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MEET AND GREET
Chapter 1
He had been sitting behind the wheel of his rented sedan for over four hours. He had come prepared with sandwiches and a thermos of coffee, but now he was cramped and uncomfortable and giving considerable thought as to whether this had been a good idea. The night air had begun to chill the car, but his cautionary sense told him not to turn on the motor for warmth because that would definitely screw up his clandestine watch on the mansion.
He’d had plenty of time for introspection, and, if he was honest with himself, even he considered his actions of late to be pretty off the wall. How did a respected senior FBI agent allow himself to become so obsessed with one man? It had happened insidiously to be sure, but it “had” happened. Yes, Peter Burke had thrown caution to the wind and embraced an obsession named Neal Caffrey.
Peter had been chasing this clever, infuriating con artist for years, but he was always the one that got away. Time and time again Neal Caffrey had seemed to pull off the impossible and then thumbed his nose at every law enforcement agency both domestic and abroad. Peter took his lumps, but each failure hardened his resolve to even the score one day. It didn’t help that the brash young hoodlum had apparently developed a fondness for taunting Peter, and that everyone from the Bureau Chief on down the line to his own White Collar team knew about it.
But at the end of the day, alone here in the car, Peter knew his need to find Neal Caffrey wasn’t really all about vindication. After studying everything he could about the young man, he came to have a grudging respect for him. Undoubtedly, he was brilliant and talented, liked to engage in high risk unpredictable behavior, and loved to challenge authority. However, during any and all of his capers, he made it a point to never hurt anyone. His marks always spoke almost fondly of the polite, gentle young man who had come into their lives for just enough time to relieve them of their money, their art, their jewels, or whatever. Peter wanted to get to this mischievous but misguided kid before some over-zealous beat cop cornered him in an alley and put a bullet into him. Obviously, whatever his background was, it hadn’t set him on a moral path, but Peter hoped that he could save Neal from himself and get him on the straight and narrow.
Finally, in desperation, Peter had asked his chief for a leave of absence. He didn’t tell the director that he would be using the time to conduct an “off the grid” investigation of his own, one that definitely took him out of his New York jurisdiction and ended here, in the heart of Philadelphia’s “Main Line.” Peter had called in an unofficial favor from an old college buddy who now worked for Homeland Security. By using facial recognition software, Neal Caffrey had been identified as returning from Greece on a transatlantic flight set to arrive at Boston’s Logan Airport. That was two weeks ago, and Peter had been there to mingle with those awaiting friends and loved ones dressed in a ratty windbreaker and a Boston Red Sox cap pulled low over his eyes. Unfortunately, Peter couldn’t arrest Caffrey for anything, because regardless of what the FBI knew he had done, there was no hard evidence. Peter decided his best bet was to catch Caffrey in the midst of a crime and then slap the cuffs on him.
So, very diligently and patiently, he had shadowed the man to an apartment complex in the suburbs of Philadelphia. Using various disguises during his surveillance, Peter had ascertained that Neal shared the apartment with a short, bald, nondescript man whose habit was to scurry along the side streets, always looking over his shoulder in a paranoid fashion. Eventually, Peter was rewarded with glimpses of his quarry venturing out. Each and every foray out of the apartment led to a particular large and impressively handsome Tudor mansion on a quiet cul-de-sac in the wealthy suburbs of Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. Peter was well aware that this neck of the woods boasted one of the most exclusive zip codes in the nation, with old money quietly evident although not ostentatiously displayed. Peter, investigating outside of official channels, could not get too much information regarding the owner of this property. All he was able to find out was that it had been purchased six months ago by a corporation, one that had very little presence on the internet searches.
There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that Caffrey was casing the place. He had witnessed the conman scout the area under different guises. Sometimes it was a white van designated as belonging to a non-existent florist shop. Other times, it had been a different vehicle marked with a cleaning company’s logo. This last time, just yesterday, Caffrey appeared to be part of a catering company that had begun to set up somewhere in the vast mansion for what seemed like a rather extravagant party. Peter had taken the chance that today was D-Day, and thus he found himself on the grounds of the property since early dusk.
