Peter could hardly believe that he was sitting in a truck with Mozzie impersonating a military man named Clemmens to con New York City's Police force. Why did it take the FBI so long to find El? Was Keller that good?

"Are you okay?" Mozzie asked.

"Fine." He stared out of the window.

"You know, the first thing I learned about the life of a con is that in order to survive, you have to look out for yourself."

Peter blinked and watched the odd little man.

"Then why are you here?"

"Survival is overrated," he answered. And after a moment: "And I find myself reminded that an unshared life is not living."

"So you're saying you care?"

"About Mrs. Suit." That was all Peter needed to hear. But Mozzie had more to say: "And..." But there was no more. Peter smiled. He had to admit that he cared about this con man, too.

Sitting in the dark in the small compartment they created at the back of the truck was not something Neal enjoyed. Peter was right when he figured out that his pet convict was claustrophobic. At least to a certain degree.

He had wanted Peter in there with him because that man gave him comfort, but as it turned out, he was glad he had him out front with Mozzie. Those two would do anything to keep him and Elizabeth safe.

Keller got a flame on his lighter.

"Remind you of the good old days, buddy?"

Neal glared at him. He did not need to be reminded of who he shared the small compartment with.

"You're using all the oxygen."

"You see, after that last time, we were sneaking out of somewhere because you got caught in bed with that princess."

"I didn't get caught in bed with her. They found me on the ledge outside her window."

"I remember seeing you standing there with nothing but a solid gold tray covering your junk." Keller chuckled. It must have looked funny, but from Neal's point of view, it had been cold, unpractical, and dangerous. "I was the one that got you down from there before they started shooting at you."

"You had my back then."

"Like I said, 'the good old days.'"

"They were," Neal agreed. "What happened to you, Keller?"

Keller looked at him.

"I could ask the same thing to you, Neal." He turned his head away. "I could ask the same thing to you." He closed the lighter, and the flame was turned out. It was pitch black again.

They had never been best friends, but they had worked well together. It had just been for a few months, six at the most, but… Was that sobbing? Neal listened. The sound was gone.

Mozzie turned off the street and up to the hangar, which was surrounded by police and police cars.

A police officer approached.

"You'll have to turn around. This area's off-limits."

"Uh, that's precisely why we're here," Mozzie answered and turned to Peter. "You got the paperwork?"

"Yeah."

He handed Mozzie a clipboard they had prepared, and Mozzie held it out through the window.

"Hey, you. You put out an order for trucks, so we brought you a truck."

"I haven't seen this. Until I see this come through proper channels, you're not coming in."

"You're holding the orders in your hand right now!"

"Sorry, buddy," the officer hissed back. "Turn the truck around."

"Fine," Peter barked back. "Then this truck is your responsibility." He stepped out and walked around to the officer.

"Give me the plans," he told Mozzie, holding up his hand.

"Why?"

"Give me the plans."

He got the paper in his hand and held it out to the officer.

"You see this 'X'?" he asked, pointing. "This truck needs to be parked right on it. Get this map and get the truck there."

"Says you."

"Says your boss or boss's boss who ordered this and other cargo trucks that will be coming. You won't let us through, then the job to move this truck is yours."

"This truck is not my problem."

"Yes, it is," Peter insisted, with Mozzie joining him. "This 'X.' Park the truck on it. Now."

"And what if I don't?" The police officer tried to be tough, but Peter just laughed in his face.

"Oh, it's your ass, not ours."

And by that, he walked away. Mozzie lingered, but he trusted the man not to freak out.

"Thanks for your help," he heard him say, and then seconds later, he walked by his side.

"Okay, so now they've got our truck and our plans to break-in?"

"Yeah."

"What happens if they don't drive it in?"

"They will." Or? He had had to act confident but now as the act was over it wore off. "Come on," he whispered. "Drive it in."

"Nicely played, Suit."

"All right, let's get to the rendezvous point."

"Is Burke showing that cop our plan?" Keller whispered and turned on the lighter.

"Look, I'm sure he's got it under control." Neal flipped the lighter out. They heard Peter command the police officer as if he had done nothing else in his life.

"He's crazy," Keller mumbled. "I respect that."

Then a few minutes passed, and then the engine was turned on, and they got moving. Forwards, from what Neal could make out. The sound changed too, with more of an echo, as if they were indoors.

