Fic: The Devil You Know (22/25)
Feb. 15th, 2014 06:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citrinesunsetTitle: The Devil You Know
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal/Peter, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Elizabeth, references to Neal/Kate
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Non-con, dub-con, institutionalized slavery, spanking, humiliation, dark!Peter, dark!Elizabeth, sex, rimming
Word count: 5100 this part. About 122k total.
Summary: After being convicted of bond forgery, Neal is sentenced to four years of slavery. But he isn't prepared to be purchased by Peter Burke. Or for what Peter has in store for him.
Notes: See Chapter 1 for details.
He waited until just after midnight to put his plan into motion.
The house was quiet. Neal got out of bed and picked up one of the shoes sitting beside his nightstand. He'd hidden the collar key inside the toe.
He held it up in the dim light and looked at it. There was no going back after this. He wished he had more of a plan, but he wasn't sure it would make it any easier to run. Planning could turn into inaction, and the impulsiveness of what he was about to do invigorated him. Running was like a drug. It gave him a high that made him feel alive. But then there was always a crash in the form of sleepless nights and looking over his shoulder in train stations.
But that wouldn't happen this time. It would be different. He would find Kate. Then he would secure passage to a non-slave country, and Kate would join him.
His confidence bolstered, he reached behind his neck and pressed the key into the lock. The collar opened with a click, and Neal quickly took if off and re-locked it. The moment it had been unlocked would just be a blip recorded in a distant monitoring station.
Next, the arranged his pillows under the blanket to mimic his sleeping form. It was a crude trick, but he hoped it would buy him a little time. Regardless, he'd be long gone by the time the Burkes woke up. Tomorrow was Saturday, which was both good and bad. Good, because they would sleep in. Bad because they would both be home to discover his absence.
Neal stepped softly into the hall, careful to avoid any creaky floorboards. He opened the hall closet door. There was an old gym bag in there, and he took it. Back in his room, he filled it with essentials. He didn't take much—only enough clothes to last him until he was overseas.
He looked at the collar and key, which he'd laid on the nightstand. He couldn't leave them out—Peter would see them, making the ruse pointless. He thought for a moment, and then pulled back the blanket on the bed. He set the collar and key on top of one of the pillows. Before covering them up, he tore a blank sheet of paper out of one of his sketchbooks and wrote one word: "Sorry."
He wasn't sure what he was sorry for. But he left the note with the collar and its key.
He took a final look around his room and, satisfied that he'd taken everything he needed, went downstairs. He took the stairs slowly, and when he reached the second floor, he paused outside the Burkes' door, listening for signs that they were still awake. He heard nothing.
Still, he didn't want to risk it, and he was quick in the bathroom. He took his toothbrush and toothpaste, his razor, his shampoo, and a new bar of soap. With luck, he would be in a nice hotel in a few days and wouldn't need most of these things.
He still needed cash. Even if he could use his debit card without being tracked, he didn't even have enough money on it to get out of Brooklyn, unless he felt like walking.
Downstairs, he went straight to the bookshelf, where he knew Elizabeth kept some cash in a book on Renaissance painters. It was her money, and it was for emergencies. Neal felt a fleeting pang of guilt for taking it, but he brushed it off and pocketed two-hundred dollars.
He stood in the living room and took a final look at the place he'd called home for the past six months. He didn't think he'd miss it, but nevertheless it had become familiar and comfortable.
Satchmo was curled up on his dog bed, but had woken up. He was watching Neal curiously.
Neal bent over and scratched his head.
"Nice knowing you, Satchmo," he said softly. "I enjoyed our walks."
Satchmo closed his eyes and panted.
Neal stood up. It was time to go. He grabbed a spare house key before he left—that way, he could relock the deadbolt and the Burkes would be less suspicious when they came downstairs.
He slipped outside, locked the door, and was gone.
* * *
He managed to get a cab a few blocks from the house. He started to relax more as he settled into the back seat. On foot, he hadn't been able to quell the fear that Peter was right behind him.
But now it felt real. He was free.
He had the cab driver drop him off several blocks from Mozzie's safe house. He didn't think the FBI or Slave Control would be able to track him too easily, but it seemed safer to keep some distance. And the last thing he needed was for Mozzie to get paranoid.
He hoped Mozzie hadn't changed his routine in the past six months. Neal had never thought to ask. But even if Mozzie wasn't there, it would still be a safe haven until morning.
This safe house was an old pizza place with an apartment up above. It'd been years since the place was in business, and Mozzie didn't seem to have anything interest in the restaurant business. Why he bought it was a mystery.
Neal bypassed the restaurant and went up the fire escape on the side of the building, which led to a window.
Crouching on the cold metal landing, Neal rapped on the glass. "Moz! It's me! Open up."
Neal shivered. The weather was starting to get warmer, but late nights were still frigid. He could see his breath.
Finally, Mozzie's face appeared in the glass. He wrenched the window up.
"Neal, what are you doing here? I heard someone on the fire escape, and I thought the place was under attack."
Neal couldn't resist rolling his eyes. "Relax; your fortress is secure. Now, will you let me in? It's freezing out here."
Mozzie stepped back, giving Neal room to crawl in through the window. Once he was inside, Mozzie closed the window and locked it.
The apartment was cold, but it was better than outside. Neal rubbed his hands together.
Mozzie looked like he'd just woken up. He wore a robe over a pair of silk pajamas.
"You could have told me you were going to escape," Mozzie said. "A little heads up, maybe."
"I didn't have a chance. I only decided the other day." He tugged down on his shirt collar and grinned. "See? I told you I could get the collar off."
"You're a regular Houdini. At least tell me you weren't followed."
"I wasn't. I was careful. They'll never track me here."
Neal looked around the dark room. It'd been a while since he'd been to this safe house. Mozzie had redecorated. There was a nice leather couch against the wall, now, and a Persian rug underneath a Queen Ann coffee table. It didn't look much like an apartment over a pizza place.
"Can I get you something?" Mozzie asked. "Tea? Whiskey?"
"Some tea would be great. I'm freezing."
He followed Mozzie to the small kitchen, and stood in the doorway while Mozzie put a kettle on.
