Mozzie

Neal had texted Peter where he was and his handler turned up, angry as a bee. He did not stop but just marched by, and Neal tagged along. He listened to Peter muttering about that he would send Neal back to prison if Neal did not do what he was told. He kept quiet while Peter let his steam out.

"What was that about?" Peter huffed. "You had me off my game."

"You told me to watch her reaction. I did."

"By breaking and entering?" Peter growled but Neal kept calm. He had not done anything that illegal.

"Phil let me in."

"Who's Phil?!"

"The guy at the door—" Neal informed him, but Peter held up his hand. "You wanna know what I found?"

"No!"

"She got rattled when she heard FBI," Neal continued anyway. "She went to her desk and locked something in a top drawer."

"Oh, God!" Peter stopped and breathed as if he saw his whole career vanish in front of his feet.

"I didn't steal it," Neal assured his handler. "Photocopied it."

He pulled it out of his pocket and held the folded paper out to Peter, who ripped it out of his hand.

"It's a pawnshop ticket," Neal informed him. "Bet I know what she was pawning."

"No, I didn't see this," Peter told him and crumbled the paper in his hand. He pointed and Neal. "You didn't see this."

Peter marched away and Neal found it best not to follow along this time.

"But I did see it."

And even if Peter had to ignore it, Neal had no such limitations. He brought out the second copy he had made of the pawnshop ticket. From Peter's lessons about what to do and not as a federal agent, he had had a hunch this could happen.

He brought out his phone and called Mozzie. The friend answered.

"Hey, Moz, I got a favor to ask you."

"What's up?"

"Check out a pawnshop ticket for me."

When Peter came home a movie was on the TV and both women sat in their pajamas petting Satchmo. Peter had never wished more to be invisible. Now he was unwelcome in his own home. El saw him and he waved for her that he would go upstairs but she gestured for him not to. She rose and they met in the small area between the two sets of front doors.

"How is she holding up?" Peter whispered.

"As good as can be expected," El replied. She gave him a look that very much reminded Peter of Neal's puppy-look when he wanted something.

"Do you think we could finish watching the movie?" she asked. Meaning him out of the way.

"Little girl time?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

She nodded.

"Yeah."

"Yeah. I'll find something to do," Peter sighed. He was rewarded by a big kiss from his wife.

"Good man."

"That's what I keep telling people."

"Have fun," she smiled at him as she returned inside. What a joke.

What on Earth would he do now? It was too late to spend a couple of hours in the library. He could call Jones to see if he was up for a beer. But what he really wanted was to get Dana out of the house and get his home and wife back. Beers with Jones could not help him with that.

Neal sat on his bed with Kate's bottle in one hand and browsing a book with maps with the other. The pattern he had brought to life on the label was the New York subway alright, but where to look? He flipped the page and looked at an old map of Newfoundland with someone's route marked out, ending with an X. He turned the bottle. 'Bordeaux', with a big X at the end. And that X marked a place on the map. The circle of a subway station was right in the center of the X.

"X marks the spot. Kate loves the classics." And she had sure loved Indiana Jones. He picked up his phone

"Moz, it's me."

"Yeah?"

"You nearby?"

"Did your suit put a tail on me?"

"What?" As far as Neal knew Peter did not even know what his mysterious friend looked like. "No, look. I think I figured out the map. It's a Bordeaux label. Bordeaux with an X. X marks the spot."

"You know, Kate loves the classics," Moz agreed in the other end of the line.

"Yes, she does," Neal grinned.

"I found a bit of treasure too. On my way to show you."

"Hurry up," Neal demanded, eager to know what he found.

"I walk at a delicate pace." Mozzie was not a guy you hurried that easy. He hung up and when he did that he heard a knock on his door.

"That was fast," he mused to himself. He got to his feet and the knock was repeated. "Yep. Coming," he called as he walked to the door.

"Hey, Mo—" Neal found himself staring at Peter. "My man." Should have known. It had not been Mozzie's way of knocking.

"Expecting somebody?" his handler asked.

"Not at all." Could be called a lie, but not one serious enough to have any value.

