Unintended Consequences
Disclaimer: White Collar is owned by Jeff Eastin and USA Network.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed the story so far, I'm getting more and more loose ends tied up. I've also started watching another USA show Fairly Legal, and I think some of Kate's negotiating skills snuck in here. (not to be confused with Neal's lost love; this is a different Kate) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for sticking with me!
"Hands up, Caffrey. Hand over the painting."
Neal didn't turn around; he just put up his hands, not letting go of the black tube.
"Jones, how nice of you to come. I'm so glad you tracked my anklet."
"You won't be when I arrest you for possession of the stolen Vermeer."
Neal just started laughing.
Chapter 21
"What's so funny, Neal?"
"Afraid you were missing out on the action? Wanted to see for yourself that Peter was ok? Maybe you just didn't trust me to get Peter back, right?"
"I meant do it legally, Caffrey. I told you there are certain rules and regulations we follow. Stealing a valuable painting under the nose of an FBI Agent to exchange it for another FBI Agent is not one of them!"
Neal was about to reply when the bodyguard and the thief started laughing at him.
"Having a bit of trouble with the Fed there, son? I thought you were working for them. I guess they're not convinced you're on their side."
Jones apparently didn't think that was funny, because he responded in a harsh tone.
"That's none of your business. Neal. The painting. Now."
Neal didn't move, but the thief with the coffee did, forcing Peter in front of him as a shield as the bodyguard moved quickly to Peter's side and pointed the gun at his head.
"Give him the painting and your Fed friend gets a bullet in the skull."
Neal smiled patronizingly trying to avoid a showdown. He was desperately hoping that Jones wouldn't try to play the hero, even though he was sure Jones probably wanted to shoot him at this point. Neal kept his hands raised and turned slightly so he could see Jones, but still see the bodyguard's weapon out of the corner of his eye.
"I've never been one to actually play by the rules; that does tend to make some enemies, but I'm sure we can come to a resolution here where both parties can win."
"Not possible. We want the painting, now!"
The thief's voice rose as he gestured with the coffee cup; still maintaining a tight grip on Peter's arm with his other hand.
"We've waited 20 years for this and you had better believe that we're serious about getting it back."
"I didn't doubt that you weren't serious, but there's no need for yelling. I told you, we can come to a resolution."
"I don't…"
Neal held up his index finger to the thief, silently asking him to hold on for just a minute, and then turned to Jones.
"Jones…"
Jones, who was very upset with Neal at the moment, wouldn't let him finish.
"I will not negotiate with these thugs, Neal. Give me the painting now, or I will shoot."
"Jones, my man, you don't want to do that, I'm not wearing a bullet proof vest. You shoot me and there will be mountains of paperwork to fill out, or so Peter tells me. You'll regret it until you're old and gray. Look at the bright side, you have the perfect opportunity here to earn yourself a gold star on your resume, but it also requires teamwork. I don't need you working against me here."
Neal was trying to buy some time; sure Jones would have never come alone. What had Jones been thinking? What was his plan? Why had he decided to follow Neal? Neal didn't have the answers to any of the questions, but it was a little too late for that anyway, since Jones was here now, already disrupting his plans. Although Neal couldn't see any of the FBI agents, he figured Jones had instructed them to move only on his signal. Neal wasn't sure if that was good or bad. How long could he stall before he came up with a better plan? Jones and the bodyguard were glaring at each other as if promoting the public policy strategy of mutually assured destruction. Trying to keep his tone light with his hands still raised, Neal nodded to the thief with the coffee.
"What kind of drink do you have there? Is that a Pike Place Roast or is it more like a Venti Nonfat Light Foam White Chocolate Mocha? I'm really not getting a good reading on that."
The thief got a good chuckle out of that one and smirked at Neal.
"You really like to hear yourself talk, don't you?"
"You don't know the half of it."
Neal was stunned to recognize the voice as he turned his head slightly to confirm that Peter had indeed decided to join the conversation; a risky move on Peter's part given the tense standoff situation and the fact that he was still being used as a human shield. Neal, however, was not going to give either of them the satisfaction of having the last word.
"You, with the unidentified coffee, I like to talk about as much as you like your daily shots of coffee. Do you have an IV hooked up somewhere? I'd hate to see how nice you'd be without your fix."
Not waiting for a reply, Neal shifted his attention to Peter.
"Peter, I am trying to save your life here, you could at least show some gratitude. Would you please tell Jones to stand down? He's going to get me killed."
"Jones, just hear what Neal has to say before you decide if you still want to put a well-deserved bullet in his thick skull."
Neal glared at Peter, not exactly what he wanted him to say, but it would have to do.
"Now, where were we?"
Neal looked over at the thief trying to gauge the level of his anger. Neal thought possibly he could push just a little farther without getting himself shot. Neal's expression seemed to convey peacefulness despite the tense situation.
