I tend to always start with an apology lately. Oh my, I am sorry! This is taking longer than I expected with university. Damn, studying a law degree and a psychology degree is not as easy as it seems - actually I don't think it sounds easy at all - anyway! I'm on university holidays now until the 24th of July, so hopefully I can squeeze another chapter in before next semester starts! Then once that semester is finished I have 4 months of holidays! (November, December, January and February) so I am hoping to have this finished in that period - I still have like 15 more chapters left, I know I said that ages ago - but this is actually a longer story than I originally planned. I have this all plotted out, and believe me, there is a lot more to go down in this chapter. This, this is not even the half of what I have install for Neal. (That sounds quite sadistic - I am sorry) I warned you guys, this is a big Neal!Whump fic.
Side note - this semester at university I enrolled in the class "White Collar Crime" which I am looking forward to so much! Even though it's from another degree (Criminology) That I'm not even studying - I don't even know if I can enrol in the class, but I did anyway - because it's god damn white collar crime! Ah.
I'd also like to make a small shout out to Gracie - your comment, despite how long ago it was left, it was made me knuckle down and post a new chapter. I honestly do appreciate each and every one of your replies, your comments are what is what makes me want to keep posting. I'm actually surprised that there's over 100 comments and none of them are negative, I was expecting at least over half to be. So thank you! Your continued support of this story is extremely appreciated. I cannot say thank you enough!
Anyway, without writing a small novel up here - on with the next chapter you have all been patiently waiting for!
Chapter 8 – Falling Down
~One minute I held the key, the next the walls are closed on me. I discovered that my castles stand upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand. It was a wicked and wild wind that blew down the doors and let me in. Shattered windows, and the sounds of drums – people could not believe what I had become~
After emptying the contents of his stomach into the sink, Neal continued to dry heave for what felt like hours on end. He wasn't sure if it was the copious amount of alcohol in his system that was causing him to throw up, or if it was the panic that was slow quickly washing over him – or heck; maybe it was both of them combined – each having a turn at tying his stomach into knots.
Neal ran a slightly shaking hand throw his now sweat dampened hair and sighed heavily. His head was pounding excruciatingly and his vision continued to ruthlessly dance around in front of him, taunting him. There was absolutely no way that he could walk into the bureau in this state and pull off being sober and one hundred and ten percent okay. Neal was an exceptional con artist, one of the best in the world – but that was something that was just downright impossible to pull off despite how skilful or convincing you were.
He glanced over towards where the now almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels lay situated on the hardwood floor. He walked back over to where it sat and picked up the bottle, tilting it on an angle so that the amber liquid sloshed about inside. He watched the liquid move about, trying to ignore the sudden intrusive thoughts that raced through his mind to just consume the remainder of the alcohol, forget about the rest of the world, and call it a night. He quickly placed the bottle onto the kitchen counter, and turned his back to it.
He really needed to get a grip on the situation at hand – and fast.
In a matter of minutes Peter would be expecting his remarkable and talented CI to walk through the doors to the white-collar division – sober and completely fine, ready to be briefed and go undercover – at a freaking bar nonetheless.
Neal slammed his eyes closed, blocking out the remaining light in the room and tightly clenched his jaw - his entire body was tense. He really was going to hear it from Peter when he stepped foot into the conference room drunk – hell, that was if he could even manage to walk through the doors and not collapse to the floor before he made it past his desk.
He still felt like the room was spinning underneath him, and he still felt extremely nauseous even after just throwing up whatever little remained in his stomach, and his pounding head was not letting up either, it was still pounding away furiously. None of this seemed to be pointing in his favour at all.
Neal picked up the discarded cellphone and slowly opened his eyes to be greeted with the bright screen and some blurry numbers, which indicated the current time – It was 8:47pm. He squinted his eyes and read the little white digits informing him that he had to be at work in just over 10 minutes.
There was no way in hell that this was going to go down well at all. He briefly debated calling Peter back and telling him that he suddenly came down with a severe bout of food poisoning and that he didn't think he could make it in. He however pushed that idea out of his mind; he didn't want to disappoint Peter any further than what he already had in the past few weeks.
