When Neal collected the belongings Moz requested in a box, it felt like an intrusion into a very private person's life. He reminded himself that it could have been in a different situation where his friend was dead instead. It helped.
He got a ride with a probie to the address Jones had provided him with and walked up the stairs in the run-down apartment building. It was not the kind of place Mozzie would enjoy. Had he driven Jones insane yet?
He opened the right door and faced a Jones that looked like he had preferred to spend a life-time in prison and a Mozzie that thought that he did just that.
"All right, here are the items you requested, Moz."
"Oh, great. Right here." Neal dropped the box with Mozart the teddy-bear among other things the armchair. "Thanks." Jones approached. "Oh, you touch anything, and you'll be hearing from my lawyer."
"You are your lawyer."
"Scared?"
"Ooh." Not. At. All. Neal had to hide a smile. "Got pictures of Jeffries at the toll."
"Oh, let me see that." He got Jones' phone. "Look what's on the dashboard."
"Yeah, a book, a CD."
"A particular book, a particular CD. 'Escape From Freedom.' A masterpiece. And the CD 'La Femme.' Freedom. Femme."
"Lady Liberty," Neal suggested.
"Yes! He'll be going to the Statue of Liberty when he gets here."
Jones looked as if they both came from outer space.
"I-I guess it's worth checking out." Far from convinced.
"You guess?" Mozzie was livid. "You see what I have to put up with because of you? How long do I have to stay in this Stygian limbo?"
Neal felt for his friend, but he wanted him alive. And he would make sure they checked the Statue of Liberty for Jeffries.
"You won't be safe until we run the con and get de Luca in cuffs, okay?"
"I beg of you, hurry," Mozzie whispered, "for the sake of my sanity."
"And mine," Jones added, looking equally desperate.
At least Mozzie did not seem angry at Neal. That was a good thing.
"This is our mark: Patrick O'Leary," Peter said to the assembled, pointing at a mugshot on the screen in the conference room. "Those of you from organized crime know him well. De Luca plans to scam O'Leary for half a mil in a wire con and pin it on the Dentist. This is our chance to take them both down and stop a mob war."
"De Luca is coercing the Dentist into running the con for him," the kid added beside him.
"Now, unfortunately, de Luca wants his guy present at the scam to make sure things are running smoothly."
"Which means we'll have to go through with the wire con if we're gonna put the cash in de Luca's hands." Peter glanced at Neal. Peter knew this joy in the kid's eyes so well. "I'll need a half dozen flat screens, professional satellite equipment, and video-delaying software."
This would be good, and it was going to be fun. His pet convict could brighten any dull day at work.
"We're gonna build a betting site to rival the competition," Diana told the team with the same glint in her eye.
"How do we get O'Leary there?" a young agent asked.
"Eliminate the competition," she said with a wide grin.
Neal watched Diana making a bust, shutting down an illegal gambling place. He watched at a safe distance, but he could hear her.
"Come on, guys. Enjoy your ride downtown, gentlemen."
It was too good to be true, but O'Leary strolled by. Probably because this was the third gambling place being shut down in a short time frame.
"What's this? Some kind of bust?" O'Leary asked Diana.
"Illegal off-track betting. Site's closed. An anonymous tip was called in. You a customer?"
"Innocent bystander. Besides, your car looks filled up."
"We can make some room. It can tow up to 5,000 pounds."
O'Leary chuckled, and Diana left with her team and their new future prison inmates. Neal strolled down, and leaned against the corner.
"Sorry to hear about your place, O'Leary." He walked to him and handed out a business card. Just a racing horse and an address. "If you need something new..."
O'Leary threw it away after looking at it. A competitor intruding.
"You're the rat who probably called the feds."
"That would be my boss," Neal corrected. "He's trying to drive business his way."
"Those were my friends," O'Leary baked. "Tell your boss he'll be sorry."
"Sure thing." O'Leary thought the conversation over. Neal stopped him, saying, "Or I could help you send a stronger message."
"What does that mean?"
"My boss has me picking up strays on the sidewalk like a bench advertisement. We have our differences."
"So you're on the outs with your boss. What do I care?"
"Because I can help you take him down."
"Who are you?"
"A lip man. Trying to move up in the world."
O'Leary was angry enough about his ruined business to enjoy the thought of revenge.
"How 'bout we take this conversation somewhere a little more private?" he said.