While they waited, Mozzie asked, "So, what's your plan? You do have one, right?"
Neal shrugged.
"Wait, you don't have a plan?"
"Of course I do. I'm just...still figuring it out the particulars." Seeing Mozzie's panicked look, he quickly elaborated. "I'm going to find Kate. Then I'll liquidate some assets and go abroad."
"Maybe a change of scenery would be nice. I could see myself settling down in Liechtenstein for a while."
"So you'll come with me?"
"Uh, hello? Did you think I wouldn't?"
"I don't expect you to uproot yourself for my sake."
"Please. We con men are citizens of the world. Home life is no more natural to us than a cage is to a cockatoo."
Neal smiled. "Quoting Shaw?"
"He was Irish...didn't Ireland abolish slavery six months ago?"
"Yeah, but most of the nearby countries still have slaves. I don't want to feel boxed in."
"Still an improvement over your recent circumstances." The kettle whistled, and Mozzie took it off the stove.
"We can work everything out tomorrow," Neal said.
"Yeah, but we'll want to move quickly. It really would've helped if you'd told me you were escaping ahead of time. I could have made our travel arrangements already."
"We're just going to have to improvise."
While Neal leaned against the wall with a steaming cup of green tea, Mozzie got out a spare pillow and blanket and set them on the sofa.
"I would offer you the bed," Mozzie said, "but you know I don't sleep as well when I don't have my hypoallergenic sheets."
"The couch is fine. Thanks."
The tea was steaming hot, but Neal tried to drink it anyway. The liquid was so hot that it didn't have any discernible flavor, and Neal felt like half his taste buds were burned away. But it warmed him up.
After Mozzie finished laying out the blanket on the couch, Neal took a seat. Mozzie retrieved his own cup of tea from the kitchen and sat across from him in an ornate armchair.
"Thanks for letting me crash here," Neal said. "I didn't have anywhere else to go. I know Kate let the lease run out on the apartment, so I guess she isn't there."
"She isn't. I've checked. And you know that's the first place the Suit will look for you."
He did. The temptation was strong to go to their old apartment and check, just in case. But he knew Kate wouldn't be there, and by morning, Peter would probably have a surveillance team scoping the place out, just waiting for him to show up.
"We'll need some money," Neal said. "Do you think you can help me sell something?"
He had some items stashed around the city. He couldn't take the time to collect everything before he left, but he could sell an item or two for some quick cash.
"I'll start looking for interested buyers in the morning. Maybe you could sell the Chagall."
"The Chagall? I like that one."
"You like most of the stuff you stole."
Mozzie was right. Anything Neal didn't have an attachment to, he'd sold long ago. The things he had stashed away were special to him. It was an empty sort of ownership—most of the time, he could only enjoy the idea of his stolen possessions. He couldn't put them in his home and view them whenever he wished.
But maybe that would change. If he got a nice house somewhere, and stayed under the radar, maybe he could have some of his things smuggled over.
"All right. I'll sell the Chagall."
Mozzie looked at his watch. "As thrilling as it is to have you here, we should both try to get some rest. We have a lot of work to do in the morning."
Neal looked at his own watch, and saw that it was after two. They finished their tea and said goodnight.
Once alone, Neal took off his shirt, belt, and shoes. He went to bed on the couch wearing his trousers and undershirt. He'd packed pajamas, but didn't feel comfortable changing into them. Even though he'd been careful, he still felt like he had to be prepared to run at a moment's notice.
He was tired, but he found he couldn't sleep easily. He was still keyed up from his escape. In the dim light, he looked around the room. The floorboards were scuffed and faded, and the paint on the walls was starting to chip. But the furnishing was warm and extravagant. Neal wondered how Mozzie got all this in here without anyone noticing.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He thought of the Burkes, who were probably still asleep in their bed, unaware that he was gone. Would they be surprised when they discovered his escape? Or had Peter always expected to find him gone someday?
Finally, he thought of Kate, and wondered where she was tonight. He wondered if she was thinking of him.
With that, he dozed off into an uneasy slumber.
* * *
The next morning, Neal stayed in the safe house at Mozzie's insistence. They discussed their plan over breakfast.
"What about Cape Verde?" Mozzie asked.
"I don't know, Moz. Don't you think an island would be restrictive?"
"You say restrictive, I say safe. Less chance of slave catchers coming in from other countries to kidnap you."
It was also more difficult to flee if there was danger, but Neal didn't bring that up.
"Besides," Mozzie said, "compared to what your life has been like, this new life of ours is going to be the epitome of independence."
Maybe he was right. Even so, Neal couldn’t shake the idea that if he wasn't careful, he'd end up trading one prison for another.
After breakfast, Mozzie went out to put their escape plan into motion. Neal stayed behind.
He was itching to go out, but there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. It was eight o'clock, and for all he knew there was already an APB out on him. He turned on the small TV in the living room and waited to see if his name came up on the news.
Mozzie returned after a few hours, carrying a paper bag and a cardboard tube.
"I got the Chagall out of storage, and I grabbed some necessary supplies while I was at it. If we had more time, and could sell more things from your stash...."
"Yeah, but we don't. The Chagall will be fine."
Neal and Mozzie shared a storage unit, but most of Neal's stash was hidden. Neither Mozzie nor Kate knew the actual location, or exactly what he had. Mozzie would be offended if he knew, but Neal's enslavement had only made him more confident that it was best to have some secrets. He felt more secure knowing that some of his assets were hidden, even from his friends.
Mozzie set the paper bag on the small dining room table, and Neal opened it. There was another one of his fake passports inside, and a burner phone.
"Great," Neal said. "Do you have a buyer for the Chagall yet?"
"Finding a buyer last minute will be a challenge. I think I've found a fence who might be interested, but I've never worked with the guy before."
"Any word on Kate?"
"Nada. Neal, we might have to leave before you get a chance to find her. It's not the end of the world—you can contact her from Cape Verde, and she can come to us."
"I'm going to find her, Moz. If I have to, I'll go to the airport on Monday."
"Are you kidding? The Suit knows that's where you'll go. The place will be crawling with feds!"
"Then I'll have to try to find her before then." Something else occurred to him. "So, it's decided? About Cape Verde?"
