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sheenianniTitle: Another Form of Art (Part II)
Author’s Name: 
sheenianni
Fandom: White Collar
Spoilers: Minor from Season 1 - 3
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Mozzie
Raiting: PG
Content Notice: None
Word Count: ~ 14,800
Notes: This was written for veleda_k during the wcpairing exchange, whose story absolutely made my day. Huge thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
rabidchild67 for betaing this fic, to November Leaving from fanfiction.net for cheerleading and helping me figure out my prompts, and finally to one other person who refuses to be named.
Prompt: Neal and Mozzie, pre-series. Wacky hijinks and zany schemes! Gen, please.
Summary: When Neal and Mozzie come to Europe, they decide to pull a heist that the world hasn’t seen yet. Pre-series.
Part II
Steal a tram. What a simple task.
It wasn’t, as Neal had eloquently put it, like stealing a painting, a piece of jewelry or even a car. A tram was big, heavy and limited by its tracks.
In his paranoia, Mozzie had once again swept their hotel rooms for bugs before they settled for some serious planning. Neal didn’t bother telling him that if they had been bugged, at this point they had already implicated themselves more than enough. Instead, he cleared the table and got them some pencils and paper. He had a feeling they might need them.
“Okay, this seems like one huge mess right now, so let’s take it easy. We break it in parts and deal with a few smaller problems, then we put it all together,” suggested Neal when Mozzie was finally done with his hobby and joined him at the table.
“One step at a time. I like it,” said Moz. “All right then, proceed.”
“Right. First, we need to get to our tram – ”
“A black tram,” Mozzie corrected. “Which, by the way, makes even less sense than just a tram. Is there some sort of urban legend, or were you two guys going Batman or Zorro or something?”
“Very funny. I think we can pick any tram and just paint it,” said Neal shortly.
“That simplifies things a bit,” nodded Mozzie. “Just getting to a tram shouldn’t be that much of a problem.”
“Okay, so let’s assume we acquire a tram. We need to get it out of town. Even if we knew how to drive it, we wouldn’t get past the city limits,” stated Neal. “How do they transport them anyway? They have to get the new trams into the city somehow. Do they use trucks or something?”
“Too big and heavy for that,” Mozzie shook his head. “However, the tracks for trams have the same width as those for regular trains, so…”
“… they use train tracks,” finished Neal in realization. He paused. “Wait… you mean that there are places where the train tracks and tram tracks are connected?”
“Exactly,” confirmed Mozzie. “At least, there should be. We’ll need to find a place like that – ”
“ – and that’s how we’ll get our tram out of the city,” exclaimed Neal and slapped his palm on the table.
Ever since he felt that the immediate threat of becoming one of Sofiyanski’s models had been averted (because when Mozzie said they would do it, then their attempt would at least be reasonably good), he started to look at the details of their situation – and began questioning the sanity of his bet. He had reviewed its wording in the vain hope that perhaps there was another way to fulfill it, only to reach the conclusion that yes, he had actually agreed to transport a huge mass of steel and glass.
But Mozzie’s tiny scrap of knowledge about the track system gave Neal hope that maybe this was actually doable. He started to see seeds of a plan, and that was more than they had before.
“We will need to borrow a train though,” pulled him Mozzie out of his thoughts.
“Borrow…?”
“Well, not a whole train,” explained Mozzie. “Just the locomotive.”
“A – train,” repeated Neal. Any light feelings from before were crushed by that one sentence from Mozzie’s lips.
He felt a strange twitch in his hands, so he picked up a pencil and started scribbling doodles on the paper. Then he noticed Mozzie’s eyes on him and stopped.
“It will be a bit trickier than getting to a tram,” said Mozzie seriously. “But it’s not a challenge we can’t work out. So you don’t need to worry about our little Tom Thumb. We can free it from the evil society’s clutches – ”
“Moz, we already have a tram on our schedule!” burst Neal at last.
“Exactly,” said Mozzie solemnly. “And if we want to steal it, we’re gonna need the train for it. A tram is not suited for using the railway electricity system, but we can attach it to our locomotive. Then, we can transport them both out of the city.”
A train.
Neal suppressed a sudden surge of dread. Instead, he plastered on a perfect smile. “Sure. Why not. We’ll borrow a train.”
“Okay.” Mozzie reached over the table and picked a discarded pen.
“This is the city,” he said as he drew a big circle on the paper. “This…” he drew a smaller circle inside the big one and marked it with a few X marks, “is the city’s tram system. There are stations, crossroads, tram depots and a few more things we’ll need to take into account. Then there is the railway station…”
…
“Hey Moz, say, by any chances… do you at least know how to drive them?” asked Neal about fifteen minutes later when they had roughly outlined their plan.
