White Collar Fic: The Devil's Workshop
Title: The Devil’s Workshop
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Moz, Neal, Peter; gen, pre-series
Spoilers: Forging Bonds
Content Notice: None
Word Count: 4,500
Summary: When Neal is hospitalized, Moz has to use all his wits to keep him under the radar.
A/N: This is a fill for Prompt 6 of my wcpairings challenge for the lovely emmademarais. Her prompt was “N gen where he collapses, seriously ill - pick P or E or M to bring him to hospital and fret.” Many thanks to dmk0064 for the idea and, uh, tech support.
----
“Neal, I can only maintain this opening in the periphery for so long,” Moz said over the communicator.
He stood peering into the laptop he’d hardwired into the fiber optics of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, into which he’d dropped a little sub-routine that fooled the video surveillance into rerunning the same loop of video over and over for the last half hour. Neal was taking his sweet time trading the scrap of the Egyptian Book of the Dead he’d forged with the real one that their “client” was paying them an arm and a leg to swipe. Moz would have to talk to the kid about his need for dramatic flourish - and the basic facts of high tech security systems. While the Egyptian collection was a relatively easy target compared to the other areas of the famed museum, there were still rules and processes, and no amount of technical finesse was going to keep the guard from making his scheduled 1:17 am rounds through that part of the museum.
A garbled bit of communication came over the line. “What? Say that again?”
“I said I hope Kate likes her Valentine’s Day gift. She’s been so down since her dad died.”
Moz’s eyeroll was so epic he may have caught a glimpse of his actual cerebrum. “This is what you’re thinking as you cut it so close I’ve got razor burn? You past the guard yet?” Moz adjusted the phone company-branded baseball cap he wore on his head impatiently - he hated hats.
”Yep.”
Moz disengaged his laptop from the phone trunk and scurried around the building toward the spot in the park where they’d agreed to rendezvous. He couldn’t wait to set his eyes on the scroll - to have something so ancient and precious in his hands, if for only a couple of hours, was one of the joys of this “profession.”
Suddenly, a crash and a scream sounded over his communicator, followed by a moan and a breathy, ”Oh my effing God!” from Neal.
“Neal!” Moz hissed as his heart dropped and settled somewhere near his shoes. “You OK?” When there was no answer but moaning, he repeated his question along with a tense, “Answer me!”
Several more minutes of heavy breathing and moaning were finally punctuated with, ”Awww, Christ on a cracker, that hurts!”
“Neal. If you don’t tell me where you are or what has happened I will kill you dead,” Moz threatened. He was hurrying along the path to their rendezvous point, but there was still no sign of the younger man.
”Hit and run,” Neal gasped.
Moz broke into a run, and after the next turn in the path he could make out the form of someone lying on the ground in a pool of light thrown off by a nearby streetlamp.
“Neal!” He was on his knees beside his protégé within seconds; Neal's face was devoid of all color as he lay on his side, clutching his right leg to himself. “What happened?”
“Who rides a Vespa around at 1:30 in the morning? In February?” Neal gasped and Moz figured out what had happened.
“Jesus, someone hit you?”
“I didn’t even see him coming. Or where he went. Awwwwww!” There were actual tears in his eyes, and Moz did not envy him.
“You need a doctor.”
“No, Moz, I’ll be fine,” Neal said through gritted teeth as he struggled to sit up. Moz helped him get to his feet, and when Neal tried to put weight on his right leg, it collapsed beneath him; if Moz hadn’t been there to catch him, he’d have fallen right over.
“Come on, we have to get you to a hospital,” Moz said, an arm around Neal as he tried to take as much of his weight as possible.
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“It wasn’t a request, Neal. Now, come on.”
One very tense cab ride and two hours later, they sat together in a treatment room of an ER, waiting for the doctor to return. Neal was pale but quietly dozing, the painkillers they’d given him clearly taking the edge off, which was a great relief to Moz. According to the doctor, the injury to his thigh looked like a “deep tissue bruise” but that he would want to x-ray it to be sure nothing was fractured. It sure looked scary enough - Moz could barely look at it.
Since Neal was asleep, Moz took the opportunity to explore their surroundings - he never felt comfortable in places where he didn’t know of at least two escape routes. As he was mapping out the floor, one of the nurses he recognized from earlier approached, an intent look on her face. “There’s a police officer here, so I just thought it would help if your friend could make a report sooner rather than later. You know, while it’s all still fresh in his memory.”
Moz laid a hand on her upper arm. “You’re so thoughtful. Shall I go and see if he’s awake? Give us ten minutes, and I’m sure he’ll be ready to give a statement.” He smiled encouragingly at her and watched her go. “Freakin’ busybody,” he muttered and rushed back to Neal.
“Come on, we’re going,” he said, throwing Neal's clothes at him and grabbing up the plastic tube that held the scroll.
Neal started awake. “Wha?”
“Cops - we gotta go. Now.”
Neal didn’t have to be told twice. He fumbled his pants back on, slid into his shoes and stood unsteadily on his feet. Moz took his dark turtleneck and jacket into his arms and moved to the door to peer out. The coast was clear. Returning to Neal's side, he eased his friend’s arm over his shoulders and helped him limp out and down the short corridor to their left that led into the main hospital. It may have been a circuitous route, but Moz surmised it was likely to be the least traveled. It was a longer walk to the main entrance, but a forgotten wheelchair they found along the way made the going easier and they were soon on their way.
“That was a close one,” Neal breathed when they’d made it to the street.
“Yeah, let’s hope it was worth it.”
It was, of course - their client paid them over 200 grand for their services, and Neal used his cut to recuperate from his injury in style on a rented sailboat he and Kate used to cruise around the Bahamas for Valentine’s Day.