"It's our best option."
"I just want to make the best choice."
"You don't have the luxury of second-guessing yourself right now. We have to move."
Mozzie was right, of course. Neal just hoped this was the right move.
He'd expected to feel freer than he did. But the stakes were higher than the last time he ran. He wasn't facing a few years of slavery if he got caught. Almost all fugitive slaves were given life sentences upon apprehension. During training, the guards tried to scare them into submission by talking about how much worse the lifers' training was. Neal didn't put a lot of stock in it. It was just a scare tactic. But he couldn't imagine never being free again. And lifers had far fewer rights.
If it hadn't been for Kate, Neal wouldn't have taken the risk so easily. But if he let Kate go, knowing she might disappear forever, he could never live with himself.
He got up and grabbed his coat.
"What are you doing?" Moz asked.
"I'm going out. To look for Kate."
Before leaving, he grabbed the burner phone and the rest of the cash he'd taken from the Burkes.
The problem was he had no idea where Kate was. It would have helped if he'd gotten another look at Peter's file before escaping. He had no doubt that Peter knew exactly where Kate was right now.
There were a few places he could try. She knew an artist who spent a lot of time abroad. Kate sometimes watered the guy's plants for him, and had a key to his place. Her best friend lived in a loft in SoHo. Her mother lived in Queens.
He hoped that this time, she would be staying somewhere obvious like that. It wasn't like before, when she'd been avoiding him.
But by the end of the afternoon, all Neal had accomplished was burning through most of his cash on cab rides. There was no sign of Kate.
Neal was discouraged when he returned to the safe house. He hadn't considered what would happen if he couldn't find her. There was always the airport, but Mozzie was right—it was risky.
Mozzie had given Neal a spare key that morning. Neal used it to let himself in through the back door of the restaurant, and headed upstairs.
When he opened the apartment door, Mozzie called out, "Who's there? I've got a gun and I'm not afraid to use it!"
"Chill, Moz. It's just me. And I know you don't have a gun."
"This is your last warning!"
"Moz?"
Neal looked up, and, for the first time, noticed the wire attached to the door. It was stretched across the ceiling and led into the bedroom, which was partitioned off with a curtain. Neal slipped a hand between the curtains and peeked into the bedroom. There was a tape player sitting on the nightstand, and the wire seemed to be attached to some sort of mechanism that had hit the play button. There was no sign of Mozzie.
Mozzie hadn't mentioned an intruder alarm.
At least there didn't appear to be any booby traps. Neal went into the bedroom and over to the tape player.
"I mean it," Mozzie's voice cried out on the tape, "I'm armed and—"
Neal hit the stop button.
While he waited for Mozzie to return, Neal went to the kitchen to find something he could make for dinner. It was the least he could do to repay Mozzie's hospitality. He thought he deserved Mozzie's help, but even so, Mozzie had been a much more gracious and tolerant host than he could have been. And he had probably changed his treasured routine to accommodate Neal. Ordinarily, he probably would have been staying at one of his other safe houses tonight.
While Neal made spaghetti, he turned on the TV to listen to the news. There was still no mention of his escape, and that made him uneasy. He wasn't some small-time drug dealer or car thief who snuck away from his master. He was a major fugitive. The FBI had hunted him for years, and now he was on the run again. Why wasn't the news covering the story? Why wasn't the FBI enlisting the public's help?
It was unexpected, and Neal didn't like it. And maybe, in a small way, he felt slighted. Did no one see his escape as a big deal?
Mozzie returned while Neal was working on the spaghetti sauce, and soon they were sitting at Mozzie's small table, eating.
"Something's not right," Neal said. "My escape hasn't made the news yet."
Mozzie stabbed at his spaghetti and wound some noodles onto his fork. "Now isn't the time for vanity," he said. "No publicity is good publicity."
"No publicity means the FBI is pulling their punches. Before, they had my police sketch in the paper almost immediately."
"So take advantage of this. Now isn't the time to worry about vague possibilities. You can worry when we're in our island paradise. And by then, you won't need to worry."
Mozzie had a point. But Neal told himself he was just being cautious. He'd learned the importance of that the hard way. If he'd been more cautious, he wouldn't have been arrested in the first place.
"Your heart is in this, right?" Mozzie asked.
The question surprised Neal. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be? Don't worry, Moz—I'm not gonna blow this."
* * *
Neal spent another restless night on Mozzie's couch. He'd barely gotten to sleep when he woke again to the sound of Mozzie passing through the living room on his way to the kitchen. Neal cracked open his tired eyes and saw that the living room was bathed in the pale blue light of dawn.
Neal knew there was no hope of getting more sleep. He could rest when this was all over.
As the morning went on, they strategized more.
"It looks like our buyer for the Chagall is ready to move forward," Mozzie said. "I just got a text."
"Oh yeah? Who is this guy?"
"Name is Frank Valentine."
"I never heard of him."
"I've never met him in person. But he's interested in buying the Chagall later this morning. And I'm making arrangements with a private plane. If we get the money, we can be out of here by tomorrow morning."
"No, that might be too soon. I still have to find Kate."
"There may not be time for that."
"Moz, it's the only reason I ran."
"Then you need to focus on some new reasons," Mozzie snapped. "Has it occurred to you that maybe she doesn't want a nice reunion?"
Neal narrowed his eyes. "So now you're saying she's leaving the country to get away from me. Is that what you think, Moz?"
"Hey, don't blame me for the way things are. Maybe the fact that she didn't meet with you in the park should have been a clue."
Neal walked over to the window and looked out over the fire escape. He thought about stepping out to get some air.
"The only reason she couldn't see me is because of Peter. And now he's stalking her, so of course she's leaving."
There was a long, painful silence between them. Neal stepped closer to the window and felt the cold emanating from the glass.
Finally, Mozzie said, "I never thought I would defend a suit, but in this case, you're wrong."
"What are you talking about?"
"Considering how unfocused you are right now, and how close we are to the sweet taste of freedom, I hesitate to even tell you."
Neal turned around and glared at Mozzie. "What is it?"
"The Suit met with Kate."
Neal frowned. "Why?"
"To ask her to meet with you."
