Work Text:
“Peter, something is wrong.” hissed Neal through the small microphone. “If something happens, call B. I know you confiscated my phone. The password is: N-0-1-D-K-B-0-2-R-0-1.
“Peter, promise me. You have to call B —ARGH .” Neal’s pained cry was followed by a dull thud.
“ Neal! NEAL! ” Peter cried out, but to no avail. The feed was cut. Peter and Diana were just in time to see the van Neal was thrown into pull out of the parking lot with squeaking tires, leaving nothing but a slight trail of dust in its wake.
An hour later, the team—without Neal—arrived at the White Collar Office. Peter nodded to Jones who ran off to get the phone. They had no leads whatsoever.
The mission should have been easy. The in-and-out kind of job. However, someone somehow had mistaken Neal for someone called Richie, apparently. Was that an actual name parents called their children? Anyway, with no knowledge of why and especially who, the trail had gone cold rather fast. Their only slightly substantial lead was the phone. Hopefully, this ‘B’ could actually help them.
A uneasy sigh escaped Peter as he stared down at the weird smartphone. It was lying innocently on the conference room table in front of him. Diana and Jones observed with trepidation as he picked it up and carefully typed in the password.
| > N-0-1-D-K-B-0-2-R-0-1 < |
> Verifying…
Peter didn’t dare to breathe.
> Login successful!
> Welcome N.
The air escaped him with an audible woosh . One obstacle down. Relieved smiles were brightening their faces before they could turn grim again. Now for the easy part he needed to call ‘B’. Hopefully this ‘B’ would know what to do.
Peter tapped on the phone’s address directory–
> Loading…
|
> A |
… |
… |
… |
|
> B |
|
> O |
|
|
> C |
|
> P |
|
|
… |
… |
> Q |
|
|
> F |
|
> R |
|
|
… |
… |
> S |
|
|
> K |
|
> T |
|
|
> L |
|
… |
… |
–and blanched.
“If Neal survives this, I will kill him myself.” Peter helplessly showed the screen to Diana and Jones. “There is no reference to a ‘B’, only to various animal species, fairy tales, a fast-food restaurant and… I don’t even know.”
“Look here, it says Cat-Mum’. Do you think it’s his actual mom?”
“If the situation wasn’t so dire, I would call them and find out. However, Neal is currently kidnapped by an unknown perpetrator.”
Diana shrugged apologetically.“You are right, boss.”
“Since we have to call a ‘B’, we really only have five options, luckily.”
“Five, boss? I only see three listed under…” Jones scanned the address book and found the only other names containing a ‘B’. “Ah, you added ‘Ol’ Bats’ and ‘Prima Ballerina’, didn’t you?”
“Indeed. Let’s get started with the first number, shall we? Neal’s life may depend on us.”
The trio decided to let Peter make the calls on speaker, beginning at the top and descending topologically, resulting in the following order:
‘Bad-deed Puffin’, ‘Big Meanie Cyclops’, ‘Bureaucratic Puffin’, ‘Ol’ Bats’ and ‘Prima Ballerina’.
> Calling: Bad-Deed Puffin
> Connecting…
> Transmission scrambler activated…
> Establishing a secure connection…
> Connection successful.
Immediately they were assaulted by a fuming voice.
“ Nygma, I swear to my mother, may she rest in peace, if you hang up again without telling me where all the remaining booby traps are in my mansion, I will never help to bust you out of the asylum ever again, you bloody buffoon. At least for the next six months-ish. I will even throw you in myself! And I don’t care if it’s your birthday or your cat’s or freaking Batman’s! ”
“I think you have the wrong person.”
“ Who is this…Richie?! You are decidedly not Richie. Why do you have his phone? ” Another alias, nice.
“He was kidnapped.” The outrage never came. Instead, an impatient sigh sounded.
“ And? ”
“Pardon?”
“ What do you want? Money? ”
Peter sputtered, “I’m not the kidnapper.”
“ Who are you supposed to be then? ”
“FBI. We are trying to reach a ‘B’, but there is no number like it in his phone book.”
A snort, then: “ Bruce won’t help you. Don’t worry, I’ve got this. Never say no to free money. ”
> Connection terminated.
“Aaaand he hung up,” Diana remarked unhelpfully.
> Calling: Big Meanie Cyclops
> Connecting…
> Transmission scrambler activated…
> Establishing a secure connection…
> Connection successful.
