A/N: I apologize that the next chapter will be delayed. I'm heading out for a temporary job out-of-state, leaving me little time for writing. Chapter 5 will be posted mid-March. I hope you'll stick with me! Big thanks to all readers!

Chapter 4

"What's he doing here?" asked Peter, his voice incredulous.

He shook his head in seeming disbelief before darting forward, Diana at his side, in an effort to quickly intercept the new arrivals.

Peter's eyes quickly scanned the trio's faces before resting on Mozzie, noting the scowl, distinctive outfit and adornment on his chest.

"Peculiar way to beg for alms," said Peter. "Couldn't get Neal to spring you some pocket money?"

The smaller man rolled his eyes.

"Or wait, I know… you carry your own silver ashtray to public outings."

"Not even warm, Suit," sniffed Mozzie. "I happen to be sampling the taste and maturity of the festival's wine selection."

"For what purpose?" Peter questioned.

"Ah Moz," said Neal. "I think that discretion is the better ̶ ̶ "

"…part of value," added Blake, ever helpful to a fault.

Momentarily considering the advice of his companions, Mozzie shook his head.

"Thanks, gentlemen, but I've got this."

Pursing his lips, he leaned in, way too close for Peter's comfort, and waved his saucer, saying, "Before you embarrass yourself any further, 'Robert M Parker, Jr.'…"

Blake exchanged a puzzled frown with Diana, who shrugged in confusion.

"Who?" whispered Diana to Neal. "Care to translate for the bantam rooster."

"Robert M Parker, Jr.," Neal quietly replied, "known as the world's most powerful wine critic. Sets the prices for the new Bordeaux wines."

"…these saucers," Mozzie added, with a distinctly loud whisper, "are an essential utensil for wine-tasters, designed by Burgundian winemakers to accurately inspect the color and clarity of the wine." He tsked-tsked. "Do you need me to further edify and enlighten you on the subject?"

Peter responded with wrinkled brow. "Ohhh, you mean a tastevin. Is that what you're wearing?"

Neal glanced at Mozzie before turning his gaze down to the wine display table, a slight smile appearing on his lips.

"Little silver saucer, designed with a shiny faceted inner surface."

Mozzie glanced up in surprise as Peter continued a clarification.

"Concave bottom to catch as much available light as possible, reflecting it throughout the wine; a true necessity two hundred years ago in candle-lit wine cellars." The agent paused. "However, with the invention of modern electricity, it's worn mainly for tradition and has little practical value." He rocked back on his feet. "So I've been informed."

Mozzie sagged wearily against the nearest table but refused to be vanquished.

"I'll have you know I'm a member in good standing," he addressed Peter and the rest of his audience, "with the fraternal order of Bacchanalians, and hold the elite office of Commandeur," he ended with a bow.

"Neal," warned Peter, tossing him that look. "Why is he here?"

"Didn't you ask for his help, Agent Burke?" questioned Blake, becoming visibly agitated.

"Being dutifully impressed with Mozzie's wine expertise and Bacchanalians' membership," Neal hastily broke in, waving to cut Blake off, "I asked him to drop by the festival, scope out the lay of the land and talk to Judge Gautier. In all the confusion yesterday, I must have forgotten to tell you my plans," he added innocently, ignoring Peter's pointed glare.

"Did you find out anything," asked Peter neutrally, turning his attention back to Neal's irritating, but sometimes useful, confidant and partner in crime.

Taking off his glasses and rubbing bloodshot eyes, the conman nodded.

"I think I'm going to make your holiday a merry one, Suit. Jean-Luc Gautier might put up a public front about working alongside Ashley Coventry, but get the man alone, among a fellow sommelier, and he was happy to spill the beans."

Mozzie hiccupped, uncharacteristically steadying himself, once again, on the side of the table.

Narrowing his eyes, Peter scrutinized Mozzie intently before motioning him to continue.

"Seems Coventry isn't as popular as he makes out to be; rarely lets visitors into his home and office. He prefers to transact all his business via cyberspace or through a middleman." He paused, smiling devilishly. "And get this, Coventry asked him to discreetly send all empty Bordeaux bottles to his home. Not the first time he's requested this favor either."

Peter began to smile with an inner delight. Glancing at his crew, he watched Neal reach out, taking one of the sample wine bottles and stroke his finger, back and forth, over the label. The two men exchanged a look and brief conspiratorial nod.

"I believe we're done here," Peter stated. "Diana, would you brief Jones? Blake can catch a ride back to the office with him while you drop Mozzie off at June's."

"Wait a minute, Suit. I'm right here. And, I don't accept rides from just anyone."

"What do you mean, just anyone?" snapped Diana. "If Peter asks me to give you a ride back, you'll take the ride ̶̶ ̶ "

"Because we're concerned for your safety and grateful for the information you discovered," Peter finished for her.

"Well," Mozzie said, fully aware of Diana's glare and his own increasingly muddled thoughts, "only since you put it that way - I accept."

Stumbling a wee bit, he dutifully followed Diana who strode away without replying, Blake at her heels, looking over his shoulder at Neal, a troubled expression on his face.

"How inebriated is he?" asked Peter.

"Let's just say," Neal opinioned, "more so than usual imbibing during his evening visits to my apartment. Don't worry, Peter; Mozzie must have talked to Gauthier before he began any imprudent wine consumption."

"Let's hope so. So, tell me, is he really a member of the Chevaliers du Tastevin? I remember El mentioning it once or twice."

Surprisingly, his partner nodded assent.

"Card carrying," said Neal. "The Confrerie created branches throughout the world. The New York branch was created around 1939; there are some 2,400 members in the United States."

"Unbelievable. And you know this why… no, don't answer that."

As the two men began their exit from the VIP lounge, Peter looked over at Neal.

"What's bothering Blake?" asked Peter. "Looks like you stole his puppy."

"Nah. Probably didn't want to leave the festival so soon. He really enjoys the venue."

"Uh-huh. Do I need to talk to him?"

"No, Peter. We're good." Neal replied. "I'll… I'll fix any misunderstanding."

Neal's confident swagger and trademark smile did nothing to reassure his handler.