"But that's impossible. We haven't seen each other. Peter never said anything." It didn't make any sense.
"She told him no."
Neal sank into a chair at the kitchen table. He ran a hand through his hair as the information sank in.
"How do you know about this?"
"She told me about it when she dropped off the key to the storage unit."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"What could you have done?"
Neal shook his head. He couldn't believe Mozzie would keep something like this from him. He couldn't believe Peter had lied. Why? If he'd told Neal the truth in the car on Friday...if he was honest, he still wouldn't have accepted it.
"This doesn't change anything," Mozzie said.
Neal jumped to his feet. "It changes everything, Moz!" He started to pace. "I ran away for her."
"So? Either way, you're free now. Forget Kate. Start fresh."
Neal stopped pacing and turned to face Mozzie. "Do you have any idea what I'm risking, here? If I get caught, they'll give me life. I can't do that. Not to mention, I'd end up with a new owner."
"A new master is the least of your concerns. I know I just defended the Suit, but he isn't that nice."
Neal sat down again, this time on the nearby sofa. Mozzie joined him, taking a seat in a wingchair.
"I don’t' know," Neal said, "I used to want Peter to sell me. But I've been thinking a lot lately, and it hasn't been as bad as it could be. I can't stop thinking about Adler, about how much his slaves hated him...."
"Being a bad slave owner was just one of Adler's flaws."
"But that's just it, Moz. It's just not that he didn't care about them. I think some of what he did was normal." He swallowed. "I don't want to belong to someone who lets his friends and colleagues have sex with me."
"It doesn't matter—in twenty-four hours, we'll be out of U.S. jurisdiction. There won't be any new owners. And it's not like we have other options. You can't undo an escape."
"Yeah," Neal said, his voice demure. "I guess you're right."
"Of course I am. But first, we need money. You think you can handle the Chagall transaction? I need to make some arrangements for our trip."
"Fine. Set it up."
* * *
Neal hadn't ventured outside since he left to look for Kate. The fresh air and bustle of the city were welcome, but he kept an eye out for anyone who might be following him. He didn't worry much, though. He assumed that if the FBI was on his trail, they wouldn't hesitate to arrest him. After all, he was an escaped slave. There was no need to catch him in the act of committing a crime.
The exchange was planned for ten o'clock at Valentine's loft. Neal wondered if that was why Mozzie suggested that he do the sale; Mozzie always preferred public meeting places. They didn't have time to arrange a meet to Mozzie's usual specifications.
Valentine lived in an old industrial building that had been converted into apartments. Having not dealt with him directly, Neal wasn't sure what to expect. The man who answered the door was about Neal's age and had jet black hair. He looked familiar, and Neal tried to place him.
His eyes lingered on Neal as he let him in.
"When I talked to your friend," Valentine said, "I got the impression you're in a rush. I have the cash in the other room. You got the painting?"
Neal held up the cardboard tube he'd brought. "Right here."
Valentine led Neal to the dining room table, which was large enough to lay out the painting. While Neal carefully removed it from the tube, Valentine excused himself.
There was another canvas rolled up at the far end of the table. Neal gently unrolled a few inches to take a peek. What he saw was both exquisite and shockingly familiar.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Neal looked over his shoulder. Valentine had returned, carrying a magnifying glass and an eye loupe.
"Dali, right? If I'm not mistaken, this was taken from the Met in December."
Valentine smiled and shrugged. Now Neal knew why he was familiar. He'd been in the surveillance camera photos Sara brought in.
"It was an impressive job," Neal said.
"Yeah, well, I'd hoped to sell it quickly, but I haven't been able to get it out of the country. The feds are watching too closely."
Neal clicked his tongue sympathetically. "They always are."
"That's why your Chagall is so appealing. This piece isn't on the radar right now." He started to bend over the Chagall, but paused and looked up at Neal. "You're Neal Caffrey, aren't you?"
Neal smiled. "You're familiar with my alleged work?"
"Yeah. I heard about the Falconer manuscripts. But last I heard, you were serving time. Don't see a collar around your neck."
"Wouldn't be here if I had a collar weighing me down. My life has taken a positive turn recently."
Valentine nodded thoughtfully and turned his attention back to the Chagall. He examined it for a few minutes before setting his tools down and standing straight.
"Looks like the real thing," he said. "I'll get you your cash."
"I knew you'd be satisfied."
"Yeah. Hey, before you go, why don't we have a drink? I got a new bottle of Pinot noir, and I always like to toast to a successful deal. What do you say?"
Neal hesitated. He was anxious to get the money back to Mozzie. But Valentine had already gone into the kitchen without waiting for a response. He got two wineglasses out of a cupboard.
"Sure," Neal said. "Why not?"
A couple minutes later, Valentine returned with two glasses of wine. He handed one to Neal.
Neal walked over to one of the large domed windows and looked out. He took a sip of his wine and enjoyed the slight warmth in his throat as it went down. Wine had been a rarity for him when he was with the Burkes. Outside, the skies had turned gray and it looked like it might rain.
"I'll get the money," Valentine said. He set his glass on the table and went back into the other room.
Neal drank some more of his wine and continued to enjoy the view. After a few minutes, he began to wonder where Valentine was. He looked at his watch—the one Peter had given him—and figured it had been at least five minutes.
Hadn't he said the money was ready?
After a few more minutes, Neal decided to investigate. But when he turned around, a wave of dizziness hit him. He set his glass down on the table next to Valentine's, and placed his palm on the wooden tabletop to steady himself. He tried to let go, but the room was spinning and he thought he might be sick.
Valentine returned. His hands were empty.
"You all right?" he asked.
Neal nodded. "Yeah, fine. Listen, I'm not feeling great, so if I could get that money...."
Neal tried to take some steps, but Valentine rushed to his side and put an arm around his back.
"Whoa, careful. You look like you're about to fall over. Here, sit down for a minute."
Neal tried to pull away, but Valentine steered him over to the sofa. Neal collapsed onto it as soon as Valentine let go of him.
He looked back at the table, at the wineglass he'd drunk from.
"What—what did you—?"
"Shh. Just relax."
Neal's eyes grew heavy, and his limbs felt like lead. His upper body fell down on the sofa, and he closed his eyes.
