White Collar - as an unofficial novel - part 5

Lights Out

Neal loved working with clay. It was a material that shaped to his will, just as paint, but in three dimensions. He studied the photos of the original statue that he now did his best to make a copy of: Fancelli's statue of Vulcano. The original had its known position in the gardens of Palaco Pitti, where the Grand Duke of Tuscany lived.

He could never claim it to be the original, made in stone no less, but most artist working in stone make one statue in clay first. This to test the concept, see if it worked, before doing it in the unforgiving and costly material as marble. These clay versions were usually destroyed. Those which survived were attractive on the market.

He had of course picked that particular statue because it served his purpose. As he worked with the figure he became to admire Fancelli. Vulcano was standing on one knee with a sledge hammer resting in one hand, hanging as if it weighted nothing. The pose was material-efficient, and, gee, Fancelli knew who to do muscles.

When he was working on Vulcano's fingers Alex entered.

She stopped in the doorway and stared with a sly smile. At first Neal thought it was the statue, but then he remembered that he worked just in a pair of pants.

"Your day went well?" he asked.

Alex grinned and closed the door behind her.

"You'd be amazed the kinds of places a duke gets you access to."

"Thought you were just using him for a plus-one."

"No harm in having fun while I'm at it."

They shared a smile. She approached.

"Wow, your gift to the Italians?"

"It's Fancelli's study, Statua di Vulcano."

She watched the photos and his work.

"This is beautiful," she said with an awe that pleased him more than he let her know. "Looks like the real thing."

"Don't let it fool you," he grinned.

"I won't." She watched him. "There's something we've been avoiding. It's time to talk about it."

He put his tools away.

"All right. Look, I know you and I have a complicated relationship—"

"I mean this," she indicated his anklet with her foot. "If you can't get it off, then none of this will matter. Everything we're doing—"

"It'll happen," he assured her. "Get you a glass of wine?"

"Okay."

He washed his hands and put on a T-shirt.

"Maybe I have my glass of wine with your guy here instead," Alex complained.

"This is business, remember?"

He pulled out a bottle from the rack. An Italian wine, naturally. He poured in two glasses and handed one to her. They sat down on the sofa together.

"So how are you going to get your anklet off?"

"Trust me."

"I want to know."

"Alright, I have a contact, Garrett Fowler, who will deactivate it."

"Fowler?" Alex gave him a skeptical look. "I think I've heard his name before. He sat you up, right?"

"Right."

"And you trust that he'll deactivate it? Why?"

"For the same reason he set me up."

"Money," Alex said with a smile, making her own conclusions.