They returned two weeks later, looking tanned and happy, and it wasn’t long before Moz had lined up another gig. “Where’s Kate?” he asked as Neal shuffled into Wednesday, looking a little out of breath.
Neal waved his hand dismissively. “Those damn Roman coins - she’s down in Delaware or something.” Kate’s fascination for - and talent with - counterfeiting coins was interesting but time-consuming.
Moz, however, was inclined to leave her to it if it kept her out of trouble. She was proving to be a valuable member of their crew, but he didn’t know if he could fully trust her to keep up her end every time, and besides, he didn’t need her for this job. “We’ll leave her to it. I, for one, have lined up a great score. What do you know about the works of John James Audubon?”
Neal gave Moz his again with the art school quiz? expression before answering. “The naturalist and painter? What’s not to know? His studies of American birds are legendary.”
“What if I told you that a full set of his ‘Birds of America’ collection is coming up for auction at Weatherby’s next month?”
“The entire Double Elephant Folio? That’s got to be worth a couple million.”
“More like five. One hasn’t been available in over a decade.”
“And you want to what? Steal it?” Neal looked a little dazed, or so it seemed to Moz.
“I already lined up a buyer. It’ll be a piece of cake - we hit it while it’s being authenticated where the security is lightest.”
Neal nodded, a hand on his chest thoughtfully. “Where?”
Moz crossed over to a map he’d already laid out on a nearby tabletop, and laid out the setup.
“Who’s… working… se… security?” Neal winced as he spoke, his words getting weaker as he seemed to be losing his breath.
“You OK, mon frère?” Moz asked, a hand on Neal's arm.
Neal shook his head, and Moz noticed his face was covered by a light sheen of sweat. “I’m not sure, I - I’ve been getting easily winded the last couple days. Hoo!” He bent over, his hands on his thighs, taking in great gulps of air that didn’t seem to be doing him much good.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Moz began, leading him to the nearby futon.
Neal practically collapsed onto it, his hands shaking where they grabbed Moz’s shirt. “Moz, some… thing’s…” He cried out then, his hand clutching at his chest in sudden agony.
“Neal? What is it?”
Neal was nearly speechless, his eyes open and staring at Moz with such fear in them, it was all Moz could do not to panic himself. Then he noticed that Neal's face had gone pale beneath his tan, and his lips took on a darker, purplish cast.
“Is it your chest?” Neal nodded. Moz pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling 911,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. Neal, for his part, didn’t seem inclined to argue.
----
“A what?”
“Pulmonary embolism, Mr. Raffles. It’s a blood clot that’s lodged itself in an artery in one of your friend’s lungs, and I’m afraid it’s very serious.”
“What could have caused it? He’s 25!” Moz said, fear entering his voice even as he’d meant to remain calm for Neal's sake.
“Age doesn’t matter sometimes,” the doctor replied. “The clot could have formed as the result of an injury weeks or months ago and just traveled along the circulatory system until it reached the lungs today.”
Moz closed his eyes, remembering Neal's run-in with the Vespa; if only they had gotten that x-ray, maybe the docs would have spotted this at that time.
“Am I… going… to die?” Neal asked, pulling the oxygen mask he wore away from his face. His voice was halting, as if the very effort of speaking was too much. Moz glanced at him sharply, amazed at the direct question, but Neal regarded the doctor steadily, without any of the fear Moz knew he himself would be feeling if he’d been given such news.
“I won’t lie to you, Mr. Manders, if you hadn’t come into the hospital today, you may have, but if we treat this immediately, there is every chance of a full recovery.”
“What’s… treatment?”
The doctor reviewed the catheterization procedure for the removal of the clot, and Neal listened to him unblinkingly. Moz, for his part, wished he could shrink away completely and come back when it was all over - he was always squeamish and easily disturbed by blood or anything to do with hospitals.
Neal agreed to the procedure and signed on the dotted, and when the doctor had gone, he looked up at Moz. “So… I’m Bunny?” he joked, a weak smile on his lips as he looked up at Moz with eyes clouded by pain.
Moz shrugged. “You don’t expect me to be the feckless sidekick?”
“Thanks for… getting… me here,” Neal went on haltingly. “You… saved… life.”
“Don’t mention it,” Moz said, but Neal reached out a shaky hand to grab onto his, and Moz squeezed it back and smiled. “No really, don’t. You know I care about you, right?”
“I do... Thanks.”
“I should call Kate - she’ll want to be here.”
“No, please, Moz. I don’t… want her to… worry - too soon… her dad.” Kate’s father Robert had passed away just before Christmas from a heart attack, and it was clear Neal thought this was too close for her comfort.
“I don’t like it, Neal.”
“You heard… h-him… full… recov..”
Neal's breathing became more labored and his eyelids fluttered, so Moz pushed the oxygen mask over his face again. “Come on, breathe. Slowly, that’s it.”
“Will… stay?”
Neal knew well Moz’s aversion to hospitals, but there was no way Moz would leave him alone here, not in a million years.
----
Moz was cooling his heels in the hall outside Neal's room while the nurses prepped him for his procedure, when the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end. At the opposite end of the hallway, the elevator dinged and he turned his head. What he saw made him freeze.
The Brooks Brothers Suit that emerged was tall, imposing, and approached the nurse’s station with the air of a man who usually got what he wanted. His shoes were sensible, his tie cheap, and his jacket untailored, and there was no mistaking the fact that the man was a Fed.
