When his cell rang, Neal looked at the caller icon and considered not picking up, but only for a moment: it would only delay the inevitable. Maybe, if he was lucky, the Feds were already storming the building.

He flipped the case open and spoke quickly. "Hey, Moz. Listen-"

Mozzie rolled right over him. "So guess who I saw when I was leaving. What's your guess, Neal? Is it the Feds, Neal? Because it's the Feds, Neal."

Neal leaned back against the workbench and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Maybe we can skip the 'I told you so'? And stop saying my name, it's a little creepy."

"You always want to skip the 'I told you so.'" Mozzie pointed out in a kindly fashion that didn't quite dilute the acid in his tone. "That's why these situations keep happening."

"You sound like my teacher in third grade." Restless, Neal crossed back to the window and tried to make out the figures in the sedan down the block. "It's Burke?"

"Of course it's Burke, and another new guy. He goes through partners like Kate goes through hair dye."

"Wash in, wash out," Neal agreed, and then squinted as he tried to make out the new agent's face. Unfortunately, the most he could see from his current angle was a flash of white shirt in a passing car's headlights. "I didn't like the last one."

"That's because you need to stop judging people by their facial hair."

"There was no excuse for those sideburns. None." Neal turned and paced back across creaking floorboards to the other side of the room to reassure himself that he hadn't missed someone breaking down the door. "What if they'd caught up with me? I'd have been arrested by an Elvis impersonator - you don't live that kind of thing down, Moz."

"Says the guy wearing a porkpie hat," Mozzie pointed out, and didn't wait for the inevitable objection before he went on. "What's the plan?"

Neal crossed back over to the window and watched as Burke took the pizza box from the delivery guy. The agent shook his head at the window and then slipped back into the sedan.

After a moment, Neal drew back again. "Get Kate to tell Torrio the bonds are here and then give the Feds an anonymous tip he'll be coming to collect them?"

"That's not a plan," Mozzie answered after a few, silently thoughtful, seconds. "That's a suicide pact. I can see how you'd confuse the two."

Neal groaned and threw himself back onto the single, threadbare couch in the room. "Fine, call the couriers in the morning. Get six this time and send the bonds out with the first one. Go through Europe, Russia," he grinned, "and Brazil."

"Funny. Very funny." Mozzie hung up and Neal followed suit.

Boredom set in within seconds. It was tempting to go pay the Feds a visit; tempting in the same way the Louvre was tempting, or the Hope diamond was tempting; saying no to temptation was not, Neal had to admit, something he could count amongst his many talents.

Saying no was always so pointless. Life was short and there was so much to do and see and taste. Why spend the time you had saying no to anything, as long as it wasn't hurting anyone?

But, contrary to Mozzie's belief and, okay, possibly also his own history to date, he did have a sense of self-preservation. Regretfully, he had to concede that pizza delivery was probably about as far as he should push it, given his current employers.

He wondered if Burke knew about them and decided he probably did; Neal was three years and too many close calls to count past underestimating the man.

He wondered what he thought.

Somehow, he doubted Burke would consider it a good career move and, in fairness, Neal would have agreed.

The couch was some kind of medieval torture device, he decided. And, given the car still outside, apparently also his bed for the evening. He couldn't leave the bonds there unattended, and he wasn't going to try carrying them out.

Great.

He shifted and tried to find a marginally more comfortable spot – one where he wasn't being slowly impaled by a sharpened spring.

Seriously, what would happen if he just hung around the front door? It wasn't like the Feds could come in without a warrant and he did need to make sure Peter's new partner was someone he could be seen being arrested by.

Really, if you looked at it like that, it was practically a necessity.

The cell rang, Mozzie again. It might have been Neal's imagination, but the little gnome icon he'd associated with the number seemed to be glaring at him.

He flipped the cover. "What?"

"Don't even think about it."

Neal adopted an innocent expression and hoped it would transfer into his tone. "Think about what?"

"Yeah, right. I told you, you don't pitch right for a phone con. If you're bored, go read a book. I left some great ones there - I particularly recommend On the Yard. It's about life in prison."

Neal shook his head, but settled back on the couch again. "Subtle."

"I'll be back in a few hours, go practice your pitch."

Neal hung up first.

-o-

A few hours later, Jones sat up straighter in his seat. "Mystery man's back again."

Peter leaned forward and squinted, then took the camera from Jones and looked through the viewfinder. "Is that … is that a cat?"

Jones looked askance. "What kind of criminal master plan uses a cat?"

"I have no idea," Peter murmured, just as mystified. Honestly, he was kind of looking forward to finding out.