“More or less,” said Mozzie lightly. “One of my usual fences also had a legitimate life as an engineer. He drove trains from New York to Boston. Once or twice, he showed me the inside of a train cabin.”
“Please tell me we can get him here in the next five days?” asked Neal hopefully.
“Sorry man,” said Mozzie with a sigh. “Reed’s in jail now – for tax evasions, of all things. But I’ve learned quite a bit.”
If this was Mozzie’s attempt not to worry him more than was strictly necessary, then it was failing quite badly, thought Neal.
“Are you sure you can do it?” he asked dubiously.
“Have no fear, my friend, I have it under control,” smiled Mozzie peacefully. “Just take care of your part of the job.”
“Right,” said Neal. Since he had no better plan, he had no other choice than to trust Mozzie’s abilities. “Okay. What about the tram?” he asked hesitantly.
“Driving a tram is child’s play – you just press buttons and watch out for cars and retirees,” answered Mozzie confidently.
“Have you ever done it before?”
“Not exactly. … Look, all we need are a few manuals and a little research,” lifted his hand Moz in a calming gesture.
“Great,” said Neal sarcastically.
Suddenly, he realized how much of their plan depended on Mozzie’s word that he could do this. He had put his faith in people before, and the moment when he had grown too comfortable, the world did a U-turn on him and things spanned out of control.
That was ridiculous. There was no reason to think this would happen with Mozzie, Neal told himself firmly.
“There’s a whole bunch of work before us,” said Mozzie.
Neal nodded. “Then we’d better start right away.”
* * *
Some things never change.
Some people find the consistency of many of the universe’s aspects soothing. Mozzie however thought it was very practical, especially for a thief and conman in a foreign city.
At the beginning of his career, he had discovered that most US cities had several aspects in common. Later, he found that Europe wasn’t an exception to these rules.
Right now, what he needed was public traffic at its most overflowing stage.
It was six p.m., and Mozzie was pressed against the glass of a tram driver’s cabin in the busiest line in the city. He was completely squeezed between a huge man with a briefcase, an old woman with a small, rabid dog and a band of loud teenagers.
He was perfectly, absolutely inconspicuous. He was also quite out of breath.
“Excuse me?” choked Mozzie and tried to wriggle a little space for himself.
The tall man didn’t even look at him as he stepped on his foot. The dog growled at him. Then Moz was suddenly pressed even harder against the cabin glass as more people pushed themselves into the tram when its alarm started beeping and blinking and the door began to close.
“Ugh!” grunted Moz as someone’s elbow landed in his stomach.
You really owe me for this, Neal, he thought when the tram finally started to move.
He caught a breath in a vain attempt to stop suffocating. Then he turned his attention back to the driver of the tram and continued to observe – and learn.
(He had also lifted three wallets, mostly out of annoyance of being smothered by the crowd. He then returned them to their owners – sans cash. He would need a strong drink after this, and he had more than earned it, rationalized Mozzie.)
Seven stations later, most of the crowd had dissipated. Mozzie stepped out as well. He looked around and waited for a minute or two. Then he crossed the street to the other platform. A minute later, he boarded another tram.
And the torture started anew.
* * *
Meanwhile, Neal stepped off of the bus as he finally reached the state’s capital.
Half an hour later, he was standing before the Directorate of Railroads and Railway Service. Dressed in casual jeans and a T-shirt with a bag across his back, he ran his hand through his hair to further match his image to one of the local teenagers. Then he entered the building.
A small entrance hall with a turnstile that required a chip card to pass. Two staircases, one up, one down. A security station with a janitor inside; there were four screens displaying various parts of the building. A direction board, telling that the building had four floors and many offices. And finally, cameras – the visible area was well covered by cameras.
Neal took that all in as he entered the hall and confidently walked to the janitor – a man in his fifties who looked like he had just swallowed something sour.
“Good evening,” greeted him Neal with a polite, charming smile. “I’m Sebastian Ebner; I’m supposed to meet here with my cousin, Mr. Fisher? He works on the third floor – ”
“And that concerns me how?” asked the man flatly.
“I thought maybe you’d let me in?” Neal frowned. “You see, he told me to meet him outside at six, but it’s six twenty and he’s still not there, so I was wondering – ”
“Forget it, kid,” said the janitor in disdain.
“But I thought – ”
“You thought wrong,” snapped the man. “Now get out of here and wait for your cousin outside.”
“Fine! I’m out of here,” retorted Neal and turned around. He stopped for a moment when he noticed several stacks of leaflets and pamphlets. He picked one and started folding it into an animal shape.
Then without another word, he walked out and closed the door behind himself.
* * *
“So, how did it go?” called Neal when he entered their hotel rooms. He was already back in his suit, the jeans and T-shirt packed in his bag. After he washed his hands and face, he found Mozzie in an armchair, nursing a glass of wine. To Neal’s surprise, the corresponding bottle of Bordeaux was already halfway empty.