He stood loitering in front of the nurse’s station, waiting impatiently with his lips pressed together for the woman seated at the desk to get off the phone and pay attention to him. Glancing down at his light blue, v-necked t-shirt and similarly-colored chinos, Moz thought fast. He swiped a lab coat and stethoscope from behind a chair in a break room, took off his glasses, and rushed over.
“Excuse me?” the Fed was addressing the nurse, who held up an index finger at him impatiently as she continued her call. He looked pissed off at the delay, but was struggling hard not to show it. Moz thought he could use that.
“Can I help you?” Moz said, clicking a pen and glancing down distractedly at the clipboard he’d swiped off the meds cart.
“Yes, Doctor…” the Suit glanced at the name embroidered on the lab coat, “…Takahashi?” He paused, looking confused, but Moz’s eyes bored into his with an I’m-a-busy-man-here expression, so he plunged ahead. “I’m Special Agent Peter Burke with the FBI, and I am in the middle of an investigation. I have been in pursuit of this man,” he produced a surveillance photo of Neal taken on a street somewhere, “and have reliable information that he may be in this hospital.”
“Really?” Moz said blandly and handed the photo back.
The Suit looked down on him expectantly, and when Moz said nothing more, he asked, “Have you seen him? Is he a patient here?”
“If he’s a patient here, then I can’t help you. Not unless you have a warrant, Mister Burke.”
“Agent Burke. You can’t even say if you’ve seen him?”
“That would be a violation of hospital policy, and of the privacy of our patients.”
“So, he’s a patient here?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then he’s not?”
“I didn’t say that either. I can neither confirm nor deny it.” The Suit glanced over at the nurse, who was still on her call. “And neither can any other staff member here, I’m afraid,” Moz added, and enjoyed watching the man squirm.
Burke stared at Moz as if his take-no-shit Fedliness would get him some play, but Moz had been shaken down by the best of them, and so he held his gaze placidly. “I’ll be back, then,” Burke informed him, curtly tapping the desk with the edge of the photo, and Moz nodded, then watched him until he got onto the elevator.
“Jesus,” Moz breathed as he scurried back to Neal's room, wondering how long he’d be able to keep the hunters at bay
----
Neal started suddenly as Moz leaned up against his bed. They were waiting for the orderlies to come and take him for his procedure and the Valium they’d given him to calm him had made him sleepy. “You’re here,” he said, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask.
“Mm-hmm. They said I could hang out until they take you.”
“That’s… good. Hope… not… boring.”
“It’s never boring with you, kid.”
----
Moz lurked at a railing overlooking the atrium of the lobby of the hospital, just down the hall from Neal's room. He was waiting to hear if his friend would be OK, but he was also waiting for the other shoe that was known as Peter Burke to drop on his head. He’d only heard of the man the one time, when Neal had been foolish enough to present him with a green lollipop, but there was something always in the back of Moz’s mind that he’d need to keep an eyeball or three peeled. He was not surprised to have that suspicion confirmed.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t prepare for these types of eventualities, because he always did - Moz was the King of the contingency plan. But the timing of this couldn’t have been worse. With Neal completely incapacitated - and even fighting for his life - Moz would much rather be worrying about him than keeping them both out of jail.
But he could tap-dance with the best of them, and he’d give the performance of his life for the kid, because he loved him like a brother. A movement on the street below alerted him to the fact that it was just about show time.
Even from up here, Moz could make out the unmistakable, sensible-shoe-driven gait of a Fed as Burke entered through the main doors and strode across the lobby. Glancing behind himself, he noted that the closest nurse’s station had been abandoned, and headed towards with a purpose. Glancing down at the list of commonly dialed numbers, he chose one and cleared his throat.
“He-hello, security?” he said, his low, urgent voice completely belied by the casualness of his stance behind the desk. “This is James down in the lobby. I - I think I’ve just spotted a man with a gun come into the hospital! You’ve gotta come quick. Oh no!”
With that, he hung up, then went back to watch the chaos erupt below as a full contingency of security staff put the hospital into lockdown.
“Sir?” a nurse called to him a few minutes later and he turned, eyebrows raised. “Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to move. We’re, uh, running a security drill, and we’ll need all visitors to be inside a room. I know you’re waiting for your friend to be done in the Cath Lab, so if you’ll just come back to his room?”
Moz’s face became a mask of concern as he moved towards the young woman. “I hope everything is all right?”
“Oh, there’s nothing to be worried about,” she replied, looking incredibly worried. “Just come with me.”
Moz settled into the guest chair in Neal's room and decided to see what was passing for daytime television these days.
----
“Moz,” Neal said in a scratchy voice, his eyes blinking slowly as he caught sight of his friend. His procedure had gone successfully, and they had him on anticoagulant drugs to prevent other clots from forming, but they needed to keep him here for a few days to be safe. “Still here.”
Moz got up and stood closer to Neal. “Not going anywhere.”
“Thanks,” he replied and smiled sleepily up at him. “What’s going on out there?” he asked, eyeing the increased activity in the hospital corridor with curiosity.
“Apparently, the hospital is having a drill of some kind,” he said. “Security lockdown.”
“So you’re stuck in here with me?”
“It’s not exactly a hardship.”
“You must be bored.”
“I’m keeping myself entertained. You should get some more sleep, you look beat.”
Neal nodded, sighed and closed his eyes. When his breathing had evened out, Moz got up and went to see what more deviltry he could get up to.
----
Moz huddled in an alcove just outside the office of the hospital’s security chief, biding his time. The chaos set off by his well-timed call earlier in the afternoon had led to the Fed being detained for the last few hours while the hospital’s staff enacted their lockdown procedures and each and every floor of the place was searched for a lone gunman by a cadre of NYPD who had been called in. He adjusted the pink terry cloth robe he now wore, which would normally be too big, and shifted his posture so that he looked more natural under the makeshift disguise he’d pulled together.
