Angry gangster

"He cut the tracker!" Ruiz said in a tone as if Peter was an idiot.

"Right on schedule," Peter replied without losing focus on the screen.

"You knew about this?"

"Of course. He had to convince her he's rigging the system."

"What if he really is?"

"There are a dozen unmarked in the area. N.Y.P.D. has eyes in the sky. There's nowhere to hide." He had not told Neal about this though. It was far more interesting to see what the kid would do without that information. Fiametta drove away with Neal.

"Let's go."

They had stopped at an abandoned building site. A wide open space where no one could hide unnoticed. Neal noted a helicopter in the sky to the east, hanging still in the air. Had Peter made sure he had eyes on him? Plausible. Without supervision, he could take the book and run. Would Peter believe him if he said it had not crossed his mind? Probably not.

Maria walked around the car.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." She opened the trunk. "I spent a long time looking for her."

There is was. Things with history had always fascinated Neal. And this book was Medieval, seven hundred years old. Hands from many generations had touched it. And now it was his turn.

"I guess it wasn't meant to be." Neal pulled on the white cotton gloves and picked it up. He opened it. "It's calfskin vellum. Golden chalice of Paul."

"You satisfied?"

"Very," Neal confirmed. He picked up his phone. "Sending. It's on its way… And here it is."

"Thank you very much," Maria confirmed the transfer on her side.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you," Neal beamed at her.

"You'll never know how much pleasure it could have been." And there she was pointing a gun at him. God, how he hated guns. And he disliked with all his heart how so many waved their lethal potential around as if it was capable of little else than posing as a threat.

"You know, I had a feeling all that lovey-dovey stuff last night was BS."

"Next time, you should trust your instincts."

"Oh, I did." Neal held the clip to the gun up to her. "Clip. Lifted it when I patted you down."

When she had giggled at his left hand down her thigh he had had his right in her purse.

"You forgot about the one in the chamber."

"Damn it. I've never been a gun guy." He was, actually, but he had hoped she was not. Most people carrying guns did not have a bullet in the chamber.

"Give me the book, Neal."

"Sorry. If you're gonna take me on, it's gonna cost you a small fortune." He held the book up in front of him as a shield. "You can't do it? Is it because of the money or the history?"

"You know the answer."

"Is that why you killed Paul?" Where was Peter? He was supposed to turn up now.

"Paul wanted the money and the book." Just as you do now, Maria.

"Yeah. That's what happens when you get greedy." He heard the gun fire and felt his back hit the ground.

Peter throw himself out of the van the second it stopped.

"Drop the gun!" he yelled at Maria. "Gun down or we shoot. Gun down!"

He had her at gunpoint and she saw it. Lauren backed him up, also aiming her gun at Maria.

"Right now, put your gun down," Peter called out again. "Your hands behind your head."

She put it down and raised her hands.

Peter saw Neal lying on the ground.

"Man down. Man down!" he called out and rushed to him. No blood. He was breathing. Neal's eyes searched his. Was the kid alright?

"Cut it a little close there, pal," Neal said in a weak voice. Peter help him to his feet. He saw the bullet buried in the cover of the book.

"Guess the big guy had your back, huh?" He pattered Neal on his shoulder, happy that the kid was alright. He scanned the area with a smile. They made it. Neal had not run.

"Well, I'll tell you one thing. You made Lauren's day." Lauren grinned all over her face as she cuffed Maria Fiametta.

"Yeah, not Barelli," Ruiz sighed. Peter saw the gangster and his gang of bodyguards arrive.

"How did you and your scouts find out about this?" Peter asked "N.Y.P.D.?"

"I got one of those police scanners," Barelli admitted. "It's a hobby."

He saw the professor be placed in the backseat of a car.

"She's Paulie's shooter? Some kind of lover's quarrel?" he grinned.

"Just business," Peter assured him. "I hate to break it to you, but your nephew decided to freelance behind your back."

"Oh, it's sad, you know," Ruiz commented. "If you can't trust family, who can you trust?"

Barelli did not bother to comment on the news about Paul.

"So if you guys are done, I'd like my Bible back. Mass starts in one hour."

"Would it kill you to say thank you, huh? Would it?" Peter growled.

Barelli shrugged.

"I guess it would," Peter gave up. He turned to Neal. "All right, just give it to him."

"What?"

He stared at Neal.

"What do you mean 'what'? Give him the Bible."

"I gave it to some FBI guy."

Everything had seemed perfect less than a minute ago. And now the damn kid had stolen the god-damned Bible right in front of his nose. He could not believe it!

"'Some FBI guy'?"

Peter could not stand the innocent face staring back at him as if the kid did not know anything. 'Some FBI guy' indeed.

Barelli stepped up to Neal.

"Think you can get over on me?" Barelli spat into Neal's face. "You'll wish you were never born."

"Yeah. I seem to be getting this speech a lot lately," the kid replied.

Peter had to admire who resilient Neal was in all of this.

"Hey," Ruiz interfered. "Just shut up, Barelli."

Barelli glared at the man.

"No way. This ain't over."

When the gangster walked away Ruiz was not late to focus on Neal.