Not that showing up completely intoxicated wouldn't disappoint Peter anyless, or anger him greatly. Actually, now that he thought about it, calling in sick would probably be the better alternative to the disapproving look he would be receiving from Peter and the rest of the team when he arrived at the bureau.
But he could do this.
He was Neal Caffrey – and Neal Caffrey could do anything.
He took one final deep breath, and headed towards his bathroom in search of some much needed pain medication. If he was to do this, he needed this damn headache of his to go away so that he could think clearly – well – as much as he could think clearly in his current intoxicated state of mind.
Neal stepped inside of his bathroom, flicked the light switch on and automatically regretted doing so. He was now standing in what looked like a crime scene. Broken shards of glass lay scattered along the floor, alongside of droplets of smeared blood.
Oh.
He had forgotten about last night's little episode.
Neal felt the colour drain from his face and he immediately headed towards the toilet bowel and for the second time emptied the little remains of his stomach contents. After he had finished dry heaving for the second time that night, he leaned back against the wall and tried to steady his irregular breathing. His mind flashed back to last night's events and he leaned back against the wall, in much the same fashion as he had last night after his breakdown.
Once he had got his erratic breathing under as much control as possible, he forced himself to stand up. He took a deep, steadying breath and opened the cabinet the pain medication was kept in. Neal knew that alcohol and narcotics were not to be mixed, but this was a desperate situation. He grabbed a hold of the bottle of hydrocodone which Mozzie had somehow managed to get his hands on and given to him awhile back after he had injured himself on a job. Neal tipped out two round tablets, and swallowed them dryly.
He didn't have time to change his outfit, so he quickly patted it down and tried to smooth out any slight creases that may have formed from drunkenly laying on the ground. He grabbed the bottle of cologne and sprayed an excessive amount on his person to cover up any hint of bourbon that may be left on him.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and saw a broken up version of his face starring back at him due to the many cracks and swirls in the mirror's surface thanks to last night's events. Neal couldn't help but think how much of a fitting image that was for him.
Broken.
Neal pushed the thought aside and quickly vacated the bathroom; he grabbed his cellphone and keys from the kitchen counter and headed towards the door. His vision still danced in front of him, his head still pounded despite the narcotics he had previously just consumed, and the world still felt like it had fallen off of it's axis and had now been situated lopsidedly.
He dialled the familiar cab number, and told them the address he wanted to be picked up from as he was making his way down the stairs. Neal frowned at how difficult of a task walking down the stairs had now become in his current state. He gripped a hold of the railing next to him with his free hand as tightly as he could as he painstakingly slowly made his way down, one step at a time.
Oh I am definitely beyond screwed.
Once he had managed to make his way down to the foyer below him, he walked outside and tried to take in as much of the night air as possible, in the hope that it would sober him up some as he waited for the cab to arrive. The night air managed to alleviate a little of the dizziness that was unfortunately still present, but other than that, Neal still remained extremely intoxicated.
It wasn't long before the headlights of the approaching car could be seen down the road, causing Neal to wince and shut his eyes at the sudden assault of light on his pupils, which caused the pounding in his head to intensify for a split second.
The car pulled up alongside the footpath and Neal managed to make his way inside of it without any incidents. He told the driver where to take him, and ignored the strange look he received for requesting to be taken to the FBI's office at 9pm on a Friday night.
Neal tried not to express his discomfort as the car lurched away from the sidewalk and onto the road; the movement was not a welcomed experience at all. He felt his stomach doing flips, and silently prayed to God that he wasn't going to be sick for the third time tonight in the back compartment of a cab.
After what seemed to be like endless hours of torture riding in the cab, the car arrived out the front of the federal plaza and Neal immediately felt the colour in his face fade as he saw the building and realized just what he was about to do.