”Look, I told you a hundred times, I’m sorry I came in here with my service weapon, I should have left it in the gun safe in my car.” He could hear the Suit’s voice from here - it carried well. ”Now please, I’ve got to serve this warrant so I can look for my suspect in this hospital. Can I go now?”
Moz couldn’t really hear the security chief’s reply, but he didn’t need to - it looked like the delay he’d caused in the Suit’s finding Neal had just about run out.
Time for Plan C.
One glance up was all he needed to see that Mr. Fed Burke was headed in his direction, and he bowed his shoulders, hunched over so he seemed shorter, and shuffled toward him. Dropping his chin, he let the hair of the wig he wore drape across his face - he’d do penance for swiping it from the oncology ward later - and waited until the Fed was nearly past him before letting out a high-pitched, pitiable moan. He clutched at the pillow he’d shoved under the hospital gown he’d put on over his clothes.
Burke paused as he was passing Moz, and doubled back. “Do you need help, ma’am?”
“Oooohhhhh!” Moz moaned, his voice high-pitched and breathy. “They said walking helps with the labor pains!”
“I suppose so,” Burke said, his voice uncertain. Moz could tell he was impatient to go, but that he wasn’t so ungallant that he’d leave a woman in distress unattended. “Should I call you a nurse?”
“Oh no, the maternity ward’s not far - ooohhh-ooooo-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!” Moz tried to approximate the Lamaze breathing exercises he’d seen demonstrated on television numerous times without letting the man get a look at his five o’clock shadow. He took a step forward, stumbled, and felt Burke’s hand on his back as he tried to prevent Moz from falling over.
“Look out there, be careful!” Burke said uneasily, grabbing one of Moz’s hands.
“Of course! Oh, here comes another contraction!” Moz screamed and hunched forward, squeezing the man’s hand so hard he thought he could feel the bones grinding, and tried to pretend he was breathing through it.
Burke recoiled as Moz fell into him, but then seemed to steel himself. “Contraction” over, Moz stepped back and chanced a glance up at the man, who was looking off down the hall for help. “I’d better get back to my room,” Moz breathed, lowered his head and shuffled off, letting the slippers he’d purloined skitch along the floor. “Thank you!” he called when he sensed Burke was watching him go, so he threw in a panicked, “Oh, the ring of fire!” and smiled with satisfaction as he heard the man’s hasty retreat.
When he was sure Burke had gone, he stopped, ducked inside the men’s room and ditched the elements of his disguise. The warrant papers he’d lifted out of the Fed’s suit jacket he slipped into his back pocket - he thought Neal might want a little souvenir when this was all over.
----
“Still here?”
“Still here,” Moz said, suppressing a yawn. He’d watched as the Fed unsuccessfully tried to serve his non-existent warrant on the nurse and then returned to Neal's side. It was after 7:00, and he thought Burke was unlikely to be able to get another at this hour, so he’d been relaxing in Neal's room.
“When can I get out of here, do you think?” Neal struggled to sit up in the bed. He still looked worn out, but his eyes were clear, and Moz was relieved to see he wasn’t having any difficulty breathing.
“When the docs say it’s OK,” Moz said with only a slight scold in his voice. “Look what happened the last time we ducked out of a hospital too soon. I’m not letting that happen again. Hungry? They brought you a sandwich.”
Neal yawned and shook his head. “You eat it. Man, I can’t believe how much this has taken out of me.”
“You and me both.”
----
“Dr. Takahashi!”
Moz turned, pen hovering over Neal’s lunch order, and peered blankly up at Agent Peter Burke. “Yes?” he said with a distracted air, holding the clipboard against his chest.
“Agent Burke? With the FBI?” Burke said, reminding him.
“Oh, oh, yes. Of course. What can I do for you, Mister Burke?”
Peter closed his eyes and sighed. “I brought that warrant we discussed yesterday,” he said, reaching inside his coat and pulling out the paperwork.
Moz took it from him and inspected it slowly, as if he gave a crap about what it said. “Yes, it appears that everything is in order.” He handed it back and looked back down on his clipboard.
“So?”
“So what?”
“Can you tell me if this man,” he pulled the photo of Neal out again and handed it to Moz, “is a patient in this hospital?”
Moz pulled his glasses out of his lab coat and put them on, took the picture from him, and stared at it carefully. “You say this man is a suspect? What is he suspected of? I-is he dangerous?”
“He’s wanted in connection to a forgery, some robberies - nothing violent, I assure you.”
Moz nodded and stared back down at the photo again. “Mmm,” he said. And then, “Hrm,” again. He suppressed a smile as the Fed began to get impatient, shifting from foot to foot, then finally said, “No. No, this man has never been a patient here.”
“You’re sure?” Burke barely suppressed his frustration.
“I’m quite sure. If you like, I can circulate it in other departments, but I’m the Administrator here, and well, if anyone would know…”
“No, of course. Thank you for your time, Dr. Takahashi.”
“Arigato gozaimasu,” Moz muttered to his retreating back, threw the photo in the nearest trashcan and returned to Neal's room.
----
“Still here? Did you ever leave?” Neal said as he came awake.
Moz peered at him over the 2-year old issue of Prevention he’d purloined and blinked. He’d let him know exactly what had happened with the Fed when he was better and out of here, but for now, he reasoned Neal's ignorance was bliss.
“You must be dying from boredom,” Neal went on.