Mozzie shot him a narrow look. “Dante may have thought he knew how purgatory looked, but that was before public transport was invented.”
“What’s Hell, then?” asked Neal curiously.
“Having Big Brother’s servants as in-laws,” answered Mozzie promptly.
Neal laughed. “Come on, was it really so bad?”
“Worse,” said Mozzie grimly. “I have battle scars. Also, I think I just contracted every disease that can be transmitted in close distance.”
“Was it at least good for something?” asked Neal in worry.
“Of course it was good for something,” exclaimed Mozzie and stood up. “Do you think I would have spent two hours in that mess if it wasn’t necessary?”
Neal raised his hands in defense. “I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re the boss on this one. You know what’s best.”
“It’s okay,” said Mozzie, apparently properly mollified. He laid back into his armchair and closed his eyes.
Neal poured himself a glass of Bordeaux and sat next to him.
After minute of silence, Mozzie opened an eye and looked at Neal. “We’re gonna need those manuals,” he said. “I can only get so much from observation.”
“I’ll get on it tomorrow,” promised Neal.
Mozzie closed his eye in agreement.
“We may have a setback,” said Neal a moment later.
In jigtime, Mozzie pulled himself straight in his armchair, fully alert. “What happened?” he asked seriously.
“I went to the Directorate,” said Neal. “The chip cards wouldn’t be a problem, but the place is full of cameras, and from what I could tell, they’re recording. We could still go there in daylight, but we would need to disrupt the tapes.”
“That could attract attention,” frowned Mozzie. “We can’t afford that.”
“I know,” agreed Neal.
“I’m not saying we can’t do it,” said Moz. “Give me some time, and I’ll toast those cameras. Or, we could do this at night.”
“Climbing and ski masks! What else do we live for?” Neal made a brief smile before he turned serious. “There’s another thing, though. The building has four floors filed with offices. I think we can cross out about half of them – ”
“ – but that still leaves us with too big a space to search,” said Mozzie with a frown. “We can narrow it down further, but that would take time – ”
“ – which we don’t have,” finished Neal.
“Four days and a few hours,” contemplated Mozzie. “Hmm. I don’t have many contacts here; much less in the capital.”
“Well, that’s the downside of lying low,” shrugged Neal. “We could try to con the plans and schedules out of them. There’s so much bureaucracy involved, I think I can persuade them to give them to me.”
“Paperwork and offices.” Mozzie smiled. “I love it when the Man works for us.”
“Yeah, better than working for him,” said Neal seriously. “The problem is, when we finally steal our tram, the cops are gonna realize we needed those plans. They might come and ask questions – ”
“And with the cameras, they could identify you,” said Mozzie in comprehension. “Well, nighttime break-in it is, then.”
Neal smiled.
“Actually, I think I might have another idea,” he said. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out an origami fox. Carefully, he unfolded it, revealing a battered leaflet for…
“A Museum of Shipping and Railroad Traffic,” read Mozzie. His eyes widened as he looked at Neal and smiled. “And the museum – ”
“– is in this town,” said Neal triumphantly.
Mozzie shook his head. “How did I miss this?”
“It’s just an idea, though,” said Neal and dropped his smile. “It could be a waste of time.”
“No,” said Mozzie vehemently and slapped his hand on the leaflet. “No, I have a good feeling about this. Forget the Directorate! The people who go to this museum? That’s where we’ll get our schedules and track information.”
“Speaking of which…” said Neal and turned around to pick up the bag he had dropped next to his armchair. “I’ve been to the public library. They did have city plans – including tram tracks and train tracks. I photocopied these two maps…” he pulled them out of his bag. “If I cross-reference them, I’ll get a few places that we can then check personally. That shouldn’t take too long.”
“And then we’ll know where exactly our tram will meet with its bigger, better-travelled counterpart,” exclaimed Moz in triumph. “I feel like the helpful Friar, orchestrating our rendezvous technique so that the two subjects in question can get out of the city.”
“Easy, Friar Laurence, we’re not here yet,” chuckled Neal and finished the last bit of their Bordeaux. “You know, I could use something to eat…”
“We can go downstairs to the hotel restaurant – or, there are some sandwiches in the fridge.”
“Sandwiches,” stated Neal flatly.
Mozzie smiled. “Right, restaurant it is. Just give me a moment to get dressed.”
“So… museum?” asked Neal before they left their rooms.
“Museum,” agreed Mozzie.
And it was set.
* * *
Another morning spent observing tram drivers had tired Moz out. He fervently hoped that Neal had finally managed to get him some manuals. After some consideration, he had also picked two types of trams as their possible target and stuck to them with his observations.