He was about to step foot inside of the Bureau – drunk. No. Intoxicated. He was going to walk into the white collar division smelling of bourbon and possibly even vomit that the excessive amount of cologne he was wearing could not mask. His eyes were blood shot, his face was a pale as death, and he would most likely be unable to stand straight for more than 2 minutes at a time.
He was probably going to break some damn section of his parole conditions, which covered showing up to work whilst under the influence.
He was beyond screwed.
"Mister? That'll be $8.90 tonight." The cab driver's voice broke him out of his mini panic attack that was going on inside of his mind.
"Oh sorry, right. Um." Neal mumbled, reaching into his pocket he pulled out his wallet and took out a $10 note and handed it over to the driver. "Keep the change." He said whilst exiting the vehicle.
He was now standing in front of the building. He felt his pulse quicken, his headache still mercilessly pounding away, his palms suddenly became clammy and his breathing took on an erratic rhythm. Before he knew what was happening he rushed over to the closest garbage can and expelled his stomach contents for the third time that night.
After the embarrassing ordeal was over, Neal quickly regained what little composure there was left of himself and hurriedly made his way inside the plaza and headed straight towards the lower level bathrooms. Once he made his way inside he stopped dead in his tracks as he took in the sight that was starring back at him in the mirror.
He didn't recognize the person looking back at him at all. The man in the mirror looked gaunt, he looked like death. His eyes were bloodshot from the alcohol and the throwing up that had just taken place. The dark circles underneath his eyes did nothing but enhance the red veins that laced around the insides of his eyes. The lack of life that shone in his eyes was evident, how his team members believed his lies that he was okay was beyond him. His cheekbones had become a lot more defined over the past few weeks from the lack of food that he had been consuming, and his face was extremely pale, which only made the dark rings under his eyes seem that much more prominent.
Neal sighed and tore his gaze away from his reflection. He turned the tap on and cupped his palms underneath the cold water, and once an adequate amount had gathered in his hands he splashed the cold liquid onto his face. He repeated this several times until he was satisfied with the result, he grabbed some paper towels and dabbed them against his face. Once all the droplets of water had been removed he lightly slapped himself a few times on both cheeks in the attempt to add some colour back to his extremely pale features.
Deciding he couldn't put the inevitable off any longer he made his way out of the bathroom and over towards where the elevators were situated. With a shaking hand he pressed the up button and stood there waiting for the elevator carriage to arrive, much like an animal awaiting their slaughter.
Actually – he was an animal awaiting his slaughter.
It was only a matter of seconds before the elevator carriage arrived on the ground floor and the doors opened – thankfully there was nobody getting off. Neal wanted the least amount of people possible to end up seeing him tonight in this current state that he was in.
He walked into the elevator and pressed the button for the White Collar Crime Division, leaned back against the elevator's wall, closed his eyes and sighed heavily. His head was still swimming, his vision was not remaining focused nor still for more than a split second and it took every fibre of his being to force his body to stand upright. How he thought that he was going to manage to go undercover in this state was beyond him; there was no way that he could pull this off tonight – he was a complete and utter drunken mess.
Peter was going to kill him.
The moment that he had been dreading arrived as he heard the elevator ding alerting him of his arrival onto the 21st floor. Neal forced his eyes open and winced slightly at the light assaulting him, he walked off of the elevator and through the glass doors leading into the bullpen. He was once again relieved to find that it was also empty and that he would not have to run into any unnecessary agents working late, who probably did not want to experience a drunken Neal Caffrey.
"Caffrey, up here!" he heard Peter open the door to the conference room and shout out at him before retreating back into the room.
Neal kept his head down and focused on the pattern on the carpet as he tried his hardest to walk in a straight line towards the conference room.
Oh great, stairs.
He clenched his jaw, took a deep breath, and attempted to walk up the few stairs that there were without gripping onto the railings beside him for dear life. He managed to slowly make his way up them, that is until he came to the fourth one and he felt his entire world tip upside down.
His arms automatically went out beside him to grip onto the railing and steady himself as he felt his knees begin to buckle underneath him. His head felt like it weighed a thousand tons, and it took almost every bit of strength that he had left to hold it upright. His vision started blurring together in swirls of various colours, and he was certain that any second now he was going to throw up again or pass out unconscious.
