Chapter Six: Beat-Down
Two weeks after the successful pigeon drop con at the bar where Neal and Austin had scored $2,500, Laurence and Austin were preparing to leave the station for the day. They walked by a fellow officer's desk where a stack of sketches of suspects lay ready to be sent to the local newspaper for assistance from the general public. On the top was unmistakably Neal Caffrey, who was unidentified but wanted for scamming a local couple out of $2,500.
At first all color drained out of Laurence's face. Then, as rage set in, his face turned a brilliant shade of red and his lips pursed outward to reveal his dissonance. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill that little bastard," Laurence squalled to Austin through gritted teeth.
"Be cool," Austin responded composedly. "We can get to the bottom of this. Come on, let's go. We can stop by the liquor store first. Go and get your shit out of your locker, and then we can get out of here."
After Laurence huffed away, Austin went to their captain with the sketch of Neal in his hand. "Captain, this is Caffrey's boy. You all better get someone over there to get that boy before Laurence gets home or else we'll be calling the coroner," Austin warned.
By the time Laurence and Austin had arrived at the apartment, Neal had already been picked up by the police. He went willingly and without incident. He figured that if his father already knew, then it was in his best interest to go where it was safer—and jail was certainly safer than facing the wrath of Laurence Caffrey.
Due to his age and because he was a cop's son and therefore not considered a flight risk, Neal was told to call his father to come and get him after a grueling six hours spent in the conference room with two cops. He made a full confession of his crime but knew enough to answer the questions as succinctly as possible. It never occurred to Neal to give the officers the full story. He took full blame and responsibility—not because he was trying to be a martyr but because he knew that ratting out his cop father and his cop father's detective partner would ultimately be worse than taking all of the blame himself.
His mind was frozen, and he couldn't process what to do. Calling his father was truly a death sentence. "Can I call my Uncle Austin," Neal timidly asked the cops.
"Son, you have to get this over with. You gotta call your father. He's gotta come in here and sign off on this paperwork," the officer in charge stated. He felt somewhat sorry for the kid because his father had been called earlier and asked to be with his son while the officers questioned him. Officer Caffrey had bluntly and matter-of-factly stated, "Let him hang." The officer in charge knew that Laurence Caffrey was a difficult man, but also felt that what Neal had done was serious, so sympathy for the young man only went so far.
"Dad…can you…come down…to the…precinct to get me? They're…ummm…letting me…umm… go…until the court date…next month," Neal stammered. His heart pounded so loudly that he wondered if a 17 year old could actually have a heart attack.
His father only breathed into the receiver and then hung up on Neal without saying anything. Neal sat in the chair beside the officer's desk observing the heating vents and other exits out of the room. Nothing.
Thirty minutes later Laurence Caffrey showed up at the precinct with Austin behind him. It was already past midnight. After signing some forms, Laurence turned to leave without saying anything to anyone. His face maintained the brilliant shade of red.
Austin made eye contact with Neal and motioned for him to follow his father out. Neal wasn't sure if his legs were strong enough to get him out to his father's car. Uncle Austin held onto the back of his shirt to keep him steady on his feet. Miraculously, he made it to the car but struggled with the handle, so he stood on the sidewalk pulling on the handle, mulling over his options. He could just run, but he had nowhere else to go.
Austin stepped forward and opened up the door and nodded at Neal to hop in. He shut the door after Neal got seated. Neal looked at him through the smudged back seat window, but Austin wasn't making eye contact any longer.
No one said a word back to the Caffrey apartment. Neal had resigned himself to death. If he were able to escape death, Neal knew there had to be some divine intervention.
The backs of Neal's hands and fingers felt the full force of the punches as he tried to block some of them to his face. He felt the force of the wall on the back of his body as his father slammed him into it and screamed unmercifully down into Neal's face. Laurence's words were slurred with anger and alcohol. He punched Neal brutally in his stomach, causing him to gasp and double over to the floor.
Neal waited for unconsciousness, divine intervention, or both. In total fatigue, he stayed down but knew he should get up because he feared his father would kick him in the ribs with his Timberlands.
Neal's fears were realized, and he could feel something pop and his breathing get more difficult. His face hurt to move. His nose was bloody, and his right eye was swollen shut.
