking a long sip.

"Did he get it from a doorknob?"

"No, too many people touch it. He'd need a clean print, preferably off a hard surface." She took another drink, and Peter's eyes followed her movement. She caught his hard stare. "What?"

"My mug," he recalled. "It disappeared."

That would be a hard surface that would almost certainly have exclusively Peter's fingerprints. "You think Larssen's brazen enough to walk into the FBI?"

"If he was, we've got him on camera."

Peter sent her home to wait while he got a hold of Diana. Nora busied herself with a game of chess, her opponent being herself, as there was no one else to play with, spinning the board and trying to outwit herself. Peter rushed in a couple hours later, presumably with information.

"Catch yourself cheating yet?" he wondered, closing the door behind him and joining her at the table with a blue FBI file in hand.

"I tried," she sighed. "My opponent's always one step ahead of me."

"Imagine that." He handed her a photo from the file. "Look familiar?"

"A… janitor?" The man wore the overalls of the FBI's maintenance staff and a baseball cap, his head tilted away from the camera the still was taken from. "Is this supposed to be Larssen?" Peter nodded. "How'd he get past security?"

"He used a maintenance pass," Peter explained. "No one pays much attention to the janitors, no one thought it strange that maintenance walked into my office." It was simple, yet apparently pretty effective. "He got onto my computer when he was there."

"What did he do?"

Peter shrugged. "Well, he erased all history of being there. Fortunately," Peter continued, a hint of smugness in his tone, "I keep a secret key logger on my computer."

She grinned. "I have never appreciated your distrust of me more." She was also very thankful she never got the dumb idea to try and sneak onto his computer at any point.

Peter flipped the file open, pulled out a sub-folder, and handed it over. "Larssen logged in and erased something from his own file." She read over it, lists of his known contacts. "There's a copy of his most recent file," he said, pointing at a paper on the right-hand side of the folder. He then drew her attention to the paper on the left. "And there's a copy of a few days ago."

A name on the older copy had been deleted from the newer one. "He erased the name Frederick Bilal."

"He's a Nigerian prince."

Nora blinked. "I thought those only existed in spam e-mail," she joked.

Not in a joking mood, Peter ignored her and handed over a second folder. "Bilal likes to race horses internationally. He owns a number of shipping companies. And he handles a lot of import and export out of New York Harbor."

"Where can we find His Royal Highness?" she wondered, studying the photo of a man with rich ebony skin, smiling broadly in front of a race horse.

"He spends his days at the Rogers Yacht Club."

She tugged at her hair thoughtfully. "Rogers is pretty tough to get into," she allowed.

"Yeah, and I can't flash my badge anymore."

She smiled, snapping the file closed. "You don't need one." If they couldn't work inside the law, Nora had no qualms working… around it. "I'll go in as an upper-crust, spoiled elite," she explained. Peter didn't seem to be listening, instead pulling out his phone and dialing. "I'll make a scene. Then you come in. And you're pissed at me becau-" He cut her off with a hand in her face, holding the phone up to his ear.

She scowled, folding her arms. "The only options aren't the law or the con, Nora." Easy for him to say. "Hey," he greeted when whoever he'd called picked up, "it's Peter. I'm calling in a favor."

Nora was still grumpy about Peter's easy dismissal of her idea as they made their way to Rogers the next day. "I hope you got a plan, Peter," she grumped as they walked.

"I do," he assured her. "I do." He seemed pretty confidant, so she let it go.

A man stopped them at the entrance of the marina. "Sorry, sir, ma'am," he said, "members only."

"They're with me," a familiar man's voice called from up ahead. "Spencer Ellis, Stirling Bosch Insurance."

Nora shot Peter a side-eye, his 'calling in a favor' the night before making sense. "Hi, Spencer."

"Hi, Peter." His eyes fell on Nora, hand on his hip as he looked her up and down for a moment, a half-smirk playing on his lips. "Nora, it's been a while. Nice to see you fully clothed." Peter's look of bewilderment was its own reward, and she smiled brightly at Spencer. She'd nearly – but not quite – forgotten that Spencer had last seen her in a night gown that was, admittedly, very revealing, and she wasn't altogether too upset about that fact.

They followed Spencer down the pier. "So, you're a member?" Nora asked. Spencer didn't really seem the type, but she couldn't be sure.

"My company insures a number of yachts here."

"Thanks for the assist," Peter said, his prior confusion shrugged off in favor of the urgency of the case.

"I owe you one," Spencer dismissed.

Peter's eyes fell on one of the yachts, with a couple of men standing on deck. "That's our guy," he noted. "Prince Bilal.