Moz shrugged and raised the magazine. “Been keeping myself busy. You know what they say about idle hands…”
----
Thank you for your time.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Moz, Neal, Peter; gen, pre-series
Spoilers: Forging Bonds
Content Notice: None
Word Count: 4,500
Summary: When Neal is hospitalized, Moz has to use all his wits to keep him under the radar.
A/N: This is a fill for Prompt 6 of my wcpairings challenge for the lovely emmademarais. Her prompt was “N gen where he collapses, seriously ill - pick P or E or M to bring him to hospital and fret.” Many thanks to dmk0064 for the idea and, uh, tech support.
----
“Neal, I can only maintain this opening in the periphery for so long,” Moz said over the communicator.
He stood peering into the laptop he’d hardwired into the fiber optics of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, into which he’d dropped a little sub-routine that fooled the video surveillance into rerunning the same loop of video over and over for the last half hour. Neal was taking his sweet time trading the scrap of the Egyptian Book of the Dead he’d forged with the real one that their “client” was paying them an arm and a leg to swipe. Moz would have to talk to the kid about his need for dramatic flourish - and the basic facts of high tech security systems. While the Egyptian collection was a relatively easy target compared to the other areas of the famed museum, there were still rules and processes, and no amount of technical finesse was going to keep the guard from making his scheduled 1:17 am rounds through that part of the museum.
A garbled bit of communication came over the line. “What? Say that again?”
“I said I hope Kate likes her Valentine’s Day gift. She’s been so down since her dad died.”
Moz’s eyeroll was so epic he may have caught a glimpse of his actual cerebrum. “This is what you’re thinking as you cut it so close I’ve got razor burn? You past the guard yet?” Moz adjusted the phone company-branded baseball cap he wore on his head impatiently - he hated hats.
”Yep.”
Moz disengaged his laptop from the phone trunk and scurried around the building toward the spot in the park where they’d agreed to rendezvous. He couldn’t wait to set his eyes on the scroll - to have something so ancient and precious in his hands, if for only a couple of hours, was one of the joys of this “profession.”
Suddenly, a crash and a scream sounded over his communicator, followed by a moan and a breathy, ”Oh my effing God!” from Neal.
“Neal!” Moz hissed as his heart dropped and settled somewhere near his shoes. “You OK?” When there was no answer but moaning, he repeated his question along with a tense, “Answer me!”
Several more minutes of heavy breathing and moaning were finally punctuated with, ”Awww, Christ on a cracker, that hurts!”
“Neal. If you don’t tell me where you are or what has happened I will kill you dead,” Moz threatened. He was hurrying along the path to their rendezvous point, but there was still no sign of the younger man.
”Hit and run,” Neal gasped.
Moz broke into a run, and after the next turn in the path he could make out the form of someone lying on the ground in a pool of light thrown off by a nearby streetlamp.
“Neal!” He was on his knees beside his protégé within seconds; Neal's face was devoid of all color as he lay on his side, clutching his right leg to himself. “What happened?”
“Who rides a Vespa around at 1:30 in the morning? In February?” Neal gasped and Moz figured out what had happened.
“Jesus, someone hit you?”
“I didn’t even see him coming. Or where he went. Awwwwww!” There were actual tears in his eyes, and Moz did not envy him.
“You need a doctor.”
“No, Moz, I’ll be fine,” Neal said through gritted teeth as he struggled to sit up. Moz helped him get to his feet, and when Neal tried to put weight on his right leg, it collapsed beneath him; if Moz hadn’t been there to catch him, he’d have fallen right over.
“Come on, we have to get you to a hospital,” Moz said, an arm around Neal as he tried to take as much of his weight as possible.
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“It wasn’t a request, Neal. Now, come on.”
One very tense cab ride and two hours later, they sat together in a treatment room of an ER, waiting for the doctor to return. Neal was pale but quietly dozing, the painkillers they’d given him clearly taking the edge off, which was a great relief to Moz. According to the doctor, the injury to his thigh looked like a “deep tissue bruise” but that he would want to x-ray it to be sure nothing was fractured. It sure looked scary enough - Moz could barely look at it.
Since Neal was asleep, Moz took the opportunity to explore their surroundings - he never felt comfortable in places where he didn’t know of at least two escape routes. As he was mapping out the floor, one of the nurses he recognized from earlier approached, an intent look on her face. “There’s a police officer here, so I just thought it would help if your friend could make a report sooner rather than later. You know, while it’s all still fresh in his memory.”
Moz laid a hand on her upper arm. “You’re so thoughtful. Shall I go and see if he’s awake? Give us ten minutes, and I’m sure he’ll be ready to give a statement.” He smiled encouragingly at her and watched her go. “Freakin’ busybody,” he muttered and rushed back to Neal.
“Come on, we’re going,” he said, throwing Neal's clothes at him and grabbing up the plastic tube that held the scroll.
Neal started awake. “Wha?”
“Cops - we gotta go. Now.”
Neal didn’t have to be told twice. He fumbled his pants back on, slid into his shoes and stood unsteadily on his feet. Moz took his dark turtleneck and jacket into his arms and moved to the door to peer out. The coast was clear. Returning to Neal's side, he eased his friend’s arm over his shoulders and helped him limp out and down the short corridor to their left that led into the main hospital. It may have been a circuitous route, but Moz surmised it was likely to be the least traveled. It was a longer walk to the main entrance, but a forgotten wheelchair they found along the way made the going easier and they were soon on their way.
“That was a close one,” Neal breathed when they’d made it to the street.
“Yeah, let’s hope it was worth it.”
It was, of course - their client paid them over 200 grand for their services, and Neal used his cut to recuperate from his injury in style on a rented sailboat he and Kate used to cruise around the Bahamas for Valentine’s Day.