Neal quickly turned himself around, ignoring his body's protests at the quick and sudden movement, he tried his hardest to block out the dizziness and half ran his way to where the bathrooms were located. Once he got inside the men's room he went straight over to where the stalls were, slammed one shut behind him, flicked the lock and got down onto his knees and once again was face to face with a porcelain toilet bowl.
The first thing that Peter would have heard when he rushed into the bathroom was the sounds of someone violently dry heaving.
"Neal, buddy, are you okay?" he tentatively asked the ex-con.
Oh why did you have to follow me in here Peter.
Neal, by now had finished his fourth bout of dry heaving and was now leaning back against the toilet stall's wall. Not even bothering to answer Peter's question, he just lightly groaned back in response.
"Neal, open up this door." Peter said, in his do-as-I-say-right-now tone.
"Peter, just go away. I'm fine." The slight desperation was evident in his voice.
"God dammit Caffrey open the door. You're by no means fine." Peter ended his statement by banging his fist against the locked door. "Neal!"
Neal winced as Peter banged his fist against the door, the loud noise did nothing but intensify the pounding in his head; it felt almost as if somebody had kicked him in the straight in the temple. He let out a small whimper from the pain and hoped that it was undetected by the agent standing outside the stall.
"Peter, jus go way." Neal half slurred, and almost immediately regretted losing his composure over his words like that in front of Peter.
"Neal? That definitely does not sound as if you're okay in there?" Neal could hear the worry etch its way into Peter's voice. "If you do not open this door in the next minute, I swear I will kick the thing in."
"No. I am fine, I just want to be left alone. I'll be out in a few minutes." Neal said every word slowly, allowing himself ample time to make sure that he pronounced them accurately. He couldn't afford to have any more slip-ups like that in front of Peter tonight.
"Neal?" Peter questioned, Neal could sense that there was suddenly a shift in Peter's tone of voice, something was off.
"What?" Neal tentatively questioned, looking over at the closed door where he believed Peter to be standing outside of it.
"Are you drunk?" Peter asked bluntly.
Neal felt the colour drain from his face, and a lump begin to form in his throat.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"No? What? Why do you think that?" Neal asked before he could stop himself and almost immediately regretted asking too many questions at once, it was a clear sign of guilt – and he knew that Peter knew that.
Damn this alcohol!
"Firstly you were slurring your words and secondly, Neal, you smell of bourbon." That off tone in Peter's voice was still there. Neal couldn't tell if it was anger, shock or disappointment, or all of them rolled together.
"I'm not drunk." Neal added as much confidence in his voice as he could muster.
"Neal, it's not often that I can tell straight away when you're lying to me, but right now, through this locked door, I can tell that you're lying." Peter sighed.
There was no response for a few seconds, and then Peter heard the sound of the stall's lock unclicking, but the door remained closed. Peter grabbed a hold of the handle and yanked the door open to reveal a very dishevelled looking Neal Caffrey next to the toilet bowl.
He was sitting on the tiled floor of the bureau's bathroom, back up against the wall, arms crossed over with his palms resting on his knees that were drawn up to his chest. His knuckles on his right hand were a mixture of blue, purple and red as the bruise from earlier was still slowly developing. His head was leaned back against the wall, eyes closed and his mouth slightly open as he breathed slowly through it. His hair was ruffled, and he was extremely pale, except for the red that tinted his cheeks and forehead from the dry heaving that he had just partaken in minutes before – however the main thing that caught Peter's eye was just how fragile Neal looked.
Neal was always thought of as the strong, invincible con artist who could do just about anything that he set his mind to – this was not the same Neal Caffrey that was sitting in front of him on the bureau's bathroom floor. No, this Neal Caffrey looked utterly hopeless and lost.
"Neal?" Peter questioned, he felt all the anger about the situation leave from his body as he felt concern take over. He remembered back to the conversation he had just earlier today with his team about Neal's current mental state.
