He considered her question a moment, and then said with a laugh, "I think I could read a thousand books about that man by that man and he'd still be a mystery to me." Of course, Mozzie was the good kind of mystery, with mostly decent intentions and more class than most. Neal figured Veronica, who dealt with the intensely unethical much more frequently, could appreciate that part of their friend. "Good thing we got dinner in now." It was likely they wouldn't hear anything from Mozzie in the meantime, not even a text on his progress based on his quick and mysterious departure. Which was strange enough, because Neal was pretty certain that he'd been staying in June's guest room.
Neal was close behind Veronica and following suit, tidying as if to hide the evidence of their long night. What they were doing wouldn't exactly be considered illegal, but it probably wasn't fully legal, either, and ever since Peter had gotten the hang of popping by unannounced, it had become a habit of Neal's to try not to leave anything sitting out that might incriminate him. When he'd finished, he rolled down his sleeves after the long night, smoothing at the wrinkles.
"Can I call you a cab?" There was no way he'd let her take the subway home alone at this hour, and he certainly wasn't riding with her home and back even if he absolutely adored her. He gestured to the couch. "Or the pullout's yours if you want it. I don't snore," he announced, as if proud of this fact because it made him that much better of a host. "Either way, we should probably take a couple minutes to talk about how tomorrow's going to go."
Veronica would take the cab - if she was going to have to endure Piz’s scrutiny for spending the night with this charming, handsome man, she’d at least want to be guilty of something worthwhile.
That settled, she said, “We’ll have to play it by ear once we get in there. At first, we should act like the professional academics we are. Then, once we feel out the dynamics, we can decide what our relationship should look like. What do you think?”
"If that's how you want to play it," he responded, which was a good enough answer all around. The cab wasn't a problem — he had an app for that — but otherwise, Neal figured no one would believe Veronica would be stupid enough to fall for a guy like him, anyway, so either option worked for him.
He leaned on his table and crossed his arms, waiting for the message to come through on his phone when the cab arrived. "We've got a pretty lengthy history, at least." Neal said, flipping open his FBI packet. And then, excitedly, he added, "Oh! I'll wear my 'smart guy' glasses." One of his favorite additions to the facade.
She didn’t think Neal would have any trouble passing for anyone he wanted to be, “smart guy” glasses or none, but he did have a point. Costuming was a vital (and fun) part of undercover work. For her part, Veronica was envisioning the few tweed items in her wardrobe. Of course, as an undergraduate, she could really wear most anything, but she guessed Miss Nicole Bradley, research assistant extraordinaire, would want to look professional for her first day.
Once the taxi arrived, she and Neal walked down together. “Thanks again for dinner. See you bright and early tomorrow, Professor.” She gave him a hug and departed, buzzing all the way home on the high of discovery. Part of her regretted leaving. She’d certainly have stayed the night going over the evidence until they found more answers or passed out, but they did have work in the morning, and Veronica knew she’d need to be fresh. So she went back to her apartment, kissed her sleeping boyfriend on the forehead, and climbed into bed.
Veronica, Neal, and Diana had agreed to meet a coffee-and-donut truck near Dalton’s administrative offices to check in. Diana was already in line when Veronica turned up.
“Good morning, Miss Bradley,” Diana said, appraising the lawyer. “You don’t look a day over 21.”
Veronica fluffed her curled hair and straightened the satchel she was carrying her books in. “I appreciate it. I feel like I’m about twice that today.” She’d woken up to a wine headache and her period arriving early, and it seemed no amount of makeup was helping her undereye bags and general puffiness, so Diana’s compliment helped almost as much as the coffee they soon obtained. She took a sip, not caring if she burned her tongue. When Neal turned up, she handed him a cup and a bag containing fluffy, glazed goodness.
“You ready for your first day molding young minds?”
"I am but the facilitator," Neal said, nodding his thanks as he received the breakfast offerings through a complicated maneuver that needed to account for his shoulder bag. "With the proper tools, these young minds will mold themselves." It sounded an awful lot like a Mozzie quote, but it was, in fact, just something Caffrey tossed together at the last second in an effort to not sound like he'd been up well into the night "partying" with his crime pals. He stuffed the donut into his bag, sipped his coffee, realized he was trying to drink from the wrong side of the cup, and then righted it before shamelessly diving in.
Diana smirked. "I can tell you didn't do the required reading." His addition of glasses only reinforced her opinion that Caffrey didn't understand the meaning of humility; she's seen his hot-for-teacher look before and this wasn't far off. Beyond that, her amusement lingered because it hadn't slipped anyone's notice that Neal and Veronica had managed some kind of "outside rapport," as Peter had called it. The inclusion of Mozzie was a given, which suggested to Barrigan everything she needed to know about her two companions. "Look fresh, okay? We've got no one listening in this time," she told Neal while swatting at his arm with her bag of food. And then she nodded to Mars and offered her a warm smile. "See you in there." And off she went.
"Everyone's a critic," Neal sighed, tipping his head down to look at Veronica over his glasses. He'd left his hair roguishly unruly, but he'd dressed a bit different than usual, with a suit that read much more Professor Jones than Indiana, buttoned up and structured, subdued in a way that's not natural for a guy like Caffrey. He was born to peacock around, but like this, he feels like a pheasant scratching around in the underbrush. It wouldn't stop him from making an impression, of course, but at least it helped dull a bit of his luster. "Let's go be humble."
Orientation doesn't last long, and there isn't even much of a need for either of them to talk outside the introductions offered in a round. They tour the school — a very posh facility — and eventually end up being shown to the room where they'll be teaching the class.
Left along for an hour to familiarize themselves with the available technology and ready anything they might need for class, Neal quickly and efficiently begins checking all the common areas for bugs, making it pretty obvious to Veronica. There was no reason to believe anyone would be listening in, but it was already a habit, so he didn't stop himself.
"This should do fine, don't you think, Ms. Bradley?" He hadn't given the all-clear, so for the moment they're keeping up appearances.
“If it’s good enough for you, Professor, it’s fine for me. I’m just here to learn, after all.” In truth, Veronica was a little let down by the day so far. For some reason, she expected the meet whoever was behind the forgery and/or faking his teaching credentials and know him instantly. Things never worked that way, of course, but it didn’t stop her from feeling disappointed. The school itself was impressive, and the few classes she’d seen in session appeared somber and well-attended. Her experience of high school had been a lot wilder, so it almost made her sad for these students that they didn’t seem allowed to express themselves like teenagers were wont to do. Perhaps while they were undercover, Neal could give his class, at least, a little breathing room.
She hopped up on a desk, peeking at the closed door to make sure no one was loitering. “So we don’t have our first class until tomorrow. Maybe you should do a little recon in the teacher’s lounge during lunch? I can go for a walk around the campus and kind of get a feel for the gossip. What do kids call even call it now? Tea?” She probably needed to review her (FBI-faked) Instagram feed before she interacted with actual students or she’d be outed as a thirty-year-old pretty quickly. At least she could pretend that years being a Serious Student had interfered with her ability to keep up on slang.
