Neal watched Mozzie in the hearing room through the one-way mirror with Peter. Mozzie's idea of 'safe' did not match Neal's own, and on top of that, his friend was now trapped inside a glass cage within a federal building.

"What's going on, Neal?" Peter asked, watching Moz go berserk, yelling 'Attica!' and 'Hunger strike' while trying to find every camera and microphone in the room.

"It's not what you think," Neal said. "He got on the bad side of the mob." He looked at Peter. "I didn't know he did it as the Dentist. I didn't. He told me some of the story. Let him tell you, too."

Peter did not seem sure what to think but moved towards the door and motioned for Neal to follow.

"How many suits do you have hiding out there?" Mozzie yelled when they opened the door.

"I ask the questions," Peter said.

"Did you find Mr. Jeffries yet?"

Peter looked at Neal.

"Does he even hear me?"

How could he tell Peter that answering Mozzie's questions would be the easiest way to calm him down and get answers?

"Just..." Neal bit his tongue. He could not find words that did not contradict Peter's authority. But Peter got it.

"Detroit Police searched his home and office. They didn't find much, but his car is missing."

"It's a good thing, Moz," Neal said.

"De Luca probably came around asking questions, and Mr. Jeffries fled."

Neal sat down, hoping to show his friend a good example.

"The Dentist of Detroit," Peter said. "Suspected mastermind in at least three major securities frauds. I've also got a litany of violent crimes, assault, battery, aggravated assault, and assault with intent to intimidate. Page after page of this stuff. Are you the Dentist?"

Mozzie did not stop moving.

"No comment."

Peter sighed.

"Neal's convinced me to hear you out so I can decide whether or not to book you."

"Talk to him, Moz," Neal begged. "If not to help yourself, then to help Jeffries. Just tell him the story."

Mozzie considered.

"We talk about Jeffries first."

He pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Fine," Peter said, ice cold, and placed a microphone on the table before Mozzie. "Start talking."

"Detroit, 1969," he began, not looking at any of them. "We just put a man on the moon, gas was 35 cents, and I was orphaned. Isaac Jeffries found me left on the doorstep to a church, not even one year old, in a basket with a teddy bear named Mozart. He was the best thing that ever happened to me. He had an orphanage and worked hard to let every child there be seen and accepted as they were, seeing the good in every person. As you can imagine, growing up an orphan in 1970s Detroit wasn't all gumdrops and unicorns, especially for a small kid with thick glasses. That teddy bear was all I had of whatever life I had had before I came to Mr Jeffries, and kids who all lived with the burden of being abandoned often took our their anger and frustration on me by hurting Mozart. They couldn't have hurt me more than that. That bear was the only thing I had left of my real parents."


"Mr. Jeffries taught me a lot about myself and the social game. He taught me that the other kids were intimidated by me 'cause I was smarter, and they knew it. 'There is no knowledge that is not power.' Know who said that?"

"Mr. Jeffries," Peter guessed.

"Partly right, Suit. He did. But he was quoting Ralph Waldo Emerson. Jeffries told me in his own words: 'Now, you strive for knowledge, use what you learn, and you'll always stay ahead of them.' And I did. He also fixed Mozart. Replaced his lost eye with a button. Gave it a bit more character. 'Character defines personality, and in that department, your cup runneth over, little man.'"

Peter watched Mozzie smile like a kid.

"Mr. Jeffries," Peter guessed again.

"He was the one person who looked out for me. From that day on, I read everything I could get my hands on. Emerson's 'Self-Reliance,' Thomas Pynchon's 'V.,' Erich Fromm's 'Escape From Freedom,' Du Picq's 'Battle Studies.' I took Jeffries' advice and used that knowledge to fight my own wars."

Peter could not help being amazed and absorbed by the story.

"Wars?"

"Billy the Bully. He always tried to get my money. As did Kenny Nussbaum. It took them quite a while to realize that I deliberately made them fight each other. And I don't think they ever understood who actually took their money."

"You?" Peter asked.

"Those with no eyes to read readily are doomed to the worst errors. To paraphrase Du Picq," Mozzie answered, and Peter thought that that was not even giving an illusive answer, but no answer at all. "Jeffries saved me. He gave me a life, and he told me how to live it."

"Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"Well, we exchanged secret messages over the years, but... Wait, when they searched his house, did they find any stuffed animals?"

"Yeah. Yeah, they, uh - the cops thought it was odd until they realized he worked at a group home." Peter browsed the folder. "Right here, elephant, tiger, bear."

"The - the bear! The bear is me."

"It was holding an apple," Peter read.

"That was a clue! The Big Apple. He's coming here to warn me."

Peter glanced at Neal for guidance but found none. Secret messages? Two adult people?

"You're...sure about that?" Peter asked Mozzie.

"I think I am."

"The FBI will find Jeffries, and we'll put him under protection."

"What if they find him first? I have to go to de Luca's meeting." Mozzie was on his feet. So was Peter.

"No, Mozzie, de Luca may have already killed one man. We don't want to add you to that list."

"They don't know what the Dentist looks like," the kid said. "I could go in Mozzie's place."

"Neal." Mozzie sat down. "You'll never pass as the Dentist."

"I could be his assistant."

"This isn't your fight."

"No, it's not. But you are my friend."

Neal rose. Peter figured the kid had a pretty good idea. He pointed at Mozzie.

"Stay put." Not that he had much choice, but there was no need to remind him about that.