Chapter 3 - Glass
I've seen some insane sights in my life, but I have never, ever seen anything as bizarre as a semi-truck flipping over on its side. It vaguely reminded me of the Batman movie I dragged El to see, where the truck flips over, but while it was cool in the movie (El was too scared to enjoy any of it, though), watching something on screen is far, far different than seeing it in real life. In the movie theater, I had grinned like an idiot at the special effects while El hid her face in my shoulder ("Oh, Peter," she had whimpered, "what's the Joker going to do next? I can't watch!"). But out in the broad parking lot in the back of the warehouse, the semi flipping was downright terrifying.
A minute before, I had just got out of the car, my gun drawn, Lauren right beside me, when out of nowhere, the semi-truck burst out of the metal warehouse. I slowed down, amazed at something so incredible happening, and then the truck turned towards me.
I fully expected it to try to run me down, and I was pulling Lauren out of the way when I caught sight of the driver. It was Neal . . . Neal was driving the semi.
The whole world slowed down to a crawl, and I couldn't breathe as I realized that he had cut too sharply. I saw the back of the truck tipping over, the whole long truck falling on its right side. I yelled something incoherent, but I knew I couldn't do anything against a multi-ton semi. I watched in horror as the cab thrashed up in the air and then slammed against the pavement.
Glass splintered and blew everywhere, but I was running towards the truck like a madman.
"Peter, be careful," Lauren shouted, but she was right behind me.
I've seen car wrecks before – I've seen mangled bodies and blood covering broken limbs, and every awful image of human carnage I had ever witnessed flashed through my mind in the four seconds it took me to reach the truck.
Please, please, please, don't let it be Neal. God, I'm praying, I'm begging you, don't let that be Neal. Not Neal – he's too young – he's barely started turning his life around, no, no, no! Not Neal!
I reached the truck and ducked to see through the broken windshield. "Neal? Neal?"
"Peter?" the kid's voice had never sounded so good to me before. "Peter, is that you?"
"Yeah, yeah, are you hurt?"
"Not too much. I'm caught and hanging upside down. There's a lot of glass in here, but I can't get free."
"Do not move," I ordered him. I whipped out my radio. "Man down," I spoke into the speaker. "Man down, and I need a bus immediately. Send any bus in the area. We need a fire truck, too."
"Affirmative," came the reply over the radio.
"No," Neal protested from inside, "I don't need an ambulance. I'll be fine. I just need to get free."
I heard movement inside the car and without thinking, I panicked and barked out, "You move another inch and I'll take a belt to you right here and now."
Lauren blinked in surprise, but the expression on my face must have scared her because she spoke up, "Neal, just stay still. Peter and I are going to work together to get the door open and get you out."
"You think we can?" I gave her a worried look. My heart was hammering in fear and I felt frantic to make sure he got out safely.
"I don't smell gasoline so there's probably not a leak," Lauren assured me. "The engine cut out when it flipped. If you boost me up, I can get to the top and open the door enough. I could help him from the top and you could duck inside the broken windshield."
I hesitated – all my training told me to wait until the medics got here and handled the situation properly – but I knew Neal. With all that energy, he couldn't hold still for that long and he would try to get free. From what I could see of his body, I knew if he pulled free he would fall right on his face into all the glass, probably damaging his eyes.
"We move slowly," I told Lauren. "Neal, do not move at all until I tell you. Stay perfectly still, and whatever happens, try to avoid the glass."
"Got it," he answered, his voice sounding odd against the seat.
The top of the cab, which was now the side door, was about eight feet in the air, but I laced my hands together to make a step. Lauren put her right foot in it, and I heaved her up in the air. She caught onto the edge of the cab, and I moved under her, placing her feet on my shoulders so she could get all the way up. Lauren isn't a heavy girl by any stretch of the imagination, but she's still over a hundred pounds, and my body told me I was getting too old to have that much weight stand on my shoulders.
Thankfully, she pulled herself up quickly and stood atop the fallen cab. It shook a little, but nothing else happened as she crouched by the door to open it.
"Careful," I warned her. "The weight of the door might be faulty, what with it up in the air now. Open it slowly and make sure it stays open before you lean in. I don't want the door slamming on you suddenly."
"Right, boss," Lauren opened the door and pulled it up into the air.
"Okay," she reported, "I can brace the door open. Caffrey's upside down with his lower legs and feet trapped between the steering wheel and the driver's seat."
"I could have told you that," Neal objected.
"What else?" I ignored him.
"If you got into the windshield and supported his top half, I could lean into the cab and free his legs. But if he falls down, he lands in a lot of glass. Your call, boss."
I strained to hear any sign of approaching ambulances, but I heard nothing. My radio suddenly chirped. I grabbed it to change the frequency, and Jones's voice came through.
