Chapter Text
“This town better have a good coffee place,” Neal Caffrey muttered as he slowly stepped out of the black (and completely boring) government-issued car. He and his driver, Agent Peter Burke, had finally finished a long four-hour drive from San Francisco. Neal continued to moan and groan as he stretched out his stiff arms and legs.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine, it’s not like you drink those fancy, sugary coffees from Starbucks.” Peter said curtly while also getting out of the car. Being trapped in a moving vehicle with a whining and insufferable passenger tended to fray his patience to no end. Their car was now parked off Main Street of Beacon Hills, California.
“If Starbucks managed to brew a cup of actual coffee right, I would already be a patron,” Neal gave a critical look at his partner. “Hopefully, one of these mom-and-pop places will have what I need. Remember, Burke. You need my brilliant mind to solve this whacked-out case, and right now, my brilliant mind needs good ol’ black coffee.”
Neal headed towards the Beacon Hills Police Station with long, determined strides. Might as well kill two birds with one stone. Peter let out an annoyed sigh but looked at Neal fondly. He grabbed hold of a black briefcase and locked the car. He ran to catch up with Neal, so that the con man wouldn’t jeopardize the needed cooperation of local authorities.
Thankfully, Neal was chatting with the police receptionist. Normally, Peter disliked Neal’s charming facade (it was a very effective distraction), but he could appreciate Neal greasing wheels where it was needed.
“So, Mary, is the chief available? Agent Burke and I came a long way from D.C.” The woman, Mary, had blushed just a bit when Neal used his billion-watt smile. “I’m sorry, but I still need to see identification.” Peter gave an approving smile of his own towards Mary’s diligence. The FBI agent gave her his badge to examine and confirmed that Neal was partnering as a criminal consultant. Mary called the chief on her phone and instructed the two men to go ahead into his office.
Neal immediately started reading the chief’s appearance once he and Burke entered the room. In his 50s, probably a war veteran judging by his posture. Noticing a few trophies on the wall, Neal added mentally, Hunts for sport but doesn’t appear too arrogant. He thought back to other unsavory characters he met in his past life who enjoyed the thrill of the hunt excessively, sometimes beyond the allowance of the law. Those were godless men. But I feel that Chief Stanton is a hard but reasonable man.
When both men sat down, the Chief wasted no time. “FBI, huh. This is a first in Beacon Hills history. I don’t have time to go over proper procedure and all that crap - but you can carry out your investigation as long as you don’t interfere with my own jurisdiction. Got it?”
The old man swept a very critical eye over both agents, mentally dismissing them as “too young.” Neal and Peter briefly stared with mouths slightly open before they finally closed them shut and simultaneously nodded their heads. Chief Stanton relaxed a bit at this and gestured them out of his office, “I’ll have my Sheriff help you in your investigation as needed. As you may have assumed, small towns like us don’t have much going on aside from domestic troubles and animal attacks.”
The Chief glanced down the hall towards the reception area and remarked, “Sheriff Stilinksi is right down there, so just,” the old man paused and his hackles practically rose like an offended cat, “Oh God, he’s there. Listen very carefully.” Neal and Burke silently obeyed and suffered a slightly crazed look from the Chief. “Do not let the Stilinski boy get involved in the case. Or you’ll rue today.” The Chief rushed back into his office and closed the blinds in his window.
Neal and Peter exchanged confused looks, shrugged, and walked down to the man indicated as Sheriff Stilinski. As they walked on, they could hear an intense argument. “Dad, these are not just animal attacks, just listen to me!” A frantic voice shouted. “Genim, I will not have this discussion here and now! Go home!” The Sheriff was facing a teenager, presumably his son.
The boy turned his wide-eyed gaze on the intruders, and his father followed his line of sight. Giving a tired sigh, he turned back to his son and spoke softly. Whatever he said was enough to placate the teenager since he left the building with a resigned nod of his head.
The Sheriff turned his body back towards the two men in black, well, one of them dressed a little too well for a FBI agent, choosing to wear a tailored dark grey suit. “How can I help you gentlemen?”
Before Agent Burke could open his mouth, Neal cut in with a good-natured smile, “Where’s the best coffee in town?” Peter gave him a nasty look while the Sheriff paused then laughed out loud.