White Collar - as an unofficial novel - part 5

Ransom

At least Agent Rice did not mind Neal spending money on clothes. He had used the opportunity to buy some shirts from Pink, the English brand. He simply loved them but was way out of his official budget based on his income from the FBI. But he did not mind sending Rice a bill for a suit and three shirts when he had the chance. He had even added a tie and a pair of cuff-links to make the set complete. He had explained to her about his not entirely true wardrobe situation and that he needed something appropriate for going clubbing, told her he just owned a few second-hand unfashionable clothes.

Neal adjusted his tie under the supervision of Mozzie.

"You're letting the pantsuit use you as bait to catch Wilkes?" he asked from his position on the sofa. "Doesn't that strike you as insane?"

"I'm going to a club," Neal reminded him. "The feds will be right outside."

"This is the same Wilkes that wants you dismembered, right?"

"Dismembered is slightly overstating it. You're being paranoid."

Neal picked up his jacket. He liked his rat-pack suits, but he simply adored the lovely light-gray material in this new suit from Pink.

"Paranoia is a skill, the secret to longevity," Mozzie assured him. "Did you not join Wilkes' crew, gather intel from his targets, and then totally screw him over?"

True. Wilkes had valid reasons to dislike him.

"They were planning to hurt people with guns. I don't like guns." He had done the right thing. "For all we know, Wilkes is on his way to Tahiti right now."

"For all we know, he's sharpening his talons to tear into your spleen."

Mozzie despised violence. That was one of the things he loved about his friend. But it also made him believe that everyone capable of violence wanted to use it in exuberance.

"Thanks for your concern, Moz," he replied, not without annoyance. "But this little field trip is my best chance to get the anklet removed. Alex won't talk about the music box while it's on."

"Oh, you professional thieves, so high-maintenance," Mozzie rolled his eyes. "I'm washing my hands of this."

Neal's phone pinged. Again. He checked the message.

"Rice is here. Duty calls."

"I get the apartment," Mozzie said as he passed through the door. Well, the wine storage would not refill itself he would soon realize.

Neal got inside Rice's car and they flew across Manhattan. Then they parked near where the underground club was and waited.

"You know, you kept me waiting outside that rich lady's house for half an hour," she said, breaking the silence. It was true. And he had not been ready to leave when she first texted.

"You can't rush style, Agent Rice."

"Took me less time to get ready for my wedding," she snorted. Neal glanced at her and she saw it. She raised her left hand showing the lack of a wedding band on her finger. "It didn't take."

"I'm not surprised," Neal said and saw at once that he should have kept his mouth shut. "Statistically speaking," he added.

"Okay, it's time for you to go fishing, Caffrey."

Neal was not eager to leave the car. She had not brought up the anklet, so he had to.

"This is a hush-hush kind of place," he told her. "There's a good chance they'll be patting me down. Be a shame if my tracking anklet blew your case."