Chapter 23
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairing: Neal/Peter, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal, Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Elizabeth, references to Neal/Kate
Rating: Explicit
Contains: Non-con, dub-con, institutionalized slavery, spanking, humiliation, dark!Peter, dark!Elizabeth, sex, rimming
Word count: 5100 this part. About 122k total.
Summary: After being convicted of bond forgery, Neal is sentenced to four years of slavery. But he isn't prepared to be purchased by Peter Burke. Or for what Peter has in store for him.
Notes: See Chapter 1 for details.
He waited until just after midnight to put his plan into motion.
The house was quiet. Neal got out of bed and picked up one of the shoes sitting beside his nightstand. He'd hidden the collar key inside the toe.
He held it up in the dim light and looked at it. There was no going back after this. He wished he had more of a plan, but he wasn't sure it would make it any easier to run. Planning could turn into inaction, and the impulsiveness of what he was about to do invigorated him. Running was like a drug. It gave him a high that made him feel alive. But then there was always a crash in the form of sleepless nights and looking over his shoulder in train stations.
But that wouldn't happen this time. It would be different. He would find Kate. Then he would secure passage to a non-slave country, and Kate would join him.
His confidence bolstered, he reached behind his neck and pressed the key into the lock. The collar opened with a click, and Neal quickly took if off and re-locked it. The moment it had been unlocked would just be a blip recorded in a distant monitoring station.
Next, the arranged his pillows under the blanket to mimic his sleeping form. It was a crude trick, but he hoped it would buy him a little time. Regardless, he'd be long gone by the time the Burkes woke up. Tomorrow was Saturday, which was both good and bad. Good, because they would sleep in. Bad because they would both be home to discover his absence.
Neal stepped softly into the hall, careful to avoid any creaky floorboards. He opened the hall closet door. There was an old gym bag in there, and he took it. Back in his room, he filled it with essentials. He didn't take much—only enough clothes to last him until he was overseas.
He looked at the collar and key, which he'd laid on the nightstand. He couldn't leave them out—Peter would see them, making the ruse pointless. He thought for a moment, and then pulled back the blanket on the bed. He set the collar and key on top of one of the pillows. Before covering them up, he tore a blank sheet of paper out of one of his sketchbooks and wrote one word: "Sorry."
He wasn't sure what he was sorry for. But he left the note with the collar and its key.
He took a final look around his room and, satisfied that he'd taken everything he needed, went downstairs. He took the stairs slowly, and when he reached the second floor, he paused outside the Burkes' door, listening for signs that they were still awake. He heard nothing.
Still, he didn't want to risk it, and he was quick in the bathroom. He took his toothbrush and toothpaste, his razor, his shampoo, and a new bar of soap. With luck, he would be in a nice hotel in a few days and wouldn't need most of these things.
He still needed cash. Even if he could use his debit card without being tracked, he didn't even have enough money on it to get out of Brooklyn, unless he felt like walking.
Downstairs, he went straight to the bookshelf, where he knew Elizabeth kept some cash in a book on Renaissance painters. It was her money, and it was for emergencies. Neal felt a fleeting pang of guilt for taking it, but he brushed it off and pocketed two-hundred dollars.
He stood in the living room and took a final look at the place he'd called home for the past six months. He didn't think he'd miss it, but nevertheless it had become familiar and comfortable.
Satchmo was curled up on his dog bed, but had woken up. He was watching Neal curiously.
Neal bent over and scratched his head.
"Nice knowing you, Satchmo," he said softly. "I enjoyed our walks."
Satchmo closed his eyes and panted.
Neal stood up. It was time to go. He grabbed a spare house key before he left—that way, he could relock the deadbolt and the Burkes would be less suspicious when they came downstairs.
He slipped outside, locked the door, and was gone.
He managed to get a cab a few blocks from the house. He started to relax more as he settled into the back seat. On foot, he hadn't been able to quell the fear that Peter was right behind him.
But now it felt real. He was free.
He had the cab driver drop him off several blocks from Mozzie's safe house. He didn't think the FBI or Slave Control would be able to track him too easily, but it seemed safer to keep some distance. And the last thing he needed was for Mozzie to get paranoid.
He hoped Mozzie hadn't changed his routine in the past six months. Neal had never thought to ask. But even if Mozzie wasn't there, it would still be a safe haven until morning.
This safe house was an old pizza place with an apartment up above. It'd been years since the place was in business, and Mozzie didn't seem to have anything interest in the restaurant business. Why he bought it was a mystery.
Neal bypassed the restaurant and went up the fire escape on the side of the building, which led to a window.
Crouching on the cold metal landing, Neal rapped on the glass. "Moz! It's me! Open up."
Neal shivered. The weather was starting to get warmer, but late nights were still frigid. He could see his breath.
Finally, Mozzie's face appeared in the glass. He wrenched the window up.
"Neal, what are you doing here? I heard someone on the fire escape, and I thought the place was under attack."
Neal couldn't resist rolling his eyes. "Relax; your fortress is secure. Now, will you let me in? It's freezing out here."
Mozzie stepped back, giving Neal room to crawl in through the window. Once he was inside, Mozzie closed the window and locked it.
The apartment was cold, but it was better than outside. Neal rubbed his hands together.
Mozzie looked like he'd just woken up. He wore a robe over a pair of silk pajamas.
"You could have told me you were going to escape," Mozzie said. "A little heads up, maybe."
"I didn't have a chance. I only decided the other day." He tugged down on his shirt collar and grinned. "See? I told you I could get the collar off."
"You're a regular Houdini. At least tell me you weren't followed."
"I wasn't. I was careful. They'll never track me here."
Neal looked around the dark room. It'd been a while since he'd been to this safe house. Mozzie had redecorated. There was a nice leather couch against the wall, now, and a Persian rug underneath a Queen Ann coffee table. It didn't look much like an apartment over a pizza place.
"Can I get you something?" Mozzie asked. "Tea? Whiskey?"
"Some tea would be great. I'm freezing."
He followed Mozzie to the small kitchen, and stood in the doorway while Mozzie put a kettle on.
While they waited, Mozzie asked, "So, what's your plan? You do have one, right?"