The day before, Neal had come up with four possible places where the tracks for trams and trains met. At half past nine when the morning rush hour was definitely over, Mozzie had gone to check out the places – and also to take a first look at the five tram depots of the city.
He was just on his way back to the hotel when he felt the hair on his neck tingling. Instinctively, his hand shot forward – and grabbed the young thief who was just trying to escape with Mozzie’s purse.
“Not so fast, my friend,” said Mozzie.
“You creep, let me go,” shrieked the boy and dropped Mozzie’s purse. Fully aware that they might cause a scene, Mozzie released his arm and just watched the kid as he got lost in the crowd.
Got lost… from an ordinary citizen maybe. But not from someone who had once been a professional pickpocket himself.
Becoming part of the crowd himself, Mozzie slowly made his way to the place that he would have picked after a narrow escape; a shadowed corner where he would catch his breath and get his stuff together before he returned back to picking his next victim. He carefully scanned his surroundings…
Ha! There was his boy.
Cautiously, as not to spook him, he approached the place where the young thief was leaning against a wall, breathing hard and shivering.
“That was a good lift,” he said when he was close to the kid.
Startled, the boy looked at him with wide eyes. He could be twelve, thirteen at most, he had dark brown hair and brown eyes, and he was dressed rather poorly. Mozzie knew he had only seconds to talk to him before he ran away again.
“I need help to con someone,” he said. “And I’m willing to pay well.”
The kid still watched him warily. “What’s the job?” he asked at last.
Mozzie smiled at him. “Let’s get you something to eat. Then we can talk.”
“I’m not going with you anywhere that’s not public,” warned his young companion.
“Smart chap,” praised him Mozzie. “You’ll go far. Now, do you happen to have a name?”
* * *
Instead of going back to the hotel, Neal received a call from Moz to meet at a local restaurant for lunch. He agreed to be at 12:30, once he settled his own task for the morning.
“Hey, Moz,” said Neal when he finally arrived at the restaurant. “Sorry I’m late. I have some… who is this?” asked Neal when he noticed a boy sitting at the same table as Mozzie.
“Mr. Paul Bauer, meet your ‘nephew’ Rick Bauer. Rick, this is your ‘uncle’ Paul. Nothing like a happy family reunion, right?” said Mozzie with a smug smile.
The waitress chose just that moment to arrive.
“Hello sirs, welcome to our restaurant, here is the menu… Would you like to order something to drink?”
“Apple juice for junior and me,” said Mozzie.
“And I will take a beer… this one, please,” said Neal while pointing at a name on the menu.
“As you wish,” said the waitress and left.
The table fell into a strained silence as Neal stared at Mozzie.
“So this is your friend?” asked Rick curiously.
Neal tilted his head. “Rick… would you give me a moment to speak to…”
“Felix. Your brother-in-law,” cued Mozzie.
“Right,” said Neal with a tight smile. “I need a quick word with Felix.”
“Sure,” shrugged Rick and remained seated while Neal motioned Mozzie a few meters away from him.
“What the hell was that?” whispered Neal harshly.
“We can’t go to the museum and just start asking questions as we want,” said Mozzie in a low voice.
“Sure we can,” opposed Neal immediately. “All we need is to find an enthusiast – ”
“Who might wonder why two grown men are suddenly so interested in trains,” said Mozzie practically. “Maybe not yet, but he could remember it once the news of our job appeared in newspaper.”
Neal glared. “If you had this planned, you could’ve told me. But you just went behind my back!”
Mozzie frowned. “I didn’t plan this, okay? But I met this kid, and suddenly, it made perfect sense. He can ask all the questions we want answered without being suspicious. So I recruited him. And you know just as well as me that he will be useful, so kindly stop pushing me around and come back to the table before Rick starts to wonder what’s going on and runs away.”
Neal swallowed.
Mozzie’s words did make sense. And he was glad to have him there, realized Neal, gladder than he would have admitted before.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
Mozzie nodded, satisfied, and made his way back to the table.
“Look, Moz – ” started Neal, but Mozzie waved his hand.
“Forget it. Let’s focus on our business – and on our delightful lunch.”
Their gazes met for a second, and a playful spark passed between them.
And just like that, the tension was over.
Neal sat back next to Rick and turned his attention to him. “Sorry that we had to leave. So tell me Rick, how did you and Felix meet?”
* * *
It wasn’t as simple and quick as Mozzie would have liked. First, they needed to let Rick in on his part in their con. Afterwards, Mozzie took him to get some decent clothes while Neal went back to the hotel to ‘dress down’ a little to make their group more consistent.
