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It was just days before the Federal Parole Board was going to be interviewing Neal’s associates to determine if his sentence was going to be commuted early and he was going to be set free. Mozzie was camped out in Neal’s loft with a glass of Médoc in his hand. He’d been eyeing the 1972 St. Emilion Bordeaux, but he had promised himself that he’d only crack it open if Neal got positive feedback from the Suit overseers.
“So, how do you think it’s looking?” the bald man tried to ask casually.
“I don’t want to jinx it by thinking about it,” Neal shrugged. “I’m not even sure what Peter might say.”
“Well, I think you should be thinking about it and having a plan in your back pocket if it goes well,” Moz quipped. “So, what’s the first thing on the agenda—maybe a trip to Vegas? While you’re annihilating the players at the poker table, I’ll be increasing our larder by counting cards at blackjack.”
“Weren’t you banned for life in all the Vegas casinos for doing that back in the day?” Neal reminded his friend.
“I am a master of disguise, mon frere. I could pass,” Mozzie replied with a wink.
Just at the tail end of that statement, June walked in and laughed. “Darling, you are a master of many things, but remaining incognito isn’t one of them. You definitely do not tend to blend in.”
“It’s my short stature, isn’t it,” Mozzie said bitterly. “That can be a challenging disadvantage at times.”
June then turned her attention to her actual boarder. “But that does bring up an important question, Neal. What are you going to do if the Wingtips Squad sets you free?”
Neal looked thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll travel for a bit. It’s been years since I’ve been anywhere that wasn’t inside the great state of New York. Europe sounds appealing right now.”
“Excellent!” June seemed truly happy for someone she had come to love. “Byron purchased a small pied a terre years ago in Provence. You could avail yourself of it and put your hand to a canvas in the way Van Gogh did many years ago.”
Neal smiled. “Sounds wonderful, but I don’t want to count my chickens just yet. The panel is going to be interviewing a lot of my colleagues, and I really don’t know how they’re leaning.”
“Well, the team of pencil neck interviewers are also going to be talking to me and I intend to give you a glowing reference,” June assured him as she placed a fond kiss on his cheek.
~~~~~~~~~~
Peter eyed his CI sitting down in the bullpen. Neal seemed to be caught up in whatever he was reading. Peter thought back over the past few years and wondered how many hundreds of times he had done this very thing of reassuring himself with his own eyes that Neal was right where he was supposed to be. It was hard to believe they had now reached a pivotal point in their unusual relationship. Neal could possibly be a free man in a few days, and that was a hard concept for a hovering handler to envision. Things certainly were not etched in stone yet, and a decision could go either way. Peter hated to think it really all hinged on his opinion.
Later that afternoon at lunch, Peter asked a very important question. “So, Buddy, what are you going to do if the Parole Board grants you early release?”
Neal didn’t want to appear desperate, so he wasn’t about to ask his handler what his mindset was. Instead, he favored Peter with a sardonic look. “Is that your not too subtle way of asking if I intend to walk the straight and narrow?”
“You’re reading too much into a simple question, Buddy,” a wary handler replied, although that was a paramount worry in his mind. “All I’m saying is that while you are on the anklet, the government is responsible for your welfare. You receive a living stipend and other things like medical and dental benefits. If you’re set free, you’d have to make your own way in the world, and I’m just curious how you intend to do that or where you might decide to do it.”
“I haven’t given it any consideration yet, Peter. Everything is still too nebulous.”
“Well, if things work out for you, Neal, I’m sure there would still be a place for you in the Bureau. There’s no question that you’ve been a tremendous asset, so it probably wouldn’t be hard to arrange a type of consultant position.”
Neal shrugged. “That’s assuming a lot, Peter, on both sides of the equation. Maybe I want to spread my wings and fly the nest. It’s been a long time coming, and perhaps I want to leave some bad memories behind.”
“But a lot of good things happened here as well,” Peter argued. “You’ve done a lot of great work and made a lot of friends who care about you. You would be sorely missed.”
Neal wondered if Peter was referring to himself, but an insecure former con man was afraid to ask. “If I’m allowed to fly the coop by the powers that be, the lure of wanderlust trumps a mundane 9-5 rut. But I guess eventually I might shake the traveling dust off my shoes and come back here to settle down because New York will always feel like my home,” he admitted.
Peter found himself feeling upbeat and smiling. “Good to know, Partner.”
~~~~~~~~~~
The next afternoon, Neal encountered both Diana and Jones in the break room. Diana punched Neal playfully on the shoulder. “So, Neal, if you get your walking papers in a few days, what are you going to be doing with yourself?”
“Walking right out of here, if they cut a criminal a break. I know it’s hard to imagine that I’d leave these august and claustrophobic walls of justice behind, but that’s the gist of it,” was the flip answer she got from her colleague.
“Seriously? We’d all be in your rear-view mirror? Now that’s a bit insensitive,” Diana pouted.
“What? You really want to keep in touch with a former felon?” Neal teased.
“Well, yeah. How else am I going to be able to ask you to be the best man at my wedding if Christie and I eventually decide to tie the knot?”
“Now I’m a bit insulted,” Jones chimed in. “I think that honor should go to me. I was here before Caffrey. Besides, Neal does have a point. He is a criminal and I think criminals should do their time—all of their time.”
At that point in the conversation, Neal knew exactly what Clinton was going to say at the commutation hearing. Neal didn’t take it personally. He liked Jones well enough, but he also realized the guy was a by the book straight arrow and there was little wiggle room in his law-and-order world for connivers, even if they were very charming.
Diana took pity on someone she viewed like a flamboyant but mischievous little brother. “I hear Sara Ellis has been invited to weigh in with her opinion on the merits of your character. You two were a hot item for quite a while and you probably charmed the pants off her—literally. So, I’m sure her testimony will balance out any negativity,” she said as she looked pointedly at Jones, who stubbornly refused to be cowed by her glare.
~~~~~~~~~~
In the end, it didn’t really matter what anybody thought or said to the group of stern lipped judges who were tasked with deciding a supposedly reformed felon’s future. Neal never heard Peter’s positive, almost glowing, endorsement delivered just minutes after a protector had given his CI the nod to run so that he could be free. Peter knew whatever the Parole Board heard from a handler in that moment was moot, but he wanted it on the record, nonetheless.
Regardless of Neal’s claim that New York was his home, he did find himself leaving the familiar shores of a metropolis behind in exchange for another home that was an ocean and now maybe a lifetime away. What should have felt secure, reassuring, and comfortable didn’t. It felt lonely and foreign, and a young ex-pat knew he’d always remain a lost soul who would never truly be happy because his heart was somewhere else.
So, each glorious morning in a beautiful paradise, Neal would gaze at his luxurious villa and the magnificent ocean practically right at his back door and he’d ask himself, “So what am I going to do now?”