Veronica’s solo tour hadn’t netted anything more worthwhile than a nice walk around a beautiful campus. If there was an imposter on staff, either the students didn’t know or didn’t care. She supposed that meant she was mostly off the hook for fitting in with the kids and could focus on providing backup or cover for Neal. She met him outside one of the classroom buildings, intending to report back to Diana before calling it a day.
“Professor,” she said, falling into step with him. “How was lunch?”
Neal fell into line with Veronica, his hands pressing into the pockets of his trousers. He didn't think it looked at all suspicious for the two of them to be hanging out together, thankfully, so he didn't concern himself with the idea that someone would question it. He hadn't seen Diana since the morning, but had a similar plan to Veronica, once they'd finished here.
"It was..." Caffrey tried to think of the right word. What was the opposite of enlightening? He huffed. "Depressing." He didn't need to be a professor in humility, as suggested, to know the sad stench that followed people who thought too highly of themselves. Between the bragging, the posturing, and the whining, Neal yearned to return to the White Collar offices for a regular dose of mundane professionalism. More than anything else about this operation, Neal found himself frustrated with the decorum of these teachers. School was a terrible place already, and how fortunate the students seemed to have had a different experience in the classrooms.
"There are a few persons of interest," he said, lingering in a well-worn area. Despite the prestige of the school, there were still cigarette butts strewn around, the telltale signs of students (or teachers) trying to hide their vice on a patently non-smoking campus. Neal made a note to pick up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the way home, thinking it might be beneficial to see who already had secrets to keep. "For what it's worth, I'm fairly sure we're looking for two people. And I'm not ruling out that they work closely. What about you? How did you do with the kids?"
“Not depressing, but I got nothing. These kids are all politically active and stuff - they don’t even talk about who’s taking whom to the dance or whatever.” Frustration was evident in her voice, but her tone shifted as a thought struck her. Hearst’s library had always been an excellent place for a meeting since no one ever studied there.
“At least, they don’t do it where they can be overheard.” She made a mental note to cruise the library on her way out before switching gears.
“So what are we going to do about your malaise?” She really didn’t have any hobbies except eating and going on stakeouts, and it wasn’t time yet for a stakeout. “I can put something spendy on the corporate account if you want.”
Immediately, Neal's eyes lit up. He almost screamed oh, shopping! in the way his posture and mood changed at the idea. Of course, expensing something on the corporate account sounds like a fine idea, in theory, but it wasn't as interesting as the alternative; As far as he was concerned, there was a deal out there with their name on it. Or, better yet, something for nothing, which was Caffrey's favorite option.
But then he remembered the op and decided it was safer if they kept a lower profile. It wouldn't do to have someone spot Professor Grant Reynolds peacocking around a storefront with his research assistant.
"I think I've got a better idea," Neal said. Veronica would just have to trust him.
One cab ride later, and Neal felt pretty safe being himself again. In a converted house, a small cafe was nestled near the front. There was a view of a gift shop, and beyond that, a quaint little museum. And not just any museum, of course, but a spy museum. The hokey brochures within reach of the table touted all manner of devices and props, most of which could be easily associated with the industry, but there were more than a few objects of splendor Caffrey thought they both wouldn't mind putting their eyes on. Beyond that, it gave him an excuse to get a little unmonitored time with Veronica.
Neal sipped his espresso happily. It was impeccable, of course; nothing but the finest. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you'd make a living if you took up a life of crime." It was a compliment. But, of course, with her dad and her history, some part of it already feels like it makes sense. "So, why not the FBI? Your dabbling makes half the agents they have look like probies."
"I tried it." She'd been an intern for three rigorous months. Her dad's theory was that it had just been the wrong time in her life. Fresh off watching Cassidy Casablancas walk off the roof of a hotel, she'd been eager to throw herself into work. But work had been filing, research - there'd been nothing to put her hands on. So she returned home, matriculated into Hearst, and the rest is history.
"I guess all the rules kind of got to me."
So she'd turned to the one profession where she was expected to bend them - the one, at least, that (probably) wouldn't land her in jail. But she was flattered to think Neal though highly enough of her to refer her into his own line of work. She did enjoy crime for crime's sake, and she told him as much. "Plus, breaking and entering is pretty thrilling. I didn't know that would have been an option had I joined up."
But her story was well-known. What wasn't a matter of official record wasn't really important to anyone but Veronica anyway. Neal was the mystery, and probably for good reason, but you couldn't take the I out of the PI. So she asked.
"What about you?" she asked, tipping her demitasse to him. "Was this what you wanted to be when you grew up?" She really couldn't tell. Lots of the people she knew who'd turned to crime at a young age had been railroaded into it. They usually never made it to the heights Neal had allegedly reached, though, so that indicated to her that his life must have been a choice at least in part.
He nearly snorted indelicately into his tiny little cup, but somehow managed to avoid it. Did he want to be entered into indentured servitude for the United States government? Not quite. But he knew that wasn't what she was asking, even if it gave him a chuckle to think about it.
"No, none of it," he said, gesturing in an offhand manner. "I honestly don't think I knew what I wanted to be, only that I wanted to be the best at it." The something-for-nothing game certainly had a habit of escalating as the player did, and for Neal, who took to nearly anything with ease, it wasn't a long or difficult road to the top. People envied him for it, and even still he didn't regret it. In fact, more than once he'd been given quite the look by Burke for expressing a little too much pride in his alleged work.
He thought for a moment longer, settling the cup and adjusting the placement of the spoon on his napkin. "You're right about the rules. Then again, I wouldn't ever accuse the FBI of following the rules." Neal wasn't trying to poison the well, but he had seen plenty of times where the letter of the law had been misinterpreted, misused, rewritten, or outright ignored. Neal only differed, he felt, in the number of forms he filled out, in comparison. Even Peter wasn't flawless in that regard, although if he had to worry about calling all of them crooks, he'd hesitate to find his colleagues in that category.
"If I was a Fed, though, I'd want to be one like Peter. He's the best they've got," he announced, somewhat proudly, then leaned in to lower his voice, adding with a smile, "But if you tell anyone I said so, I'm going to pretend like this conversation never happened." The idea that such a thing might never get back to Burke made Caffrey all that more pleased to have this time without anyone looking over his shoulder. Unfortunately, Peter knows the only reason it's not a risk is because Neal would never put Veronica in a situation where she might become an accomplice to something serious. He's a little wrong in that regard, but a little right, too, in that Neal would never allow her to be implicated without knowing it was possible ahead of time.
"My lips are sealed," Veronica promised, likewise condensing her dishes into a tidy pile. She tucked a tip under her saucer for the girl working the cafe and stood, leading Neal to the museum beyond.