Neal shrugged.
"Wait, you don't have a plan?"
"Of course I do. I'm just...still figuring it out the particulars." Seeing Mozzie's panicked look, he quickly elaborated. "I'm going to find Kate. Then I'll liquidate some assets and go abroad."
"Maybe a change of scenery would be nice. I could see myself settling down in Liechtenstein for a while."
"So you'll come with me?"
"Uh, hello? Did you think I wouldn't?"
"I don't expect you to uproot yourself for my sake."
"Please. We con men are citizens of the world. Home life is no more natural to us than a cage is to a cockatoo."
Neal smiled. "Quoting Shaw?"
"He was Irish...didn't Ireland abolish slavery six months ago?"
"Yeah, but most of the nearby countries still have slaves. I don't want to feel boxed in."
"Still an improvement over your recent circumstances." The kettle whistled, and Mozzie took it off the stove.
"We can work everything out tomorrow," Neal said.
"Yeah, but we'll want to move quickly. It really would've helped if you'd told me you were escaping ahead of time. I could have made our travel arrangements already."
"We're just going to have to improvise."
While Neal leaned against the wall with a steaming cup of green tea, Mozzie got out a spare pillow and blanket and set them on the sofa.
"I would offer you the bed," Mozzie said, "but you know I don't sleep as well when I don't have my hypoallergenic sheets."
"The couch is fine. Thanks."
The tea was steaming hot, but Neal tried to drink it anyway. The liquid was so hot that it didn't have any discernible flavor, and Neal felt like half his taste buds were burned away. But it warmed him up.
After Mozzie finished laying out the blanket on the couch, Neal took a seat. Mozzie retrieved his own cup of tea from the kitchen and sat across from him in an ornate armchair.
"Thanks for letting me crash here," Neal said. "I didn't have anywhere else to go. I know Kate let the lease run out on the apartment, so I guess she isn't there."
"She isn't. I've checked. And you know that's the first place the Suit will look for you."
He did. The temptation was strong to go to their old apartment and check, just in case. But he knew Kate wouldn't be there, and by morning, Peter would probably have a surveillance team scoping the place out, just waiting for him to show up.
"We'll need some money," Neal said. "Do you think you can help me sell something?"
He had some items stashed around the city. He couldn't take the time to collect everything before he left, but he could sell an item or two for some quick cash.
"I'll start looking for interested buyers in the morning. Maybe you could sell the Chagall."
"The Chagall? I like that one."
"You like most of the stuff you stole."
Mozzie was right. Anything Neal didn't have an attachment to, he'd sold long ago. The things he had stashed away were special to him. It was an empty sort of ownership—most of the time, he could only enjoy the idea of his stolen possessions. He couldn't put them in his home and view them whenever he wished.
But maybe that would change. If he got a nice house somewhere, and stayed under the radar, maybe he could have some of his things smuggled over.
"All right. I'll sell the Chagall."
Mozzie looked at his watch. "As thrilling as it is to have you here, we should both try to get some rest. We have a lot of work to do in the morning."
Neal looked at his own watch, and saw that it was after two. They finished their tea and said goodnight.
Once alone, Neal took off his shirt, belt, and shoes. He went to bed on the couch wearing his trousers and undershirt. He'd packed pajamas, but didn't feel comfortable changing into them. Even though he'd been careful, he still felt like he had to be prepared to run at a moment's notice.
He was tired, but he found he couldn't sleep easily. He was still keyed up from his escape. In the dim light, he looked around the room. The floorboards were scuffed and faded, and the paint on the walls was starting to chip. But the furnishing was warm and extravagant. Neal wondered how Mozzie got all this in here without anyone noticing.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He thought of the Burkes, who were probably still asleep in their bed, unaware that he was gone. Would they be surprised when they discovered his escape? Or had Peter always expected to find him gone someday?
Finally, he thought of Kate, and wondered where she was tonight. He wondered if she was thinking of him.
With that, he dozed off into an uneasy slumber.
The next morning, Neal stayed in the safe house at Mozzie's insistence. They discussed their plan over breakfast.
"What about Cape Verde?" Mozzie asked.
"I don't know, Moz. Don't you think an island would be restrictive?"
"You say restrictive, I say safe. Less chance of slave catchers coming in from other countries to kidnap you."
It was also more difficult to flee if there was danger, but Neal didn't bring that up.
"Besides," Mozzie said, "compared to what your life has been like, this new life of ours is going to be the epitome of independence."
Maybe he was right. Even so, Neal couldn’t shake the idea that if he wasn't careful, he'd end up trading one prison for another.
After breakfast, Mozzie went out to put their escape plan into motion. Neal stayed behind.
He was itching to go out, but there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. It was eight o'clock, and for all he knew there was already an APB out on him. He turned on the small TV in the living room and waited to see if his name came up on the news.
Mozzie returned after a few hours, carrying a paper bag and a cardboard tube.
"I got the Chagall out of storage, and I grabbed some necessary supplies while I was at it. If we had more time, and could sell more things from your stash...."
"Yeah, but we don't. The Chagall will be fine."
Neal and Mozzie shared a storage unit, but most of Neal's stash was hidden. Neither Mozzie nor Kate knew the actual location, or exactly what he had. Mozzie would be offended if he knew, but Neal's enslavement had only made him more confident that it was best to have some secrets. He felt more secure knowing that some of his assets were hidden, even from his friends.
Mozzie set the paper bag on the small dining room table, and Neal opened it. There was another one of his fake passports inside, and a burner phone.
"Great," Neal said. "Do you have a buyer for the Chagall yet?"
"Finding a buyer last minute will be a challenge. I think I've found a fence who might be interested, but I've never worked with the guy before."
"Any word on Kate?"
"Nada. Neal, we might have to leave before you get a chance to find her. It's not the end of the world—you can contact her from Cape Verde, and she can come to us."
"I'm going to find her, Moz. If I have to, I'll go to the airport on Monday."
"Are you kidding? The Suit knows that's where you'll go. The place will be crawling with feds!"
"Then I'll have to try to find her before then." Something else occurred to him. "So, it's decided? About Cape Verde?"
"It's our best option."