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Chapter 2
The party appeared to be in full swing when Peter noticed movement from an upper third story window. Quickly and quietly, he slid from the interior of the car, whose overhead lamp he had the forethought to darken by removing the bulb. He skirted the property, crouching down behind a pristinely trimmed privet hedge. Peering upwards, he saw a dark shadow slide effortlessly through the opened portal, grab onto the rather ornate downspout (was that really a gargoyle sitting above it!?), and begin a graceful descent.
The figure was clad entirely in black…turtleneck, jeans, athletic shoes and knit hat. Nearing the first floor, the shadow deftly slipped to the ground and, in a low crouch, began to slink away. Peter waited for a few heartbeats until Caffrey (?) was closer, then sprung from his hiding place and performed a rough tackle to his prey’s midsection that sent them both tumbling. Peter’s abrupt lunge had somehow activated the outside security lights which blazed harsh illumination over both men. Peter recognized Neal Caffrey now that the hat was knocked off and his face was clearly discernible. The sneak thief immediately scrambled onto his hands and knees and frantically began to crawl away, but not before Peter managed to get his hand on the waistband of his jeans and slammed him back onto the lawn. He then quickly flipped the slighter man over, pinned both of his wrists onto the ground beside his head, and ended this melee by unceremoniously straddling the young man’s hips with his full weight.
Wide blue eyes stared up at Peter in astonishment, but before Peter managed to say “I got you!” a trio of very burly menacing figures, pistols in hand, emerged from a side door of the mansion and bore down on them.
“What the hell’s goin on here?!” one of the behemoths demanded as he neared Peter.
Peter quickly identified himself as a federal agent who had just managed to apprehend a thief making his way out of the house at that moment. All three of the newly arriving posse exchanged nervous glances. Not lowering their weapons, they demanded that Peter stand up while they frisked him, thereby discovering his FBI badge as well as his service pistol still in its holster. They removed both. Caffrey was similarly yanked roughly to his feet and quickly searched for a weapon. For a second the apparent senior member of the trio appeared unsure what to do. He then seemed to arrive at the executive decision to move this little party inside of the mansion.
Peter, Neal and company passed through the side door of the house into what looked to be a mud room, then down two flights of stairs and into a well insulated bunker of sorts. Peter continued his tirade that they were manhandling a federal agent to deaf ears. Both men were now more thoroughly searched while still held at gunpoint. Their cell phones were removed, as was Peter’s wallet and watch. Caffrey was also relieved of a small chamois pouch that contained several of the most exquisite gem stones that Peter had ever seen. All were unset but highly polished jewels of various colors of the spectrum. Peter assumed that the beautifully faceted clear stones were diamonds, but there were other hues of blue, green and red. These brilliant colors were most likely indicative of sapphires, emeralds and rubies. It would have been a lucrative haul if Neal had succeeded in making his escape. Peter congratulated himself on foiling that success, but just what had he stepped into here?
Pulling his gaze away from the “loot,” Peter made a sweeping inspection of the room they were standing in. Now his eyes were the ones to grow wide. The room was lined with industrial strength shelving on three sides, and stacked on those shelves were clear plastic oblong bricks of a white powdery substance. Assuming it was cocaine not yet cut to street strength, they were probably surrounded by a cache worth many millions of dollars. Damn, damn, damn…Caffrey had decided to rip off a drug kingpin in his own home!!!! Peter chided himself for not being more diligent in his title search of the premises that they were standing in.
The head security goon decided to make more concrete decisions now. He had his cohorts zip tie Peter’s and Neal’s hands behind their backs, then the three departed, locking the door securely behind them.
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Chapter 3
Peter now turned to glare at Neal Caffrey, who raised a sardonic eyebrow. Surveying Peter for a few seconds, the young thief started slowly shaking his head as he said, “Well, this is another nice mess you’ve gotten me into.”