They returned two weeks later, looking tanned and happy, and it wasn’t long before Moz had lined up another gig. “Where’s Kate?” he asked as Neal shuffled into Wednesday, looking a little out of breath.
Neal waved his hand dismissively. “Those damn Roman coins - she’s down in Delaware or something.” Kate’s fascination for - and talent with - counterfeiting coins was interesting but time-consuming.
Moz, however, was inclined to leave her to it if it kept her out of trouble. She was proving to be a valuable member of their crew, but he didn’t know if he could fully trust her to keep up her end every time, and besides, he didn’t need her for this job. “We’ll leave her to it. I, for one, have lined up a great score. What do you know about the works of John James Audubon?”
Neal gave Moz his again with the art school quiz? expression before answering. “The naturalist and painter? What’s not to know? His studies of American birds are legendary.”
“What if I told you that a full set of his ‘Birds of America’ collection is coming up for auction at Weatherby’s next month?”
“The entire Double Elephant Folio? That’s got to be worth a couple million.”
“More like five. One hasn’t been available in over a decade.”
“And you want to what? Steal it?” Neal looked a little dazed, or so it seemed to Moz.
“I already lined up a buyer. It’ll be a piece of cake - we hit it while it’s being authenticated where the security is lightest.”
Neal nodded, a hand on his chest thoughtfully. “Where?”
Moz crossed over to a map he’d already laid out on a nearby tabletop, and laid out the setup.
“Who’s… working… se… security?” Neal winced as he spoke, his words getting weaker as he seemed to be losing his breath.
“You OK, mon frère?” Moz asked, a hand on Neal's arm.
Neal shook his head, and Moz noticed his face was covered by a light sheen of sweat. “I’m not sure, I - I’ve been getting easily winded the last couple days. Hoo!” He bent over, his hands on his thighs, taking in great gulps of air that didn’t seem to be doing him much good.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Moz began, leading him to the nearby futon.
Neal practically collapsed onto it, his hands shaking where they grabbed Moz’s shirt. “Moz, some… thing’s…” He cried out then, his hand clutching at his chest in sudden agony.
“Neal? What is it?”
Neal was nearly speechless, his eyes open and staring at Moz with such fear in them, it was all Moz could do not to panic himself. Then he noticed that Neal's face had gone pale beneath his tan, and his lips took on a darker, purplish cast.
“Is it your chest?” Neal nodded. Moz pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling 911,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. Neal, for his part, didn’t seem inclined to argue.
----
“A what?”
“Pulmonary embolism, Mr. Raffles. It’s a blood clot that’s lodged itself in an artery in one of your friend’s lungs, and I’m afraid it’s very serious.”
“What could have caused it? He’s 25!” Moz said, fear entering his voice even as he’d meant to remain calm for Neal's sake.
“Age doesn’t matter sometimes,” the doctor replied. “The clot could have formed as the result of an injury weeks or months ago and just traveled along the circulatory system until it reached the lungs today.”
Moz closed his eyes, remembering Neal's run-in with the Vespa; if only they had gotten that x-ray, maybe the docs would have spotted this at that time.
“Am I… going… to die?” Neal asked, pulling the oxygen mask he wore away from his face. His voice was halting, as if the very effort of speaking was too much. Moz glanced at him sharply, amazed at the direct question, but Neal regarded the doctor steadily, without any of the fear Moz knew he himself would be feeling if he’d been given such news.
“I won’t lie to you, Mr. Manders, if you hadn’t come into the hospital today, you may have, but if we treat this immediately, there is every chance of a full recovery.”
“What’s… treatment?”
The doctor reviewed the catheterization procedure for the removal of the clot, and Neal listened to him unblinkingly. Moz, for his part, wished he could shrink away completely and come back when it was all over - he was always squeamish and easily disturbed by blood or anything to do with hospitals.
Neal agreed to the procedure and signed on the dotted, and when the doctor had gone, he looked up at Moz. “So… I’m Bunny?” he joked, a weak smile on his lips as he looked up at Moz with eyes clouded by pain.
Moz shrugged. “You don’t expect me to be the feckless sidekick?”
“Thanks for… getting… me here,” Neal went on haltingly. “You… saved… life.”
“Don’t mention it,” Moz said, but Neal reached out a shaky hand to grab onto his, and Moz squeezed it back and smiled. “No really, don’t. You know I care about you, right?”
“I do... Thanks.”
“I should call Kate - she’ll want to be here.”
“No, please, Moz. I don’t… want her to… worry - too soon… her dad.” Kate’s father Robert had passed away just before Christmas from a heart attack, and it was clear Neal thought this was too close for her comfort.
“I don’t like it, Neal.”
“You heard… h-him… full… recov..”
Neal's breathing became more labored and his eyelids fluttered, so Moz pushed the oxygen mask over his face again. “Come on, breathe. Slowly, that’s it.”
“Will… stay?”
Neal knew well Moz’s aversion to hospitals, but there was no way Moz would leave him alone here, not in a million years.
----
Moz was cooling his heels in the hall outside Neal's room while the nurses prepped him for his procedure, when the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand on end. At the opposite end of the hallway, the elevator dinged and he turned his head. What he saw made him freeze.
The Brooks Brothers Suit that emerged was tall, imposing, and approached the nurse’s station with the air of a man who usually got what he wanted. His shoes were sensible, his tie cheap, and his jacket untailored, and there was no mistaking the fact that the man was a Fed.