"I just want to make the best choice."
"You don't have the luxury of second-guessing yourself right now. We have to move."
Mozzie was right, of course. Neal just hoped this was the right move.
He'd expected to feel freer than he did. But the stakes were higher than the last time he ran. He wasn't facing a few years of slavery if he got caught. Almost all fugitive slaves were given life sentences upon apprehension. During training, the guards tried to scare them into submission by talking about how much worse the lifers' training was. Neal didn't put a lot of stock in it. It was just a scare tactic. But he couldn't imagine never being free again. And lifers had far fewer rights.
If it hadn't been for Kate, Neal wouldn't have taken the risk so easily. But if he let Kate go, knowing she might disappear forever, he could never live with himself.
He got up and grabbed his coat.
"What are you doing?" Moz asked.
"I'm going out. To look for Kate."
Before leaving, he grabbed the burner phone and the rest of the cash he'd taken from the Burkes.
The problem was he had no idea where Kate was. It would have helped if he'd gotten another look at Peter's file before escaping. He had no doubt that Peter knew exactly where Kate was right now.
There were a few places he could try. She knew an artist who spent a lot of time abroad. Kate sometimes watered the guy's plants for him, and had a key to his place. Her best friend lived in a loft in SoHo. Her mother lived in Queens.
He hoped that this time, she would be staying somewhere obvious like that. It wasn't like before, when she'd been avoiding him.
But by the end of the afternoon, all Neal had accomplished was burning through most of his cash on cab rides. There was no sign of Kate.
Neal was discouraged when he returned to the safe house. He hadn't considered what would happen if he couldn't find her. There was always the airport, but Mozzie was right—it was risky.
Mozzie had given Neal a spare key that morning. Neal used it to let himself in through the back door of the restaurant, and headed upstairs.
When he opened the apartment door, Mozzie called out, "Who's there? I've got a gun and I'm not afraid to use it!"
"Chill, Moz. It's just me. And I know you don't have a gun."
"This is your last warning!"
"Moz?"
Neal looked up, and, for the first time, noticed the wire attached to the door. It was stretched across the ceiling and led into the bedroom, which was partitioned off with a curtain. Neal slipped a hand between the curtains and peeked into the bedroom. There was a tape player sitting on the nightstand, and the wire seemed to be attached to some sort of mechanism that had hit the play button. There was no sign of Mozzie.
Mozzie hadn't mentioned an intruder alarm.
At least there didn't appear to be any booby traps. Neal went into the bedroom and over to the tape player.
"I mean it," Mozzie's voice cried out on the tape, "I'm armed and—"
Neal hit the stop button.
While he waited for Mozzie to return, Neal went to the kitchen to find something he could make for dinner. It was the least he could do to repay Mozzie's hospitality. He thought he deserved Mozzie's help, but even so, Mozzie had been a much more gracious and tolerant host than he could have been. And he had probably changed his treasured routine to accommodate Neal. Ordinarily, he probably would have been staying at one of his other safe houses tonight.
While Neal made spaghetti, he turned on the TV to listen to the news. There was still no mention of his escape, and that made him uneasy. He wasn't some small-time drug dealer or car thief who snuck away from his master. He was a major fugitive. The FBI had hunted him for years, and now he was on the run again. Why wasn't the news covering the story? Why wasn't the FBI enlisting the public's help?
It was unexpected, and Neal didn't like it. And maybe, in a small way, he felt slighted. Did no one see his escape as a big deal?
Mozzie returned while Neal was working on the spaghetti sauce, and soon they were sitting at Mozzie's small table, eating.
"Something's not right," Neal said. "My escape hasn't made the news yet."
Mozzie stabbed at his spaghetti and wound some noodles onto his fork. "Now isn't the time for vanity," he said. "No publicity is good publicity."
"No publicity means the FBI is pulling their punches. Before, they had my police sketch in the paper almost immediately."
"So take advantage of this. Now isn't the time to worry about vague possibilities. You can worry when we're in our island paradise. And by then, you won't need to worry."
Mozzie had a point. But Neal told himself he was just being cautious. He'd learned the importance of that the hard way. If he'd been more cautious, he wouldn't have been arrested in the first place.
"Your heart is in this, right?" Mozzie asked.
The question surprised Neal. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be? Don't worry, Moz—I'm not gonna blow this."
Neal spent another restless night on Mozzie's couch. He'd barely gotten to sleep when he woke again to the sound of Mozzie passing through the living room on his way to the kitchen. Neal cracked open his tired eyes and saw that the living room was bathed in the pale blue light of dawn.
Neal knew there was no hope of getting more sleep. He could rest when this was all over.
As the morning went on, they strategized more.
"It looks like our buyer for the Chagall is ready to move forward," Mozzie said. "I just got a text."
"Oh yeah? Who is this guy?"
"Name is Frank Valentine."
"I never heard of him."
"I've never met him in person. But he's interested in buying the Chagall later this morning. And I'm making arrangements with a private plane. If we get the money, we can be out of here by tomorrow morning."
"No, that might be too soon. I still have to find Kate."
"There may not be time for that."
"Moz, it's the only reason I ran."
"Then you need to focus on some new reasons," Mozzie snapped. "Has it occurred to you that maybe she doesn't want a nice reunion?"
Neal narrowed his eyes. "So now you're saying she's leaving the country to get away from me. Is that what you think, Moz?"
"Hey, don't blame me for the way things are. Maybe the fact that she didn't meet with you in the park should have been a clue."
Neal walked over to the window and looked out over the fire escape. He thought about stepping out to get some air.
"The only reason she couldn't see me is because of Peter. And now he's stalking her, so of course she's leaving."
There was a long, painful silence between them. Neal stepped closer to the window and felt the cold emanating from the glass.
Finally, Mozzie said, "I never thought I would defend a suit, but in this case, you're wrong."
"What are you talking about?"
"Considering how unfocused you are right now, and how close we are to the sweet taste of freedom, I hesitate to even tell you."
Neal turned around and glared at Mozzie. "What is it?"
"The Suit met with Kate."
Neal frowned. "Why?"
"To ask her to meet with you."
"But that's impossible. We haven't seen each other. Peter never said anything." It didn't make any sense.
