Gerard Dorsett

Peter knocked on the doors to the closed art gallery. A beautiful young brunette approached on the other side, smiled and let him in.

"Hi, Peter, what brings you here?" Taryn Vandersant greeted him.

"Haustenberg."

"Yes?"

"Has anyone been here, wanting to sell one?"

"Actually, yes. Yesterday. Dorsett. I've been buying from him before."

"Girl with a locket?"

"It's stolen, isn't it?" Peter nodded. "I thought so."

"What did you say to him?"

"You don't say no to a man like him," she replied with a shiver. "I said I should return to him if I found a client interested. What do you want me to do?"

It was an eagerness in her voice.

"Do?"

"You want to catch the guy, don't you? I can get him here, and you can arrest him. And me to, to make sure Dorsett doesn't know I set the trap."

"It's dangerous, Taryn. Why would you want to do that?"

"I deal with art, Peter. Though I love it, it's hardly what you can call excitement in your life. Besides, men like Dorsett…"

"Alright," Peter's mind worked fast. "Set up a meeting with Dorsett tomorrow. Tell him you've got a buyer."

"He'll smell an agent, Peter."

"I'm not sending in an agent," Peter grinned. "I'm sending Neal."

Peter picked up Neal on his way to the office. As he drove he called Jones.

"Gerard Dorsett has the painting," he told him and Neal who sat beside him. "Jones, check with the other units. He's got fingers in lots of jars. Maybe someone got him on tape."

"I will," Jones returned.

When they stepped out of the elevator they walked straight to the conference room.

"Yeah, we got him. We've been sitting on him for two days," Jones confirmed showing surveillance footage on the screen. "They were going to every high-end gallery in Manhattan offering the Haustenberg."

Peter knew Dorsett from before, but he had a large guy with him.

"Who's that?" Peter asked.

"The big guy? Joshua. Ex-military, the muscle who stole the painting."

Jones sure was good at his job, Peter reflected. It has been less than an hour since he made the call to Jones. The big guy had a large bruise in his face.

"Julianna wasn't kidding about the punch," Neal noted who had seen the same thing.

"The girl has an arm," Peter grinned.

"And the other guy, that's Dorsett, French expat," Jones told Neal.

"What's he into?" the kid wanted to know. "Besides shaking down stockbrokers?"

"High-end loan sharking," Peter answered. "Although calling him a loan shark is like calling Oedipus a mama's boy. He makes questionable loans with big corporate money. Get behind on your payment, he'll firebomb your office."

"Ouch," Neal frowned.

"The good news is, you get to meet him." Neal's head turned at once. "Tomorrow."

"How did you arrange that?" the kid wanted to know.

Peter saw who was coming into the office. They smiled at each other.

"I set it up," the charming brunette said and she got Neal's attention quicker than Peter had when he told him about the next day's event. Not only that, the young man seemed to be totally engulfed. And she in him.

"Neal, this is Taryn Vandersant. She's a buyer at the Lambert gallery and is nice enough to help us out on this one."

"I convinced Dorsett I have a wealthy client who's very interested in the painting." She winked at her new admirer, meaning, he was the client.

"How much is he asking?" Neal asked without taking his eyes from her and took the opportunity to walk a few steps closer.

"Hundred-thousand."

Peter watched the young couple and wondered what on earth it was that made Neal that special in the eyes of women. The kid was young, charming, and smiling, sure, but she had eyes for nothing but Neal the second she met his eyes. Most young men did not have that power. He sure had not when he was in Neal's age.

"We've arranged to have the exchange happen at the gallery." Peter realized he talked without anyone's attention.

"Neal!" The kid turned his head. "Jones, let's get her prepped."

He saw that Neal's focus was back on Taryn. Jones and the rest of the team members left the room and Taryn smiled towards Neal.

"This should be fun," she winked and left.

Peter could nothing but stare. This was unbelievable.

Neal turned with a wide smile on his face and saw the look on Peter's face.

"What?"

"Have you ever met a woman who didn't…?"

Neal got serious at once, nodding.

"Brittney. Brittney Nicole."

Good, Peter thought. At least one.

"In second grade," the born charmer added. "I had a gap in my teeth."

Back home Neal focused on Kate's letter again. It had to be a secret message in there and it was not likely written in lemon juice again. He folded the paper back and forth to create new words, new meanings. The sheet of paper was soft and crumpled by now.

Then he saw something. The first, third and fifth rows were sticking out further to the left and right than the rows in-between. He folded the paper so only the ends of those three rows were visible.

Then he read three words: Here, Friday, noon.

Neal grinned all over his face.

"All right. Kate loves the classics," he mumbled to himself.