"Oh, yes, I remember. The painting. I hate to be the one that points this out, but I think you have a problem. Your bodyguard here is intently focused on holding a gun on an FBI Agent, while another FBI Agent is pointing a gun at you. Now, I'm not going to put any money down on who will shoot first, but I'm inclined to give the painting to someone not holding a gun, because I detest guns. Unfortunately for you, you have your hands full with your precious coffee and a previously mentioned FBI Agent that you are using as a human shield while simultaneously being threatened by your bodyguard. Hmm. Does everyone have everything straight here, or should I diagram it for you? Maybe that would make it easier for me to decide who to give the painting to. So, anyone have any paper?"
Jones, still holding his gun steady and keeping his eyes on the bodyguard, took another step closer to Neal and then stopped, not sure what Neal was up to.
"Please, just shoot him."
Neal was a little surprised by Peter's comment and was trying to figure out the angle and if Peter had addressed his comment to Jones or the bodyguard. Neal wasn't sure who Peter wanted to shoot him; not that it really mattered if Peter wanted him dead anyway.
"Thanks for the confidence in me, Peter."
Neal wasn't sure if Peter was trying to distract the thief, Jones, or both. Either way, Jones was fixated on still getting Neal to give him the painting so he could arrest him.
"You're giving the painting to me now, Caffrey. No more talking; you're going back to prison along with these two thugs, for a very, very long time."
"I don't think so, Jones, but nice try."
Neal, realizing his time was up, waited a split second before he threw the black tube as high in the air as he could. The bodyguard leapt for it at the same time the thief with the coffee let go of Peter's arm to dive for it. Neal seized the opportunity and rushed forward, grabbing Peter, who was still handcuffed, and took off running into Central Park. The coffee cup, meanwhile, had gone flying out of the thief's hand and zeroed in on poor Jones who was still holding his gun and didn't get his hands up in time to protect his face. The lid came off on impact spraying the still warm white chocolate mocha all over his face and his clothes. Jones stumbled in the direction of the bodyguard, but realized he couldn't see very well because of the coffee dripping down his face. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve just in time to realize the bodyguard had rescued the tube and he and the thief - now sans coffee – were dashing toward the Lincoln. Reaching for his radio, Jones alerted the other FBI agents, who were assembled out of sight nearby, that the Lincoln needed to be stopped and the priceless Vermeer painting was in the possession of the criminals inside.
##
Neal finally slowed down when he noticed Peter was out of breath and having difficulty running with Neal still grasping his upper arm; Peter's hands still secured with handcuffs. Neal quickly pulled Peter behind some trees and pulled a paperclip out of his pocket.
"It looks like we're safe here for a little bit. No one is chasing us yet. Let me look at those handcuffs."
Still breathing heavily, Peter lifted his hands up and Neal had the handcuffs open within 10 seconds. Peter rubbed his wrists and looked warily around the side of the tree as if someone might still be after them.
"Why were we running?"
Neal looked over at Peter; a look of exasperation gracing his features.
"They had guns, Peter. I hate guns. Besides, the standoff wasn't going to last forever. Have you forgotten already? Jones was about to arrest me, so I felt obligated to give him a choice; the painting or me. I was hoping he would choose the painting. He could just as easily have chased us."
Neal looked over at Peter to assure him it was a completely logical and rational viewpoint, and that Peter should have already figured it out. Peter just looked at him like he was crazy and couldn't resist a sarcastic comment.
"Of course, why didn't I think of that? If I had guns pointed at me the first thing I would think about is giving someone a choice whether or not to arrest me!"
"I didn't see you coming up with any brilliant ideas! You don't know the half of it? Really, Peter? You couldn't come up with anything better than that? I'm surprised the bodyguard didn't just shoot you for that comment. I thought you were on my side."
"I am on your side, Neal."
"It was still a stupid comment."
"And you're clearly still talking, so I think that supports my argument."
"Are you keeping score now? Because for this con, I'd say it was Neal 1 and Peter 0."
"Don't flatter yourself, Caffrey."
"I can assure you, it's well deserved."
"Because you found the painting and were attempting to rescue Grace?"
"I thought that's what you hired me for, to catch the bad guys?"
"Here is what I don't understand. How could you just throw the painting like that? You always tell me you have the utmost respect for art, even if it was a copy."
"Perception is reality, Peter. Don't believe everything you see."
"So, I didn't just see you throw your rendition of Vermeer's painting in the air to rescue me and let the thieves escape with it?"
"I hate to burst your bubble, Peter, but no, I did not just throw a priceless Vermeer painting (mine or otherwise) in the air just to rescue you; although the thieves didn't know that, and apparently Jones didn't either. Although…can you imagine the look on Jones' face if he would have opened the tube and found it empty?
