Chapter Text
Mozzie and Neal gathered all of their supplies and piled into Neal’s MINI Cooper at five o’clock. “I’m gonna be sad when I have to say goodbye to this baby,” Neal said as he patted the dash, Mozzie stuffing a toy submarine into the center console. This was going to be their first clue to Peter. The car was fancy enough for the agent to recognize it as Neal’s, and further investigation would lead him to their next destination. The plan required them to leave the car on a street near the Louvre, and take an alternate to the airport. “This car did me wonders. I even bought it fair and square,” he added with a grin to the small bald man in the passenger seat.
Mozzie shut the console and looked up at Neal. “The test run gives us half an hour from here to the museum. The walk to the subway should take about fifteen minutes, and the subway itself another twenty to the airport. Did you get the plane ready?”
Neal nods and begins backing out of his garage. “I pulled a few strings from a friend in the Hamptons. He agreed to let us borrow it just this once, and then return it so he and his concierge doctor can fly to Cuba next week.”
“Perfect. We are all set. You ready?” Mozz asks.
Neal turns and looks at his friend. “You bet I am.”
On the plane Peter rereads all of Neal’s relevant files, studying the way that he runs, escapes, performs jobs, all to get him ready to catch the con man without any difficulty. He studied the files that Jones was able to get on the Louvre, memorizing their security system and how Neal would deceive the system.
This was all still so new that Peter could hardly believe it. Neal was alive, and he was traveling to catch the man who tricked the entire New York to get his freedom. He was proud that Neal decided to take matters into his own hands and get the freedom that he deserved, but there was some anger for how he did it masked it. How he deceived them all. And ran off without a clear goodbye.
Squished in the middle seat, one man sleeping and drooling on his shoulder, the other getting peanut crumbs all over his lap, Peter simply put in his headphones and adjusted his screen protector so only he could see the computer screen and continued reading.
Neal parked the car around the back of the museum, the staff entrance to the building a good walking distance away. They get out and pull on the stolen staff uniforms Mozz has acquired a few days ago on their last scouting mission of the job.
The guards change shifts every four hours, and for a minute the back door was left unguarded. Inside was a metal detector and a guard who checked IDs, making sure nobody did what they exactly were going to do. A contact in the city had made badges for the both of them, also managing to forge the scanner to allow them into the room they needed.
Dressed in their janitor uniforms, Mozzie and Neal grabbed their bags- at the top, cleaning supplies, and at the bottom, tools for breaking and entering.
“Small things Mozzie,” Neal whispers to Mozzie. “We have to get away clean and out of the country. We don’t have to clear customs but we have to clear these guards and the public. And we also have to sell whatever we steal.”
“I know, Neal. I was the one that suggested it!” Mozzie whispered back, right before they reached the door. “Ready?” he asked.
Neal took a deep breath, calming his nerves. Despite being a conman and thieving for years of his life, anxiety, and worry still coursed through him. He closed his eyes for a minute, savoring the calm before the storm.
Then opened the door.
The guard at the checkpoint inside was half asleep and briefly glanced at their IDs before he waved them into the building beyond.
They both loosed a breath that they were silently holding. Getting in was almost as hard- perhaps even harder- than getting out. At least by then, if your cover was blown, you could have leaped out a window or off a roof with the loot.
Neal and Mozz head to the janitor's workroom to grab a garbage bin and some trash bags, to assumably take out the trash and replace the bags. An older, fatter man was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper and eating a bag of Cheetos, fingertips stained orange. He looked up and glared at them. There was Cheeto dust in his white beard, making it stand out. Neal barely choked back a laugh. “Who are you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at them.
Neal put on a big grin and put a hand on his chest. He introduced himself in an American accent. “My name is Nick Halden. I’m an art student from New York applying here for an internship, and they offered me a janitor job for a few weeks to get me accustomed to the place. And this is my partner, Dante Haversham. He’s my…”
“Agent,” Mozzie finished with a french accent. “I am to keep an eye on him while he adjusts to life in Paris.” Mozzie and Neal briefly glanced at each other. They agreed to use aliases that Peter already knew, just to tick him off. Neal had beamed when Mozzie came up with the idea. To be honest, he missed Nick Halden.
“Then why are you dressed as a janitor as well? Don’t agents wear suits and just follow them around?”
“Oui, but I like to immerse myself in my client’s situations. It helps me bond and understand them.” Mozzie flashed a smile. Neal waited anxiously for the man to shut up and allow them to pass. They wasted too much time talking to the guy.