Yanking Neal to his feet, Laurence looked like a wild animal. Neal had never seen his facial expression quite so sadistic. Neal stood with his right arm wrapped around his chest, leaning his left arm on the table to support his body so he could stand. Neal saw it coming in slow motion before he actually felt the impact.
Holding an empty Jim Beam bottle, Laurence looked like a baseball player trying to hit a home run. Winding back his arm, he hit Neal squarely on his brow. Blood and glass flew in all directions as Neal hit the floor. Finally Austin couldn't stand there any longer watching this horrific one-sided brawl. He knew he had to do something to get Laurence away from Neal—even if it were just a distraction for a few minutes.
"Hey, man, let's just get the money back…okay," Austin said knowing full well that Neal only had $500 of the $2,500. But, Austin reasoned, maybe looking for the money would divert Laurence's attention long enough for him to be ready to continue hitting the Beam and possibly forget about beating Neal any longer.
"Where is it, you fuckin' bastard," Laurence screamed down at Neal, spitting on his back.
Neal said nothing. His mind was cloudy. He didn't know what to do or say because he knew he only had his part of the money.
"Where is it, mother-fucker," Laurence shouted, kicking Neal on the shins of his left foot.
The pain was overwhelming, but his mind wouldn't give in to unconsciousness. He wanted it to, but for some reason, it continued to be fully cognizant of everything happening around him.
"Les Miserables…page…154," Neal whispered.
Neal could hear shouts and things breaking and being thrown against the wall in his bedroom as his father hunted for the book. He feared what would happen when his father found the book only to realize that just a portion of the money was hiding within. He prayed for a miracle. He prayed that Austin would come clean. He didn't know what to do, and he didn't want to die. Neal could feel his breathing became more labored. He lay serenely on the floor…crying, begging, praying.
Neal then awoke to hear his father and Austin sitting at the kitchen table. He was paralyzed with fear-of his father and of the pain-so he lay still and silent. His father's blood-alcohol level had to be way above the limit for any functioning human being. He saw Austin sitting across from his father, pouring shot after shot into the double shot glass, nodding at Laurence's rantings.
The next time Neal awoke, Austin was scooping him up off the floor. His father was leaned over the table, snoring loudly. It was 4:00 in the morning. "Come on, kid, I'm gonna take you to the hospital. I think he broke one of your ribs. I can hear you wheezing from the kitchen," Austin whispered into Neal's ear.
As Austin picked up Neal from the floor, Neal wanted to scream in pain, but he whimpered loudly.
"Shhhh," Austin warned, "Don't let him hear you."
Tears fell unmercifully from his swollen eyes. He hadn't died, and Austin was going to get him out of there—away from his uncontrollable, demented father—away from the ghosts of his life.
Gently carrying the young man to his car, Austin stretched Neal out in the backseat of his car and quietly shut the door—even though he knew Laurence would never hear it in his drunken stupor . When they arrived at the hospital, Austin ran in to get some help. He informed the intake nurse in the emergency room that he was an off-duty police officer who found this kid lying out in the street. He told them that he didn't know the boy's name or where he lived and thought it was a random beat-down. Austin had lifted Neal's wallet so they wouldn't have any way to identify who he was. He nodded to the semi-conscious Neal that he didn't know this kid's identity but would investigate.
"Now play along…long enough to get you healed up real good. Sometimes a beat-down causes amnesia," Austin suggested into Neal's ear.
Neal nodded slightly at him to let Austin know that he understood his latest assignment.
"I'll keep checking on you and get you out of here when you're ready," Austin reassured.
It was 26 days into his hospital stay that Austin informed the hospital staff that Neal had to leave. Austin had fabricated the most glorious story about this poor homeless kid being beaten by a pack of street kids for his wallet. Austin was convincing, being the hero when he would keep the hospital staff informed about his progress in tracking down and arresting the punks who had done this. His champion status elevated higher when he informed the nurses that he was going to be the foster father to this poor waif. He brought Neal a clean set of clothes and informed the staff that Neal was needed to testify against the street punks who had almost killed him.