It was nicer than advertised. Housing a well-curated collection spread throughout gorgeous rooms, the place had a homey, inviting feel, despite the somewhat disreputable subject matter. It was a little dusty, speaking to the fact it wasn't as well attended as the city's other museums, but Veronica and Neal encountered several patrons in the first few rooms alone, so it was hardly forgotten. A hidden gem, which as Veronica was noticing, was pretty much Neal's favorite kind.
She paused to admire a wooden periscope from the 1800s, shifting their easy, trivial conversation about the museum's offering back to her... well, let's not call it an inquisition. "What's next, then? Will you stay working for Peter?" If she were in his position, she wouldn't keep giving over secrets without charging an exorbitant fee, so she'd go to private sector consulting. But she did like her revenge.
Leafing through the brochure, Neal found one of the items in the case — a more prized piece, of course — and slid his finger in to read more about it later. It bought him a little time to grapple with something that he'd already spent a good amount of time concerned over already.
"Birthday cards are a bit more difficult to send when you're in the wind," he added. He didn't mean it to sound meaningful, and purposefully worded it hypothetically, but Neal wouldn't deny to himself that more than half of his contingency plans prepped for a life on the run.
To relieve her the burden of this idea, he smiled his million dollar smile, smug in the knowledge that such things couldn't be held against him. "I haven't decided." It wasn't a lie. He had options — as many as he'd created for himself — but having walked a fine line between feeling useful and feeling used, it was hard for Caffrey not to want to lean towards what always came easier to him. "I want to be able to travel," he added, somewhat abruptly. It had been too long since he'd had his freedom and every day he thought he might go to sleep and wake to find his wanderlust gone, his desperation had doubled as if to remind him he'd never be able to have everything he wanted. "Maybe consulting," Neal said, inadvertently echoing Veronica's thought. "Or sales, if I really want to live the life of a criminal."
“At least you’ll be free.” Freeish, at least. Tied down to a job and all the trappings of adulthood could sometimes seem like a sentence, but almost anything had to be preferable to prison she guessed.
Speaking of prison, Veronica added, “But if you ever need a lawyer, I hope you’ll keep me in mind.” Law wasn’t exactly her passion (as she was beginning to accept), but like Neal, she strived to be the best at everything she did.
"As long as you can stand Moz being your co-counsel," he almost-joked. Whether Mozzie's credentials would hold up or not was always the million dollar question, and in this case, that was probably a pittance compared to the amount that would be required for Neal's bail.
He gestured back towards the entrance of the museum, wallet already in hand. "Come on, let's get a couple trinkets from the gift shop to remember this by." They wouldn't be obtaining anything of real value, of course, but it was fun to pick out a few mementos Caffrey could put on a shelf and cherish for how it reminded him of another place and time. "But first you've got to tell me: What's the Veronica Mars five year plan?" he asked. "You've already made some waves, but what's next?"
As a sudden afterthought, he added, "Full immunity if you want to admit that today starts your new life of crime."
Veronica laughed. If all one knew of a life of crime came from Neal, she could see the appeal. But she knew the truth - most criminals didn't end up in a beautiful studio on Riverside Drive, and his current circumstances really didn't speak to his years in prison or the fact he seemed bound and determined to return. And honestly, orange was not Veronica's color.
"It's pretty much the same as it's been for the last ten years: don't get murdered, don't get kidnapped." Mentally, she added, 'and don't get knocked up.' It wasn't like she couldn't envision children in her future, but she couldn't imagine having any with Piz. He was a kind, gentle man, and she enjoyed his company, but he wasn't part of the five-year plan either. Not that she'd gotten around to mentioning that to anyone, particularly Piz. She knew that she was selfishly holding him back, robbing him of a chance to find someone who'd really love him, but she wasn't ready to let go of the comfort of their companionship. That wasn't a conversation for the moment, however.
"I'm a simple girl with simple tastes." Veronica picked up a replica pocket watch that telescoped out into a camera, showing it to Neal. "See? All I really need is a camera and a suspect."
He took the the little gadget, turning it around in his fingers, inspecting it for quality. It wasn't the nicest thing on the market, he imagined, but from the look of it, it would still work with microfilm. He made a mental note to pick up a couple rolls for Veronica just to encourage her to use the pocket watch one day.
"Classic," he said, appreciatively, grinning at her. He kept the item in hand as he browsed for himself, but by the look of it, as he picked up the hide-away in the shape of a quarter, he'd already had an item in mind, maybe well before he'd walked in the door. With Neal, it was always the long, long game.
Checking out, charming the teller, putting them back out on the streets — it all went without a hitch, and as they were once more alone in each other's company, Caffrey offered over the gift. "I know it doesn't sound like it, but I really appreciate people like you and Peter, Vee," he said, trying out the nickname. It was undetermined if he liked it or not, but he let it stand for her reaction while he went on, "Good people are hard to find. And by good, I mean mostly incorruptible. Even in the FBI, that's hard to find." If nothing else, he could appreciate good work and good people; Neal had certainly met his share of corrupt on both sides of the fence, but since coming to work with the White Collar folks, he'd been taken by the good ethics they all seemed to maintain despite all odds.
Vee, huh? She was instantly reminded of Weevil. She didn't mind one way or the other, so long as he didn't call her Ronnie à la Dick/Rick Casablancas.
She accepted the gift with a grateful and simple, "Thanks," though in truth, she was a little embarrassed. She certainly hadn't expected him to purchase it - she knew what his government stipend was, after all, and considering her prestigious corporate law firm paid her very well to do essentially very little, she felt guilty taking anything from anybody. But a gift was about the thought, so she did her best to tamp down the flush of self-consciousness.
"That's sweet, Neal. I think you're giving me a little too much credit to put me in Peter's league, but it's nice of you to say." After all, she herself had committed quite a few misdemeanors in her indiscriminate youth (and was currently embroiled in at least one federal crime along with Mozzie & Neal), but she took his point. At the end of the day, she, like Peter, only wanted the truth outed and the bad guys apprehended.
"I have to say, though, this is the most fun I've had since... well, in a long time." She'd left Hearst to escape the endless loop of investigation, but she realized now how much she'd missed it. It was part of her, and she was good at it. She felt like she'd just awoken after a long (though extremely productive) nap.
They reached a subway entrance that would be an easy connection to her apartment, so she stopped. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"
Caffrey beamed and nodded. There were only so many days he felt he could get away with monopolizing Veronica's time, so he resisted the urge to entice her back to the White Collar offices. But Neal was glad to have the promise of another day with his unexpected cohort.
"I'll call if I think of anything that might help us tomorrow," he told her, leaning in for a half-hug-and-peck maneuver. "Or if Mozzie calls," Neal added as he fished his phone from his pocket. As expected, there was a text from Peter that simply read WHERE ARE YOU. "That's my signal," he said, shaking the phone at her. "Enjoy your freedom," Neal joked, backing away just in time to hear Veroncia's phone ringing. It was probably Peter asking her send their rogue CI back, so Caffrey tipped his head at her and disappeared into the crowd.