“ What a rare pleasure ,” sounded a gravelly voice.
The man sounded amused but carried a mocking undertone when he continued. “ You are lucky that you are a pretty bird. After all, I'm very busy killing people right now. ”
As if to emphasize the man’s statement, several short, loud cracks, accompanied by distant screaming, could be heard through the high definition speakers.
“ If it's not important, I would prefer to receive the million I was promised for this job you are interrupting. Either spill or hang up, birdie. ”
Peter’s eyes widened. If he was not mistaken, and it would be hard in this situation, he was listening to a contract killer– at work . Why and how did Neal know a killer?!
“Uhm,” was Peter’s eloquent answer.
There was an audible second when the sniper rifle’s fire came to an abrupt stop. The White Collar agents stiffened reflexively. They felt the killer’s oppressing aura even over the phone.
“ Who are you? ” The man’s voice had dropped several octaves, resembling more an inhumane growl than an actual sound a human being could produce. ” Why do you have this phone! ”
“Neal told us to call a ‘B’. He was kidnapped.”
“Neal?...Kidnapped. ” A weary sigh escaped the man. “ Is it Tuesday already? ”
“What.” Peter blinked.
He sighed again. “The kid always gets himself kidnapped on a Tuesday. I should have known. ”
“Truly?”
“ Not really.”
“Does that mean you are the right person? This B?” Peter hoped not, since this was a killer(!). However, he needed to know.
“ Hell no,” came the appalled reaction. “Who are you, anyway? ”
Peter infused his voice with false bravado he did not feel. “I’m not comfortable telling you, seeing as you are a contract killer”
“ Can’t fault you for that.”
> Connection terminated.
“Are we going to talk about how Neal knows a contract killer? And has his number saved under ‘Meanie Cyclops?!” Jones needed to sit down.
“No.”
“Good, good.”
> Calling: Bureaucratic Puffin
> Connecting…
> Transmission scrambler activated…
> Establishing a secure connection…
> Connection successful.
“ Hello, you have reached the voicemail of the official office of Oswald Cobblepot, the Mayor of Gotham. ”
“Who?!” They shared a dumbfounded look.
“ If you would like to submit a complaint, press 1 and my assistant Mr. Zsazs will be able to solve your problem (*faint voice: Does that mean I can kill them?*) Yes. (*Love you, boss.*)”
Peter’s jaw dropped.
“ If you have suggestions on how I should run my campaign, press 1. (*faint: hell yes*). ”
“ If it’s you, Nygma, get your trophies out of my city; they are a bloody safety hazard. How did you even get them into the power plant?! Nevermind, I don’t wanna know.”
Finally, it dawned on Diana, “Isn’t this the voice of the ‘Bad-Deed Puffin’? He complained about Nygma, as well.”
Now that Diana mentioned it, Peter couldn’t unhear the similarities, the accent for one.
*If you are affiliated with the GCPD and need to speak to me, you can find my office hours on my website.”
“I f you are an arms dealer, are selling penguin statuettes, or are doing something equally ‘illegal’, you called the wrong number. You want to call :x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x.”
“ Now sod off. ”
> Connection terminated.
“Charming fellow.” Diana remarked.
“Let’s hope the next one will give us some answers.”
> Calling: Ol’ Bats
> Connecting…
> Transmission scrambler activated…
> Establishing a secure connection…
> Connection successful.
To prevent any more awkward conversations, Peter hurried to speak first “Is this ‘B’?”
“... Yes, you have reached the right number.” The man sounded carefully neutral.
Jones let out an inaudible whoop and gave Diana a high-five. Finally the right number.
“With whom might I be speaking?”
“Special Agent Peter Burke. Neal told us to call you. He was kidnapped earlier this day.”
An exasperated sigh escaped the man. “ Of course, why wouldn’t he? Thank you for your concern. I can handle it from here. Neal will be back safe and sound. I promise. ”
> Connection terminated.
Before Peter could get another word in, the man had hung up as well.
“Why is it that everyone just hangs up?!”
—
Not half an hour later, they received a cryptic text message over Neal’s phone. It consisted of an address only.
It was time to get their CI back!
—
The warehouse was dimly lit, as you would expect from the scene of a kidnapping. Jones and Diana were slowly inching towards the center of the wide hall, carefully tracking the agitated voices. She could make out quiet humming, as well.
“When do you think we will be finally able to contact his father over the money? It’s been hours.” The kidnapper paced in front of their bound CI. Up and down, up and down-
“How should I know?” came the disgruntled reply from the second armed man.