And wasn’t that an interesting development, ruminated Mozzie thoughtfully. Just a few months ago, when he put Neal into a suit, he had squirmed and clearly felt insecure. However, after his time with Adler, it seemed that suits had become Neal’s second skin. He had never doubted the kid had it in him – but even he had been surprised by the easiness and grace with which Neal carried himself once his initial uncertainty was over. He would go far, realized Mozzie, to the highest places confidence men could go – and he felt a rush of pride at the role he himself had played in that development. Neal was meant for this life.
He frowned when he remembered their recent little argument. Even if it was spoken out of haste, Neal’s accusation had stung.
Mozzie hated it when his associates proved unreliable or outright betrayed him, which was the main reason why he preferred to work alone. He had to give that one to the Jedi – attachments were dangerous, which was why he avoided them as much as he could. At first, the thing with Neal was born purely out of necessity, because he needed a front man for the Adler con. But it only took him so long before he realized he really liked that kid.
If someone else had accused him… he wouldn’t have let it go like that.
That was disturbing.
Who was he kidding – this whole job was disturbing, thought Moz as he watched Rick come out of the dressing room in a new shirt. The tram scheme was crazy – coming to Europe with Neal had been crazy. Even all the small cons he had pulled with him and Kate had been pushing a line that Mozzie had carefully drawn that night when he escaped from Detroit. Acquaintances were good – necessary, even. It was okay to pair with someone on an occasional job. But this thing with Neal – it was getting out of hand.
Why had he come to Europe with Neal?
It was because Neal had needed him. After Kate – no, Mozzie didn’t need to open that door even in his mind – but the point was that Neal hadn’t been himself, and Steven Soderbergh got it right when he realized that conmen usually got caught when they were off their game.
Just one con, Moz had told himself then. Just to make sure that Neal was okay. Then they could go their separate ways. Maybe later, they could pair up for another job.
It was seven weeks and three countries later when Mozzie had realized that he didn’t want to leave.
He still didn’t want to acknowledge his reasons for staying.
Sure, they were having a blast. Neal was a pro at this kind of life; watching him at his game and putting their skills together was pure joy and fun.
But…
But there were also all the moments spent chatting, playing cards or Monopoly; arguing with Neal over Scrabble whether ‘cynophobiac’ and ‘unscalablest’ were real words; talking about art, planning schemes they’d pull if they had the right equipment, visiting restaurants and museums, seeing places, squabbling over newspapers (because there were secrets being buried, and Mozzie wanted to throw his hands in the air every time he was confronted with Neal’s guileless ignorance of the matters around them)…
Then there were moments when Neal would open up a bit, and Mozzie would share a tiny piece of his own past… and those were truly dangerous, because some of the things there needed to remain hidden. Both Mozzie and Neal understood that.
“This one is perfect,” said Mozzie as he drifted out of his thoughts when he saw Rick in his last outfit. “Let’s pay for it and meet with Paul.”
His doubts could wait for later, told himself Mozzie when they reunited with Neal.
For now, he had a museum to visit and a tram to steal.
Such was the life of a professional thief.
* * *
“Wow. Do you see that? I never thought these things would be so big!”
Neal barely managed to suppress a grin. He had to stop himself from fondly patting Rick’s shoulder.
Any doubts about whether the kid would help their cover dissolved shortly after they stepped into the museum. At first, the boy had been reluctant and hesitant; however, after a gentle probing from Mozzie, he quickly slipped into his role. The longer he watched him, the more Neal believed that the boy’s excitement was in fact real. He wandered from one display to another, stared at models of boats, ships and steam-boats and eagerly devoured the information on the miniature plates by them. Despite their reason for being there, neither Mozzie nor Neal was immune to his enthusiasm. Neal found himself telling tidbits about ships and pirates while Mozzie began describing the fates of various famous ships, including his newest theories about the Titanic tragedy. Rick’s responses were often somewhat sarcastic, but even that couldn’t mask the spark of glee in his whole posture.
It was with reluctance when they realized they had a job to do.
Just as they had previously decided, Mozzie separated himself from them and began searching for a possible target. Meanwhile, Neal and Rick were enjoying themselves in the shipment part of the museum.
Right now, Neal’s little companion was enthusiastically pointing out a huge metal anchor that had – according to its sign – belonged to an old cruiser that had been sailing across seas and oceans for nearly thirty years before it was badly damaged during a storm and sank only a few miles from the coast. Moving away from the anchor, Rick began playing with a model of a lock weir. He pressed a small black button – then a yellow light blinked, and water started filling the lock weir, a miniature boat moved through it and the whole thing reset.
As he observed him, Neal wondered about the boy’s age. He began to suspect the kid was even younger than Mozzie had thought, and felt a strange pang of sadness, knowing that Rick was a street pickpocket. Yes, Neal was a thief, and he was proud of it – but he had chosen that path when he was eighteen, an adult and fully capable of making his own decisions. This boy – it didn’t seem right, knowing that the choice might not have been a choice for him at all.