Peter’s jaw dropped and he was now the one at a loss for words. At such a precarious moment, this cocky punk had decided to crack wise and quote a line from an archaic Laurel and Hardy movie. How did some kid in his twenties even know about 1930s movies?
“I’ve gotten “you” into?” Peter responded, his voice rising incredulously. “Who decided to rip off some drug czar, in his own home, no less? Huh? Tell me that, you crazy fool. What are you, bipolar cycling through your manic phase?”
“You couldn’t have waited until I was off the grounds of this fortress before you decided to channel a “Flying Wallenda?” Neal retorted sounding disgusted. “All you succeeded in doing was setting off the motion sensors and alerting the bodyguards. Nice going, Peter.”
Okay, now the kid was citing a 1940s circus act comprised of a family of daredevil high wire stunt performers. Peter felt like he knew everything there was to know about Neal Caffrey, but this was definitely uncharted territory. Where was the Neal Caffrey that he had researched, and who was this imposter standing in front of him?
“Surely you aren’t here alone, Peter,” Neal continued. “We’ll just have to wait for your minions to descend on the premises when they realize that they’ve lost contact with you.” Neal sounded resigned to being arrested. It had to be the better option of the two before him. When Peter didn’t respond, Neal peered at him closely.
“Oh no, no, no…,” Neal stuttered as the light began to dawn. “Tell me you didn’t come alone, Peter. You’re not even in New York right now! You certainly would have brought local feds as reinforcements, right?”
Peter tried not to look sheepish. It definitely wouldn’t be a good look for him at this moment in time. Neal, however, looked sucker-punched. And that wasn’t a good look either. Finally they just decided to glare at one another again since any more words seemed to fail them.
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Chapter 4
The silence was broken when the door to their prison suddenly sprang open and a middle-aged man in full evening dress stepped through. His steps were dogged by the men with whom Neal and Peter were already acquainted. The sophisticated newcomer, obviously the prime mover here, looked thoroughly dismayed and sighed before he began to speak directly to Peter. “So, you claim to be Peter Burke, an FBI agent. Do I have that right?”
“That’s correct,” Peter echoed, “and I was in the process of arresting this man after he apparently burgled your home. You and your employees are impeding justice right now.” Peter felt self-righteous and stood a little taller.
“Is that so,” smirked the other man. “I am not without resources in certain areas of law enforcement around here, and I have taken the precaution of checking out your credentials. It would seem that there is no agent named Peter Burke on the Philadelphia division of the FBI’s payroll at the moment. Want to try again, because if you are, indeed, some type of lawman, then what you have seen here in my house makes you a definite liability.”
Neal intervened before Peter had an opportunity for a retort.
“Okay, sir, you definitely have found us out. Yes, we are what we seem to be…cat burglars. I perform the heists and Peter, my partner here, is my lookout. He likes to keep a set of fake credentials on him in case I get caught. Then he can “arrest” me and take me away before the real police arrive. We’re from out of town but have been making our way down the East coast for several months now. Philly’s Main Line was too tempting a target to pass up. Yours is not the first home we have hit around here.”
Neal took a breath and quickly continued while Peter’s jaw dropped open farther and his eyebrows reached for his hairline. “So, look, no harm, no foul here. You got your gems back and we definitely cannot go to the police regarding all of this,” Neal angled his head toward the apparent drug supply. “I mean, what are we going to say? Uh, officers, we were in the midst of a heist in that really nice, affluent, respectable neighborhood when we happened to stumble into what we assume is a drug cache. But maybe it’s really not drugs. Maybe it’s just a pantry filled with lots of extra powdered sugar or bleached white flour because their pastry chef likes to bake a lot.
Maybe the police wouldn’t even lock us up; they’d just cart us off to the psych ward for detox. So you see, my friend, it’s all good. We are good, right?” Neal smiled encouragingly. “You can just send us on our way and we promise to trouble you no more. You should get back to your party and have fun smoozing with all your friends.” Neal was talking fast and laying it on thick.