“It’s been too fucking long.” Shuffling could be heard. “Hey Richie, stop your commercial jingling. How do your kidnappers normally get their money?”
Now that the kidnapper mentioned it, Diana recognized the humming as that annoying radio commercial.
“I don’t really know?” Neal, or Richie, beamed at his kidnapper. “If I need money, I just ask Bruce and he gives me a few thousands.”
Jones was impressed. Neal did not even seem to be slightly afraid. He managed to smile happily at his abductor, keeping up a charade of unbothered contendness. That took skill. Even the most mild mannered kidnapper could snap unpredictably and decide you are not worth the hassle. And Neal was aggravating them on purpose, wasn’t he?
“Not you, rich brat. I mean your usual kidnappers.” The team’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt, his usual what?
“Oh. Ehm, isn’t that the normal way? Ozzy kidnaps me all the time and just calls Bruce or one of my brothers and then they send him the usual check and Ozzy drives me home. Most of the time.”
“But we don’t have a secure bank account.”
“Ozzy uses his ‘Mayorcount’, I think,” Neal remarks, utterly unhelpfully.
“...The what?”
Peter had to agree, what was he getting at? Knowing the conman, this ‘Mayorcount’ should be an ingenious concept to smuggle money, or something similar. But why would he give his kidnappers tips on how to do it? This whole situation was rather strange.
“His Mayor-bank-account ? Pretty sure that’s what it’s called. At least Timmy said so. Because he is the Mayor of Gotham, so his bank account should be called Mayorcount. Oh! Or ‘Mayorbaccount’...or…”
“Your Mayor kidnaps you?” The kidnapper’s expression of incredulity was reflected on the FBI agents' faces.
“‘Cobblecount’! Eh, sorry. What was your question?”
Was this even their CI? Maybe it was a clone. They cloned everything except his brain. This must be it. There was no other explanation.
“I know I’m still considered an outsider, seeing as I only recently relocated to Gotham. But still…why does our Mayor kidnap you?”
Neal perked up at the ‘outsider’ comment, showing an almost demonically innocent grin on his face. “Oh, that’s easy. We are friends. And sometimes he needs money to further refurbish Gotham, like orphanages , since Bruce can’t adopt them all. Or the streets , so you can run for your life more easily without the danger of tripping in potholes. Or the ventilation system s, so you can keep working if Scarecrow throws a temper tantrum. Or the sewer , so Killer Croc can be happier and eats less of his voters.”
With every sentence, the kidnapper and his accomplices got paler and paler. So did the agents.
“I thought that was a joke, is there really a…?” A terrified squeak escaped the man after Neal showed him something on his arm. A scar maybe? But before he could think more on it, Neal barrelled on.
“Or Crime Alley, as to prevent a visit from Little Red Riding Hood, who has a tendency to get cranky and blow things out of proportion… literally.” Wasn’t that a name in Neal’s cursed phone-book?
“Did you mean ‘figuratively’...?” One could hope, Peter thought.
“No, he blows things up—with C4— literally .”
“...huh.”
“Since Brucie is unavailable most of the time, it’s a much faster solution to kidnap me than to wait for the next charity gala… or to call him to discuss a broader budget for those kinds of things.” Neal nods along, like it is the most natural thing.
“I can imagine that a man as rich as your father is probably very busy running his company,” the kidnapper.acquiesced.
“Oh, not at all. Timmy runs the company. Bruce just gets lost a lot.”
“Lost...” One could hear the skepticism in the kidnapper’s voice. “Where? In his bank account?”
“In the jungle, or forest, or ocean, or in his company or…wherever he goes actually. But I think he never got lost in his bank account? Yet. I could ask him though.”
He elected to ignore Richie. “We got off track. Just tell me how other kidnappers get their money.”
“Besides Ozzy?”
“Yes,” the kidnapper drawled irritatedly, “besides the Mayor.”
“Well, Riddler doesn’t really like money. He just wants his riddles to be solved. But you know, Edward’s a really smart cookie. So his riddles are really difficult. I hardly get them right. That’s why he either lets me go halfway through or drags me to Ozzy so he can solve the riddle, instead.”
“Just stop talking for a minute. Is there any other kidnapper who kidnapped you for money? I can’t believe I just asked this.” The man burrowed his head in his hands with a defeated sigh.
