Haustenberg

Peter walked up the stairs to Neal's apartment. He knocked on the door but there was no response. It was Monday morning, no reason for Neal to not be at home. Peter tried the handle and peeked inside. He saw Neal sit outside on the rooftop patio, dressed to leave for work. Peter let himself inside.

No movement from Neal. The kid looked troubled. Peter knocked on the door frame.

"Hey."

Neal looked up, smiled.

"Hey."

Peter walked out to him.

"Have a good weekend?" he asked.

"Nah. Nothing too exciting. I went to the park."

Peter watched the view. Hard to get enough of it.

"Oh, great. Glad you're getting out."

"Coffee?" Neal asked.

"Love to, no time. Got a stolen painting." They had better be there while the owner of the painting was still there.

"It's June's Italian roast," Neal pointed out as if it was rude to the coffee not drinking it.

Peter glanced at Neal. The kid had sure given him a tempting offer. But so could he.

"It's Haustenberg."

Neal's eyebrows went up in surprise.

"Haustenberg? Wow." He grabbed the file Peter was holding out to him. "Was it a museum heist?"

Peter served himself a cup of coffee. It was, after all, perfect.

"No, residential robbery," he informed the kid who gave him his second surprised look that morning. He drank the coffee.

"I'd like to meet the person who keeps a Haustenberg over their mantle," Neal told him.

"Me too," Peter agreed.

The troubled look was gone from Neal and he was on his feet.

"So let's go see him."

"Her," Peter corrected. "One Julianna Laszio."

As usual, Peter sat behind the steering wheel. Neal did not object. He knew as well as Peter that it was not an option to drive an official FBI car without a valid driver's license. He liked to drive, though. Being a passenger without control had never been his strong suit.

"Love Haustenberg," Neal told Peter. "Which one of his paintings was stolen?"

"This one is called Young Girl with Locket."

"No photograph?" He had not seen one in the file.

"No, but I bet you it's a painting of a young girl wearing a locket."

"You don't get enough credit for your deductive skills."

"It's worth two million and change," Peter told him.

Neal knew that. He knew both the physical and psycial value of art.

"That's nice. Haustenbergs are rare. Not many works made it out of Hungary after the War."

"Yeah, rare can make it valuable," Peter agreed and gave him a stern look. "Very valuable."

"What are you looking at me for?"

"Why do you think?"

"I didn't steal it," he assured Peter.

"I know you didn't steal it," his handler returned. "But you like paintings. I'm worried that if we find it it may be too much temptation for you."

It was a friendly concern. Neal relaxed.

"I can handle temptation," he smiled at Peter. Peter glared back at him. And not on the road. "Wanna keep your eyes on the road?"

The breaks of the car made it come to a stop all by itself when another car slid in in front of them.

"This is a Taurus. The car can take care of itself," Peter grinned. "I'm keeping my eyes on you."

Do you think I will steal a painting while in the car with you, Neal thought?

"The road is important too." Gee, what he wanted to steal that steering wheel from Peter. "Sorry," he called out through the open window.

"No- No, don't apologize," Peter objected. "That was- He stopped."

No use discussing traffic rules with an FBI agent. The car in front of them continued forward and Peter got the car rolling again. Neal reflected on something Peter said before.

"You know I didn't steal it. You checked my anklet?"

"I always check your anklet," Peter returned as if Neal should know this. "I pull a map up on you every day so I can see exactly where you've been. What's so interesting about Grand Central Station?"

So he was still checking. It had been two months and Neal had done nothing wrong whatsoever during that time.

"Oyster bar, it's the best in town." Neal was happy for Mozzie's suggestion. "I stayed within my two-mile radius."

"I wonder if we've been a little too generous on that," Peter muttered.

"Oh, yeah?" The mood from the morning returned. Kate's mysterious message. Peter's constant mistrust.

"What? Are you gonna sulk now?"

"You don't trust me."

"What did Reagan say? 'Trust but verify'?"

"That was also the motto of the Soviet secret police," Neal informed him. From Neal's point of view, you did not need to verify, if you trusted. That was the whole point of trust. But Peter had said 'trust'. It was some form of trust, anyway. Better than nothing.

"Get used to it, comrade," Peter ended the discussion about the anklet.

Once again Peter watched him as if he was the mobile object here.

"Eyes! Road!" Neal called out as another car slipped in before them and their car stopped automatically.

"Let's just recover the painting," Peter suggested.

"Yeah. And drive."

The door was opened by a girl in her early twenties, long blond hair, jeans, simple clothing. A typical woman of her age.

"Yes?"

Peter held up his badge. Neal felt an urge to hold up his the same way but kept from it. It was just an ID, not a badge. Not a certification of justice and power.

"Agent Peter Burke, FBI. This is my consultant, Neal Caffrey."