"Prince, huh?"

"Eh, princes are not all they're cracked up to be," Nora laughed.

"And you would know that how?" Spencer wondered, and she could feel Peter's stare boring holes in the back of her head.

She ignored the question. "You want me to talk to him?"

"Why you?" Peter asked, indignant.

"Because of your… situation."

Spencer's brow furrowed as he looked between the two of them. "What's wrong?"

"You make it sound like I'm dying," Peter huffed. He turned back to Spencer, who looked lost. "Things are complicated at the FBI. But I don't need a badge to do good detective work."

"Alright," Nora allowed. "What's your in?"

"He likes horses," he said simply, as if that was an explanation. "Keep an eye on his boat." With that, Peter sauntered off, leaving Nora alone with Spencer.

"It's like Superman without his powers," she mused, watching him go.

Bilal was sitting at the bar when Peter walked in. Casual as anything, Peter made his way to the bar. "How're you doing?" he asked the bartender, coming to a stop a few stools down from Bilal.

"Good."

"Turn on the horse races, will you?" he requested. "Channel twelve."

"Yes, sir."

Next to him, Bilal bowed his head, looking less than enthused. "What?" Peter wondered with a smirk.

The TV screen flickered to life to the image of horses galloping across the track. "Puddle of Money cost me one hundred grand last time he ran," the man sighed.

"Well, that's what you get for betting the chalk. Puddle will always feel the fire on the home turn." Did Peter forget to mention to Nora that he knew what he was doing? Oops.

"A racing enthusiast," the man mused, impressed.

"Yeah."

"Thank God. Everyone here just wants to talk sailing." Peter laughed, and they watched the race. They ordered drinks, talking races, then business.

"So, your company ships around the world?" Peter asked, taking a very small sip of his drink.

"We do."

"Hmm." Peter dropped his voice down low. "Give me some advice. I have a couple horses I want to race internationally, but the mandatory quarantine period is killing my profits. Any way around that?"

Bilal didn't meet his gaze. "What you're suggesting is illegal."

"So is giving you an inside track on whether one of my jockeys is gonna be dragging the reins in an upcoming race."

Bilal smiled, coy. "I'll check the logbook tonight."

"I appreciate that." They raised their drinks in a small toast, and the next race began.

Nora and Spencer kept an eye on the boat, as requested, Nora shifting impatiently the longer they were left. She always hated being left on the sidelines, and doubly so when Peter wasn't so bogged down with the weight of his pesky badge.

Spencer seemed to be growing impatient himself. "Clark Kent seems to be doing well for himself," he joked. "What now, Wonder Girl?"

"You're mixing your superheroes," she noted dryly.

He rolled his eyes. "And you're working guard duty."

She turned to face Spencer, staring up at him with a slight scowl. "'Keep an eye on something' is code between me and Peter." Was that a lie? Eh, what did it matter? "Okay? It means do some digging, see what I can find."

"Does Peter know that's what it means?" he asked, entirely too sharp for his own good.

Nora ignored him, looking around. "Is that the captain of Bilal's yacht?" she asked, pointing out a blonde woman with a clipboard dressed in the captain's uniform.

"Yeah, what are you thinking?"

She didn't answer, mind racing as she toyed with her hair. "Who's the owner of this club?"

"Frank Wellington."

"Does he come out here often?"

A smile split his face. "Rarely. I take it that's supposed to be me?"

"If you'll have me as your Mrs. Wellington."

He considered it for a moment, eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her, appraising. "Alright."

"Great. Wallet please." She held out a hand, and his amused smile faded. "Marriage is about trust."

"Ugh," he sighed, pulling it out of his pocket, emptying it of its cash, and laying it in her palm, "trust that there are no orphans for you to hide behind this time, and I will press charges."

"Thank you." She walked off. A deckhand was busy nearby, and Nora walked up to him. "Hi." She flashed a charming smile and held up the wallet. "Fifty bucks if you come up to that man in the gray suit right there," she said, pointing Spencer out. "Say I found your wallet, Mr. Wellington."

"Um…" He stared around, confused, as if he was being punked, or set up in some way.

"Fifty bucks is fifty bucks."

"Oh… okay."

"Great." She pressed it into his hand. "Wait a couple minutes before you come over, okay?"

"Sure…"

Spencer didn't look too pleased when she returned to his side. "You gave him my wallet."

"He'll give it back," she dismissed. "Probably. Follow my lead. We need to see the names in the logbook, get a picture of them if we can." She wound her arm through his curling up close to his side. Exasperated, he followed where she guided him. They drew near Bilal's yacht. "This is the yacht?"

