White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 1

Agreement

Bobby fetched him from the workshop.

"Visitor," the guard informed him. It was not regular visiting hours and Bobby took him to the visitor's rooms, not the booths where a glass wall separated the visitor from the inmate. He saw Peter waiting for him. He was sitting at one of the tables. Bobby turned him over to the visitor's guard who did a pat-down on him before he let him through.

Neal walked in, not sure what he was expecting.

Peter placed Kate's bottle on the table and pushed it towards him. Neal frowned.

"I can't have it in here."

"I know," Peter replied with a grin lurking in the corners of his mouth. Neal stared at him. Then he smiled.

"I'll be released into your custody?" Neal asked. Had he got that right? He met Peter's eyes, and the agent nodded. Neal's heart raced.

"Temporarily. If you agree to the terms." Peter placed a folder beside the bottle.

"Wow," was all Neal could think of to say. "It only took you four months." He sat down.

"And a birthday card," Peter added. Neal flipped the folder open. "Now read that through. Carefully. So I can answer any questions you might have. Take your time."

Neal had to take a few deep breaths to focus on the text. His idea had worked after all.

"I'll still be a prison inmate?" Neal asked after the first paragraphs. Peter nodded. "And the marshals decide if I shall be out with you or in prison?" It did not sound good. He did not want to put his fate in their hands.

"Unless you become a suspect of a crime or any of us want to leave the deal, they'll not get involved with you in person," Peter explained. "Their responsibility is your tracking anklet. It's just the way it works with these kinds of deals."

Neal read on. Peter, or one of his appointed associates, had the right to perform pat-downs on him and had the right to search his living quarters.

"No strip-searches?"

Peter shook his head.

"If I feel such is needed it has gone too far and you ought to be back in prison." Peter sent him a wide grin and Neal returned it. So far it was not worse than his current living conditions.

"You've got a pen?" he asked Peter.

"No." Peter shook his head. "No, you're not signing now."

"Why not?"

"Because I know you're impulsive and I need to give you a fair chance to think this over."

"Peter, it was my idea."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "But now it's for real. And I need you to think about if this is a life you want. I'll more or less own you and your time. I will check where you've been when we're not together. And it's only temporarily, remember? Will you be prepared to go back to prison after a few months? I want you to think, Neal."

"Okay." He could sleep on it and sign tomorrow if it made Peter happy.

"And Neal..." Peter locked his eyes with his. "If you want out only to find Kate, this will not work and you'll be back inside within a week. You have to have a genuine interest in catching the Dutchman or solving any other case I hand to you."

Neal was vain enough to want to prove himself smarter than the Dutchman and he definitely wanted to keep his three years record. It would not be a problem to help the FBI.

"I told you, I'll help you catch him."

"Alright. There are two identical copies of the contract in there. They're signed by me and my boss. If you decide to go for this, all that's needed is your signature. You keep one copy for yourself and give the other to the warden and he gets the machinery started with the marshals."

The gate slid open so slowly Neal was tempted to squeeze himself through. At last the opening was wide enough for him to step out with dignity. The sky did appear bluer on this side of the wall. He smiled at Peter waiting by his car.

"Let me see it."

Neal hitched up his left leg of his pants and showed Peter the anklet. It was a gray lump with the size of a fist.

"You understand how this works?"

He had read the deal twice and signed it. What more was there to it?

"I'm being released into the custody of the FBI, under your supervision, and this thing chaffs my leg. Anything I'm missing?" It was loose enough for him to be able to get a sock on but it also meant it moved around, like a watch on your arm.

"Yeah, if you run, and I catch you, which you know I will because I'm 2 and 0, you're not back here for four years, you're back here for good." Neal nodded. "You're going to be tempted to look for Kate. Don't."

"I told you: the bottle meant good-bye," Neal pointed out.

"Then leave it at that." Neal wondered if Peter was aware he was not. "This is a temporary situation. Help me catch the Dutchman, we can make it permanent."

'Can make' not 'will'. No promises made. Neal was aware of that too. If this was about to be a short trip they would not be able to blame him for it. He would do his job. Peter nodded for him to get inside the car.

"Any questions?" his new handler asked.

"Only one." Neal stopped before entering the car. "Why are you really doing this?" He watched Peter who did not seem too eager to reply.

"My wife thinks you're a romantic," Peter sighed and got inside. That was a reason that did not make any sense, Neal thought.

He took a few deep breaths and sat down beside Peter on the passenger's seat. He was actually sitting beside Peter Burke. Not cuffed and not in the backseat, but beside him, free to move.

"Where are we heading?" Neal dared to ask after a while.

"Your new home," Peter replied. "Work starts tomorrow."

Peter crossed the lobby of a shabby hotel. The guy in the reception did not seem to care too much about his first impression.

"This is Neal Caffrey. My office called earlier." When he turned to Neal he saw the discomfort in the kid's face. Of course, he did not like this place. The man on the other side of the counter took a key and held it out to Neal.

"There you go, Snake Eyes." 'Snake Eyes'? That was a new one.

"Thank you." Neal smiled, took the key and turned to Peter and whispered: "Can I talk to you for a second?" and took a few steps away from the counter. Peter followed. "Maybe a little farther down?" the kid suggested as they had stopped near an old man with a distinct smell of bear. Peter sighed about Neal's need to be discreet. He was not the only former prison inmate in this place. Neal could finally address his issue:

"Do I have to stay here?" he whispered.

Peter sighed.

"Cowboy up." Neal's eyes darted around the lobby to see who heard. Peter did not care. "All right, it costs seven-hundred a month to house you on the inside, so that's what it costs here. For the money, this is as good as it gets. You find something better, take it."

"What about clothes? I'm wearing my entire wardrobe."

It was not exactly FBI standard outfit and he would have Neal following him around. Neal had a point, but Peter was not up to indulging Neal's need for proper clothes at the moment. That had to be taken care of some other day.

"You like thrift stores? There's one at the end of the block." Neal opened his mouth but Peter was not interested. "No, don't start, no, no protests. This is what you wanted, isn't it? Look at it, it's not-" Peter waved towards a woman in the lobby. "Oh, look at her, you don't get that in prison, do you? No, not at all." He got to show this kid what this deal meant and who was in charge. "Listen, your tracking anklet is set up so you can go anywhere within two miles of this place. Here's your homework."

He handed Neal a large file. It was a copy of the Dutchman file. Neal could always do his best to impress him tomorrow by spending the evening memorizing data.

"Remember, two miles. I'll see you at 7 AM."