Day two was quite a different beast. The one hour class was brimming with students, all of which seemed thoroughly interested in the subject matter. By way of wandering eyes, there weren't as many as expected, and surprisingly enough, the wave of students trying to immediately sign up for tutoring wasn't nearly as strong as it might have otherwise been, either.
Neal, of course, made it look easy. He didn't make a habit of underestimate young minds, nor did he lead them to assumptions, so their responses read as genuine and open, and when he gave them a short block of time to write on their thoughts, he coul feel the eagerness.
"This isn't so bad," he said quietly to Veronica as he passed a few printouts her direction. Of course, those were most famously the kind of words that felt very much like the last a person might speak. "But six weeks of this isn't going to tell us much. Maybe you should get some copies," he hinted. At this time during class, most everyone would be otherwise indisposed. Veronica could accomplish a great number of things in the name of helping out Reynolds.
Veronica nodded, taking the stack of papers and leaving the room. As Neal suspected, the corridors were empty, so she took the long way to the copier. Her circuitous route led to the third floor where the interior corridor led out onto an open-air courtyard, the sort of ridiculously impractical architectural feature only a posh private school would bother maintaining.
As she drew closer, she heard a woman’s voice. It sounded like a one-sided phone conversation carrying into the courtyard below. Veronica slowed, pretending to look around to gain her bearings, turning in a half circle until she could hear better.
“Tomorrow, yes,” came the strident tone. “If you aren’t there, the deal’s off.”
It was thin, but it might be something, though Veronica thought whoever was dressing people down over the phone would have been a little more discreet if there was an actual crime afoot. She was turning back when she heard a phone ring from the same location. Unless it was a ringtone, it certainly sounded like an actual desk phone ring.
“Professor Samuels.” She could be mistaken, but to Veronica’s ears, it sounded like the same voice, though more professional. “No, sir, I’m not dealing with Rogers any longer. He screwed us - you. He screwed you.”
Well, now that was something. Veronica edged closer to the courtyard balcony, but she couldn’t see anything except the reflection of the garden below in polished windows. Figuring that meant she could be seen, Veronica retreated, heading back to the classroom just in time for the bell. As soon as the last of the students filed out, Veronica told Neal of her journey.
Back at the FBI headquarters, the conference room was abuzz with activity. Neal, who had arrived with Veronica, spent his time waiting for Peter to finish assessing the information, unhelpfully tossing around his rubberband ball. Jones was at a laptop, clicking away at the keyboard, taking notes while Diana gave him a rundown of her research. As far as he was concerned, Caffrey's input wasn't needed just yet, and since he took some small amount of exception at not being the point man, all he could do to make it known was do nothing at all.
"Look alive," Peter said to the room as he walked in, but he clearly meant Neal. Taking his place at the front of the room, Burke held his case file in hand as he waited for everyone to settle. "We think we've got our first lead," he revealed with a thin smile. He didn't want to get overly excited, but any lead was better than no lead.
Diana looked uncertain as they all stared at Peter. "Are you going to share with the class, boss?" She was only on her lunch break and would need to get back soon.
Burke was ready to burst, clearly more excited than anyone should have any right to be. "We're looking at two people," he said, separating the file in hand to reveal it was actually two gathered together. "And I think you'll all recognize this guy," the agent added, a pointed look being spared in Neal's direction as he showed off the photo.
"Rogers, really?" Caffrey huffed, feining surprise. Perhaps Veronica had shared, or maybe Peter's was as clever as always. Either way, Neal wasn't concerned to think the FBI might be catching up to their own investigation. "Are you sure?"
Peter pursed his lips and looked between Veronica and Neal. Something about this didn't feel right, but he let it go, and instead responded rather ominously, "Oh, positive. He's in town, now we just need to find him and bring him in for questioning."
Neal raised his eyebrows and muttered, "Good luck with that." Rogers was almost as slippery as he was.
Veronica steadied her gaze on Peter, keeping her expression neutral and interested. She didn’t know what Neal had shared, but so soon after she’d first heard Rogers’ name, it didn’t feel like a coincidence to hear Peter use it. She decided she’d be more diligent about checking herself for listening devices.
Jones nodded to Peter. “And the other file?”
“We looked at some of Rogers past associates, and there is someone who fits the bill in this case.” He advanced the screen to display a grainy shot of dark-haired woman wearing sunglasses and waiting to cross a street. The photo caught her mostly in profile. “Antoinette Sheridan.”
Diana piped up, sounding excited. “Oh, I know this one – 1997, Belize, apprehended for forging a Brunelleschi.”
Peter pointed his pen at her. “Exactly. This is a case the Academy still uses because she got off on a technicality. But if she’s involved in this, we might be able to lock her up for good.”
Veronica studied the image, jotting down the name in her notes. “How old is that picture?” she asked.
Burke glanced down to his notes. “Traffic cam at Houston and Clinton, May, 2004.” He looked up at her approvingly. “So we don’t know what she looks like, and while Sheridan is her birth name, she could be going by any alias.” He shrugged, grinning crookedly. “We’ve done more with less.”
Veronica had a good feeling Sheridan was now going by the name Samuels and was also their fake professor, but until she had more details, she was keeping that between Neal and her. She was also pretty confident Peter was wrong – they weren’t looking at two suspects, but three. Whoever called Samuels on her office phone (assuming Veronica was right about the second call) had to be in the school somewhere because the desk lines were an old inter-office system. They’d learned during orientation that the handsets had been upgraded, but the wiring had not, so outside calls all needed to be made via mobile, from the main offices, or from the emergency phones located on every floor.
Peter excused the assembled, and Veronica and Neal were once more left to their own devices.
Neal popped up, immediately, not the least bit deterred. He had plenty of work to do — things Peter had piled on his desk because he wasn't able to participate heavily in other field work — but as far as he was concerned, that stuff could wait. It could always wait. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard Peter's call. As he came to stop, Caffrey made a face at Veronica (and the greater room, really — anyone but Peter) that suggested he knew he was caught. He then proceeded to have a short and sassy exchange with Peter about his ankle monitor on his way back that consisted of Neal professing his innocent in forgetting that electronic tether, and Burke not believing him, but letting him go anyway.
When he returned to Mars, he was slightly heavier with gaudy and garish ankle jewelry, but not gloomy over it at all as he hooked arms with Veronica and made way for the elevators.
Outside, and despite everything, he felt freer. While he'd given up his close contact with Veronica in the elevator, he was lingering close to her as they finally found themselves outside the very sensitive ears of the Bureau.
"That was wild," he said, laughing lightly. "I figured Peter would be on our tails, but he's putting this together quicker than I thought." It wasn't far to the subway station, so he stopped at a street vendor, gesturing for a cup of coffee.
"Do me a favor," he began as he fished into his inside pocket for his wallet. He produced cash and a business card-sized piece of paper, but instead of offering it out, he returned his wallet to his pocket and received his coffee. It looked like a random locksmith's business card. "There's a number on this card," Neal said, and cryptically and carefully poured the coffee along one edge. Shaking off the excess, he added, "Wait two hours for that to develop and text Mozzie at that number about what happened today," and offered it over. "Burner if you've got it, just to be safe." He paid and tipped the vendor, carrying to rest of the coffee because he didn't want to throw the rest out in front of the guy.