This was pretty much a cold, hard slap in the face at just how bad things were getting for the young ex-con, and just how bad Peter had let them.
Neal did not respond, instead he just opened his eyes and stared straight ahead in front of him at the wall on the other side of the toilet stall.
Peter couldn't help but notice just how empty Neal's eyes also looked; how lifeless they now seemed to be. The dark circles underneath his eyes just highlighted the fact. They were no longer a bright, sparkly blue – the colour that every member of his team had come to adore and fall in love with – now they were more of a dull, faded grey.
Peter crouched down beside his CI, "Neal, hey, let's get you up okay?" Peter said placing a hand on Neal's left forearm.
Neal's face scrunched up in pain as Peter made contact with his forearm, and he abruptly pulled away and shrugged off Peter's touch. "I can stand on my own."
Peter just shot Neal a quizzical look at the way he had reacted to being touched, but stood back and allowed Neal to move on his own. Neal placed his palms alongside of himself and pushed off of the ground and managed to somehow stand himself up without any incidents. He placed a hand onto the side of the stall to balance himself, as he felt the dizziness begin to flood over him.
"Hey, easy." Peter said placing his hand onto Neal's shoulder this time.
Neal once again shrugged off Peter's help, but did not react in the same way as he previously had when Peter touched his forearm, it was as if Peter had hurt him then. This was something that Peter thought was odd, and so he made sure to take a mental note of the incident.
"I'm fine Peter. I can stand by myself. Just go back to the rest of the team before they think something's up and I'll come and join you in a few minutes." He pushed past the older man and stepped over to where the basin was, trying his hardest not to catch his own eye in his reflection.
"You'll come and join me in a few minutes? The hell you will Neal. The only place that you're going is home. There's no way you're going undercover like this." Neal could hear that little bit of anger creep it's way back into Peter's voice.
"Peter I can still go undercover. I'm fine. We can't afford to lose this opportunity." Neal turned around to face Peter, and placed his best I'm fine mask onto his face.
"I know we can't lose this opportunity – but that's not my fault now is it. There's no way in hell that I am sending you in like this. You can barely stand let alone go in there and talk insurance to Holts and get yourself hired." Peter immediately regretted his first few words as he saw the guilt flash in Neal's eyes.
"Neal I'm sor – " Peter was cut off.
"Peter – don't. I know that it's my fault. You don't have to apologise for the fact that I screwed up. But I can do this. I'm going in undercover at a bar, it'll look more realistic if it seems that I've been in there drinking and – " It was now Neal's turn to be cut off.
"If you've been in there drinking is a little bit different to if you've been in there drinking their entire liquor supply. Neal you're not just drunk – you're extremely intoxicated. I can't let you ruin this operation." Peter just sighed.
"What's stopping me from going in there on my own and talking to him? I'm not going to let this opportunity just slide. We need to act fast, and you know that."
"Caffrey if you step foot into that bar and even think about approaching Holts without the bureau's supervision, you can kiss that anklet goodbye and say hello to a pair of handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit instead. Just – go home. That's an order." With that Peter exited the men's room, effectively ending their conversation.
Neal was left standing there, staring after Peter's retreating form. Before he realized what he was doing, he spun around and slammed his clenched fist down onto the sink's basin.
"Dammit!" He shouted, not caring who heard him right now, he needed to fix this.
He turned on the tap in front of him, splashed some water onto his face, and ran his hands through his messy locks in the hopes of taming them somewhat. He straightened his tie and brushed off his suit jacket and pants. He had to make himself look decent and presentable – he had a job to go and get after all.
He exited the men's room and planned on heading straight out of the bureau, but instead he saw Peter, who seemed to be waiting for him down the hall.
Now what.
"Neal." Peter said tilting his head, indicating that he was to go over there and talk to Peter before he left the building.
He sighed to himself and walked over to where Peter was standing. "Yes?" Neal asked when he was a few feet away from the agent.
"How drunk exactly are you?" Peter asked, hesitantly.
