White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 1

June

Neal took the file to his room. It was gloomy and it smelled of cigarette smoke. A dog walked on its own in the corridor. He was not sure what he had expected to get. As usual, he had been too blinded by it all to think of practical stuff. Well, there was always another way. And this did not mean he had to stay here for good.

Maybe this was Peter testing him. He put the file on the small desk and left for a walk. It was not without it felt strange. He knew the anklet was not visible but it felt like he was dragging an old-fashioned iron ball behind him. Still, he could move as it pleased him. Though he knew someone could check it up where he had been. It was an odd form of half-freedom. He would have to get used to it. It was better than the alternative. It also meant he would work with Peter which he looked forward to. And Kate could be within his reach.

Neal browsed through the thrift store's mediocre supply of men's clothing. He had a minimal supply of cash and he needed at least two shirts and a pair of pants. Not to mention underwear. He could not wait until next month to get money enough for his first pair of socks.

"I've come to donate these." A deep, melodic voice caught his attention. He turned and saw a classy elderly woman leave two packages on the counter, suit-sized dust-covers.

"Men's suits?" The woman behind the counter asked. And the elderly woman agreed. Neal moved closer. The covers were opened and a hat and a suit were unpacked. Neal adored what he saw.

"Those are fantastic." The donator of the suits turned and beamed at him.

"Oh. They belonged to my late husband, Byron. He really did have great taste in clothes."

"May I?" Neal asked the young woman unpacking the suits. She handed him the jacket. "Thank you." He saw the brand. "This is a Devore!" He stared at the old woman. It was the wrong part of town for a Devore. The lady appeared wealthy but considering where she was he had presumed it was just for show.

"Yes. He won it from Sy himself."

"Won it?"

"He beat him at a backdoor draw."

"What? Your husband played poker with Sy Devore?" It felt as he traveled back in time with the woman to her youth, to the 50th. A time of Humphrey Bogart, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin.

"He certainly did. And so did I."

"No." Not that he did not believe her. It was just so amazing to meet a woman who had met the man who tailored the best suits in the world. Sy Devore in turn had met Sinatra and Dean Martin and all the others in the rat pack gang. It was as if this wonderful lady could give him a part of the period in time he wished he had grown up in.

"Yes. The guys would even let me sit in once in a while on a hand. And I was good." Neal put on the blue fedora packed with one of the suits. He loved it. It felt as if the last four years were gone. "I'm glad to see you appreciate these. I was hoping someone would. I've got a whole closet full of them."

"A whole closet?" Now she was more than a sweet meeting.

"Mm-hm. Well, actually, it's a guest room but I haven't used it for anything except storage for years." Neal put a light blue suit jacket on. Her eyes glimmered when she saw him. "Oh, Byron used to wear that one whenever we went dancing. The neighborhood was- Let's say it was much nicer then."

"Do you live nearby?" Neal asked, hoping the friendly face in front of him would not turn suspicious or hostile. The woman's eyes studied him.

"It's not far." Though he had always been confident of his charm and ability to make a perfect impression if he wanted to, he now had to search for the right words to say. If this came off right, he would live in this woman's home for the next four years, and he wanted to do it right from the start.