Within two hours, Veronica had obtained a prepaid mobile from a bodega. She took it back to her apartment, feeling exhilarated by the clandestine nature of carrying something so intrinsically linked with Neal and Mozzie’s world and already planning the best spot to hide it. If Piz found that she had a crappy flip phone, he’d start asking questions, and she didn’t want to drag him into anything if she could prevent it.
Once the card revealed the number like magic, Veronica sent a text to Mozzie.
Newly arrived CA gal seeking knowledgeable NYer for good conversation
Within a few minutes in which she tried (and failed) to busy herself and not stare at the burner phone, she received a response.
Bethesda terrace 16:21 NYer will bring refreshments
It was already quarter to four, so she quickly changed into something that would help her blend in with the midday Central Park tourist crowd, complete with her Nikon D3500 on a strap over her shoulder, and hustled back to the subway.
That evening, Mozzie popped by with a chicken vindaloo for June and was already enjoying a glass of Beaujolais on Neal’s terrace by the time he turned up.
“California and I had a nice lunch today,” he announced, handing over a large envelope. “And then we met an old friend for coffee.”
The friend, Neal would find once he opened the envelope, was Arthur Rogers (aka Mark Bridges, aka Sylvester Mancuso, aka Edward Anthony, etc.), and by “coffee”, Mozz had meant surveillance. There were a few shots of Rogers entering and leaving a luxury apartment building on Sixth Avenue. The photographs were labeled with the time. He’d entered the building at 6:15 with nothing and left just six minutes later carrying an attaché.
Rifiling through the gathered intel, Neal took in the details quickly, skimming as he was apt to do. He'd dive in for more pertinent details later — things that might be meaningful — but to start, a high-level view was more than enough.
"This is good work," he said. No surprise there; between the two of them, he couldn't think of a safer and more productive team to do their groundwork. If he weren't so heavily monitored, Neal would most certainly have gone with them. Instead, he at least got to live in the knowledge that he surrounded himself with the best of the best. For Neal, little was more important than that.
"So, now we need to get close to Rogers." That was the logical next step. If they followed the guy, got themselves a good amount of information on his habits and otherwise, they'd have all they needed; unfortunately, that required a lot more time than any of them had, Neal was certain of it.
Mozzie grinned and raised his glass. "I've already got you covered," he said. "Take a look at the addendum."
Neal raised an eyebrow, flipped to the last page, and grinned, too. "Moz, I could kiss you. This is going to work perfectly."
Early the next morning, Neal waited for Veronica outside Planet Fitness. It was just on the egde of his radius, thankfully, and a public venue, so he imagined he wouldn't get too many questions. Still, he was dressed down, well-hidden under a baseball cap. He wasn't so concerned about being seen as being seen with Mars. Their daytime law enforcement was messing with their nighttime crime, but none of it would be any good to anyone if they blew their cover.
"Hey, glad you could make it," he said, immediately spotting her. "It's early, I know; I'm sorry," he added, immediately holding up his hands to show he surrendered to how crappy this was. "I know I didn't give a lot of details, either, but bear with me..." He clearly was about to bring forth an unpopular recommendation.
Leaning out of direct view of the door, Caffrey made sure to hide his face as Rogers passed through the door behind them. He glanced only when he knew the guy was gone, then looked back to Veronica. "Moz gave me a tracking dot. We can get into his locker to put it in his bag, but I'd feel safer if we could keep him occupied. He's awfully lonely these days," he said, pointedly, "And I think he could use a friend. Or, a good-looking interested party, if you get my meaning." Neal held up his hand in the usual rock-paper-scissors way. It was probably easier to lose in this case.
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Neal was close behind Veronica and following suit, tidying as if to hide the evidence of their long night. What they were doing wouldn't exactly be considered illegal, but it probably wasn't fully legal, either, and ever since Peter had gotten the hang of popping by unannounced, it had become a habit of Neal's to try not to leave anything sitting out that might incriminate him. When he'd finished, he rolled down his sleeves after the long night, smoothing at the wrinkles.
"Can I call you a cab?" There was no way he'd let her take the subway home alone at this hour, and he certainly wasn't riding with her home and back even if he absolutely adored her. He gestured to the couch. "Or the pullout's yours if you want it. I don't snore," he announced, as if proud of this fact because it made him that much better of a host. "Either way, we should probably take a couple minutes to talk about how tomorrow's going to go."
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That settled, she said, “We’ll have to play it by ear once we get in there. At first, we should act like the professional academics we are. Then, once we feel out the dynamics, we can decide what our relationship should look like. What do you think?”
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He leaned on his table and crossed his arms, waiting for the message to come through on his phone when the cab arrived. "We've got a pretty lengthy history, at least." Neal said, flipping open his FBI packet. And then, excitedly, he added, "Oh! I'll wear my 'smart guy' glasses." One of his favorite additions to the facade.
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Once the taxi arrived, she and Neal walked down together. “Thanks again for dinner. See you bright and early tomorrow, Professor.” She gave him a hug and departed, buzzing all the way home on the high of discovery. Part of her regretted leaving. She’d certainly have stayed the night going over the evidence until they found more answers or passed out, but they did have work in the morning, and Veronica knew she’d need to be fresh. So she went back to her apartment, kissed her sleeping boyfriend on the forehead, and climbed into bed.
Veronica, Neal, and Diana had agreed to meet a coffee-and-donut truck near Dalton’s administrative offices to check in. Diana was already in line when Veronica turned up.
“Good morning, Miss Bradley,” Diana said, appraising the lawyer. “You don’t look a day over 21.”
Veronica fluffed her curled hair and straightened the satchel she was carrying her books in. “I appreciate it. I feel like I’m about twice that today.” She’d woken up to a wine headache and her period arriving early, and it seemed no amount of makeup was helping her undereye bags and general puffiness, so Diana’s compliment helped almost as much as the coffee they soon obtained. She took a sip, not caring if she burned her tongue. When Neal turned up, she handed him a cup and a bag containing fluffy, glazed goodness.
“You ready for your first day molding young minds?”
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Diana smirked. "I can tell you didn't do the required reading." His addition of glasses only reinforced her opinion that Caffrey didn't understand the meaning of humility; she's seen his hot-for-teacher look before and this wasn't far off. Beyond that, her amusement lingered because it hadn't slipped anyone's notice that Neal and Veronica had managed some kind of "outside rapport," as Peter had called it. The inclusion of Mozzie was a given, which suggested to Barrigan everything she needed to know about her two companions. "Look fresh, okay? We've got no one listening in this time," she told Neal while swatting at his arm with her bag of food. And then she nodded to Mars and offered her a warm smile. "See you in there." And off she went.
