Lack Luster

Chapter 5

"So why are we meeting in the Federal Building?" Mozzie asked once the doors closed on both him and Neal. "Last time I was here, I had to take a daily dose of Xanax for longer than I care to discuss."

The small, balding man was not displeased by the lack of other guests in the extremely claustrophobic-inducing elevator space. Just the thought of sharing the lift, never mind an entire building, with the enemy made him break out in an uncontrollable itch over half his body.

It had taken Neal's considerable expertise in the persuasion department, plus the inducement of a stashed artifact, three catered meals, and one rare bottle of Eiswein…true Eiswein, the German nectar, to get him this far.

"Even with that," Mozzie continued, "the benzodiazepine fell far short of its hyped claim to provide a tranquilizing affect."

"I remember that, Moz." Neal smiled understandably. "Your agoraphobia took a dramatic upturn swing. After Gina left for California, you refused to leave my apartment for weeks."

"Upturn? It sky rocked through the roof. And it was not my disorder that triggered my setback but the proximity to a horde of overpaid, brainwashed functionaries."

"As I remember it, those brainwashed functionaries were quite helpful in rescuing Gina from Navarro's gang."

"Hah," replied the smaller man. "I had to put my life in danger to broker the drop. They showed up after I had it all in hand."

Neal's mild disapproving glance caused a slight flush to radiate over his companion's face. After a short moment, in between bouts of intense scratching, Mozzie dropped his head, starring down at his sneaker-clad feet.

The ride up on the elevator continued charged with silence.

"Well," he muttered softly, "Peter and his motley crew may have come in at just the opportune moment." He peeked at Neal. "I was grateful, mon ami."

"I know you were." Placing his hands in his pockets, Neal leaned against the side wall. "Now, I want you to give us a hand in taking down Jenkins."

"I haven't seen you this fired up over an arrest since we framed, ah…provided evidence to the local cops about, 'Killer Kowalsky'."

"Moz, that happened years ago. When I was still working for Adler."

"Yeah, but I'll never forget the delight in your eyes when that cretin disappeared off the streets."

"He took distinct pleasure in harming the most vulnerable. Kids, immigrants, the poor─"

"And the elderly." Mozzie paused for a moment. "Ah, I see the pattern."

"We were discussing how you can help Peter."

"May I point out that I am standing," Mozzie grimaced, "in the Dark Force's lair, exuding cooperation and ready to go forth to do battle for a higher cause."

"I explained why Peter asked us to meet him in his office. He's tied up all day with meetings and prepping the task force assisting Violent Crimes on the Petrocelli case. Besides, 'cooperation is a higher moral principal than competition.'"

"No, no," uttered the agitated confidence man, "this is not cooperation. I'd rather think of our little endeavor as collaboration for mutual gain."

The elevator doors slid open on the 21st floor. Neal first pried, pushed and then led his small friend through the bullpen area and up the stairs to Peter's glassed-in office. The little man was convinced Jones and Diana were slyly nudging and snickering behind his back.

Mozzie pulled Neal to a stop just outside Peter's door and turned to face him.

"You owe me big time," he stage whispered before quickly stepping into the office.

Peter, seated casually at his desk, looked up and sighed.

Following closely behind Mozzie, Neal smiled down at him.

"Here he is, Peter. And you were wrong; Moz is delighted to help us put Jenkins' away."

Scowling at Neal, the smaller man turned to Peter.

"Let's get this straight." He quickly sat down in one of the two empty seats. "Suit, I'm here under duress. We need to get this conversation over in record time and part company."

Gesturing down below to the vicinity of the elevators, he added, "And by the way, how often do you Feds have the elevators tested? Weekly, monthly or when it 'suits' you? I distinctly felt jerky starts and stops and even some suspicious vibrations as the cab rose upward."

"Could it have been your knees shaking?" asked Peter straight-faced, rubbing his mouth to hide a smile that was pulling on the corners of his lips.

"Haha. Elevators have an end to their service life just like government lackeys. Both give off warning signs." He paused. "I can describe them to you."

Slumping in his chair, Peter momentarily placed his head in his hands. As if drawing on inhuman strength, he shuddered, straightened his shoulders and faced Mozzie.

"However, I won't," Neal's friend continued. "Even minor change would be nearly impossible due to the mountain of bureaucracy you would have to wade through. So, your job is at least safe."

"I am really not in the mood for this. Neal!" Peter exclaimed.

"Why don't we talk about what you found out from your sources." said Neal, sitting down beside Mozzie. "Tell Peter about the post office box."

First reaching back as if to scratch a persistence itch on his back, Mozzie then leaned forward, folding his arms on Peter's desk.

"I've been pounding the pavement for the last few days; you'll get my bill later, talking to my sources and a few of my colleagues in the Numismatists Guild. Most of them described Jenkins' as a well-known, veteran coin dealer, offering quality and selective merchandise at competitive prices."

"The same ballyhoo crap we've been getting across the board."

Mozzie stole a quick glance at Neal, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"It gets better, Suit. Remember 'all things are difficult before they become easy.' One of my less savory associates had the opportunity to work with Jenkins on several mutual exhibits. After some money changed hands between us, he was suddenly thrilled to tell me Jenkins' used several post office boxes for personal delivery. The deliveries he wanted to keep private."

Peter and Neal smiled at each other across the desk.

"I assume these post office locations aren't the same ones Peter and I already investigated. Right, Moz?"

"Nope. They are off the grid mark, gentlemen." There was a devilish smile of triumph on his face. "And I, of course, have each address memorized."

"We know Morris Brown mailed his coin collection to Jenkins," said Peter. "Being careful to insure it, he verified the receipt and then misplaced the paperwork weeks after Jenkins picked up the coins."

"Leaving no trace when the transaction took place or which post office in Manhattan it was sent to…" added Neal.

"My gut is telling me this is our best lead yet. Combine that with the pressure our Bloomington office is placing on Issac Klein─"

"Kleid, Peter. Not Klein."

Peter grimaced. "Right, right, I remember 'German clothing.'"

"You two don't have to talk code, in front of me," interrupted Mozzie. "I'm happy to leave after I write the addresses down." Standing up quickly, he eyeballed Peter's desk for paper and pen.

Rummaging through his desk, Peter quickly dug out a wrinkled piece of paper and pushed it and a pen over to Mozzie. "Here you go," he said cheerfully.

Mozzie wrote out the information on the sheet and turned to leave.

"Mozzie!" called the agent. "Do you, ah, have some skin allergy?"

"What do you mean, Suit?"

"You've been scratching yourself since you walked in."

Neal signaled Peter to stop with a hand gesture.

"I don't know what you're talking about," replied Mozzie dismissively. "I need to go."

"Well, thank you for the information. It may just be want we need to break the case open. Agent Hughes will be delighted."

"I'm thrilled," was the response as Mozzie scurried from the office.