Neal started to chuckle, but then paused realizing Peter wasn't laughing. A concerned look crossed his face as he looked over at his friend.
"I'm worried about you, Peter, you don't look like you had much sleep last night. I don't think your keen agent senses are at the top of their game. Did you really think I was going to hand over my painting?"
Neal looked over at Peter and realized that Peter really did think he had handed over his rendition of Vermeer's The Concert.
"You really did. You really thought I was going to hand over my painting. How would that help our situation? I re-evaluated the situation. The FBI was obviously going to check the authenticity. They wouldn't be able to hold those goons for more than a day while waiting for the results to come back showing it was a copy."
"I thought the plan was just to rescue me. You bought enough seconds to distract them and rescue me. What more did you want?"
"Plans change. If I remember correctly, you told me 'Think about what you're doing, Neal. I trust you to do what's right.' I thought about it, and I decided I wanted justice; well, worse than I wanted revenge, because they didn't attack me personally. I wanted justice for you and Grace. I didn't want any possibility of them getting off on a technicality. The plan had to be foolproof."
"Foolproof, huh? I guess that explains why we are standing here arguing behind some trees in Central Park because we thought someone was chasing us!"
"Peter, there are always bumps in the best laid plans. The FBI should have had no problem stopping the Lincoln, and once they search the contents of the car, they'll find what they've been looking for. Solid evidence, case closed."
"And if someone would have let me in on their little rendezvous with Frank, we wouldn't have to worry if the FBI actually has stopped this Lincoln, and this whole mess could have been avoided."
"If you want to get technical, I haven't forgotten that you shot me earlier."
"Oh for crying out loud, you were wearing a vest; stop whining."
"Stop whining? You're lucky I'm having an adrenaline rush or I'd really be yelling at you, because my ribs are still aching. I'm definitely going to need some aspirin once we get back to your place and my heart rate returns to normal. As for wearing a vest, yes, I was wearing a vest, but you didn't know that at the time, you could have killed me and then who would have rescued you from Frank's hospitable associates."
"I said I'm sorry!"
Peter stopped, realizing he had said that much louder and sharper than he intended. He continued in a more low-key, controlled tone.
"How did we get off on this rabbit trail anyway? I asked you about the painting, and you're not giving me a direct answer. Did you give the thieves your rendition of the Vermeer or not?"
"No, Peter, I did not give the thieves my rendition of the Vermeer. Ok? I told you I would handle it. They should be nice and comfortable in a jail cell by now, or at least on their way there."
"You did not seriously just give them the actual Vermeer painting. No, I don't believe that."
Peter shook his head as if ridiculing himself for even letting the thought cross his mind before he decided to clarify.
"So, all we've got them on then is kidnapping a Federal Agent - me."
"No, I think there's a bit more to it than that, at least if Jones or another FBI Agent did their job and searched their car. I told you, the FBI should not have had any problems stopping the car. I'm guessing, not like I have any personal experience with this or anything, that it's kind of hard to make a quick getaway if there is possibly an issue with say…maybe a tire or two."
"Neal, what did you do?"
"I didn't say I did anything."
"Then why are you acting defensive? So, they had a flat tire or a blow out or some unfortunate incident? You can't arrest them for that. Besides, I was in the car, there wasn't anything in there."
Neal raised an eyebrow questioning Peter's last statement.
"Are you so sure about that?"
Neal saw the instant the light bulb went on in Peter's head.
"Definitely slower, Peter, but don't worry, I'd blame the lack of sleep if I were you."
"Thankfully you're not. I thought I saw Mozzie. He did something to the tires didn't he? Did he plant evidence? He didn't plant the actual Vermeer did he?"
"So many questions, Peter; so many possibly incriminating answers. For starters, there was nothing in the tube. Ask me any more questions and I'll plead the fifth; although I'm sure you already have your suspicions."
Peter looked over at Neal; afraid of what he was thinking.
"You did, didn't you?"
"I did what, Peter? You need to be a bit more specific when you are accusing me of something I may or may not have done."
"You really gave up the real Vermeer painting for me, even after I shot you; you still gave up the real Vermeer to save me."
"Are you sure?"
Peter looked over at Neal, noting that he did look slightly embarrassed.
"Yes, I'm sure."
Peter looked over at Neal with that fatherly sort of compassionate look. Neal wished, really wished, that his father had shown the same sort of compassion Peter was showing him. Maybe if his father had been more like Peter…Neal abruptly forced himself to stop thinking about it. No, he couldn't go there, not yet, maybe not ever. Neal was so deep in thought that he was startled when Peter lightly tapped him on the shoulder.
"Neal, I don't have my badge on me, I don't have my gun, or even my cell phone to call for back up, so let's just be Peter and Neal for just a few minutes. I'm sorry the painting wasn't what you were hoping for, but I will be forever grateful that you did what you did. Ok?"