"Everyone's a critic," Neal sighed, tipping his head down to look at Veronica over his glasses. He'd left his hair roguishly unruly, but he'd dressed a bit different than usual, with a suit that read much more Professor Jones than Indiana, buttoned up and structured, subdued in a way that's not natural for a guy like Caffrey. He was born to peacock around, but like this, he feels like a pheasant scratching around in the underbrush. It wouldn't stop him from making an impression, of course, but at least it helped dull a bit of his luster. "Let's go be humble."
Orientation doesn't last long, and there isn't even much of a need for either of them to talk outside the introductions offered in a round. They tour the school — a very posh facility — and eventually end up being shown to the room where they'll be teaching the class.
Left along for an hour to familiarize themselves with the available technology and ready anything they might need for class, Neal quickly and efficiently begins checking all the common areas for bugs, making it pretty obvious to Veronica. There was no reason to believe anyone would be listening in, but it was already a habit, so he didn't stop himself.
"This should do fine, don't you think, Ms. Bradley?" He hadn't given the all-clear, so for the moment they're keeping up appearances.
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She hopped up on a desk, peeking at the closed door to make sure no one was loitering. “So we don’t have our first class until tomorrow. Maybe you should do a little recon in the teacher’s lounge during lunch? I can go for a walk around the campus and kind of get a feel for the gossip. What do kids call even call it now? Tea?” She probably needed to review her (FBI-faked) Instagram feed before she interacted with actual students or she’d be outed as a thirty-year-old pretty quickly. At least she could pretend that years being a Serious Student had interfered with her ability to keep up on slang.
Veronica’s solo tour hadn’t netted anything more worthwhile than a nice walk around a beautiful campus. If there was an imposter on staff, either the students didn’t know or didn’t care. She supposed that meant she was mostly off the hook for fitting in with the kids and could focus on providing backup or cover for Neal. She met him outside one of the classroom buildings, intending to report back to Diana before calling it a day.
“Professor,” she said, falling into step with him. “How was lunch?”
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"It was..." Caffrey tried to think of the right word. What was the opposite of enlightening? He huffed. "Depressing." He didn't need to be a professor in humility, as suggested, to know the sad stench that followed people who thought too highly of themselves. Between the bragging, the posturing, and the whining, Neal yearned to return to the White Collar offices for a regular dose of mundane professionalism. More than anything else about this operation, Neal found himself frustrated with the decorum of these teachers. School was a terrible place already, and how fortunate the students seemed to have had a different experience in the classrooms.
"There are a few persons of interest," he said, lingering in a well-worn area. Despite the prestige of the school, there were still cigarette butts strewn around, the telltale signs of students (or teachers) trying to hide their vice on a patently non-smoking campus. Neal made a note to pick up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the way home, thinking it might be beneficial to see who already had secrets to keep. "For what it's worth, I'm fairly sure we're looking for two people. And I'm not ruling out that they work closely. What about you? How did you do with the kids?"
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“At least, they don’t do it where they can be overheard.” She made a mental note to cruise the library on her way out before switching gears.
“So what are we going to do about your malaise?” She really didn’t have any hobbies except eating and going on stakeouts, and it wasn’t time yet for a stakeout. “I can put something spendy on the corporate account if you want.”
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But then he remembered the op and decided it was safer if they kept a lower profile. It wouldn't do to have someone spot Professor Grant Reynolds peacocking around a storefront with his research assistant.
"I think I've got a better idea," Neal said. Veronica would just have to trust him.
One cab ride later, and Neal felt pretty safe being himself again. In a converted house, a small cafe was nestled near the front. There was a view of a gift shop, and beyond that, a quaint little museum. And not just any museum, of course, but a spy museum. The hokey brochures within reach of the table touted all manner of devices and props, most of which could be easily associated with the industry, but there were more than a few objects of splendor Caffrey thought they both wouldn't mind putting their eyes on. Beyond that, it gave him an excuse to get a little unmonitored time with Veronica.
Neal sipped his espresso happily. It was impeccable, of course; nothing but the finest. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you'd make a living if you took up a life of crime." It was a compliment. But, of course, with her dad and her history, some part of it already feels like it makes sense. "So, why not the FBI? Your dabbling makes half the agents they have look like probies."
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"I guess all the rules kind of got to me."
So she'd turned to the one profession where she was expected to bend them - the one, at least, that (probably) wouldn't land her in jail. But she was flattered to think Neal though highly enough of her to refer her into his own line of work. She did enjoy crime for crime's sake, and she told him as much. "Plus, breaking and entering is pretty thrilling. I didn't know that would have been an option had I joined up."
But her story was well-known. What wasn't a matter of official record wasn't really important to anyone but Veronica anyway. Neal was the mystery, and probably for good reason, but you couldn't take the I out of the PI. So she asked.
"What about you?" she asked, tipping her demitasse to him. "Was this what you wanted to be when you grew up?" She really couldn't tell. Lots of the people she knew who'd turned to crime at a young age had been railroaded into it. They usually never made it to the heights Neal had allegedly reached, though, so that indicated to her that his life must have been a choice at least in part.
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"No, none of it," he said, gesturing in an offhand manner. "I honestly don't think I knew what I wanted to be, only that I wanted to be the best at it." The something-for-nothing game certainly had a habit of escalating as the player did, and for Neal, who took to nearly anything with ease, it wasn't a long or difficult road to the top. People envied him for it, and even still he didn't regret it. In fact, more than once he'd been given quite the look by Burke for expressing a little too much pride in his alleged work.
He thought for a moment longer, settling the cup and adjusting the placement of the spoon on his napkin. "You're right about the rules. Then again, I wouldn't ever accuse the FBI of following the rules." Neal wasn't trying to poison the well, but he had seen plenty of times where the letter of the law had been misinterpreted, misused, rewritten, or outright ignored. Neal only differed, he felt, in the number of forms he filled out, in comparison. Even Peter wasn't flawless in that regard, although if he had to worry about calling all of them crooks, he'd hesitate to find his colleagues in that category.
"If I was a Fed, though, I'd want to be one like Peter. He's the best they've got," he announced, somewhat proudly, then leaned in to lower his voice, adding with a smile, "But if you tell anyone I said so, I'm going to pretend like this conversation never happened." The idea that such a thing might never get back to Burke made Caffrey all that more pleased to have this time without anyone looking over his shoulder. Unfortunately, Peter knows the only reason it's not a risk is because Neal would never put Veronica in a situation where she might become an accomplice to something serious. He's a little wrong in that regard, but a little right, too, in that Neal would never allow her to be implicated without knowing it was possible ahead of time.
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It was nicer than advertised. Housing a well-curated collection spread throughout gorgeous rooms, the place had a homey, inviting feel, despite the somewhat disreputable subject matter. It was a little dusty, speaking to the fact it wasn't as well attended as the city's other museums, but Veronica and Neal encountered several patrons in the first few rooms alone, so it was hardly forgotten. A hidden gem, which as Veronica was noticing, was pretty much Neal's favorite kind.