"Good," Peter smiled, pushed a bottle of wine in his hand and walked past him into his home.

"Come right on in," Neal offered. He knew Peter had every right to be in his home, but could the man not have the sense to at least act as if he cared for Neal's opinion on the matter?

"Wow, unbelievable," Peter breathed as he watched the view over Manhattan. Neal saw Peter had no less than twelve cans of beer in his hand.

"Last time we had a drink, we made a breakthrough," his handler said as he put the beer in Neal's fridge. "Hoping tonight, we can solve the whole damn case."

Neal looked at the bottle of wine in his hand. Peter did care. He had bought beer for himself and wine to his felon who he knew did not care much for beer. It was a nice touch. No, it was more than that. It was a gesture from someone who knew he walked into someones home, but not because he had the right, but because he sought the company. Neal's company.

Neal brought out glasses, handed Peter an opener and uncorked the wine. They sat down.

"So Dana still at the house?" Neal asked as he poured a glass of wine.

"Yep." Peter opened a can and raised it to a toast. "Here's to freeing Captain John Mitchell so I can go back home."

"I'll drink to that." Not that he minded the company, but because he wanted Peter to be happy. He could tell he was not at the moment.

There was the expected knock on the door. Neal rose.

"I'll get that. It's probably June."

He opened the door but Mozzie was too ready to burst with pride to notice Neal's gesture to keep quiet.

"Photocopy of a pawn ticket, but I got this coin." Then he noticed Neal's look. "What?"

"Sorry, Mr. Haversham," Neal replied. "June isn't here at the moment."

"Oh, well, uh, too bad. Uh. Tell her I look forward to our next round of drinks and Parcheesi." Parcheesi? Not very plausible Moz, Neal thought.

"Yep."

He was eager to close the door and pretend it never happened.

"Hang on a second." Peter's voice from within the room. Neal sighed and kept the door open.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Apparently, I'm interrupting something," Mozzie grinned and was far from natural.

"Yeah," Neal agreed. That was an understatement. Well, it was little he could do about it.

"Who are you?" Peter asked Mozzie as he turned up by his side.

"I'm the neighbor," Mozzie explained. "Dan… te… Haversham. Dante Haversham." Sometimes Neal wondered how Mozzie managed to stay out of prison and this time he asked himself how his friend even managed to survive at all.

"And you're dating June?" Peter asked as if they were mingling at a party and the man he just met was not strange at all. And he had thought that Peter lacked acting skills. His handler almost spooked him.

"Courting," Mozzie corrected Peter. "Courting. What can I say? She likes a little cream in her coffee." Did Moz blush? Oh, my god this just got worse.

"You really wanna keep this up?" Peter asked Neal. What a relief!

"No, I don't," Neal replied, glaring at Mozzie. "You're right. This is—"

"No. I know," Peter stopped him. "How about I just call you Mr. Haversham?"

What? Did Peter just agree to not knowing the name of his mysterious friend? In their contract, there was a paragraph that said that Neal had to give the names of those visiting him, upon demand. Not that Mozzie was a real name, but nevertheless, he had been prepared to keep his part of the deal.

"Come on in," Peter invited.

Mozzie looked baffled and terrified. He took a step through the door.

"Thought you'd be taller," Peter said.

"Me too."

"Well, you're here. Have a drink." Peter patted Moz's back with a grin and walked to the fridge.

Neal put a hand on Mozzie's shoulder, shaking his head. His friend got the message.

"Oh, no. I don't drink."

"Well, you do tonight," Peter insisted.

Great, Neal thought. Mozzie smiled.

"Gin's good," he agreed without hesitation and continued into the room.

Peter knocked on Neal's door with the bottle of wine he had bought. When there was no reply he knocked again, suddenly worried that the kid would not be at home. He relaxed when he heard a 'coming' from inside. A second later Neal opened.

"Hey, Mo—" Neal halted in surprise. "My man." Nice catch, Peter thought

"Expecting somebody?"

"Not at all." Maybe not, but he had thought he opened the door for someone else, that was for sure.