“Very well. Do what you need to do. If you need any help, my name is Tom. Ask any of the staff and they’ll summon me.”
“Thank you, sir. We’ll be on our way. We just need to grab some things,” Neal explains as he walks over to the wide closet and throws the doors open, revealing two large movable garbage bins. Both he and Mozzie grab one.
They were just out the door when Tom asked, “What’s in the bags?”
Neal stumbled, surprised at the sudden question. Thankfully, Mozzie jumped in. “Nick didn’t know whether or not to come prepared.” He turned and moved to walk out the door. “Better be safe than sorry!” he added over his shoulder.
Neal heard Tom chuckle before he went back to his Cheetos and newspaper. Relieved that the sudden encounter with Tom went well and that their cover wasn’t blown, he loosed a breath and glanced sideways at Mozz. “Ready?”
A nod. “Ready.”
Mozzie and Neal snuck into the first storage room, the only people that were in the halls were other janitors. With the big trash can being cumbersome, Neal had to stand watch outside the storage room while Mozzie guided it- with some banged thresholds and cursed words included- into the darkened room.
Neal slipped in behind Mozz and flicked on the switch. A glorious sight met his eyes.
Rare paintings and pots littered the walls, tables and chairs, and other common household furniture belonging to some very important dead people lay in the center, nicks and scratches littering their surfaces. Mozzie stood in the center, grinning. He spread his arms out wide. “Let's get rich!” With that, he began to wrap fragile artifacts in the garbage bags and place them gently into the bin.
Neal grinned. He glanced around, taking in the room and the musty smell that came with it. He hadn’t done a job since leaving New York. Not since taking down the Panthers. He didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention.
The thrill of the job ran through him, his body filling with adrenaline. Instincts kicked in, noting every piece of ancient history and figuring out its market price and determining where it would sell the best. He walked over to a table, carefully picking up a plate belonging to an old tea set. He turned it over, marveling at the handiwork.
Grin still plastered on his face, Neal began packing up the artifacts and placing them into the garbage bin.
Oh, what fun Peter is going to have.
Peter’s plane got in half an hour early. He had used the plane ride to get reacquainted with his old friend’s habits. How he thinks, how he typically does jobs, how he is usually careful to not leave prints behind.
Peter glanced at his shoulder while getting off the plane. “Damn it,” he mutters under his breath. The man sleeping on his shoulder drooled even more, leaving a disgusting stain on the sleeve of his jacket.
His irritation quickly dissipated when he stepped off the plane and peered at the television screens.
Louvre has been robbed, precious artifacts have been stolen.
No evidence has been recovered. Witnesses are being interviewed for further information.
An estimated total of $2 million had been stolen from the Louvre museum.
Peter stops in his tracks. Neal , he thought. Mozzie must have informed him about Peter’s schedule. Peter grabs his bag from where he set it on the ground, glad he was carry-on only. Peter looks at the screen again. He couldn’t get onto the crime scene, he was supposedly “on vacation.” He could have Jones write him a warrant saying that he was chasing a criminal that led him to France…
Peter shoves all the thoughts out of his head. Thinking won’t do him good now. He had to act .
Peter was out of the airport and in a taxi in less than five minutes. “The Louvre,” he demands the cab driver. He just stared at Peter through the rearview mirror. “Step on it!” Peter just about shouts. The driver did, and soon they were on their way.
Peter groans. What the hell was Neal thinking?
To the driver’s credit, he managed to get Peter from the airport to the museum in twenty minutes, avoiding major streets and potential places where the police may set up barricades. The cabbie stops as close to the scene as he could, about half a block away. “This is as far as I can take you,” he explains.
“Thank you,” Peter says, handing the man money. Enough to cover the fare, plus a little extra for the fast driving. He moves around back to grab his luggage and haul it to the side of the street. He wasn’t going to risk the cab being discovered and the man being hauled in for unnecessary questioning. Especially when it could lead to the FBI discovering his presence here.
He waves the cab off and sets down the slope to the museum, spying the edge of the taped-off area just ahead of him. He dumps his bag behind a trash can to retrieve later and rearranges his coat, scowling at the stain on his shoulder.
Peter has no idea how he is going to get close enough to the police to get any hint of where Neal is now. Bribing wasn’t an option, and he couldn’t go in there declaring that he was an American FBI agent.
I’ll deal with it later, he thinks, charging ahead down the road. He will find Neal no matter who or what stands in his way, and if he gets discovered, if he gets Neal discovered, then he’ll damn the consequences. But in the meantime, he’ll do all he can to keep that from happening.
Somehow.