She paused to admire a wooden periscope from the 1800s, shifting their easy, trivial conversation about the museum's offering back to her... well, let's not call it an inquisition. "What's next, then? Will you stay working for Peter?" If she were in his position, she wouldn't keep giving over secrets without charging an exorbitant fee, so she'd go to private sector consulting. But she did like her revenge.
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"Birthday cards are a bit more difficult to send when you're in the wind," he added. He didn't mean it to sound meaningful, and purposefully worded it hypothetically, but Neal wouldn't deny to himself that more than half of his contingency plans prepped for a life on the run.
To relieve her the burden of this idea, he smiled his million dollar smile, smug in the knowledge that such things couldn't be held against him. "I haven't decided." It wasn't a lie. He had options — as many as he'd created for himself — but having walked a fine line between feeling useful and feeling used, it was hard for Caffrey not to want to lean towards what always came easier to him. "I want to be able to travel," he added, somewhat abruptly. It had been too long since he'd had his freedom and every day he thought he might go to sleep and wake to find his wanderlust gone, his desperation had doubled as if to remind him he'd never be able to have everything he wanted. "Maybe consulting," Neal said, inadvertently echoing Veronica's thought. "Or sales, if I really want to live the life of a criminal."
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Speaking of prison, Veronica added, “But if you ever need a lawyer, I hope you’ll keep me in mind.” Law wasn’t exactly her passion (as she was beginning to accept), but like Neal, she strived to be the best at everything she did.
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He gestured back towards the entrance of the museum, wallet already in hand. "Come on, let's get a couple trinkets from the gift shop to remember this by." They wouldn't be obtaining anything of real value, of course, but it was fun to pick out a few mementos Caffrey could put on a shelf and cherish for how it reminded him of another place and time. "But first you've got to tell me: What's the Veronica Mars five year plan?" he asked. "You've already made some waves, but what's next?"
As a sudden afterthought, he added, "Full immunity if you want to admit that today starts your new life of crime."
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"It's pretty much the same as it's been for the last ten years: don't get murdered, don't get kidnapped." Mentally, she added, 'and don't get knocked up.' It wasn't like she couldn't envision children in her future, but she couldn't imagine having any with Piz. He was a kind, gentle man, and she enjoyed his company, but he wasn't part of the five-year plan either. Not that she'd gotten around to mentioning that to anyone, particularly Piz. She knew that she was selfishly holding him back, robbing him of a chance to find someone who'd really love him, but she wasn't ready to let go of the comfort of their companionship. That wasn't a conversation for the moment, however.
"I'm a simple girl with simple tastes." Veronica picked up a replica pocket watch that telescoped out into a camera, showing it to Neal. "See? All I really need is a camera and a suspect."
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"Classic," he said, appreciatively, grinning at her. He kept the item in hand as he browsed for himself, but by the look of it, as he picked up the hide-away in the shape of a quarter, he'd already had an item in mind, maybe well before he'd walked in the door. With Neal, it was always the long, long game.
Checking out, charming the teller, putting them back out on the streets — it all went without a hitch, and as they were once more alone in each other's company, Caffrey offered over the gift. "I know it doesn't sound like it, but I really appreciate people like you and Peter, Vee," he said, trying out the nickname. It was undetermined if he liked it or not, but he let it stand for her reaction while he went on, "Good people are hard to find. And by good, I mean mostly incorruptible. Even in the FBI, that's hard to find." If nothing else, he could appreciate good work and good people; Neal had certainly met his share of corrupt on both sides of the fence, but since coming to work with the White Collar folks, he'd been taken by the good ethics they all seemed to maintain despite all odds.
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She accepted the gift with a grateful and simple, "Thanks," though in truth, she was a little embarrassed. She certainly hadn't expected him to purchase it - she knew what his government stipend was, after all, and considering her prestigious corporate law firm paid her very well to do essentially very little, she felt guilty taking anything from anybody. But a gift was about the thought, so she did her best to tamp down the flush of self-consciousness.
"That's sweet, Neal. I think you're giving me a little too much credit to put me in Peter's league, but it's nice of you to say." After all, she herself had committed quite a few misdemeanors in her indiscriminate youth (and was currently embroiled in at least one federal crime along with Mozzie & Neal), but she took his point. At the end of the day, she, like Peter, only wanted the truth outed and the bad guys apprehended.
"I have to say, though, this is the most fun I've had since... well, in a long time." She'd left Hearst to escape the endless loop of investigation, but she realized now how much she'd missed it. It was part of her, and she was good at it. She felt like she'd just awoken after a long (though extremely productive) nap.
They reached a subway entrance that would be an easy connection to her apartment, so she stopped. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"
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"I'll call if I think of anything that might help us tomorrow," he told her, leaning in for a half-hug-and-peck maneuver. "Or if Mozzie calls," Neal added as he fished his phone from his pocket. As expected, there was a text from Peter that simply read WHERE ARE YOU. "That's my signal," he said, shaking the phone at her. "Enjoy your freedom," Neal joked, backing away just in time to hear Veroncia's phone ringing. It was probably Peter asking her send their rogue CI back, so Caffrey tipped his head at her and disappeared into the crowd.
Day two was quite a different beast. The one hour class was brimming with students, all of which seemed thoroughly interested in the subject matter. By way of wandering eyes, there weren't as many as expected, and surprisingly enough, the wave of students trying to immediately sign up for tutoring wasn't nearly as strong as it might have otherwise been, either.
Neal, of course, made it look easy. He didn't make a habit of underestimate young minds, nor did he lead them to assumptions, so their responses read as genuine and open, and when he gave them a short block of time to write on their thoughts, he coul feel the eagerness.
"This isn't so bad," he said quietly to Veronica as he passed a few printouts her direction. Of course, those were most famously the kind of words that felt very much like the last a person might speak. "But six weeks of this isn't going to tell us much. Maybe you should get some copies," he hinted. At this time during class, most everyone would be otherwise indisposed. Veronica could accomplish a great number of things in the name of helping out Reynolds.
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As she drew closer, she heard a woman’s voice. It sounded like a one-sided phone conversation carrying into the courtyard below. Veronica slowed, pretending to look around to gain her bearings, turning in a half circle until she could hear better.
“Tomorrow, yes,” came the strident tone. “If you aren’t there, the deal’s off.”
It was thin, but it might be something, though Veronica thought whoever was dressing people down over the phone would have been a little more discreet if there was an actual crime afoot. She was turning back when she heard a phone ring from the same location. Unless it was a ringtone, it certainly sounded like an actual desk phone ring.
“Professor Samuels.” She could be mistaken, but to Veronica’s ears, it sounded like the same voice, though more professional. “No, sir, I’m not dealing with Rogers any longer. He screwed us - you. He screwed you.”
Well, now that was something. Veronica edged closer to the courtyard balcony, but she couldn’t see anything except the reflection of the garden below in polished windows. Figuring that meant she could be seen, Veronica retreated, heading back to the classroom just in time for the bell. As soon as the last of the students filed out, Veronica told Neal of her journey.