The middle aged man shook his head slowly and smirked, “If this guy here is your partner, then why, pray tell, was he on top of you on the lawn and holding you down?”
Neal looked slightly embarrassed and shrugged deprecatingly, “Well, truth be told, and I’m all for telling the truth here, Peter has a kink. He gets overly excited and aroused when he watches me pull off an amazingly impressive stunt, and he tends to get amorous. Granted, there is definitely a time and place for that sort of thing, but I just can’t get mad at the big lug.”
Peter started to hyperventilate and Neal moved closer to utter soothing, placating sounds in his ear.
“Enough of this charade!” barked the interrogator as he turned to his henchmen. “Get these two out of the house quietly. Take them far away and get rid of them. Make sure it’s so far away that it will never be connected to me, even if their bodies are found. And make sure to find and dispose of whatever vehicle they came here in.” With that hanging in the air, the homeowner departed.
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Chapter 5
Taking their boss’s orders to heart, the security detail did make sure that Peter and Neal departed the mansion quietly. Cloths soaked in ether placed over their noses and mouths until they lost consciousness accomplished that quite efficiently. They were then loaded into the back of a Lincoln Continental sedan and driven through the estate gates under the cover of the early winter darkness.
Eventually, Peter slowly swam back into awareness. He knew he was in a moving vehicle of some sort and he realized that his hands were bound behind him. He also felt slightly sick to his stomach and was terribly thirsty. He opened his eyes to just slits so that he could assess his situation, and it was then that he noticed the young man beside him in the dim reflection from the dashboard. Now it all came back to Peter. This scenario was not looking very promising for either Caffrey or himself.
Neal still seemed to be unconscious. Peter, being of greater body mass than Neal, most likely was able to metabolize and eliminate the chemical that had been used to anesthetize them more quickly. Peter took a few minutes to watch the rise and fall of Neal’s chest to reassure himself that the young man wasn’t already dead. God, the conman had been so infuriating. Peter would probably enjoy strangling him if he ever woke up. But the more he stared at Neal, the younger the kid looked. Now he wasn’t going to live to be any older, and neither was Peter, for that matter.
Peter again stared ahead under lowered lids. He saw the dashboard clock and was astonished to find that over four hours had passed while he slept. The rear view mirror also had a directional compass that displayed NW, meaning that they were traveling in a northwesterly direction. Peter did some quick calculations in his head and thought that they may be near Wilkesboro, Pennsylvania, if they had proceeded on a straight course from the Main Line. He also noticed that snow was now falling quite steadily outside of the car.
After another hour, Peter felt a slight movement next to him and realized that Caffrey was doing something behind his back. Ever so slowly Neal turned his head towards Peter, and then, very deliberately and carefully, edged one hand to the side so that Peter could see that he had freed himself from the zip ties. In the darkness, it looked as if Caffrey’s eyes were still closed and he continued to sleep. Peter did the same, but surreptitiously tried to get a read on exactly where they were. He had noticed that the car’s speed had decreased sharply when they had turned off of whatever main road that they had been on. From time to time he could make out snow covered signs announcing their presence in the Allegheny National State Park. Apparently this was to be the body dumping ground.
Eventually, the driver stopped the vehicle when he had trouble maintaining traction on the unplowed gravel lane. It was pitch black outside and deeply wooded. The trunk of the car was opened briefly allowing the two would-be killers to retrieve shovels. Then the back doors of the sedan were opened and Neal and Peter dragged outside into the frigid air.
Neal continued to keep his hands resolutely behind him as he and Peter were marched into the forest. In a darkness only anemically illuminated by the car’s headlights, Peter was able to make out Neal’s features. He became aware of the young man’s intentions when he began to silently mouth the words, “One, two….” On “three” both Neal and Peter swung around on their captors. Neal managed to dislodge his henchman’s shovel. With his hands free, he was able to quickly pick it up and deliver a resounding thud to the man’s arm. Peter ran full tilt into his guard and was able to make him fall to the ground. Then both captives started broken field running into the dense overgrowth. Even though there were no leaves on the deciduous trees, the branches were thick and sharp and slapped into their bodies and faces. Their footing was precarious in the deep snow. A shot rang out but they continued going as fast as they could manage, eventually overrunning a sharp precipice that neither one of them saw in the darkness. Neal and Peter tumbled over and over down a craggy hill until they came to rest near the bottom. Peter had a somewhat softer landing because he had ultimately come to rest on top of Caffrey. Both men were wheezing, their breath creating foggy plumes in the frigid air.