“Hmm…Harvey, yes.”
“Harvey?” He perked up, the name seemed familiar.
“Harvey Dent,” Neal declared proudly.
“...The District Attorney?” The kidnapper’s face was carefully blank.
“The very same.”
“The Mayor and the District Attorney kidnap you…regularly? I don’t even want to know. So how does he get his money?”
“Actually, that’s a good question. We never really got that far.”
“What.Do.You.Mean?” The kidnapper forced out, massaging his painfully clenched jaw.
“Well, usually he kidnaps me and then we play a game. He flips a coin. If it’s heads, he drives me back home. If it’s the burnt head, he will call Bruce for the ransom.”
Let me guess, Peter thought, exasperated, Dent is ‘Flip A Coin’.
“But you can’t tell me you always get the right head. You have been kidnapped too many times for such dumb luck!” He threw his arms in the air despairingly.
“That’s true, he kidnapped me like ten times.” Neal chirped.
“Then how?”
“I mean, I already told you.” Neal tilted his head to the side, smiling innocently. “Bruce almost never picks up his phone. So he has to play this game every time he wants to dial the number. Even if Harvey gets the charred head at first, no one picks up. Then he does it again. If you flip the coin often enough, eventually he will have to drive me home, right?”
“Was there ever a kidnapper who kidnapped you and got the ransom?” inquired the man despondently.
“Yes, Ozzy obviously. We just talked about this. And people say my memory is bad.”
“Let me rephrase.” He took a deep calming breath, ”Was there ever a kidnapper who kidnapped you and got the ransom other than your Mayor?”
“I don’t think so…wait, Slade did once.”
“…and?” The kidnapper’s excitement could be felt rolling off of him in waves. He was optimistic, he would get the money. If this Slade could get it, he could definitely.
“I’m friends with his daughter, Rose. So it was more of a playdate than anything else.”
“But he got that money in the end?”
“I did get the money.” Oh hell, the white collar team shared dumbfounded glances.The familiar gravelly voice of the contract killer had come from the rafters. The disembodied voice vowed, “And I’ll never be doing something like that again. It’s a pain to deal with Brucie.”
Peter squinted at the ceiling, catching sight of an orange-black one-eyed mask. Cyclops?
“Deathstroke the Terminator?” The kidnapper wasn't the only one almost fainting.
Before anyone could say or do something, a figure, flanked by several armed men, sashayed out of the shadows wearing a tuxedo and clutching a purple umbrella.
“I can’t say I agree, Wilson. Whenever I get a hold of him, he is very willing to wire that money to me,” came the smug voice. The voice they attributed to Bad-Deed Puffin or Oswald Cobblepot, the Mayor of Gotham and part-time kidnapper. Apparently.
“That might be true, but are you sure he knows you are kidnapping his son, not just babysitting ?” snorted Red Robin as he materialized from a suspiciously dark shadow.
“No one asked you, boy blunder the third,” came the hissy reply.
“Rude,” Red Robin said, as he disarmed the kidnappers, who weren’t even putting up a fight.
“I gather our intervention might have been superfluous.” The world-renowned mercenary, Deathstroke, was still chilling somewhere in the ceiling. “Rose sends her regards.”
“Bye, Slade,” Neal waved energetically.
“Penguin, I can take it from here.” Red Robin gave the shady Mayor a nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll let Bruce know you babysitted his son today.”
“Very well, I’ll hold you to—wait! I’m not babysitting Richie!”
“Yeah, yeah. Shoo , only flying birds are allowed here.”
Penguin harrumphed, turning on the spot, waddling towards the front entrance and ignoring the crouched white collar agents on his way out. As soon as the door closed with a loud click, Neal stood up enveloping the vigilante in a hug.
“Red, you came! Does Bruce know I’m very, very sorry . I didn’t wanna miss family dinner. But, alas, I hope Peter could relay the message.”
“He did, after calling Penguin and Deathstroke.”
“Yes, I figured that part out myself.” Neal let his gaze wander, stopping on the crates the White Collar agents were still awkwardly crouching behind. “You can come out now.”
The agents shuffled out of their hiding spot. Neal grinned widely at them. Not the nightmare-inducing smile but a genuine one, thankfully.
Peter reached into his jacket and chucked Neal’s phone at him. Neal blinked, surprised, and had to fumble a bit until the phone was securely in his hand.
“Please,” Peter said. “Hide this better. I won’t survive another encounter with it.”