"Not that drunk?" Neal lied. "Why?"
"I told the rest of the team that you were sick and that we had to postpone. They're pretty adamant about sending you out, sick or not, as this opportunity is one that we can't lose. I never told them that you were inebriated however." Peter sighed, completely not okay with this. "Do you think you can go undercover? Honestly Caffrey – without screwing anything up. Do you?"
"Yes. I can do this. I won't let you down." Neal's voice perked up at the realization that he hadn't completely screwed everything up just yet.
"You better not, because I don't know how I'm going to explain to Hughes if this goes down badly that I let you out on the field drunk." Peter glared at Neal.
"I won't let you down Peter, I promise." Neal added his Caffrey smile and walked off in the direction of the conference room so he could be briefed.
Peter just stood back for a moment and watched Neal go, he seemed to have mustered walking in a straight line which was a pretty good accomplishment Peter admitted, considering how terribly he was walking when he first came in. Peter just prayed to God that Neal could handle this.
Neal managed to make it up the stairs this time with no difficulties, he could feel the effects of the alcohol slowly wearing off as his vision became a lot more sharper and his head began to spin a lot less. He walked into the conference room and quickly took one of the empty seats.
"Okay so what's the plan?" Neal asked, trying to act as normal as possible.
"Ah, Peter said that you weren't feeling too good?" Diana asked, ignoring Neal's question.
"Oh yeah. I guess I ate some bad food earlier on. I'm fine now though." Neal added a thousand watt smile just for good measure.
Diana automatically registered what Neal just said as a lie, it seemed to be a whole lot easier to tell when Neal was lying lately, but she registered that as a lie mainly based on the fact that it involved Neal consuming food – which he looked like he hadn't done in weeks. She said nothing further on the matter however, and decided to play along with whatever it was that Neal and Peter were doing.
"Well that's good then. The plan is that you're going to go in to the Jade Buddha and talk up Holts – get him interested in what it is that you have to offer, make him want to get you as part of their team. The bureau has authorised you to spend a maximum of $50,000 but that is only as a last resort Caffrey." Diana said whilst handing over a piece of paper to Neal that detailed what he had to do in order for tonight to be successful.
"Sounds easy." Neal said smiling.
This is so not going to be easy.
"It better be, because we're counting on this way in." Jones said leaning back in the chair, "are you sure you're up to this Neal? You don't look that great."
"Thanks." Neal replied sarcastically. "Honestly I'm fine, I felt a little nauseous earlier, but I'm completely okay now. I can easily do this."
Before Jones or Diana could reply Peter entered the room holding the FBI's audio recording watch. "Okay Neal, here, remember you leave this turned on at all times so that we can hear everything that Holts says to you." Peter said handing over the watch to Neal and adding some stern eye contact for good measure.
Neal was sure by that Peter meant 'leave it turned on so we can tell the minute you stuff up and can send guys into rescue you before things turn ugly' but he smiled in reply to Peter's statement, took the watch and fastened it on his wrist.
"Alright then, let's get going." Peter said, signalling the rest of the team out the door, but before Neal could leave Peter placed a hand on his shoulder stopping him from following the rest out just yet.
"Remember Neal. This is both of our asses on the line here. If you're having second thoughts or any doubts about this we can – "
"Peter, relax. I'm fine and I can do this." Neal added as much confidence to his voice as possible, he hoped it didn't sound too fake, because it was the complete opposite to how he truly was feeling about the situation.
The van dropped him off a block away from the bar, and after receiving one last stern look from Peter, he was left on his own walking towards the location of the bar. His headache had disappeared almost completely after taking some Tylenol he got from Jones on the ride over, he didn't feel nauseous anymore – well, drunk nauseous. He was nervous about this encounter which was causing him to feel a little sick to his stomach, which was unusual for him. Neal rarely got nervous, it wasn't a good look for your mark to see you nervous. The dizziness had subsided a great deal also, which Neal was thankful for. He didn't want to walk into the bar and collapse onto the ground, that wouldn't exactly get him the rep that he was looking for.