“Peter, you have got to stop crawling on top of me every time you have the opportunity,” Neal huffed in a soft whisper.
Peter shushed him so that he could listen for the two goons that were undoubtedly searching for them. Some time passed but eventually he did hear what he assumed was a discussion between the two at the top of the ridge that carried very clearly in the cold, crisp air.
“Look, Louie, I’m tired, I’m freezing, and I think my friggin' arm might be broken from where that little shit hit me with the shovel. We been lookin for almost an hour now. We know one of them is hit because we found the blood. They’re on foot in the middle of nowhere in a blizzard. If nothing else, they’ll freeze to death. The ground is frozen too, and I, for one, don’t even want to think about digging a grave if we did find them and finished them off. So, let’s get in the car and head back to the nearest emergency room so that somebody can see if my arm’s busted. The boss will never know. The bodies probably won’t be identifiable after the animals up here get through with them.”
“Alright, alright already. Stop your whining,” his partner said. “We’ll head back and just say we took care of business. As long as we keep our stories straight, we’ll be okay.”
Peter and Neal waited a bit longer to make sure that this wasn’t a ruse to get them to break cover. Finally, they cautiously raised their heads and saw nothing but swirling snow above them. Both let out the breaths that they had been holding, and almost simultaneously Neal’s hands found their way under Peter’s coat and shirt onto his bare skin.
“What the hell are you doing, Caffrey! Get your cold hands off of me,” Peter hissed indignantly.
“Peter, I’m not completely sure, but I don’t think it’s me who’s bleeding. I’m just checking you out, since you’re on top of me and all.”
“It’s Agent Burke to you, smartass! Just see if you can get these zip ties off of me since you were so clever to get your own off,” Peter retorted.
Neal’s fingers were definitely less nimble now that he felt partially frozen. Likewise, the plastic of the zip ties was less pliant and amenable to being manipulated or stretched.
“I can’t do anything right now, Agent Burke. We have to find someplace with some kind of shelter from the storm so I can work on them. Come on, I’ll help you up and we can look for a cave or something. As long as there isn’t a hibernating bear in there, that is,” he added as an after thought.
As Neal tried to hoist Peter to an upright position, Peter realized that his right side felt like it was on fire. He groaned and almost lost his footing. Neal looked at him with concern and insisted on making an assessment of the problem. With his hands secured behind his back, there really was nothing that Peter could do to stop him.
“Damn,” Neal sighed, “You really did get hit. It looks like it may have gone through, but you are bleeding pretty badly.” He proceeded to tear a strip from the bottom of Peter’s undershirt and wound it tightly around Peter’s midsection. Peter thought he would pass out from the pain, but miraculously managed to simply hiss and tilt slightly as his vision started to dim at the edges. Caffrey immediately put his arms around the agent to keep him upright until he had steadied himself.
“Let me know when you think that you can walk, Agent Burke. We can’t stay here very long. We need to find someplace out of the cold or we'll end up as popsicles for the wolves or bears, or whatever else goes bump in the night.”
Peter dredged up new resolve and got to his feet. “Lead on, Daniel Boone,” he said sarcastically.
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Chapter 6
Peter began to think that dying of hypothermia wasn’t really such a bad thing. You just got really tired and went to sleep, or, at least that’s what he had read. Or maybe that was death by drowning. Now his muddled mind wasn’t sure. But as tired as he was, Neal made him keep moving, one foot in front of the other. Now he found himself leaning almost all of his weight onto the slimmer man, so their progress, (if they were really going anywhere), was definitely diminished.