With bandages and taped up ribs, Neal—in actuality—was headed to his own court case to face the couple he had conned out of $2,500. It was unspoken between Neal and Austin that Neal would continue the lie and take full responsibility for the con gone wrong. Neal never asked about his father, and Austin volunteered nothing.
"You know I can't be there with you," Austin informed Neal.
"I know," Neal answered. He had hoped his Uncle Austin would go with him. Neal was frightened to be in the courtroom by himself with only his court appointed lawyer by his side. He feared what was going to happen to him.
His face still sported the remnants of bruises, and the bandage at the hairline above his brow was visible when the wind blew Neal's bangs out of his face. He moved slowly as the pain in his ribs and shin was still quite prevalent.
Austin pulled over and let Neal off at the curb near the courthouse. Neal walked into the courthouse by himself and headed for the second floor where he was to meet his lawyer. His fate lay in the hands of the people whom he would be facing in the next few hours.
Neal met his lawyer, and they sat at the table on the left of the courtroom. In ten minutes, the bailiff instructed everyone to rise for the judge's entrance. The judge sat down with a heavy sigh escaping his mouth. Apparently it had been a long day in court for the judge. After 20 minutes, Neal was called forward. He looked out at the spectators and locked eyes with Liv, who had evidently come to testify against him as she sat on the prosecution side of the courtroom. No one sat on the defendant's side except 17 year old Neal and his court appointed lawyer.
Liv and Neal looked at one another for several seconds—neither one wanting to turn away from the other. Neal was the first to drop his eyes to the floor. He felt embarrassed and then nauseated by the scrambled eggs and bacon he had eaten at the hospital that morning. "Oh God, please get me out of here soon," Neal prayed in an internal whisper.
Neal had no defense. He lied and told the judge about the con he had concocted and carried out all by himself. When asked where the money was, Neal had no explanation. His eyes bulged. He hadn't thought about a reasonable answer for that question. He shrugged.
The prosecution scolded him for not answering with words.
"I spent it on stuff…you know…teenage…stuff," Neal answered the prosecutor even though he had no idea what teenage stuff really was. He prayed the prosecutor would accept that answer. She did and moved on.
Eventually Neal's testimony was complete, and he was told he could step down. The court next called one of the victims of the crime, Mrs. Olivia Gaber, to the stand.
On the stand, Liv was directly in front of Neal. She looked at him sitting there, so small and uncomfortable and alone. She saw his disheveled appearance and felt an intense heaviness and grief. She had entered the court angry at the young man for swindling her and her husband out of their hard-working money. But as she sat there in front of him, she realized that Neal was as much a victim as she and her husband had been.
"My husband is as much at fault," Liv confessed, "He thought the ring was worth a lot of money and offered only half of its supposed value to him. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't stop him. My husband was trying to swindle him as much as he was trying to swindle us."
Neal was shocked by her defense of him. He wasn't sure what to even think anymore.
Despite Liv's testimony, Neal was sentenced to serve ten months in a juvenile facility until the day of his 18th birthday. He accepted his sentence and fate with no response, no reaction. He was somewhat relieved to have this part of his life come to a close.
On the day he turned 18, Neal Caffrey walked out of the juvenile detention facility. Liv stood alone outside on the sidewalk. When he recognized her, he stopped and stood still with his hands in his pockets. Liv walked up to where Neal had planted his feet. She pulled him into her and murmured in his ear, "You're a good kid. I forgive you."
Neal's knees buckled at the weight of her words. She continued to embrace him, holding him while he stumbled slightly as his knees buckled underneath him. He hadn't felt the embrace of a mother figure in so many years that he had forgotten what it felt like.
Liv pulled him back and clasped her hands on both sides of his face. She looked deep into his eyes and said, "I have a bus ticket for you to get you out of here—away from the people who put you up to this. There's a better life out there for you—you just have to find the right people to help you get there."
Neal stared at her, saying nothing in response. He didn't know what to say. He continued to look at her directly in the eyes.
Twenty minutes later Neal boarded a Greyhound bus bounded away from the only family and home he had ever known. He saw Liv watching the bus until it got out of sight. The magnitude of the situation hit him: he was jobless, homeless, penniless, and parentless.
But now he was a legal adult, and the life he would live was the life he would now make for himself.
