White Collar - as an unofficial novel - part 6

Art Heist

Neal enjoyed the morning hours as he walked to the office. He passed a newspaper stand. Then realizing what he had seen on the front page. He pulled out a wad of bills from his pocket, pulled out a dollar, and pocketed the rest. Then returned to the vendor.

"How you doing today, sir?" he asked.

"Very well, thanks." Neal handed him the money as he grabbed the paper. "Thank you."

'Lewis Thayer painting stolen' said the headline. Someone had stolen a painting in the middle of the day from the Lamson Gallery. Neal smiled. Bold was fun.

"I hope you're not admiring your own work," he heard Peter's voice behind him, the coffee of the morning in his hand.

"I wish I was," Neal admitted. "But I got a pretty good alibi. I was working with you yesterday." This one no one could not blame on him.

"I'll be sure to back you up when we talk to the Lamson Gallery," Peter nodded. "The curator is waiting for us upstairs."

"I love a good art heist."

"Solving a good art heist," Peter corrected him. Neal blinked.

"That's what I said." The difference between figure out how it was done versus how to do it was not that big.

They started walking towards the office.

"Let me see that," Peter asked and took the paper from his hand. "Lewis Thayer's 'untitled #2.' It's worth four million," Peter read. "You'd think for that kind of money he'd have bothered to come up with a title."

As if 'face in blue #2' would have pleased someone as uninterested in art as his friend.

"It is one of his seminal pieces," Neal said.

"Is it a fad or talent that drives up the price?"

"Both. Neither. Don't try to understand the peculiarities of the pop-art market."

"Would you pay four million for that?"

Neal sent his handler a glance.

"'Pay'?"

Peter sighed.

"Yeah. You're the wrong guy to ask."

Peter drank the rest of his coffee and dropped the paper cup in a trashcan on his way through the office. Had it not been for Neal he would enjoy this art heist. Somehow he was always afraid that the kid would be too tempted when it came to art, that he would do something stupid. And that worry had proven justified before.

He walked into the conference room followed by Neal.

"Miss Jeffries," he greeted the woman waiting inside, shaking her hand. "I'm special Agent Burke. This is Neal Caffrey."

"How you doing?" his consultant said and shook her hand.

Peter quickly stirred away from any questions concerning Neal.

"Tell us what happened."

She handed him a bunch of photos of an empty frame.

"Well, as you can see, the 'untitled #2' was simply cut out of its frame."

"How does someone pull a down-and-dirty slash and grab from a major gallery?" he asked the curator. Did they not have security preventing these things? Or did they want the insurance money?

"It's one of the few options left," the kid answered, "if you want to knock over a high-security—"

"I was talking to her."