A few minutes later he found himself standing outside of a pretty expensive looking bar – actually that was an understatement; this was a nightclub. The words "Jade Buddha" were in green neon lights on top of the roof and there were two muscular looking bouncers at the entrance checking the IDs of the more younger patrons.
Neal made his way over to the line of drunken eighteen year olds, and other partygoers that was forming outside of the bar and waited to be admitted, it wasn't long before he made it through the bouncers and into the nightclub. The first thing that he was greeted with were strobe lights of all different colours, pounding music and many extremely skimpily dressed females.
He tried his hardest to not wince at the lights or the music, but despite his best efforts he failed when whatever song was originally playing ended to be replaced with some rather loud dubstep. Neal clenched his jaw tightly and tried to make it as far away from the dance floor as possible, he walked over to where the bar was and sat down on one of the barstools and ordered himself some gin. He had no intentions of drinking it – well that's what he told himself – he just didn't want to seem too out of place, sitting at a bar empty handed. That was the excuse he was going to give to Peter anyway.
A few moments later the glass of gin was placed in front of him. Neal stared at the condensation that was forming on it, watching the droplets run down the sides of the glass made his mouth dry.
One sip couldn't hurt.
One sip turned into two, and two turned into three, and before Neal knew it he pressed the off switch on his watch momentarily and was ordering his second drink, what Peter didn't know couldn't hurt him. He had turned his watch back on and was half way through the drink when he saw out of the corner of his eye Michael Holts and a young male discussing something off to the side.
"I see Michael Holts. He's talking to some guy by the side of the bar, I'm waiting until their conversation ends and then I'm going to approach." Neal whispered to himself for Peter and the rest of the team's sake.
Neal sipped on the drink while casually scanning the crowd, all the while keeping an eye on whatever it was that Holts was doing. He felt his eyes widen slightly when he saw Holts discreetly hand over to the younger man from earlier a small round pill bottle.
He's dealing drugs.
He was about to say something to himself – to Peter and the others – but something stopped him, something made him keep this knowledge to himself. Instead he just sat and waited for a few minutes while he finished the rest of his drink and mulled over how he was planning on approaching Holts who had now found a booth in the back of the nightclub and was sitting by himself.
His drink was long finished, and Neal still remained at the bar.
"Can I get you another?" he heard the bartender ask as he picked up the glass sitting in front of him.
"Uh yeah, sure." Neal said half paying attention to what was actually going on, forgetting for a split second that now Peter heard he had finished his first drink and was onto his second.
At least he doesn't know it's the third.
When the bartender returned with the drink Neal picked it up and headed over to where Michael Holts was sitting. He took a large sip of the drink, swallowed hard and walked over to the booth.
"This seat taken?" Neal said cocking his head to the side.
"Depends. Do I know you?" Holts said not even looking up from his phone that he seemed to be aimlessly scrolling through.
"Not yet you don't." Neal said flashing a cocky smile, this caused Holts to look up and scrutinize who was talking to him.
"What makes you think I want to." Holts again seemed uninterested as he returned back to scrolling through his phone's feed.
Neal sat in the chair opposite Holts in the booth, placed the drink onto the table and clasped his hands together, "We can make each other happy."
"You think you can make me happy? Sorry kid I'm not into that." Holts said, once again not looking up from his phone, completely uninterested in Neal.
Neal couldn't help but half chuckle, "Nor am I. That's not what I meant. I know who you are and what you do." He left the statement open, referring to both of Holt's extra curricular activities.
"Oh yeah? Who am I?" This time Neal had captivated his attention, Holts placed his phone in suit pocket, and clasped his hands in front of him on the table; mimicking Neal's position.
Neal smiled at this, "you're Michael Holts."
"And how do you know this kid?" Holts asked, leaning in closer to Neal.
"Does it matter? Point is, I can make you a happy man and you can make me one also. We can work together." Neal said, lowering his voice and also leaning in, this time it was he who mimicked Holt's actions.
"Enlighten me?" Holts said, now also speaking in a more hushed tone of voice.