It was Tuesday. Nothing to do but wait. And hope that he could be by Grand Central Station by Friday noon. Had she been there waiting for him every Friday since he got out? Or did she somehow kept tabs on him? He had to get some excuse to not be at work so he got get there this Friday. Or should he tell Peter? No. This was his girlfriend and he was doing nothing illegal. It was even within his radius. Peter had told him what he thought about the situation. Kate had dumped him.

Kate had turned up four months before his release and told him she would leave him. She had moved out and left him a bottle. But he was expected to find it after four months when he got out, not one and a half months later when he escaped.

What would have happened if he had had to stay the next four years in prison instead? Kate had a plan. Now he was on schedule again, but with an anklet. Neal was certain someone was using Kate to get to his money, to his stolen loot. The things Peter suspected he had taken but never could prove.

No, he could not bring Peter into this unless he absolutely had to. He would gladly go to prison if it kept Kate safe, but he would not go back before he knew that she was.

Early the next morning Peter drove Neal to the Lambert gallery. Peter needed to check that the surveillance was all in place and left Neal on his own. He saw Neal wander off with his hands in his pockets. Did the kid start with that after he had frisked him on that early assignment? Peter was not sure. Was it Neal's way to tell him to relax, that he could handle temptations? Peter shrugged it off and took a tour through the gallery. His crew was almost done.

He found Neal study a so-called artwork. It was bigger than him, so there was no need for Neal to keep his hands in his pockets for that reason.

"That's a big load of laundry," Peter mused and focused on his cameras.

"It just sold for a hundred and twenty thousand," Neal told him.

Peter swung around.

"What?"

He leaned closer and stretched out his hand to make sure it was nothing but cloth. Neal pushed his hand back.

"Can't do that!" the kid hissed at him like he had put a fingerprint on the Mona Lisa.

"What?" It was just a pile of laundry tied together to a… block of laundry.

"You can't put a price on art," Neal claimed.

"No, you can't," Peter agreed. "Which is why I think 2.6 is a little steep for the Haustenberg."

"You're not a fan of Haustenberg?"

Neal sounded surprised. And chocked. Peter saw him stare as if he had cursed in a church.

"Ehhh… I don't know, I…" Was he supposed to say something smart about art here? Did he just feel like a fool in front of Neal for not like a pile of laundry and Haustenberg?

"It's a little cartoony for my taste," Peter answered truthfully.

"Okay, you're a philistine," Neal returned, dead serious. Yeah, Neal knew art and it was important to him in other ways than just forging it and steal it, Peter had guessed that long ago, but still… Someone had bought a block of laundry for a hundred and twenty thousand!

"Yeah, yeah. I'm the crazy one." He turned to the guy fixing the last camera up in the ceiling. "You all set?"

"All set," he replied as he stepped down from the ladder.

Taryn appeared in the entrance to the room.

"Well, let's get wired," she said looking at Neal as if she was on her way to a first date with him.

Neal gave him a look.

"Tell me you're not trying to get me a date," he mumbled.

Taryn had left the room again.

"Why not? You two were flirting."

"I've got Kate."

"No, you've not," Peter pointed out. "And no, I've not arranged a date."

Taryn was a slender, beautiful woman by all means in Neal's opinion. But when partly undressed to get the wires and microphones in place her charm faltered some. She knew she was good looking, which made flirting less fun. It was more interesting when it did not turn out to a watch-me-I'm-good-looking-contest. It was as if she expected him to look as much as he could and she did not mind.

"A hundred grand in cash, that's a lot of money," Taryn commented. "Tempted?"

Neal glanced at her as he buttoned up his shirt. It was as if they got dressed after sex they never had.

"Why would you think that?" Neal asked in return.

"Peter warned me about you."

He should have asked Peter what he told her.

"Warned you? Sounds ominous."

"Does it?"

"Yeah."

"Is it true you just got out of prison?"

She knew that and still flirted? Was she one of those writing him a fan-letter, too?

"Do I look like I just got out of prison?"

"He said you'd do that."

"What?"

"Redirect."

Neal gave up. He was not interested in Taryn. He did not care what she thought about him. And she already knew more than he wanted her too anyway. He put his suit jacket on.

"Yes, I just got out of prison. Yes, Peter is the guy who put me there. And yes, I'm tempted."

"Is it true you escaped for a girl?"

"Some people think I'm a romantic."

"Did she?"

Now, Kate was not something he wanted to discuss and he cut this one short.

"I'll let you know."

Neal followed Taryn as she walked on her high heels to the door to meet Gerard Dorsett and Joshua.

"Good to see you again," Dorsett greeted the woman and smiled.

"Good to see you," she returned and looked like she was about to give him a hug but had second thoughts. She turned and walked ahead of the two men into the gallery and introducing Neal:

"As I said on the phone, this is Mr. Devore."

"Call me George."

Neal played his part as a wealthy alpha male. And Dorsett did not seem to like the competition.

They walked into a back room of the gallery where Neal was handed a bag. He pulled the painting out of it. It was a marvelous piece of work and Neal felt that awe he often did when he had the chance to hold a painting of a master.

