White Collar - as an unofficial novel - part 3

Free fall

When he was back in his cell Neal got his back with paper strips. He asked for a notepad and a glue stick and got it. He sat down by the minimal desk and looked at the pile of unsorted strips, all looking the same. It felt hopeless before he even started. But his chance to stay out of prison was in those strips. And it was not like he had anything else to do until the trial.

He was only allowed to leave the cell for an hour every day. It was not like solitary, he still had an ordinary cell with a full view out to the corridor through bars. But the warden was not sure if it was safe for Neal to be out among the others since he had aided the FBI and a few of those he had caught was in there. Neal figured it would fall back on the warden if he appeared in court with bruises. So for the time being Neal was confined to his cell.

He grabbed two strips. They did not match. He changed one and continued until he found a match. Soon he could pick out those to the left of the paper because of OPR's logo in the top corner. The headline was also the same on every sheet.

As he matched strips he glued them onto the papers in the pad.

And the more he glued, the more intrigued he got. As well as worried. This was more than someone setting him up to not get the blame. But he did not quite get what and why. Yet. But Peter Burke was involved. As a target.

Two days after Mozzie's and Peter's visits it was time to go to trial. He had talked to Mozzie on the phone and the friend had turned out to be an excellent lawyer. Now he met up in the visitor's room again with the suit Neal had asked for. He changed his orange jumpsuit to something more comfortable and in better colors.

"Bakery?" he asked Mozzie and he adjusted his tie and watched himself in the little mirror Moz held.

"Done."

"Construction?"

"Finished."

"How's air conditioning in the judge's office?"

"Hm, broke down this morning," Mozzie said and did not reveal with a muscle that he knew exactly why.

Neal grinned.

"All right. Let's go to court."

He told the visitor's guard that he was ready and two marshals appeared with a set of chains for the transportation. He saw Mozzie shiver and sweat at the sight of them.

"Take it easy, Moz. They're not for you."

"I am aware of that. But they still represent a symbol of humiliation and oppression, even without someone actually wearing them."

Neal held out his arms and let the marshals to a pat-down on him. It was of no use to say that they already searched every inch of the suit when Mozzie brought it in.

"Can you take the chain inside of the jacket, please?" he said in his most honest voice. "I don't want to wrinkle the suit."

To the marshals' credit, they listened. They did not pull the cuffs tighter than necessary either. They even checked with him that nothing was too tight. He swallowed his jokes and smiled friendly and thanked them for asking. Humble and docile he had learned was a functional approach to guards as well as marshals.

They took him to the waiting van in the sally port. Mozzie, as his lawyer, joined them on the ride into New York City.

"Remember that we're not going to the courthouse but to Judge Hickman's office," Mozzie said.

"I know, sir," the driver replied.

"Good. I keep an eye on you, you know."

The driver gave him a look in the mirror.