He stood loitering in front of the nurse’s station, waiting impatiently with his lips pressed together for the woman seated at the desk to get off the phone and pay attention to him. Glancing down at his light blue, v-necked t-shirt and similarly-colored chinos, Moz thought fast. He swiped a lab coat and stethoscope from behind a chair in a break room, took off his glasses, and rushed over.
“Excuse me?” the Fed was addressing the nurse, who held up an index finger at him impatiently as she continued her call. He looked pissed off at the delay, but was struggling hard not to show it. Moz thought he could use that.
“Can I help you?” Moz said, clicking a pen and glancing down distractedly at the clipboard he’d swiped off the meds cart.
“Yes, Doctor…” the Suit glanced at the name embroidered on the lab coat, “…Takahashi?” He paused, looking confused, but Moz’s eyes bored into his with an I’m-a-busy-man-here expression, so he plunged ahead. “I’m Special Agent Peter Burke with the FBI, and I am in the middle of an investigation. I have been in pursuit of this man,” he produced a surveillance photo of Neal taken on a street somewhere, “and have reliable information that he may be in this hospital.”
“Really?” Moz said blandly and handed the photo back.
The Suit looked down on him expectantly, and when Moz said nothing more, he asked, “Have you seen him? Is he a patient here?”
“If he’s a patient here, then I can’t help you. Not unless you have a warrant, Mister Burke.”
“Agent Burke. You can’t even say if you’ve seen him?”
“That would be a violation of hospital policy, and of the privacy of our patients.”
“So, he’s a patient here?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then he’s not?”
“I didn’t say that either. I can neither confirm nor deny it.” The Suit glanced over at the nurse, who was still on her call. “And neither can any other staff member here, I’m afraid,” Moz added, and enjoyed watching the man squirm.
Burke stared at Moz as if his take-no-shit Fedliness would get him some play, but Moz had been shaken down by the best of them, and so he held his gaze placidly. “I’ll be back, then,” Burke informed him, curtly tapping the desk with the edge of the photo, and Moz nodded, then watched him until he got onto the elevator.
“Jesus,” Moz breathed as he scurried back to Neal's room, wondering how long he’d be able to keep the hunters at bay
----
Neal started suddenly as Moz leaned up against his bed. They were waiting for the orderlies to come and take him for his procedure and the Valium they’d given him to calm him had made him sleepy. “You’re here,” he said, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask.
“Mm-hmm. They said I could hang out until they take you.”
“That’s… good. Hope… not… boring.”
“It’s never boring with you, kid.”
----
Moz lurked at a railing overlooking the atrium of the lobby of the hospital, just down the hall from Neal's room. He was waiting to hear if his friend would be OK, but he was also waiting for the other shoe that was known as Peter Burke to drop on his head. He’d only heard of the man the one time, when Neal had been foolish enough to present him with a green lollipop, but there was something always in the back of Moz’s mind that he’d need to keep an eyeball or three peeled. He was not surprised to have that suspicion confirmed.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t prepare for these types of eventualities, because he always did - Moz was the King of the contingency plan. But the timing of this couldn’t have been worse. With Neal completely incapacitated - and even fighting for his life - Moz would much rather be worrying about him than keeping them both out of jail.
But he could tap-dance with the best of them, and he’d give the performance of his life for the kid, because he loved him like a brother. A movement on the street below alerted him to the fact that it was just about show time.
Even from up here, Moz could make out the unmistakable, sensible-shoe-driven gait of a Fed as Burke entered through the main doors and strode across the lobby. Glancing behind himself, he noted that the closest nurse’s station had been abandoned, and headed towards with a purpose. Glancing down at the list of commonly dialed numbers, he chose one and cleared his throat.
“He-hello, security?” he said, his low, urgent voice completely belied by the casualness of his stance behind the desk. “This is James down in the lobby. I - I think I’ve just spotted a man with a gun come into the hospital! You’ve gotta come quick. Oh no!”
With that, he hung up, then went back to watch the chaos erupt below as a full contingency of security staff put the hospital into lockdown.
“Sir?” a nurse called to him a few minutes later and he turned, eyebrows raised. “Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to move. We’re, uh, running a security drill, and we’ll need all visitors to be inside a room. I know you’re waiting for your friend to be done in the Cath Lab, so if you’ll just come back to his room?”
Moz’s face became a mask of concern as he moved towards the young woman. “I hope everything is all right?”
“Oh, there’s nothing to be worried about,” she replied, looking incredibly worried. “Just come with me.”
Moz settled into the guest chair in Neal's room and decided to see what was passing for daytime television these days.
----
“Moz,” Neal said in a scratchy voice, his eyes blinking slowly as he caught sight of his friend. His procedure had gone successfully, and they had him on anticoagulant drugs to prevent other clots from forming, but they needed to keep him here for a few days to be safe. “Still here.”
Moz got up and stood closer to Neal. “Not going anywhere.”
“Thanks,” he replied and smiled sleepily up at him. “What’s going on out there?” he asked, eyeing the increased activity in the hospital corridor with curiosity.
“Apparently, the hospital is having a drill of some kind,” he said. “Security lockdown.”
“So you’re stuck in here with me?”
“It’s not exactly a hardship.”
“You must be bored.”
“I’m keeping myself entertained. You should get some more sleep, you look beat.”
Neal nodded, sighed and closed his eyes. When his breathing had evened out, Moz got up and went to see what more deviltry he could get up to.
----
Moz huddled in an alcove just outside the office of the hospital’s security chief, biding his time. The chaos set off by his well-timed call earlier in the afternoon had led to the Fed being detained for the last few hours while the hospital’s staff enacted their lockdown procedures and each and every floor of the place was searched for a lone gunman by a cadre of NYPD who had been called in. He adjusted the pink terry cloth robe he now wore, which would normally be too big, and shifted his posture so that he looked more natural under the makeshift disguise he’d pulled together.