"I know about Pierson. I want to buy in, but I don't want entry level, I want to be up higher in the food chain – I can get a lot of potential buyers, but I need access to the higher ups for that to happen. I can make you a lot of money." Neal said, now leaning back in the booth and taking a sip of his gin.
"Buy in at entry level is $2500 and that's only if you can manage to get two other buyers at $6000. What makes you think I'm going to let you just buy in and be placed higher up the food chain?" Holts laughed at Neal's absurdity.
"Because I'll buy in at twenty grand." Neal said, watching the humorous smile fade from Holt's face as he realized that Neal was being completely serious.
"You'll pay twenty grand to buy in? At what level are you talking here?" Neal had now gained Holt's full attention.
"Your level." Neal stated bluntly.
"My level? You have to be kidding yourself?" Holts once again found himself laughing at the absurdity of Neal's requests.
"Thing is I'm not. I know I can make you a lot of money, but for that I need to be on the same level as you. I need as much respect from the lower food chain as possible for this to work." Neal took another sip of his gin.
"Look kid, I'll have to talk to Pierson about this. Can we meet later on in the week to discuss this further with him present, I doubt he'll appreciate me doing this kind of high risk business without his knowledge." Holts handed over Neal a business card that had his name and number on it, "Call me tomorrow and we'll arrange a time to discuss this further and in more detail?"
"Will do." Neal said picking up the card and analysing it.
"Well it was nice to meet you – " Holts stood, reading to leave from the booth, but stopped mid sentence, waiting for Neal to give him his name.
"Nick. Nick Holden." Neal paused for a second, and discreetly flicked the button on his watch, stopping this from broadcasting to Peter. "I also have one more thing I'd like to discuss now if that's alright?" Neal asked nodding at the seat that Holts just vacated from seconds ago.
Holts sat back down, "What else Nick?" the tone to his voice indicated that he didn't like to not be the one in charge of the conversation and when it ended.
"Earlier on I saw you hand over something to another patron?" Neal left the question open.
"Pills?" Holts asked, slightly intrigued.
"Yes. What were they?" Neal asked, his tone of voice changing slightly, but not enough for Holts to pick up on, especially with the loud music still blaring off in the distance.
"Hydromorphone – Dilaudid. Narcotics. Why?" Holts really was interested now in what it was that Neal was aiming at here. First it was his insurance business and now his drug business. What did this man want?
"How much a bottle?" Neal found the question leaving his lips before he could stop himself from asking it.
"Seriously kid?" Holts asked.
Neal paused for a very long moment before responding. "Yes." He took his final swig of his glass, consuming the last of the liquor.
"$150 a bottle." Holts said casually.
"I'll take one." Neal said getting out his wallet from his suit jacket, and placing three fifty dollar bills underneath his palm and sliding them over towards Holts.
Something changed in Holts face, Neal didn't care what it was that the older man was feeling in regards to the transaction.
"Kid these aren't just your average strength narcotics, these are one of the strongest there – " Neal cut him off before he could say anything else, or convince him that this was a bad idea.
Because this was a bad idea.
"I know what Dilaudid is. Do we have a deal?" Neal pushed the money underneath his palm that little bit further towards Holts to emphasis his question.
Holts opened up the brief case that was next to him on the ground, took out a bottle of the pills and quickly slid them over to Neal and took the money that Neal had placed onto the table.
"Thank you." Neal quickly grabbed the bottle of pills and placed them in his suit jacket. "I'll call you tomorrow to arrange a time to discuss business." With that Neal exited the booth and headed towards the exit of the club.
Once he made it outside he flicked the switch on his watch back on, "Peter I'm outside now. Heading towards where you are." Neal took a deep, steadying breath and headed towards where the van was parked a block away.
The sound of the music now fading off into the distance, the only thing that Neal heard as he walked along the quite streets towards where the van was parked, was the sounds of pills rattling against each other inside of a plastic container.
Not good for Neal is it ?
Please review, as mentioned above, your comments really motivate me! x.