Work Text:
Not that Neal wasn't used to conning his way into another person's home to have a place to stay for a while, food to eat, and clothes to wear, but this was the first time he had honestly been between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't use the tools he was naturally inclined to use, his wiles or silver tongue, because of the monitoring of the FBI, and there were not many generous people willing to share their home with a collared conman, released through a work-release program.
Then June appeared, almost like someone had planted her in that secondhand shop for him to find. He hadn't even needed to use charm on the older woman, or lie about how happy he had been to find her parting with such wonderful clothes...
He recognized the rat-pack style right away, knew that no one else would probably see the rare find of a Devore in a secondhand clothing shop, or take pleasure in wearing the expensive clothes in the same respectful light as he, and despite their clearly past-generation style, he could not wait to try on and own something that another person might have thrown out or not given a second glance to.
Neal hadn't expected her to take him home like she had found a puppy that had been abandoned into the big city with a collar, but no name-tags, by his last owner... but he was clearly grateful to her golden heart and kind generosity of lending him her late husband, Byron's suits.
It really was a lucky thing that June's home rested so comfortably inside his 2 mile radius. As he spent the rest of the day, and a little into the evening, with his new "landlady" clearing out the finer details of their arraignment, Neal got her to agree to accept the stipend the motel would have received from the government for housing Neal (June would have done it for free, if Neal hadn't persuaded her from treating him like a charity case), as a sort of rent and board. The suits, she said, would be art of the board package....
That evening, after his first meal with June and her visiting older granddaughter, Neal climbed up the wooden stairs leading to his new rooftop apartment. He quickly took in open the living area, where a bookcase was built into the wall and a light-colored sofa were most inviting. The living room area then suddenly became the small kitchen/dining room area nearest the entry. To the other direction led to a room with a large bed, a chest at the end of the king-sized mattress. There was a beautiful concrete terrance, open to the bedroom and dining room through windowed doors.
It was wonderful. As much as they had dreamed about wonderful penthouses, large mansions, and expensive tastes, the life of a conman did not always pay out with bountiful success for Neal and Kate (and the occasional visit from Mozzie).
They had had rich dreams and schemes in mind though, and the empty Bordeaux bottle had become their personal dream-catcher. They would add whatever cheap wine in the bottle and drink it, pretending it was the real deal, laughing and conning themselves that they'd have a better life on the next deal...
Some cons led to more money than others, and they were always moving, keeping two or three steps ahead of any pursuers. Until Neal had been captured by Peter Burke.
Neal could remember several instances where he had had to leave everything he owned at the time in whatever apartment or motel he had been living in, with nothing but another fake id and the clothes on his back, to keep out of FBI or Interpol hands.
The first (and second) time Neal had been arrested, he had been in very thrifty threads. Kate had ended up never bringing him more, as the FBI was watching his visitor very closely and she had been unable to pull money from any accounts to bail him before his trail... He ended up with a four-year prison sentence, and when he struck up the deal with Peter, after Kate had vanished, he hadn't anything else but the clothes he had entered the prison with.
He quickly poked around the apartment, taking in the furniture, the knickknacks, the space, the smell of a new beginning for him. It was everything he needed right now. After looking around, he made use of the shower and then the bed, falling asleep more peacefully than he would have gotten at the motel. How Peter expected him to degrade himself to a no-name motel, with hookers, druggies, and a flea-infested dog freely running around... Just because he had been in prison didn't mean his needs and standards had degraded...
The next morning he woke well-rested. He showered, enjoying the hot water longer than he did the night before, relishing the fact that there was no one else in the shower with him to leer or threaten him, singing a Dean Martin song just to hear his own voice.
Neal stepped out of the shower singing 'That's Amore,' and dressed with care for the Devore suits, finding a genuine fedora in the closet along with dress shoes and Italian ties, cuff-links, and socks.
Delighted at the find of the hat, he stood in front of the mirror, practicing the only hat trick he could recall for about twenty minutes before he finally got it down, and with a devilish grin to his figure in the mirror, tilted the fedora in a slant on his head.
He took in his form with a comfort that he was dressed in something that was better than prison garb. Clothes made the man, Neal knew. If you dressed good, doors opened for you, people thought about you; felt jealousy, admiration, and lust for you... They were half the formula for confidence, too.
Neal stared into the mirror proudly, taking in his reflection. Dressed in the suit, he felt like he wasn't just an ex-felon, released but still on a leash, he felt that it was like he had a second chance at life.
Checking the time, he cursed, snatching the hat off his head as he left his room and the large hanging mirror. Peter should have found the left message and be knocking on the door by now, so he should make his way downstairs to meet with the man before Peter offended June's housekeepers by demanding entrance.
He made his way out to the living room and then through the entry toward the stairs that would lead to the rest of the downstairs, hearing some voices near the front entrance. That would definitely be Peter... Neal grinned happily as he descended to the first floor. He knew he looked good, the Devore looking like it had been tailored for him alone, surprisingly.
Generations from the latest style or not, Devore was a very respectful design to be walking around in. He was quite happy with the ensemble, and couldn't wait to see how Peter had taken his move. Surely he wouldn't begrudge him a better place to live, since Peter could clearly see that that motel was a death trap for a glorified snitch, or "consultant" a the FBI was calling him.
Peter was at the bottom of the stairs, frustration in the knit of his brow, dressed in the same suit he had arrested Peter in.
Does he have any other clothes? Neal wondered silently, but grinned confidently at the agent. He met the man at the bottom and proudly rolled his wrist with the hat in his grip and ta-da,it landed perfectly in place, slightly slanted on top of his head. He grinned at Peter, waiting for a rueful grin, a raised eyebrow at the trick, anything.
What he got was a bizarre stare. Which wasn't so bad, and Neal could live with an odd stare. Admittedly, not everyone could recognize fashionable designs from Sy Devore like Neal had...
And then Peter turned around and cut it down with the words slipping through his lips carelessly, "You look like a cartoon..."
Neal's face fell.