Minutes? hours? days? later, Peter thought he was hallucinating when he was able to make out a log structure in front of his eyes. Neal was almost giddy with joy and started laughing. “We found a cabin, Agent Burke, in the forest. Do you think it belongs to the three bears?”
He helped Peter to sit on the front step while he tried the door. It was locked, of course, but Neal was not to be deterred. He picked up a chunk of fire wood piled on the front porch and broke a window pane. Lifting the heavy wooden frame, he clumsily hoisted himself up and through the opening with none of his catlike agility in evidence. The wooden front door opened next and Neal dragged Peter inside out of the raw elements. Both men simply lay on the floor, their breathing labored and deep for several minutes.
Eventually Neal managed to upright himself and survey his surroundings. It looked like the cabin might have belonged to a forest ranger at some point, perhaps during the summer. There was a cot, a table and chairs, the rudiments of a kitchen and a blessed fireplace. Neal set about finding matches in the drawers to start a blaze on the hearth, after making sure that the flue was open. While rummaging in the drawers, he had found cutlery, including some sharp knives. He immediately knelt beside Peter and began to saw through the zip ties that, by this time, had cut deep gouges into Peter’s wrists.
Once he was free, Peter stared at Neal and said, “I guess I can add another charge of breaking and entering, Caffrey. You do know that you’re under arrest, right? And you are aware that you are now in my custody? Are we on the same page, buddy?”
“Yeah, yeah! Note to self --'Under Arrest.' Got it!” Neal responded snidely.
“Now your prisoner wants to take a look at that wound of yours, Agent Burke.”
The cold had at least one positive effect; it had slowed the rate of blood loss from Peter’s side. Neal collected fresh snow and melted it near the fireplace while he went in search of some sort of medical supplies. He found a small first aid kit in one of the kitchen cupboards. Using the fresh water to cleanse the puckered area, he then applied first aid cream and a sterile gauze dressing.
Next on the agenda was preparing fresh water to drink from melted snow and searching for any source of food in the small cabin. All he found were several cans of pork and beans. Neal ruefully held them up for Peter to see and made the comment that if Peter’s digestive tract reacted inhospitably, he was going to be spending the night on the front porch. Peter snarled something under his breath that Neal was sure he didn’t want clarified.
After their rather spartan meal, the two men sat facing each other beside the warm hearth. It was Peter who finally broke the silence. “You know it’s your fault that we’re in this situation,” he informed Neal.
Neal was incredulous. “How do you figure that? I wasn’t even in your jurisdiction, but that didn’t stop you from playing stalker. If you hadn’t decided to lurk and go all Rambo on me, we definitely wouldn’t be in this mess. So, it is “your” fault, Peter.”
“I’m not 'Peter' to you, punk! It is and always will be Agent Burke to you right up until the time I deliver you to prison. As soon as the snow lets up, we’re going to start hiking off this god-forsaken mountain and back to civilization. Whether it’s Philly or New York, it makes no difference to me. I am a federal agent so my jurisdiction extends over the entire nation!”
Neal just smiled enigmatically. He knew he wouldn’t be hiking anywhere. As soon as the blizzard let up, he just had to wait for his pal, Mozzie, to show up and provide transportation out of here. His zany sidekick was a technological wizard with a penchant for anything Russian surplus. Several years ago when they had begun their crime sprees, Mozzie had insisted on implanting a small satellite homing device the size of a BB into Neal’s hip. Mozzie would be able to find Neal wherever he wound up and that was a really comforting thought right now. Of course he didn’t share this insight with his “captor.”
Neal continued to forage through the cabin and was delighted to find a deck of cards. “Want to play some poker to pass the time, Agent Burke?”
Peter gave Neal a baleful look and said, “I’d be a fool to play poker with you Caffrey. Do you even know how to play poker without cheating?”
“Okey Dokey, then. How about Gin Rummy? War? Go Fish?” Peter continued to scowl after every suggestion Neal offered.
