White collar

By Dayreader

Adventure / Drama

The beginning of an end

Kate isn’t who you think she is.

The picture you’ve created of Kate isn’t anything more than pure fiction.

I never actually liked that girl Neal.

Never trust the devil, ‘cause you’ll one way or another always end up burned.

Mozzie kept thinking like that for some time as he was left alone in Neal’s apartment. There were thousands of words that Mozzie wanted to say, but he couldn’t, because Neal wasn’t there. Neal was long gone, and according to Peter, he was kidnapped. But Mozzie just shook his head. Neal kidnapped? By the girl of his dreams?

Not likely.

Mozzie wanted to know what kind of a game Neal was playing, but yeah, it was kind of hard because of the fact that Neal was Neal. He thought ten steps ahead, there was always a way, just as long as he had the time to really think it through.

Peter was off on the streets, searching for clues, which was unlikely for him to find. Kate was scrupulous. There was no way that she had left a trace. No. What Mozzie needed to find was which Museum Neal and Kate wanted to sell the treasure to.

There was a possibility that it would be impossible to narrow down the results. Unless…
The treasure was English, Mozzie wanted to face palm himself for being so reckless, no, stupid.
It was so obvious, they were in England.


Peter drummed his fingers against the dashboard lost in thought.

How would he find Neal?

The clock was ticking, and for each second that passed, Peter started growing more suspicion in the bureau. Because telling the White Collar that he was after a not dead con-man was out of question.
Peter sighed and gained more aware of the surrounding as he heard the obnoxious sound of his phone vibrating across the dashboard.

“Peter Burke.”

“Suit, I know where they are.”

“Let me guess, they’re in England?”

“How did you-”

“The passport, it all came back to me, but hopefully not too late.”


Peter and Mozzie went through the upcoming flights if there was something unusual about the shipping around the timeframe where Neal and Kate left the country. Peter didn’t find much, what he did find was a couple that had decided on shipping a horde of bulldogs, but Peter doubted that Kate would do something like that.

A few cups of coffee and a couple of hours later, Mozzie shouted:

“I got it!” Peter raised his gaze and walked to Mozzie’s computer.

“Wine? Really Mozzie?” Mozzie was staring at a shipment where there were ten crates of wine.

“Yes, but don’t you see? It’s Neal’s favorite!”

“Alright Mozzie, it’s great that you like wine, but I don’t understand why he would want these wine boxes shipped overseas. But then, Neal always has a reason. Doesn’t he?”

“He could be shipping forged wine-“

“But what does wine have to do with a museum?” Mozzie didn’t answer.

Mozzie began typing something on the keyboard and then.

“That’s where they are, either way.”


Peter looked into Neal’s eyes, begging him to stay. Neal broke off the eye contact and looked at the sea where the water kept breaking into the pier.
Neal looked into Peter’s eyes once more, and Peter could discern the pain Neal felt as Neal took a step back.

“I’m sorry Peter.”

And then, Neal got unto the boat that speeded away. Peter cursed loudly and couldn’t stop looking at the way the boat the gone, but now was no longer there, hidden in the darker, never to be seen again.

And then, there was nothing left to say and do.


Neal looked at the Mona-Lisa that hung on the wall.

“I thought you sold it.” Kate just smiled and shook her head.

“The Mona-Lisa is the one painting that no one can actually sell. And since I can’t sell it, I might as well hang it on my wall, and just remember the good old days.”

“You’re wicked.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t like it.”

“Tell me, what’s up with that X marked on its back?” She just smiled and ran her fingers through her long dark hair.

“Honestly? I wanted to know if you were as good as you were before. So I had the X placed on its back so that when you brought back the painting, I’d know that what you brought was real.” Neal shook his head.

“X marks the spot.”

“Well, that too.”


Months later, Peter still worked at the bureau and he had gathered a team that were constantly on a hunt after a ghost that didn’t want to be found. Back on track, Peter had told Diana, Jones and a handful others to keep looking for him. Maybe Neal could hide out for a year, or years, but eventually, he would get reckless enough to get caught. So what Peter was doing was for Neal’s own good. Yes, Neal’s sentence would probably be extended, but then he would eventually be free and then hopefully at least try to live a civil life.


Neal stood by a phone booth, the handset resting between Neal’s shoulder and chin. Everything was, in a way, controlled by statics, variables, and coincidences. A coin rested on Neal’s thumb and index finger. It was simple, it was statics and variables. Neal had decided that why not put his life choice in a toss of a coin. If he tossed heads, then he would call Mozzie and become one of the greatest criminals ever, he would forget about Kate that had left him, once more, in the middle of the night, with the house emptied of her things. And if he tossed tails, he would call Peter and go back to the FBI, and he would hunt Kate down. Statics and variables, he tossed the coin that flipped a couple of times in the air and then landed softly on his upper hand. He covered the coin with his other palm, statics, variables and coincidences, Neal uncovered his palm and he looked at the silver shaped face of the coin and he smiled a small smile.


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