Internally, Neal shook his head. He couldn’t concern himself with every wrong in the universe.
Discreetly, Neal checked his watch. They had been in the museum almost an hour, and there was still no signal from Moz. He reminded himself to be patient. If nothing else, their wandering in the museum helped them to establish a good cover. That was worth a little delay.
However, thirty more minutes later, Neal’s patience truly started to run short. He pulled out his cellphone, only to realize there was no signal in the museum.
They hadn’t thought of that.
He spent the next half hour looking for Mozzie. Finally, he noticed him a level above them. To his dismay, he wasn’t observing the other part of the museum – he was standing by a guard-rail, his arms loosely laid on its edge, and he was watching Rick and Neal as they wandered from one show-case to another.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Neal in a wordless gesture.
‘I’ll be right there,’ replied Mozzie and started walking towards them.
“Hey, Uncle Felix, you’re here!” exclaimed Rick with a smile.
The boy was a natural, thought Neal as he watched him run away to another show-case.
“What was that? How long were you watching us?” asked Neal in a low tone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Mozzie innocently. “But, you might be happy to hear that I have found us a mark.”
“Finally,” exclaimed Neal. “Where is he?”
“We’ll get there,” replied Mozzie contently. “Just be patient. Play it cool.”
“Right,” sighed Neal.
Slowly, they moved to the train section of the museum.
Mozzie and Neal scanned the people around them. There was a museum guide standing by a column, an elderly man whose whole posture was barely hiding his boredom. Approximately thirty feet from them was a young couple with three children, who were admiring an old steam locomotive. Suddenly, the mother climbed up the stairs into the train’s cabin, while the father lifted up the children, one by one, put them into his wife’s arms and then climbed up to them as well. Sweet as they were, it wasn’t what Neal was looking for.
His eyes passed over a girl laughing with her boyfriend; a man in dark blue jacket who briefly looked at the sign in front of an old wagon and then walked by; an old, graying man with a boy who might have been his grandson... he looked around, but he couldn’t find the right person to match their needs.
He looked at Mozzie. ‘Where?’
Mozzie gave a small shook of his head and told Neal to continue walking.
And then Neal finally noticed him.
A thin, almost bald man in his mid-thirties, wearing a checkered shirt and green pants was half-lying on the floor not so far from them. In his hands was what looked like a very expensive camera. From what Neal could tell, he had taken dozens of pictures of a locomotive’s buffers from various angles before he climbed to his feet, picked up a discarded copy-book and started furiously scribbling notes without any care for his surroundings.
Neal locked his eyes with Mozzie before he almost invisibly motioned to the man he just saw.
‘That guy?’ he asked wordlessly.
Mozzie gave him an imperceptible nod of agreement. ‘Let’s do it.’
Then Mozzie very gently touched Rick’s shoulder and motioned him to the right direction. The boy looked up at him to make sure that he understood Mozzie’s hint.
As quickly as possible, but still taking time for the necessary staring and admiration, they passed three beautiful stem locomotives before they got to the section with newer models, rails and point switches – right to their chosen target.
“These point switchers look like the real ones,” said Rick aloud. The he looked at Mozzie and Neal. “Are there still switch-men taking care of them, or is that also controlled by computers these days?”
“I’m not sure,” replied Neal.
“There are some motions for automatization of the point switchers,” spoke Mozzie. “Supposedly, on some routes the switch-men already control the process from a distance.”
“WOW! Did you see this?” exclaimed Rick suddenly and almost ran the remaining distance to the locomotive where the balding man was now kneeling on the floor and taking photographs. “Paul, did you see this? I bet this is the same train as the one in my – ouch!”
He stumbled into the man’s back and almost fell over.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” asked Rick when he got up.
“Rick – sir, I apologize for my nephew,” said Neal as he swiftly walked to the place of the exchange.
“Are you all right?” asked Mozzie and pretended to be checking on the boy in concern.
Their mark stood up and checked his camera. Then he finally looked at them.
“You were taking pictures? Do you like trains? What were you photographing?” The questions seamlessly flowed from Rick’s lips, so fast that their recipient had no time to answer any of them.
Mozzie shook his head in pretended disapproval. “Rick, it is not polite to bother – ”
“Have you seen the point switchers?” asked Rick. “Do you know if the switch-men still use them?”
Finally, the man spoke. “Of course they do,” he replied. “Although in some countries, they are being replaced by automatic systems. I overheard your conversation,” he said with a glance to Mozzie and Neal.
“If I may ask, why were you taking so many pictures of the locomotive?” asked Neal politely.