Disappointed but undeterred, Neal took the deck of cards and began performing slight of hand tricks that even Peter couldn’t detect how they were done. Finally Peter, irritable and hurting, had enough. “Are you always this hyperactive, David Copperfield?” he snarked. “Can’t you just sit still and be quiet?”
Neal sighed dramatically and put the deck of cards aside. He looked like a chastised puppy and Peter, against his better judgment, relented after a few minutes of silence. “Okay, fine, let’s just talk quietly for a bit before we try to get some rest.”
Neal’s smile returned and lit up his face. “What do you want to talk about, Agent Burke?”
“Let’s start with why an intelligent, talented and resourceful young man such as yourself feels that he has to appropriate things such as masterpieces of art, priceless jewelry, historical artifacts, gold, cash, etc., etc. instead of working at some sort of fulfilling career of his choosing?”
“But I am working at a fulfilling career of my choice, Agent Burke. Doing what I do is work. Don’t let anybody else tell you that it’s easy. It takes time and planning and implementation to attain your goal. When you do, it is definitely a rewarding feeling,” Neal answered.
“So are you saying that all the “jobs” you pull aren’t really about the value of the prize, but rather about the feeling that you get when you succeed?” queried Peter.
“Exactly, Agent Burke! Being successful at what I do is a high like nothing you can get from any drug, not even that white “flour” that we stumbled upon earlier this evening in our host’s basement.”
“So what do you do with all of your ill-gotten gains afterwards,” Peter asked. “Do you hold a yard sale or something among your cohorts?”
“Huh,” said Neal. “Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea. To answer your question, I don’t know what happens to the proceeds once I bring home the goods. My business manager takes care of all that. I have complete faith in his judgment and can only assume that perhaps he’s enriching my 401K.”
“Caffrey, you know it’s only a matter of time before you get caught; if not by the law, then by someone like that homicidal drug kingpin tonight. The averages are not in your favor. What is in your favor is that so far you have not physically hurt anyone. You’ve never used violence as a means to an end. I can only prove one crime right now, and that is your little heist tonight. I will make a recommendation for leniency for your part in helping me. Do your time, kid, and then start fresh. Then you won’t have to keep looking over your shoulder to see how many steps I am behind you.”
“I would miss your attention, Agent Burke. There would be no fun at all in my life,” Neal retorted breezily.
“Why do you need my attention so badly, Caffrey?” Peter continued to probe. “Did you not have anyone’s attention while you were growing up? Is that why you crave recognition now wherever you can find it? I’m the FBI, boy. You shouldn’t want my attention. It’s not healthy for you.”
Neal’s smile faltered a bit as he replied in a sarcastic tone, “Gee, Agent Burke, I wasn’t aware that you double-majored in Psych as well as Criminal Justice while in college. Do you think I’m too broken to fix? Am I a lost cause…a throwaway? And all this time I thought I was a keeper since you have continually reminded me that I’m under arrest and in your custody.”
Peter sighed. He was definitely off his game and just making matters worse. He gave one last try to get things back to a more comfortable point. “All I’m saying, Caffrey, is that I think you deserve better. You brag about how clever you are, what you’re good at. Maybe what you’re really thinking is that this is all you’re really good for.”
Neal seemed wistful for a moment, then he smiled and tossed Peter a blanket. “Cover up, Agent Burke, in case I fall asleep and forget to put another log on the fire.” With that, he hunkered down onto the floor and turned his back to Peter. After awhile his breathing evened out and Peter saw the tension in his shoulder relax in slumber.
Peter sighed. That had not gone well at all. He thought that after all his research into his arch nemesis that he had “Caffrey the thief” completely quantified…..a misguided and impulsive genius who craved the wrong kind of attention. Now what he was seeing, up close and personal, was a vulnerable young kid who liked to watch old movies, had a devilish sense of humor to match his killer smile, and who had doggedly dragged Peter’s sorry ass for miles to get him to safety. What amazed Peter the most was that he realized that he liked this enigma who, in his mind, had become “Neal” instead of “Caffrey.”