"Good," Peter smiled and was simply glad that Neal was at home. He pushed the bottle of wine in Neal's hands and walked past him into his home. He knew he took the liberty because he was Neal's handler and the young man was a convict with an anklet. He tried to persuade himself that the kid needed to be reminded of this, but the truth was that Peter could not manage not to spend the evening with Neal. He had been thrown out of his home — temporarily, but still — and he needed someplace sane, someplace where he could control the variables.

"Come right on in," Neal offered behind him and closed the door.

"Wow, unbelievable," Peter breathed as he watched the view over Manhattan. He had not been there since he had given Neal his consultant ID. An amazing place indeed.

"Last time we had a drink, we made a breakthrough," he explained his visit to Neal, filling his little fridge with all the beer he had bought. It was more than he should drink on a night, but it would be long and he was not in his best mood.

"Hoping tonight, we can solve the whole damn case." So I can go home, he thought.

Neal did not argue. He just seemed to accept the intrusion. He brought out glasses, handed Peter an opener and uncorked the wine. They sat down.

"So Dana still at the house?" Neal asked him as he poured the wine. The kid had figured out the real reason for why Peter was there. It was a clever kid. The smartest man he ever met. Of course, he figured it out. It was probably stamped on Peter's forehead.

"Yep." Peter opened a can and raised it to a toast. "Here's to freeing Captain John Mitchell so I can go back home."

It was a good thing to be with Neal. Then he would not get too drunk. Not as drunk as he wanted to be. He was after all the kid's handler.

"I'll drink to that," Neal agreed.

There was a knock on the door. Neal rose.

"I'll get that. It's probably June."

Peter sipped from his beer with the back to the door. He heard Neal open it.

"Photocopy of a pawn ticket, but I got this coin." The mysterious friend. Peter was sure of it. "What?"

"Sorry, Mr. Haversham," Neal articulated. "June isn't here at the moment."

"Oh, well, uh, too bad. Uh. Tell her I look forward to our next round of drinks and Parcheesi."

If he turned and looked the friend might run, might put Neal in trouble, might be in trouble himself. Peter figured if he could handle not arresting Neal for things turning up from his past, he could handle this mystery man too.

"Yep," Neal cut the conversation.

"Hang on a second," Peter demanded and rose, turning towards the door. He saw a short, bald, funny-looking man with glasses. A man who could easily disappear. He understood at once why Jones lost him every time. The man looked like everybody else.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Apparently, I'm interrupting something," the little man excused himself, grinning as if he was nervous.

"Yeah," Neal agreed with a sigh.

"Who are you?" Peter asked.

"I'm the neighbor," the little man improvised. "Dan… te… Haversham. Dante Haversham." He definitely lacked Neal's stunning gift to handle unexpected situations.

"And you're dating June?" Peter asked just for fun.

"Courting. Courting. What can I say?" the man giggled. Peter glanced at Neal. The kid had a smile on his face that was more sheepish that charming for once. "She likes a little cream in her coffee."

Peter turned to Neal.

"You really wanna keep this up?"

"No, I don't," Neal replied without hesitation, glaring at Mozzie. "You're right. This is—"

"No! I know!" Peter stopped him. Tonight he just wanted to relax and have a nice time. "How about I just call you Mr. Haversham?"

He saw Neal staring at him in surprise.

"Come on in," Peter invited.

Mr. Haversham took a step through the door like he was entering a lion's den. Well, tonight Peter would be a nice lion.

"Thought you'd be taller," he commented. He had no idea why, but he had figured the mysterious man to be of his own length.

"Me too," the man replied without looking at him, stiff as if he was made out of wood.

"Well, you're here. Have a drink." Peter felt his gloomy mood leave him and walked to the fridge.

"Oh, no. I don't drink." Smart move, Peter figured, not to risk to talk too much.

"Well, you do tonight," Peter insisted. Though he would not tell either of them, they would have to confess to a great deal tonight before he took any action. He had no wish to be an FBI agent at the moment. He just wanted to have a drink with a few friends.

"Gin's good," his new buddy replied, loosening up as a button had been pressed, and sat down by the table.

Neal sat down on his old spot. He did not look comfortable with the situation, at all.

"I believe you've gin somewhere?" Peter asked him.