"Please to meet you," Neal smiled.

She let them in as if they were expected and walked ahead of them upstairs.

"Oh, so the FBI. You're really taking this seriously, huh?"

"We are," Peter confirmed. There were no other adults on the next floor either. "Are you the homeowner?"

"Yes."

So this was Julianna. Peter sent him a glance of surprise. Neal shared the feeling with him.

Julianna continued into the living room dominated by a grand piano. The price range of the house and the furniture of the room spoke of a wealth not shown in her clothing or behavior.

"My parents are dead. I'm over 21, and I was robbed. Any other questions?"

She was used to people not thinking of her as the owner of all this, Neal thought.

"Was the painting insured?" Peter asked.

"No."

No?

"It's worth 2.6 million," Neal informed her and her jaw dropped and she was speechless for a moment. It was obvious that this young woman had had no idea of what she owned. She had had that painting because she liked it and reported it stolen because she wanted it back for other reasons than money. Then she pointed at an empty space over the mantelpiece where a nail sat all by its own.

"That's where it was."

Peter sent him a look. It had actually been over the mantle. Neal's focused on the room, his eyes wandered. He kept his hands in his pockets though. No need to give Peter any ideas.

"Tuesdays I have classes. The instructor let us out early," Julianna told them. "I came in here, and there was this monster here and he shoved me up against the wall."

"He hurt you?" Peter asked.

"Yeah. I hit him in the face. And he said if I did it again, he would kill me."

Neal turned back to the fascinating young woman. She did not seem that terrified thinking of the incident.

"What did you do?"

"I hit him again."

Neal and Peter grinned at this.

"Do you have a photo of the painting? Your report only had a description."

Julianna thought for a second then she nodded.

"Yeah." She left towards the stares.

A man came down from the third floor.

"Can I help you?" he asked when he saw them.

"Oh, it's okay, Gary. It's the FBI," Juliana assured him. "They're here about the painting."

She continued across the landing and disappeared into the other room.

"Oh, of course," Gary gave them a nervous look. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"Sure, sure. Were you there when it happened?" Peter did not waste any time.

"No, I was at work at the time. Wish I could be more help." Gary turned to leave in the same breath.

The man was not even down the stares before Peter turned to Neal.

"We looking at an inside job?"

"Thief knew her schedule. Nothing else taken."

"I'd go with that too," Peter confirmed to Neal's delight. "Help Julianna with that photo."

Peter hurried after the man down the stairs.

"Gary, I have a few questions."

Neal's eyes wandered over the room. That painting was probably the most valuable belonging in this wealthy home. Someone knew she had it and knew its value.

Julianna returned.

"Gary is your…?"

"Uncle," Julianna filled in.

"Uncle."

"Will that do?" She handed him a photo.

It was a photo of a stunning woman in her forties and the painting was behind her on the same spot as from where it had been taken.

"Oh, my goodness," Neal expressed at the private photo rather than a simple photo of the missing portrait.

"That's my grandmother, and that's the painting behind her."

"Could be your twin," Neal beamed at her and she returned the smile, flattered.

"I'll take that as a compliment. I was named after her. She raised me. When she died, she left me the house. And the painting."

"What did Uncle Gary think of that?"

Julianna looked at him. She was not about to answer that question. Not very subtle, since she spoke so freely about other things. She smiled and changed the subject.

"You don't look like an FBI agent."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Neal smiled. "What does an FBI agent look like?"

"Um… Him," she giggled and nodded in Peter's direction as he came up the stairs. Yeah, Peter was FBI in person.

"You got the photo?" Peter wanted to know and Neal nodded. "Let's go."

Neal waved goodbye and left with Peter down the stairs.

Peter felt he had a plausible suspect on his hands. That made him frustrated because in this case it also meant that it would be tough to get the evidence they needed. That meant more paperwork, more legal hocus-pocus and dealing than Peter would like.

"I've never seen a guy lawyer up that fast," he spat his frustration at Neal as they walked down the sidewalk. "I've got that he's a stock trader on Wall Street and that his attorney will answer any further questions I might have."

"So Uncle Gary tips off the thieves, splits the take," Neal speculated.

"More likely, Uncle Gary owes money to somebody and he got tired of staring at 2 million bucks hanging on the wall. Now, he shuts up, we do this the hard way."

"All we need is the name of the guy he's working with, right?" Neal asked as the optimistic kid he was.

"Right," Peter agreed.

"So why don't I talk to him?"

It stopped Peter in his tracks. He turned and glared at the young so-called reformed criminal.

"You?"

"Yeah," the kid answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. But he must have read Peter's face.

"Okay, let me rephrase that," Neal started over. "Since I am a consultant and not technically an employee of the FBI—"

"A consultant on a tenuous probation," Peter pointed out. It made a difference.