"Where is it, Caffrey? I'll let Barelli give you a ride home."

"Look, I'm telling you guys I don't know." Sure he did not. Peter grinned all over his face when he saw what could have happened.

"Oh. I know where it is." Neal turned and gave him an odd look.

They walked into the church. Barelli first with Peter on the trail and Neal was quick to keep up. He did not want to upset Peter even more and especially not give him any reason to think he was about to escape. Neal was still off anklet. He knew he could round a corner on his own and be gone. But it was not worth it. Not on an impulse without a plan. So he stuck close to Peter.

Steve sat in front of the altar with his dog, Lucy. Her head was resting on the book. Barelli marched up to Steve.

"Hey, pally," Barelli sneered. "What are you doing with my Bible?"

"She would've died without it," Steve defended himself. "If I…"

He handed the book to the gangster who yanked it out of his hand. Steve made an effort to leave.

"Not so fast, wacko. You know who you're messing with?"

"You've got it, Barelli," Peter interfered. "Just leave him alone."

"No, I'm not gonna let this go!" Lucy licked Barelli's hand and the gangster's eyes went to the dog. "Hey. Hey, sweet girl."

"Her name's Lucy."

Neal smiled when he saw Barelli sitting down on his heels, petting Lucy.

"Lucky Lucy. She don't look good. What's the matter?"

"She's been sick. Until today."

Barelli rose, thoughtful.

"I got this vet in Yonkers. He saved my pugs from diabetes. Wanna take a ride? Go see him? Have her checked out?"

Steve sent him and Peter a look. They both nodded. Neal had seen Barelli's body language soften and his voice had no edge. Peter must have sensed the same.

"Okay," Steve agreed and followed Barelli out of the church with Lucy.

Neal saw Peter looking at him.

"I was gonna give it back after," he whispered.

"I know."

Peter strolled down the aisle.

"How'd you know?" Neal was eager to learn. Peter had seemed so confident, yet Neal had been certain that Peter had not noticed Mozzie in the FBI windbreaker taking the Bible from Neal. When Mozzie wanted to be invisible he was.

"Okay, I didn't know," Peter admitted. "But I took a leap of faith that you'd do the right thing."

Neal grinned. He had an idea who placed that thought into his head.

"Elizabeth?"

"Yeah."

Barelli handed the Bible to the priest on the way out the church.

"I told you it's a healing Bible," Neal teased Peter.

"Oh, here we go. No way. Barelli's a softy for dogs."

"Oh, not enough smiting and lightning for you?"

They watched Barelli scratching Lucy behind the ear. Yes, it had been a good day. Peter grinned all over this face.

"That's not a miracle. Come on. It's not a parting of the Red Sea."

"I'll take my miracles where I can get them," Neal smiled. No matter if there was a god or not, small acts of goodness happened every day. If you noticed them, life became a happier place.

Two guys with FBI printed on their clothes in big letters walked into the church.

"We have the honors?"

Neal saw one of them holding the anklet. Well, it was good while it lasted.

"Yes, sir." He hitched up the left leg of his slacks and they fastened it around his ankle. He felt the weight.

"She's back."

He glanced at Peter. He was looking at him, but Neal was not sure how to read that look. He seemed proud, pleased. But for what? That he just made sure his convicted felon got his anklet back on, or because he thought Neal had done a good job?

On the way out Peter stopped.

"Hey, is that my jacket?" On a bench lay the FBI windbreaker Neal had borrowed from Peter that day at the docks, last Thursday.

"He works in mysterious ways." But Neal did not mean God this time. "I promised you, remember?"

Peter took his jacket and gave him a grin. That look was less hard to read.

"Your friend, right?"

Neal shrugged with a smile.

"As I said, he works in mysterious ways."

Neal had a hard time sleeping and was up early. Mozzie was snoring on his coach. The friend had returned the bottle last night and they had mulled over its mysteries. Or no mystery, as Moz believed. It was too early for whiskey but Neal sipped from what was left in the glass from the night before. He slung himself down in a chair and put his feet on the table.

He turned the bottle over in his hands. He had seen the video of their last meeting over and over. She did spell 'bottle' with her fingers. No question about it. It was depressing. She was in need and he could not help her.

He placed the bottle by a candle Neal forgot to turn out before he went to bed for a few hours of sleep. Nothing had happened, but it was foolish to leave it like that.

Then he stared at the label. Something appeared in the heat of the flame.

"Mozzie, wake up." He grabbed the bottle. "Moz. Mozzie!"

"Let me see your warrant," Mozzie yelled in panic and then came to awake. "Oh. What?"

"Come here." Neal smiled.

Mozzie got to his feet. When he saw the map on the label of the bottle his mouth dropped open.

"Lemon juice and a candle," Neal mused.

"How did I miss this?" Mozzie wondered.

"Weren't you ever a Boy Scout?"

"Oh, I got kicked out."

Neal gazed at his friend.

"Pinewood derby, magnets, it was a whole thing," Moz explained. It did not seem as his most fond memory.

"It's a map."

"Of the New York City subway. What do you think it means?"

Neal had no idea, yet. But he would find out.