"Yeah." Neal rose and took out a bottle and a glass to the mystery man.

"Relax, Neal" Peter encouraged and sat down at his old seat. Neal returned to his chair, but he looked troubled, still.

Peter asked about June, New York, restaurants as they were neutral subjects. Mr. Haversham poured himself a glass of gin and trailed his eyes over Peter as they shared polite pleasantries.

"So you're the famous fed, Agent Peter Burke," the man said at last. It felt as if he just passed a test.

"I am."

"The man who figured out where Kate was when Neal couldn't," the little man grinned at him.

"Yeah. I didn't keep tabs on her, though," Peter admitted. "So I had no idea she had moved when Neal escaped."

"Neither did Neal," the other giggled.

Peter finished his beer and went for a new one in the fridge.

"I don't get it. Girl leaves nothing but an empty bottle behind." He could still not understand it. Neal had told him the story about the bottle but it did not explain why she behaved as she had.

"Least she could do was leave a full one," Mr. Haversham laughed.

"Guys, I'm right here," Neal pointed out.

"Fair enough. Fair enough," Peter agreed.

He noted that Neal had not touched his wine since the man had arrived. Did he feel he had to protect his friend? He had no problem drinking when Peter and he were alone, so yes, probably. He, on the other hand, had a good time. He wished Neal could, too.

"Whoo. Man, look at that view," he breathed. "Is this why you guys do it? Is this what it's all about?"

"It's not about the stuff," the little man objected.

"Moz, don't…" Neal warned. 'Moz'? Was that the man's real name? Probably not a name he would find in any system, or at the man's ID, in case he had one. 'Moz' was however not worried about what he could and could not say.

"It's about doing what we wanna do. Who cares about 9 to 5's and 401 K's? Playing by the rules only makes borders that just take away everything that's good about living life."

"Moz, Moz, you lived in a storage unit," Neal reminded his friend.

"Yeah. But I lived there, man. I lived!" Me Haversham insisted. "Long as I don't have to live under anyone else's time or dime I'm a free man. I can do whatever I want."

"Like going to the pawnshop and getting that coin you have in your pocket?"

Dumbfounded the guy glanced at Neal for help, but there was none to be found. The kid just smiled and made a 'you-made-your-bed'-gesture. Peter laughed.

"Come on. Let's see it." He had no intention to bring any one of them in and he wanted them to know it.

The man Neal called Moz, grinned, dug in his pocket, and threw him a gold coin. Peter caught it. It was beautiful, old, and valuable beyond its weight in gold.

"It's a hell of a thing."

"Islamic dinar from the Abbasid dynasty," Moz told him with certainty. "Last seen in the museum in Mosul."

Everything had a price and Peter knew he had just paid it for a buddy-night with two criminals.

"I really shouldn't even know about this," Peter sighed. He saw that Neal was looking at him. "Alisha's guilty, isn't she?"

"Looks like it," Neal agreed. There was sympathy in his eyes. They had worked together long enough for the kid to know what agony he felt right now.

"I'm holding damning evidence and I can't do a damn thing with it." Peter was frustrated.

"Your rules, Tin Man, not mine." The little guy did not make things better.

"Come on, Peter," Neal insisted. "Give me the coin." Like it would make him feel better. He appreciated the gesture from Neal, though. Somehow he had a feeling he had raised in ranks with Neal this night. Though he still stayed away from the wine, he seemed far more relaxed. Accepting his criminal friend without questions and arrests might have a good side-effect in the long run, but for the moment it was agony to know about the damn coin. He flipped it between his fingers.

"I can see it now. 'FBI agent illegally obtains evidence. News at 11.'"

"That's a hell of a story," Neal nodded in agreement. "Too bad she can't report it."

An idea crossed Peter's mind.

"Maybe she can," he mumbled.

Moz froze in a middle of a move, sipping gin. Neal's eyebrows went up. The wheels in Peter's mind kept spinning.

"This might work," he said at last. It was even all legal.

"What will work?" the Moz-guy wanted to know. He told them what he had on his mind.

He got a big grin from Neal's friend.

"Not bad, Suit. Not bad at all."