“I am building a model of it,” replied the man. “However, I wasn’t sure about the precise placement of the lights and the buffers. There have been three types of similar models that people often mix up, and this is one of the signs to tell them apart. You see, in model Alpha 75, two of the pistons are placed a little differently than in model Alpha 55. Also, there are some differences in the engineer’s cabin. Transport Weekly had an article about them approximately four months ago where they stated the older model had a smaller coal scuttle, but that is simply not true. The model…”
As the man continued giving them technical details, Neal mentally dozed off – although he made it his point to appear interested.
He could almost feel’s Mozzie’s glee and determination beside him.
They had found the information source. Rick had successfully given them an opening. Now they only needed to con the man into giving them the information they needed – before he bored them to death with descriptions of piston-rods and aneroids.
Neal stifled a yawn. He hoped that this would be over soon and they would be able to go deal with the rest of their business.
* * *
When they began talking about their museum trip, they thought it might be a problem to get their target to talk to them. Now, they realized the real problem would be to make him shut up.
The man’s name was Jan Peterson, as they learned after his long lecture about Adriatic locomotives and their 2-6-4 wheel arrangement. Ten minutes later (after they assured him that they found all this ‘very interesting’ and learned where the first electric locomotives had been made) he told them that he was an accountant, but that railway had been his secret love since he was a kid.
It was interesting, thought Mozzie clinically, watching someone with such a deep passion and knowledge for his subject. A while later (after they switched to first-names and after Jan ‘enlightened’ them about the diesel engines still in use for some types of trains), it also became quite annoying.
He exchanged a glance with Neal. His patience was about to run out. It was time to take action.
“You certainly know your stuff, Jan,” interrupted Neal before Jan could start another of his enthusiastic speeches. “Tell me, how much do you know about contemporary railways?”
“Well, I try to keep in touch with the current situation,” replied Jan, both pleased and embarrassed by Neal’s praise.
“Do you have any idea about the train schedules in our area?” blurted out Rick. “There’s a photography competition and I wanted to take a photo of a freight train at night, but – ”
“Rick,” spoke Neal in a mild warning tone.
“But Uncle – ” whined Rick.
“Yes, I do know the train schedules,” smiled Jan to interrupt a budding argument. “Of course, I only remember the most important trains… but one of my friends has detailed information. It’s sort of his passion… he even knows which shunting locomotives are usually used at which times, would you believe that? I could introduce you… or if you want, I can get them for you.”
“Really?” asked Neal with interest. “I didn’t want to bother you, but that would mean so much to my nephew…”
“It’s no problem,” replied Jan earnestly. “It’s great to see someone with such a passion for our railways.”
“That’s all our Rick talks about, the railways,” said Mozzie with a hint of fond exasperation.
“Really?” Jan’s face possibly couldn’t have lightened up more. “You know, there is a club where the people who are interested in this sort of thing can meet… I’ve been a member since I was eight years old. I could give you a brochure – or you know what? Why don’t you come with me this Saturday, Rick? You could all come – we always welcome new members!”
Jan gave them a broad smile filled with expectation.
Mozzie and Neal exchanged a quick glance.
No way. There was no way they would become members of this club so shortly before their planned heist.
“You see – ”
“That would be – ”
“I’d like to go!” exclaimed Rick, still in his role.
There was a short pause.
“Rick, why don’t you and Uncle Felix look at the interior of the locomotive over there?” spoke Neal suddenly. “It seems that the previous family just left…”
“Good idea,” said Mozzie, when the expression in Neal’s face assured him that he knew what he was doing. “Come on, Rick.”
Rick obediently followed him. Mozzie still managed to catch a bit of Neal’s explanation.
“You see, Rick is having problems at school. His parents won’t let him join any clubs until his marks go up. This museum visit was actually a sort of reward for…”
Well played, my friend, thought Mozzie with a secret smile.
He was quite sure Neal was on the way to getting all the information out of their mark.
In the meantime, he and Rick could look at the locomotive.
* * *
“So…?” asked Mozzie that evening when he and Neal were finally back at their hotel and alone.
“I got it all out of him,” replied Neal. “Train schedules, the detailed track system, including all the weird turnoffs, signals and point switcher; plus the information on railway stations.”
“How did you do that?” asked Mozzie as he opened a bottle of wine and once again settled into his favorite armchair.
“I told him it was a gift for Rick’s birthday,” shrugged Neal. “He was all over himself to help me.”
“You played on his soft side… Nice, very nice. You have talent,” said Mozzie with approval.
Neal took the armchair opposite him. “Speaking of someone’s soft side…”
“Hmmm?”
“I know why you delayed during the museum visit.”
Mozzie lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t know what – ”
“Jan told me he had been in that museum for three hours that day,” said Neal. “There is no way you hadn’t noticed him earlier. You saw that Rick was enjoying himself, so you delayed. Now tell me I’m wrong.”
A pause.
“Moz.”
“There is a certain… possibility… that your conclusion’s truth value might not be null,” replied Mozzie with a light blush.