"As I'm constantly reminded," the kid returned. "Is there anything illegal about me talking to him?"

Peter considered. Neal was not an FBI-agent, true, but he was connected to the FBI and a criminal.

"Can't threaten him," Peter made clear.

"Don't plan to," Neal assured him at once.

"Or lie to him."

This his con-man did not like but before Neal had formulated a protest, Peter gave him a stern look with his hands on his hips. This point was not negotiable.

"All right. All right, no lying," Neal agreed. "I'm just gonna ask him for the name."

Neal continued down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. Peter was not sure what to think of this. But he had made the rules clear. It was little more than that he could do. He followed Neal to their car.

"Wall Streat, you said?" Neal asked.

"Yeah. Want me to drop you off?"

Neal sent him one of his dashing grins.

Neal was waiting by Gary Laszio's car when he came out after work. He leaned against the car, appearing to read a paper. As the man passed him without offering him as much as a glance Neal said without lifting his eyes from the paper:

"Tell me, Gary. Does Julianna know you helped steal the painting?"

He saw the other man's shoes stop in their tracks and he felt him staring at him.

"You can't be here. My lawyer was very clear—"

"First of all," Neal interrupted, "hiring a lawyer makes you look guilty."

It was not true. Most people with any money or experience of the bureaucrats hired a lawyer, guilty or not. But it did not matter in this case. He wanted to rattle the man.

"He told me specifically not to talk to the FBI," Gary continued.

Neal nodded. Wise words from his lawyer.

"Do I look like an FBI agent?" Neal asked.

Now the man gazed at him with new eyes. Of course, he thought of him as FBI since they had seen each other when he was in the house with Peter. But now Gary seemed to question if this assumption was right.

"Who are you?"

"Think hard, Gary." Better let him draw his own conclusion. No lies.

The man seemed to think hard.

"Did he send you?"

Neal was dying to know who 'he' was. He rose to his full length, folding his arms. It was the most intimidating pose he could muster.

"What do you think?" he asked as if the answer was obvious. Still no lies.

"God, I knew this would happen," Gray hissed. "What, that whole thing at the house was a setup?"

"How did it go wrong?" Neal wanted to know. "Julianna wasn't supposed to be there. Now she's a witness."

"It wasn't my fault. Her class got out early," the man insisted. "Please don't hurt her."

Nice to hear that he cared for his niece.

"It's not me you need to convince," Neal pointed out. How he loved this, playing with other people's wrong conclusions.

"Tell him—" Gary halted, considering. "Tell him I'll make sure she doesn't cause any trouble."

Not good enough by far. He needed a name. Besides, the real man behind all this could indeed be pissed off and then the FBI needed to be one step ahead to keep Juliana safe.

"She's ready to sit with a sketch artist," Neal made clear. "This is the kind of thing that makes it much harder for him to sell the painting."

"How about—" Gary did seem desperate now. "Here, how about a good-faith payment?" The man fiddled with his wallet. "Here. Here's $300. That's all I got."

"Three hundred? Gary." Really? Neal shook his head.

"All right. You're right, you're right," Gary agreed. "Um… I could write him a check?"

"That could work," Neal nodded. Too good to be true, he thought, when the man pulled out his checkbook and wrote. He glanced at the note he got.

"I'll pass this on," he confirmed to Gary. He would. But not to the one whose name was on it.

Peter saw Neal grinning all over his face when he came down the sidewalk to where they agreed to meet up.

"What?" he asked the kid, who just kept smiling as proud as proud could be. "What did he say?"

Neal pulled out a folded note from his pocket and handed it to Peter. He unfolded it and stared at the check. Unbelievable.

"He wrote you a personal check to the guy he helped steal his mother's painting?" he asked perplexed. How did the kid do this?

"He was very insistent," Neal replied, still glowing with pride. Peter sent him a glare.

"No threats, no lies," the kid assured him. "I let him do all the talking."

The kid may not have lied or threated Gary, but he knew Neal. He had a way of making you believe he said things he never had.

"I'm calling this a gray area," Peter told Neal. That meant it was not something he would do a habit of using. He did not like gray areas. Gray areas could soon turn to something on the other side of the law. He chuckled when he read the name.

"Gerard Dorsett."

"You know him?" Neal asked.

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "Yeah, he's a bad guy."

A really bad guy. Not the kind of guy he figured Neal usually had dealt with, though they were in the same business. He pocketed the check.

"So I figured," the kid confirmed. "Hey, what about Julianna? He figures out she's talking to us, then—"

Neal may not have made acquaintance with many really bad guys in his career, but he knew what they could do alright. He as not that young and naive.

"Let's catch the bastard before that happens," Peter suggested.