"It's smaller than I expected," he smiled.

"Have you seen the Mona Lisa?" Dorsett asked. "It's tiny."

Neal gazed at the crook. Of course, he had seen the Mona Lisa. And 'tiny' was not a worthy word for a painting by Leonardo da Vinci no matter the size of the canvas.

"Could I see the money, please?" Dorsett continued.

Taryn opened a briefcase full of money on the table, delivered by the FBI just before their meeting. She showed the contents to Joshua and Dorsett.

"I'd like to authenticate it." It was not a question. She took the painting out of Neal's hands.

"You two have known each other for a long time?" Dorsett pried.

"We've been friends for…" Taryn was unprepared for the question and searched for Neal's help. "How long has it been?"

"Years," he finished, casually.

"Beautiful people are never just friends," the French man objected.

"George has a girlfriend," Taryn stated. Neal watched her. She was uncomfortable with the conversation.

"Again, monogamy is the great casualty of beauty."

Neal turned towards the man and saw a chihuahua who thought of himself as a bulldog.

"Not always," he assured the lapdog.

"Please…" the man grinned back. "We use the expression 'butterfly' for a man who flits from flower to flower. A man such as yourself could be quite a successful butterfly."

"We consider butterflies weak, delicate creatures."

"But flap their wings and they can set off hurricanes."

What an annoying little man, Neal thought.

"That's beautiful. You should write a book. Could we…?"

"Close the doors, please," Taryn said focusing on the painting.

"I have a girlfriend myself," Dorsett continued talking as he pulled the big door closed.

"Is she faithful?" Neal asked to be polite.

"She's French. I try not to think about it."

The man lingered by the door a moment and then returned to the table.

"Brigitte arrived last night. And I shouldn't leave her alone in a new town for long. Perhaps we could hurry."

It was something in his voice, and the way he moved, Neal noted. Something had changed. And he and Taryn stood between Dorsett and Joshua. Not a position he favored.

"Of course," Taryn agreed. "Lights, please."

Dorsett closed the main lights in the room, leaving them in the blue light of Taryn's lamp and the table lamp.

"I've got fluorescing cadmium green and azurite blue. That puts the paint composition pre-1960."

Then Neal heard a sound he hated. One of guns drawn. Dorsett and Joshua both pointed their weapons at them.

"Perhaps you can explain why there are people signaling each other outside?" the tiny lapdog barked. Though now armed.

Taryn raised her hands but Neal kept cool. He was the alpha here, not this little man.

"Who are they?" Dorsett demanded.

"If you brought the FBI into this—" Neal began.

"It was not me!"

"I told you to keep a low profile," Taryn reprimanded him.

"You were careless," Neal continued, glaring at him. "You've been flashing this painting all over town. They followed you here."

He could see Dorsett was not sure what to believe.

"Something is not right here," he hissed.

"You're damn right it's not," Neal agreed.

Dorsett kept pointing his gun at them as he rounded the table and flipped the lid to the briefcase shut.

"For my time and inconvenience." He grabbed it and left through the other door of the room as Joshua returned the painting in the bag and followed close behind.

Before Neal could stop her Taryn hurried after. He heard Peter's voice down the corridor yelling orders to his crew. It seemed as the two crooks had slipped through. They rounded a corner and met him.

"You okay?" Peter wanted to know at once.

"We're fine," Taryn returned.

Relived, Peter scanned around and called out to one of his men.

"Arrest them," his handler pointed at him and Taryn. "Arrest them. We have to keep their cover. Handcuff them, read them their rights, everything."

The agent showed them out through the back door and up to one of the FBI's cars.

"Hands on the car," he ordered and Neal placed them on the roof while Taryn got her hands cuffed on the back. She seemed to enjoy it. Neal heard the fuss behind his back as the FBI searched for Dorsett and his muscle. Peter cursed.

"Put your hands behind your back," the FBI agent 'arresting' them instructed and he did as he was told. The man pushed him up against the car. Neal heard the sound of cuffs opening and he embraced himself for something he had hoped never to experience again. Cuffs were bad enough but behind the back left him in the hands of others. Not everyone was like Peter and Jones when he was arrested for the first time. And even with people he felt safe with it was unpleasant.

He caught the eyes of Taryn who looked at him as if he was a superstar.

"Things always this interesting when you're around?" she asked.

Peter pulled him by his arm.

"Come on! You're under arrest."

Neal got shoved into the backseat by a frustrated Peter who slammed the door shut without giving him a second thought. It was no harm done. He could handle it. He sat up on the seat where he had fell over, unable to keep his balance when he got pushed inside.

Peter let his bad mood pass to him. It was somehow good to see that even Peter could be less respectful, too, for a moment. Yet Neal was glad that it was he and not some first time offender who probably would have shit his pants being treated like that.