”Look, I told you a hundred times, I’m sorry I came in here with my service weapon, I should have left it in the gun safe in my car.” He could hear the Suit’s voice from here - it carried well. ”Now please, I’ve got to serve this warrant so I can look for my suspect in this hospital. Can I go now?”
Moz couldn’t really hear the security chief’s reply, but he didn’t need to - it looked like the delay he’d caused in the Suit’s finding Neal had just about run out.
Time for Plan C.
One glance up was all he needed to see that Mr. Fed Burke was headed in his direction, and he bowed his shoulders, hunched over so he seemed shorter, and shuffled toward him. Dropping his chin, he let the hair of the wig he wore drape across his face - he’d do penance for swiping it from the oncology ward later - and waited until the Fed was nearly past him before letting out a high-pitched, pitiable moan. He clutched at the pillow he’d shoved under the hospital gown he’d put on over his clothes.
Burke paused as he was passing Moz, and doubled back. “Do you need help, ma’am?”
“Oooohhhhh!” Moz moaned, his voice high-pitched and breathy. “They said walking helps with the labor pains!”
“I suppose so,” Burke said, his voice uncertain. Moz could tell he was impatient to go, but that he wasn’t so ungallant that he’d leave a woman in distress unattended. “Should I call you a nurse?”
“Oh no, the maternity ward’s not far - ooohhh-ooooo-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!” Moz tried to approximate the Lamaze breathing exercises he’d seen demonstrated on television numerous times without letting the man get a look at his five o’clock shadow. He took a step forward, stumbled, and felt Burke’s hand on his back as he tried to prevent Moz from falling over.
“Look out there, be careful!” Burke said uneasily, grabbing one of Moz’s hands.
“Of course! Oh, here comes another contraction!” Moz screamed and hunched forward, squeezing the man’s hand so hard he thought he could feel the bones grinding, and tried to pretend he was breathing through it.
Burke recoiled as Moz fell into him, but then seemed to steel himself. “Contraction” over, Moz stepped back and chanced a glance up at the man, who was looking off down the hall for help. “I’d better get back to my room,” Moz breathed, lowered his head and shuffled off, letting the slippers he’d purloined skitch along the floor. “Thank you!” he called when he sensed Burke was watching him go, so he threw in a panicked, “Oh, the ring of fire!” and smiled with satisfaction as he heard the man’s hasty retreat.
When he was sure Burke had gone, he stopped, ducked inside the men’s room and ditched the elements of his disguise. The warrant papers he’d lifted out of the Fed’s suit jacket he slipped into his back pocket - he thought Neal might want a little souvenir when this was all over.
----
“Still here?”
“Still here,” Moz said, suppressing a yawn. He’d watched as the Fed unsuccessfully tried to serve his non-existent warrant on the nurse and then returned to Neal's side. It was after 7:00, and he thought Burke was unlikely to be able to get another at this hour, so he’d been relaxing in Neal's room.
“When can I get out of here, do you think?” Neal struggled to sit up in the bed. He still looked worn out, but his eyes were clear, and Moz was relieved to see he wasn’t having any difficulty breathing.
“When the docs say it’s OK,” Moz said with only a slight scold in his voice. “Look what happened the last time we ducked out of a hospital too soon. I’m not letting that happen again. Hungry? They brought you a sandwich.”
Neal yawned and shook his head. “You eat it. Man, I can’t believe how much this has taken out of me.”
“You and me both.”
----
“Dr. Takahashi!”
Moz turned, pen hovering over Neal’s lunch order, and peered blankly up at Agent Peter Burke. “Yes?” he said with a distracted air, holding the clipboard against his chest.
“Agent Burke? With the FBI?” Burke said, reminding him.
“Oh, oh, yes. Of course. What can I do for you, Mister Burke?”
Peter closed his eyes and sighed. “I brought that warrant we discussed yesterday,” he said, reaching inside his coat and pulling out the paperwork.
Moz took it from him and inspected it slowly, as if he gave a crap about what it said. “Yes, it appears that everything is in order.” He handed it back and looked back down on his clipboard.
“So?”
“So what?”
“Can you tell me if this man,” he pulled the photo of Neal out again and handed it to Moz, “is a patient in this hospital?”
Moz pulled his glasses out of his lab coat and put them on, took the picture from him, and stared at it carefully. “You say this man is a suspect? What is he suspected of? I-is he dangerous?”
“He’s wanted in connection to a forgery, some robberies - nothing violent, I assure you.”
Moz nodded and stared back down at the photo again. “Mmm,” he said. And then, “Hrm,” again. He suppressed a smile as the Fed began to get impatient, shifting from foot to foot, then finally said, “No. No, this man has never been a patient here.”
“You’re sure?” Burke barely suppressed his frustration.
“I’m quite sure. If you like, I can circulate it in other departments, but I’m the Administrator here, and well, if anyone would know…”
“No, of course. Thank you for your time, Dr. Takahashi.”
“Arigato gozaimasu,” Moz muttered to his retreating back, threw the photo in the nearest trashcan and returned to Neal's room.
----
“Still here? Did you ever leave?” Neal said as he came awake.
Moz peered at him over the 2-year old issue of Prevention he’d purloined and blinked. He’d let him know exactly what had happened with the Fed when he was better and out of here, but for now, he reasoned Neal's ignorance was bliss.
“You must be dying from boredom,” Neal went on.
Moz shrugged and raised the magazine. “Been keeping myself busy. You know what they say about idle hands…”
----
Thank you for your time.