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"Look alive," Peter said to the room as he walked in, but he clearly meant Neal. Taking his place at the front of the room, Burke held his case file in hand as he waited for everyone to settle. "We think we've got our first lead," he revealed with a thin smile. He didn't want to get overly excited, but any lead was better than no lead.
Diana looked uncertain as they all stared at Peter. "Are you going to share with the class, boss?" She was only on her lunch break and would need to get back soon.
Burke was ready to burst, clearly more excited than anyone should have any right to be. "We're looking at two people," he said, separating the file in hand to reveal it was actually two gathered together. "And I think you'll all recognize this guy," the agent added, a pointed look being spared in Neal's direction as he showed off the photo.
"Rogers, really?" Caffrey huffed, feining surprise. Perhaps Veronica had shared, or maybe Peter's was as clever as always. Either way, Neal wasn't concerned to think the FBI might be catching up to their own investigation. "Are you sure?"
Peter pursed his lips and looked between Veronica and Neal. Something about this didn't feel right, but he let it go, and instead responded rather ominously, "Oh, positive. He's in town, now we just need to find him and bring him in for questioning."
Neal raised his eyebrows and muttered, "Good luck with that." Rogers was almost as slippery as he was.
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Jones nodded to Peter. “And the other file?”
“We looked at some of Rogers past associates, and there is someone who fits the bill in this case.” He advanced the screen to display a grainy shot of dark-haired woman wearing sunglasses and waiting to cross a street. The photo caught her mostly in profile. “Antoinette Sheridan.”
Diana piped up, sounding excited. “Oh, I know this one – 1997, Belize, apprehended for forging a Brunelleschi.”
Peter pointed his pen at her. “Exactly. This is a case the Academy still uses because she got off on a technicality. But if she’s involved in this, we might be able to lock her up for good.”
Veronica studied the image, jotting down the name in her notes. “How old is that picture?” she asked.
Burke glanced down to his notes. “Traffic cam at Houston and Clinton, May, 2004.” He looked up at her approvingly. “So we don’t know what she looks like, and while Sheridan is her birth name, she could be going by any alias.” He shrugged, grinning crookedly. “We’ve done more with less.”
Veronica had a good feeling Sheridan was now going by the name Samuels and was also their fake professor, but until she had more details, she was keeping that between Neal and her. She was also pretty confident Peter was wrong – they weren’t looking at two suspects, but three. Whoever called Samuels on her office phone (assuming Veronica was right about the second call) had to be in the school somewhere because the desk lines were an old inter-office system. They’d learned during orientation that the handsets had been upgraded, but the wiring had not, so outside calls all needed to be made via mobile, from the main offices, or from the emergency phones located on every floor.
Peter excused the assembled, and Veronica and Neal were once more left to their own devices.
“Walk a girl to the subway, teach?”
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When he returned to Mars, he was slightly heavier with gaudy and garish ankle jewelry, but not gloomy over it at all as he hooked arms with Veronica and made way for the elevators.
Outside, and despite everything, he felt freer. While he'd given up his close contact with Veronica in the elevator, he was lingering close to her as they finally found themselves outside the very sensitive ears of the Bureau.
"That was wild," he said, laughing lightly. "I figured Peter would be on our tails, but he's putting this together quicker than I thought." It wasn't far to the subway station, so he stopped at a street vendor, gesturing for a cup of coffee.
"Do me a favor," he began as he fished into his inside pocket for his wallet. He produced cash and a business card-sized piece of paper, but instead of offering it out, he returned his wallet to his pocket and received his coffee. It looked like a random locksmith's business card. "There's a number on this card," Neal said, and cryptically and carefully poured the coffee along one edge. Shaking off the excess, he added, "Wait two hours for that to develop and text Mozzie at that number about what happened today," and offered it over. "Burner if you've got it, just to be safe." He paid and tipped the vendor, carrying to rest of the coffee because he didn't want to throw the rest out in front of the guy.
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Once the card revealed the number like magic, Veronica sent a text to Mozzie.
Newly arrived CA gal seeking knowledgeable NYer for good conversation
Within a few minutes in which she tried (and failed) to busy herself and not stare at the burner phone, she received a response.
Bethesda terrace 16:21 NYer will bring refreshments
It was already quarter to four, so she quickly changed into something that would help her blend in with the midday Central Park tourist crowd, complete with her Nikon D3500 on a strap over her shoulder, and hustled back to the subway.
That evening, Mozzie popped by with a chicken vindaloo for June and was already enjoying a glass of Beaujolais on Neal’s terrace by the time he turned up.
“California and I had a nice lunch today,” he announced, handing over a large envelope. “And then we met an old friend for coffee.”
The friend, Neal would find once he opened the envelope, was Arthur Rogers (aka Mark Bridges, aka Sylvester Mancuso, aka Edward Anthony, etc.), and by “coffee”, Mozz had meant surveillance. There were a few shots of Rogers entering and leaving a luxury apartment building on Sixth Avenue. The photographs were labeled with the time. He’d entered the building at 6:15 with nothing and left just six minutes later carrying an attaché.
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"This is good work," he said. No surprise there; between the two of them, he couldn't think of a safer and more productive team to do their groundwork. If he weren't so heavily monitored, Neal would most certainly have gone with them. Instead, he at least got to live in the knowledge that he surrounded himself with the best of the best. For Neal, little was more important than that.
"So, now we need to get close to Rogers." That was the logical next step. If they followed the guy, got themselves a good amount of information on his habits and otherwise, they'd have all they needed; unfortunately, that required a lot more time than any of them had, Neal was certain of it.
Mozzie grinned and raised his glass. "I've already got you covered," he said. "Take a look at the addendum."
Neal raised an eyebrow, flipped to the last page, and grinned, too. "Moz, I could kiss you. This is going to work perfectly."
Early the next morning, Neal waited for Veronica outside Planet Fitness. It was just on the egde of his radius, thankfully, and a public venue, so he imagined he wouldn't get too many questions. Still, he was dressed down, well-hidden under a baseball cap. He wasn't so concerned about being seen as being seen with Mars. Their daytime law enforcement was messing with their nighttime crime, but none of it would be any good to anyone if they blew their cover.
"Hey, glad you could make it," he said, immediately spotting her. "It's early, I know; I'm sorry," he added, immediately holding up his hands to show he surrendered to how crappy this was. "I know I didn't give a lot of details, either, but bear with me..." He clearly was about to bring forth an unpopular recommendation.
Leaning out of direct view of the door, Caffrey made sure to hide his face as Rogers passed through the door behind them. He glanced only when he knew the guy was gone, then looked back to Veronica. "Moz gave me a tracking dot. We can get into his locker to put it in his bag, but I'd feel safer if we could keep him occupied. He's awfully lonely these days," he said, pointedly, "And I think he could use a friend. Or, a good-looking interested party, if you get my meaning." Neal held up his hand in the usual rock-paper-scissors way. It was probably easier to lose in this case.
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