The engine was turned off, and they heard footprints leaving. Keller lit the lighter.

"All right, we must be there," Neal said, "The truck hasn't moved in a while."

"It's five after. Everyone should be at lunch."

"All right. We got fifty-five minutes to load everything up."

Neal pushed the door open to the empty cargo space. He walked to the end of the trunk, moved the canvas, and glanced out. And sighed.

"What is it?" Keller asked.

"Apparently, they skipped lunch." There were at least seven officers moving around in clear view from the truck.

"We have plainclothes searching the radius, boss, we have cellphone interceptors picking up all nearby calls, and we have agents on the roofs, scanning the crowd," Diana told him over the phone.

"Good work, Diana."

"Let me talk to him," he heard Jones' voice. "Peter. That storage facility you had me looking into?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever they found there, it's important enough that they have the 22nd Precinct doing double shifts."

Peter had a sinking feeling.

"That means working through lunch?"

"I guess so."

"Jones, we need to find her now! Every second counts." Keller and Neal in a hangar full of cops would never end well.

"We got a problem," Neal whispered.

"This is some kind of double-cross."

"Not everything is an angle, Keller." This sure was not.

"We should've brought a gun."

"Yeah, 'cause that would've worked out well."

As he glanced out to get some form of idea, two cops must have decided to take a break because they hung their jackets on a pallet lift just outside the truck. He turned to tell Keller, but he had already seen it and grinned.

"Just like old times," Neal said, then slipped out of the truck, sweeping one of the jackets with him. He pulled it on as he walked along the truck and was soon joined by Keller. They grinned at each other.

Neal scanned the area and then walked straight ahead to the group of cops.

"Excuse me. Are you the sergeant in charge?"

"I am."

"Good."

"Glad you guys could make it," Keller said. "Look, we got to load container ten into the truck."

"Well, our orders are to wait for the warrant to come in for container two."

"You're 22nd Precinct, right?" Keller asked.

"That's us."

"Then you're here to help us load container ten," Neal said.

"No, we were told that the warrant for that wouldn't be in till the end of the day."

"Nah, it came through twenty minutes ago," Keller said.

"Come on. We'll show you," Neal said. "We've already been there."

The three of them walked towards their container.

"Now, look, there're seventeen wood boxes that need to be hauled out," Keller said.

"Yeah, makes you wonder what's inside them, right?" Neal said.

"Yeah, don't it?" Keller grinned but sent him a glare of warning. "But I got told if I looked, I'd be working dispatch for a year."

"Are you sure this is right?" The officer asked.

"If not, then why would I have the key?" Neal said. He unlocked the container and swung the door open.

"A bunch of Neo-nazi?" the officer asked. "Above my pay grade."

"How many boxes does that look like, huh?" Keller asked, lingering behind them.

"It looks like seventeen to me," Neal said to the officer. The officer glanced inside, making his mind up.

"Everybody!" he called to his group. "Change of plans! We're emptying this container out. All right, they're all yours. But I need to see the warrant, of course."

"Of course. We'll get them to you in a bit," Keller said.

"I got to see it now. You know, procedures and all."

"Sure. Come with me."

Neal was instructing the policemen and women how to pack the truck when he saw Keller walk ahead of the officer out of sight.

"Heaviest to the back, if you can," he told them and grabbed his phone. He called Peter.

"Neal! What's—"

"Just confirm that we have a warrant for container ten," he said, turned a corner, and saw Keller walk behind the officer, ready to strangle him.

"Sergeant!" he called out and stopped Keller before the man noticed what was about to happen to him. "No, no, it's no trouble at all," he said into the phone. "He's right here, sir." He turned to the officer. "It's the D.A.'s office. They want to touch base with you."

He handed the phone over to the officer.

"Sergeant Brubaker."

Neal joined Keller.

"What part of 'no killing' do you keep forgetting?"

"Finding a dead body can take hours. This lie can fall apart any second."

"Peter will take care of it."

Keller stared at him as if he came from outer space.

"You really have gone native, haven't you?"

"Got it," the officer said and ended the call. He handed the phone back to Neal. "It's all good, gents. Thank you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Take it easy," Keller added.

They walked back towards their container.

"No, you walk in front of me," Neal said with a gesture.