"It is," Spencer said, no longer scowling at her antics. "Isn't it perfect?"

"Yes." The blonde woman came up to them, brow furrowed. "Excuse me, are you the captain?"

"I am. I'm afraid we're unavailable for charter until early November."

Nora let her face drop. "Oh, no," Spencer mused, putting a hand on the small of her back. "My lovely wife… she's dead set on this boat. Can we get a tour?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Wellington," the man Nora had given the wallet to cut in, tapping Spencer on the shoulder. "You dropped this." He handed over the wallet.

"Oh, thank you so much," Spencer said.

Nora laughed. "Oh, he'd lose his head if it wasn't attached. Give him fifty, won't you, darling?" Spencer's smile was tight, and he looked like he wanted nothing more than to shove Nora off the dock into the water. "As a thank you."

"Of course." He pulled out a crisp fifty dollar bill and handed it over. "Thank you."

"Thank you, sir," the man said before turning and heading away with the easiest fifty bucks he'd probably ever made.

The captain, who'd been watching bemused, stared between them. "You're Mr. Wellington?"

"You caught me," Spencer lied with a sheepish smile. "Call me Frank."

She nodded slowly, unimpressed. "I've met Frank Wellington." Well… shit.

But, thankfully, Spencer thought quick on his feet. "I'm sure you have. I'm his son."

"Just call him Junior," Nora added brightly. "Everybody does." The captain didn't quite seem convinced, but she said nothing further, lips pursed. "Honey, what should we do now?"

"Maybe I can convince someone to give us their reservation," Spencer mused. "Who's taking her out next?" The captain checked her clipboard, and Spencer stepped forward to look over her shoulder. "I'm sure I know one or two of the names in your logbook." Spencer shot her a glance, eyebrow arched, and she took the cue.

"You know," Nora said, stepping toward the captain, "I would just love to ask you a couple questions over here." She practically dragged the captain away.

"May I?" Spencer asked, gesturing toward the book. The woman handed it over without a fuss.

"First of all," Nora started, keeping the captain's attention away from Spencer as he got to work snapping pictures of the logbook with his cell phone while she rambled on about rich people stuff. Spencer nodded at her, stowing his phone back in his pocket, and they excused themselves from the captain, arm in arm.

Peter rejoined them near the entrance just a few minutes later, after Spencer sent Nora the photos of the logbook. "He bet on the horse races," Nora asked after recounting his detective work.

"He did."

"Peter Burke, cowboy," Spencer mused. "Why does that make so much sense?"

"I grew up in upstate," he dismissed. "Lots of horses. You pick up a thing or two." Nora got the feeling Peter had picked up a bit more than a thing or two, but she tucked that away for later. "Spencer, thanks for your help."

"Yeah." He turned to Nora, grinning lopsidedly. "Thanks for the shotgun marriage."

"Anytime," she called after him as walked away. "You want the good news?"

"Sure."

"According to the log, every time Larssen came to New York, someone name Brian Blitek rented his yacht."

"That's one of Larssen's aliases."

Nora nodded. "Larssen comes to town, smuggles something, then leaves."

"Something important enough to break into the FBI to hide."

"What's the next step?" she wondered.

Peter sighed heavily. "Normally, I'd get a search warrant on the docks, do a wire tap and surveillance on Larssen and Bilal, and catch them red-handed smuggling whatever it is they smuggle."

But, without Peter's badge, that wasn't an option. Nora blinked. While Peter had dismissed her suggestion of a con earlier, it was one of the last options they had in their arsenal. "What if we get someone else to arrest him?"

"What do you mean?"

"We can do all the things you mentioned," she assured him quickly. "We'll just do it my way."

He considered it for a moment. "A con?"

"Nothing illegal. But if we-"

"Alright."

"Just hear me out, okay?" His words processed and she could barely believe her ears. She'd thought it was going to be a hard sell. "I saw what you did there."

His face was gravely serious. "If it means bringing Larssen down, I'm in." There was resolve there that was unusually intense, even for Peter who always seemed to have a laser sight on his target when he got the scent. "Nothing illegal?"

"Nope."

"How do we do it?"

She smirked. "First, you'll need to form a crew."

The idea seemed to intrigue him. "Burke's crew."

"Mm-hmm." Something akin to glee bubbled in her chest. Going so long - mostly - within the confines of the law, Nora had almost forgotten the rush of putting together a crew for a proper con, and the fact that Peter of all people was involved made it that much sweeter. Baby's first con. "Welcome to the other side."