Neal grinned. “I knew it!”
Mozzie frowned. “Hey – ”
“It’s okay,” replied Neal. He made a small pause. “Honestly… I’m not sure I would have had the heart myself. When I saw him in awe of that R707 locomotive…”
There was a moment of silence.
“It felt good, to see the kid that happy,” said Mozzie softly.
“Yeah, I know. Even if we used him and paid him, even though we won’t see him again, I sort of… Yeah,” echoed Neal. Then he pulled out of his reflections and gave Mozzie a mischievous grin. “He still stole two wallets in that museum, though.”
“Are you surprised?” asked Moz. “He’s a pickpocket. That’s what we do.”
“All right,” said Neal. His tone said that the subject of Rick was closed. He stood up, went to the fridge and returned with a jar of olives, tossing one in the air and catching it in his mouth. “So, back to our plan.”
“I think I’ve chosen the place where we’ll steal our tram,” said Mozzie. “There’s an old depot that holds mostly old, historical trams.”
“I don’t think I want to paint a historical tram,” frowned Neal. “After the museum today, it feels… wrong, somehow. It’s like damaging a painting. I mean, I would forge a Monet any time… but paint on it? No way.”
Mozzie nodded. “In that case, you will be glad to know that the depot also has several common trams in reserve if something happens to the usual ones. The depot isn’t closed for the night, but there is only one person guarding it. If we can distract him – ”
“ – we’ll get our tram,” said Neal with a smile. “Brilliant, Moz!”
“Of course, we can only steal our tram if I can drive it,” said Mozzie.
“Well, then I believe it is a good thing I got you these manuals this morning,” said Neal, tossing another olive into his mouth. He picked up his bag and pulled out several books. “I hope you appreciate these. I had to break into two schools to get them.”
“Poor lad,” murmured Mozzie. Then he frowned. “This isn’t in English. Neal, I’ve looked up the few words for our museum visit and I can hold an everyday conversation, but – ”
“I know. That’s why I got you this,” said Neal and picked up one of the books. “A technical dictionary,” he said with a bright smile
Moz shot him a glare. “Right. I have three days to figure this out. This is absolutely fantastic.”
He started to flip through the book.
“Moz…”
He looked up at the sound of Neal’s quiet voice. He saw an unexpected anxiety and insecurity in his face. And he realized he had to change that expression on Neal’s face.
“Thanks,” he said lightly. “These books seem helpful. There are lots of pictures there. I think I can do it.”
“You think so?” asked Neal. He hesitated. “Look… I wouldn’t blame you if you…”
If he what?
“I’m sure I can do it,” stated Moz confidently. When he saw that Neal still seemed worried, he decided to change the subject. “Now, tell me what Jan told you about the railway stations.”
“We’re gonna have a problem here,” said Neal immediately. “Our whole railway station is directed by two people. They set the point switches around the station. No train can leave the station without them knowing or clearing its path.”
“You’re telling me we’ll need to get inside the system,” said Mozzie.
Neal nodded. “Precisely.”
“Hmm… I think it’s time that the railway station got a new worker,” said Mozzie.
“Maybe,” said Neal. “I think I’ll take a look at it before we make a definite plan.”
“All right.”
“All right.”
There was a pause.
“We have three days left,” said Neal suddenly.
“We’re gonna make it,” said Mozzie.
“Are you sure?” asked Neal.
Mozzie looked at him.
“I promise.”
* * *
Three days later, two hours before midnight, Neal and Mozzie were checking their equipment.
“Motorcycle?”
“Honorably ‘borrowed’.”
“Paint?”
“Hidden as we had agreed.”
“The list of point-checkers; the data to fill into the railway station computer, the clothes?”
Neal looked at the stuff in front of him. “All ready.”
“Okay,” replied Mozzie.
Neal looked at him. “This is it, then.”
Mozzie looked at the clock. “We still have almost two hours before midnight. Let’s play cards.”
Neal gave him a tense smile. “Okay.”
They played a game, then another and two more. Finally, they realized it was time to go.
They looked at each other and stood up.
“You ready?” asked Mozzie.
“Sure,” Neal replied.
And then he realized his hands were shivering.
Ever since the beginning, there had been moments when Neal was sure they would get caught, moments when he felt like he was just an inch away from snapping. But now he realized that the one moment, the thing that he had truly been worried about since he made his bet was – this.
He was waiting for Moz to get tired of him, to tell him that enough was enough, to leave. He had thought that he would lose him…
Like Kate, who left him.
Like the image of his father, who had been nothing but an illusion.
Like Ellen and his mom, who he had left when he had run away.
But Moz was still here.
Moz, his friend, was about to pull a crazy scheme with him.
Neal felt a real, deep smile slipping onto his face.
“Okay. Then let’s go and steal our tram.”