"Ok."
"And if you tell anyone at the Bureau I said that, I will send you back to prison, understood?"
"Understood. It wasn't just for you. It was for Grace too. I realized that sometimes you can spend your whole life looking for something and when you find it, it's not at all what you expected and you are disappointed; really disappointed. Sometimes you aren't looking for anything at all, but it finds you anyway and you come to realize it's the best thing that has ever happened to you. You found me, and our partnership is the best thing that has ever happened to me."
"I think so too. Would you mind telling me what was wrong with the painting? Remember, I'm still Peter."
Neal took a long, deep, almost painful breath. Peter wasn't sure what the problem could possibly be, but Neal really looked upset about whatever news he had decided to reveal about the painting.
"Peter…"
"I'm listening."
"Peter, the painting was destroyed. It broke my heart! Vermeer's priceless treasure was destroyed. It's sacrilegious to destroy a painting like that. How could someone destroy something so precious? It's akin to murder; maybe they don't consider it human, but when you spend hours upon hours crafting something so perfectly, with so much care and patience, it takes on a life of its own. Can you even imagine the pride Vermeer must have felt when he finished painting it? It's just further proof, Peter; proof this was about the thrill of stealing and laughing in the face of the FBI. They already had millions of dollars worth of art. They were probably in a hurry and didn't care about being careful. Maybe they didn't mean to destroy it, but it happened. They had no respect for the painting or its creator, maybe that's why Frank never fenced it. They just couldn't spare a few more seconds to protect the art, could they?"
Peter hadn't been entirely ready for an impassioned monologue from Neal regarding the Vermeer painting, but he was beginning to appreciate more about Neal and his love for art. This had obviously affected him very deeply.
"Neal, I am so sorry. I don't know the painting was destroyed, but I am very proud of what you did today. You stayed cool when it mattered most, and you didn't let me down. Ok?"
Peter looked over at Neal to make sure Neal understood that he was not upset with him.
"I'm not mad, Neal. May I borrow your cell phone? I'm going to call Jones and explain before he sends the calvary."
"You're not going to tell him that I…"
"Neal, I told you, I'm listening to you as Peter, but I do have to call Jones and fulfill my responsibilities as Agent Burke and let him know I'm ok. Besides, I don't believe you put the real Vermeer painting in the car."
"True."
"Did Mozzie?"
Neal didn't respond.
"I can't believe Mozzie would let you give up the real Vermeer."
Neal couldn't resist grinning.
"He wouldn't. He didn't know it was the real one. He thought it was the fake. Like I told you, you're the only one I trust."
"So where is the…"
Reading Peter's mind, Neal decided to interrupt.
"I don't have my painting, if that's what you're worried about."
"I wasn't worried."
Peter was silent for a moment and then another thought hit him.
"Alex…You promised Alex your painting if she created a distraction to allow Mozzie to slip the real painting in the car and slash the tires."
"That's a very nice hypothesis, Peter."
"I'm fairly certain this hypothesis has merit, but I'm probably not going to test it and we'll leave it at that. Deal?"
"Sounds good to me."
"You have nothing to worry about. I'll tell Jones you were bluffing about having the painting in the tube because the tube was empty. Is that or is that not a true statement?"
"That would be a true statement."
"If Jones searched the Lincoln according to your plan, he was supposed to find one empty tube and one full tube, right?"
"That was the plan, yes."
"Ok, then you have nothing to worry about. You know you can trust me, Neal."
Peter looked Neal in the eye to assure him.
"I know. I just don't trust Jones. He did just try to arrest me."
Neal pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Peter.
"Why don't you call him while I'm driving us back to your place. The car is this way."
"This isn't your cell phone."
"I'm impressed, Peter. No, it's not. If you call Jones from my cell phone, the explanation will take too long and they will be able to get a location and they'd still try to arrest me. I gave you the burner phone I was given by the coffee guy. Jones won't immediately know who the call is from, so you'll have more time to explain."
"Have I mentioned how glad I am that you're on my side now?"
"Yeah, never thought I'd see the day."
Neal laughed and started walking to the car. He looked back and noticed that Peter was swaying slightly and stepped back, reaching out to steady his friend.
"Are you sure you're ok?"
"No, not really. I'm positive I'm getting sick. I haven't slept well in days. I have to call Jones, and then I just want to go home and take a shower. Then maybe I will see if Elle wants to come visit Grace with me for a few minutes. I am going to take a nice long, long nap with no interruptions from a certain FBI consultant. By the way, do you know if Grace is still in holding at FBI headquarters, or was she transferred to NYPD?"
Peter's agent senses may have been slower than normal, but he didn't miss the rapid paling of Neal's face.
"Peter…there's something you should know."