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Chapter 7
Neal awoke several times during the night to keep the fire stoked. He noticed that Peter mumbled in his sleep and was restless. In the early light of dawn, he looked carefully at the agent and noticed the flushed face and glazed eyes. He changed Peter’s dressing and also observed the hot redness around the wound.
“Agent Burke,” Neal shook the man gently. “You need to wake up and take these pills that I found in the kitchen. It’s aspirin. They’re out of date, but they don’t smell like vinegar yet, so I think they’ll help some to bring down the fever that you’re running.”
Peter stared blearily at Neal, but took the aspirin tablets with a glass of water. Neal told him that he should eat something, too, now that he had aspirin in his stomach, but Peter couldn’t face any more beans right now. He turned onto his side and closed his eyes in sleep once again. All through the day, Neal alternated between applying cold compresses to Peter’s forehead and staring at the cursed snow still falling. Finally he, too, succumbed to the mind-numbing ennui and slept fitfully. He was awakened in the early evening by the sound of a loud engine.
When Neal looked out of the window of the cabin he saw that the snow had stopped. It was a pristine sight only marred by what appeared to be a miniature yeti with goggles dismounting from a snowmobile. Mozzie stomped his boots on the porch as Neal pulled open the door to let him in.
“Well, I finally managed to get here. I thought that blizzard would never let up. I have a van idling on an access road about a mile from here. Let’s get you geared up and out of here before ………is that who I think it is?” Mozzie asked mid-sentence.
“Yes, Moz, it’s Agent Burke and he’s been shot and now he’s really out of it and running a fever,” Neal said in a rush.
“Huh,” was all Mozzie said as he tried to wrap his head around this new development. “I’m not even going to ask how this all came to be. Like I said, Neal, let’s get you out of here pronto.”
“Mozzie, I can’t just leave him here. He’ll die and I’ll feel responsible because this all happened because he was looking for me,” Neal blurted out.
Mozzie just slowly squinted for a moment before he said, “Neal, just because some stray followed you home, you can’t keep him.”
When Neal got that stubborn look in his eye, Mozzie capitulated to a degree. “Look, we’ll get on the road for an hour or two and then make a call to the Feds and tell them where to come and collect their agent. It’ll be fine, Neal. Stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. It’s not like “you” shot him.
You didn’t, did you?” Mozzie asked apprehensively.
“No Moz! Apparently that house that I hit last night was home to some drug czar and his henchman shot at us when we were trying to get away. It could be me laying there instead of Peter.”
“Oh, so it’s 'Peter' now, is it?” Mozzie snarked.
“Yeah, it is, and we have to get Peter to a hospital. Please, Mozzie, please help me do this,” begged Neal.
“Fine,” Mozzie huffed. "I hope you’re strong enough to lift his ass behind me on that snowmobile. If we can get him up, I’ll take him down to the van and then come back for you.”
With a lot of effort on the part of both men, Peter was finally situated behind Mozzie with the aid of some rope that Neal scavenged from the depths of the cabin. It was a strange sight to behold, a seemingly bizarre creature composed of two heads, four arms and a humped back was perched precariously over the handle bars of the snowmobile that roared off into the trees. Neal could only hope that Peter held on to life until they could get him to a hospital.
Eventually all three men were ensconced in the van and on their way to the interstate. With the help from Mozzie’s navigation system they were directed to the closest hospital where they deposited Peter in the emergency room. Neal told the admitting personnel Peter’s name and the number that they should call at the FBI, then he and Mozzie made tracks for the closest car dealership where they could swap out the van for a high performance car.
Several days later, Peter was lucid enough to answer his hospital telephone in a coherent manner. He expected it to be either his wife or his boss checking on him when he picked up the receiver. Instead, a hesitant male voice said, “Hi, Agent Burke. Are you feeling better?”
Peter smiled and said warmly into the phone, “Yes, Neal, I am feeling better. And you can call me Peter.”