"She told him no."
Neal sank into a chair at the kitchen table. He ran a hand through his hair as the information sank in.
"How do you know about this?"
"She told me about it when she dropped off the key to the storage unit."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"What could you have done?"
Neal shook his head. He couldn't believe Mozzie would keep something like this from him. He couldn't believe Peter had lied. Why? If he'd told Neal the truth in the car on Friday...if he was honest, he still wouldn't have accepted it.
"This doesn't change anything," Mozzie said.
Neal jumped to his feet. "It changes everything, Moz!" He started to pace. "I ran away for her."
"So? Either way, you're free now. Forget Kate. Start fresh."
Neal stopped pacing and turned to face Mozzie. "Do you have any idea what I'm risking, here? If I get caught, they'll give me life. I can't do that. Not to mention, I'd end up with a new owner."
"A new master is the least of your concerns. I know I just defended the Suit, but he isn't that nice."
Neal sat down again, this time on the nearby sofa. Mozzie joined him, taking a seat in a wingchair.
"I don’t' know," Neal said, "I used to want Peter to sell me. But I've been thinking a lot lately, and it hasn't been as bad as it could be. I can't stop thinking about Adler, about how much his slaves hated him...."
"Being a bad slave owner was just one of Adler's flaws."
"But that's just it, Moz. It's just not that he didn't care about them. I think some of what he did was normal." He swallowed. "I don't want to belong to someone who lets his friends and colleagues have sex with me."
"It doesn't matter—in twenty-four hours, we'll be out of U.S. jurisdiction. There won't be any new owners. And it's not like we have other options. You can't undo an escape."
"Yeah," Neal said, his voice demure. "I guess you're right."
"Of course I am. But first, we need money. You think you can handle the Chagall transaction? I need to make some arrangements for our trip."
"Fine. Set it up."
Neal hadn't ventured outside since he left to look for Kate. The fresh air and bustle of the city were welcome, but he kept an eye out for anyone who might be following him. He didn't worry much, though. He assumed that if the FBI was on his trail, they wouldn't hesitate to arrest him. After all, he was an escaped slave. There was no need to catch him in the act of committing a crime.
The exchange was planned for ten o'clock at Valentine's loft. Neal wondered if that was why Mozzie suggested that he do the sale; Mozzie always preferred public meeting places. They didn't have time to arrange a meet to Mozzie's usual specifications.
Valentine lived in an old industrial building that had been converted into apartments. Having not dealt with him directly, Neal wasn't sure what to expect. The man who answered the door was about Neal's age and had jet black hair. He looked familiar, and Neal tried to place him.
His eyes lingered on Neal as he let him in.
"When I talked to your friend," Valentine said, "I got the impression you're in a rush. I have the cash in the other room. You got the painting?"
Neal held up the cardboard tube he'd brought. "Right here."
Valentine led Neal to the dining room table, which was large enough to lay out the painting. While Neal carefully removed it from the tube, Valentine excused himself.
There was another canvas rolled up at the far end of the table. Neal gently unrolled a few inches to take a peek. What he saw was both exquisite and shockingly familiar.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Neal looked over his shoulder. Valentine had returned, carrying a magnifying glass and an eye loupe.
"Dali, right? If I'm not mistaken, this was taken from the Met in December."
Valentine smiled and shrugged. Now Neal knew why he was familiar. He'd been in the surveillance camera photos Sara brought in.
"It was an impressive job," Neal said.
"Yeah, well, I'd hoped to sell it quickly, but I haven't been able to get it out of the country. The feds are watching too closely."
Neal clicked his tongue sympathetically. "They always are."
"That's why your Chagall is so appealing. This piece isn't on the radar right now." He started to bend over the Chagall, but paused and looked up at Neal. "You're Neal Caffrey, aren't you?"
Neal smiled. "You're familiar with my alleged work?"
"Yeah. I heard about the Falconer manuscripts. But last I heard, you were serving time. Don't see a collar around your neck."
"Wouldn't be here if I had a collar weighing me down. My life has taken a positive turn recently."
Valentine nodded thoughtfully and turned his attention back to the Chagall. He examined it for a few minutes before setting his tools down and standing straight.
"Looks like the real thing," he said. "I'll get you your cash."
"I knew you'd be satisfied."
"Yeah. Hey, before you go, why don't we have a drink? I got a new bottle of Pinot noir, and I always like to toast to a successful deal. What do you say?"
Neal hesitated. He was anxious to get the money back to Mozzie. But Valentine had already gone into the kitchen without waiting for a response. He got two wineglasses out of a cupboard.
"Sure," Neal said. "Why not?"
A couple minutes later, Valentine returned with two glasses of wine. He handed one to Neal.
Neal walked over to one of the large domed windows and looked out. He took a sip of his wine and enjoyed the slight warmth in his throat as it went down. Wine had been a rarity for him when he was with the Burkes. Outside, the skies had turned gray and it looked like it might rain.
"I'll get the money," Valentine said. He set his glass on the table and went back into the other room.
Neal drank some more of his wine and continued to enjoy the view. After a few minutes, he began to wonder where Valentine was. He looked at his watch—the one Peter had given him—and figured it had been at least five minutes.
Hadn't he said the money was ready?
After a few more minutes, Neal decided to investigate. But when he turned around, a wave of dizziness hit him. He set his glass down on the table next to Valentine's, and placed his palm on the wooden tabletop to steady himself. He tried to let go, but the room was spinning and he thought he might be sick.
Valentine returned. His hands were empty.
"You all right?" he asked.
Neal nodded. "Yeah, fine. Listen, I'm not feeling great, so if I could get that money...."
Neal tried to take some steps, but Valentine rushed to his side and put an arm around his back.
"Whoa, careful. You look like you're about to fall over. Here, sit down for a minute."
Neal tried to pull away, but Valentine steered him over to the sofa. Neal collapsed onto it as soon as Valentine let go of him.
He looked back at the table, at the wineglass he'd drunk from.
"What—what did you—?"
"Shh. Just relax."
Neal's eyes grew heavy, and his limbs felt like lead. His upper body fell down on the sofa, and he closed his eyes.
Chapter 23