"Yeah, we caught all the perps. Got about twelve guys in all. A few shots fired, but no one injured. Cuffing everyone and putting them in cars. You found Caffrey?"
"Yeah, he's stuck in a semi," I spoke back.
"Thanks for telling everyone," Neal grumbled.
"Right, I can see it from here," Jones radioed back.
I looked around the car, and saw Jones waving from the broken hole in the side of the warehouse.
"Bus is coming," I said into the radio. "But we're going to try to get him free. Start reading all the perps their rights."
"Yes, sir," Jones stepped back into the warehouse.
I tucked the radio in my pocket and then took off my overcoat and suit coat, making sure I had nothing that could get caught on the edges.
I crouched down and put on a pair of leather gloves I keep in my pocket. Gently, I started breaking off the remaining glass from the edges of the windshield. Neal was angled in such a way, facedown on the seat, that I couldn't really see his face, but I reached in to put a hand on his shoulder.
"In just a second," I told him, "I'm going to grab you around the waist. The moment I do, I want you to turn, wrap your arms around my neck, and hold on as tight as you can. Lauren is going to get your feet free then and I'm going to pull you out. I'm going to count to four. On two, I'm going to grab you. On three, you grab me. On four, Lauren, you push his feet free as I pull him out. Everybody got that?"
"Yes, boss," Lauren answered from overhead, dangling her torso down to grab Neal's ankles.
"Got it," Neal answered.
I took a deep breath. "One. Two," I grabbed Neal's upper body, pulling him towards me. "Three."
Neal twisted and wrapped his arms around me, crushing himself against me in a giant bear hug.
"Four."
I felt Neal's body start to fall and I pulled backwards out of the cab, dragging Neal with me.
I felt a rush of thankfulness flood me as I straightened, pulling Neal to his feet and tentatively stepping back to make sure he was all right.
He looked awful. The left side of his face was bruising – red and black – and his lips were cut and bleeding. His arms were scratched up, and he had bits of glass everywhere. I had never seen him look this awful, and I gazed at him in horror.
"I'll be okay," he assured me. "I'm beat up, but I don't think anything's broken."
"We'll let the paramedics be the judge of that," I told him. "Sit down on the ground until they come."
"Peter, I'm fine," he waved me off, then winced and put a hand to his rib. "Sorry, one of the guys kicked me before I escaped."
"You could have internal bleeding or a concussion. Go ahead and sit down."
Lauren lowered herself off the top of the cab and jumped lightly to the ground below. "Yeah, Caffrey, sit and wait for the medics."
Neal looked like he would argue further, but Lauren added, "It's FBI protocol. When you get hurt on the job, you got to wait for the paramedics, even if it's just a scratch."
Neal nodded slowly and lowered himself to sit on the ground. He looked dazed, and I fought the urge to strip him myself and check for bruising and fractured bones. I planned to be there when the bus finally came, and I fully intended to see that they put him on the gurney and I would ride with him all the way to the hospital. My palms were still sweaty, and I ran my fingers over my hair nervously.
Two minutes later, I heard the howl of the ambulance. Good grief, they're slow. I knew that it was New York with all the traffic and only about twelve minutes had passed since I called for them, but still -!
"Should I go help Jones?" Lauren asked.
"Yeah," I nodded. "Come back later so we can make a full report."
"I hate this part," Neal said as Lauren ran off. "Catching the bad guys is fun enough, but making the reports at the end is a drag. So much paperwork."
"You flipped a semi-truck full of stolen artwork over – of course, there's going to be paperwork," I tried to keep my temper down. Now that he was out of danger and the medics were almost here, I felt furious at him for acting so recklessly. If he hadn't been so beat up, I would have started lecturing right there and not let up until I got him home.
"I should learn how to drive one," he remarked off hand. "Oh, wait, do you think the artwork in the back is okay?"
"We'll worry about that later. Uh-uh, don't get up. Other agents can check the artwork,"
I waved the ambulance down and once it parked and the paramedics sprinted towards him, Neal tried to protest.
"I'm okay really."
Thankfully, the medics, two men and a woman, were not having any of that nonsense.
"Were you in the truck that flipped?" the woman asked.
"Yeah, a little," Neal admitted.
"Get a gurney," the woman directed the two guys.
In the back of the ambulance, they gingerly took off Neal's shirt and pants, shaking the glass free. He shivered in his boxers and t-shirt as he sat on the gurney, but one of the medics assured me,
"The glass isn't as bad as it looks. The windshield glass is meant to crumble upon impact. Most of the cuts were caused by hitting the dashboard when he flipped. He doesn't have to worry about glass shards getting in his skin."
Another medic lifted up Neal's shirt, and on one side of his torso, I saw an ugly red bruise stand out against the pale skin.
The medic pressed gently against the bruise and Neal winced, but the man reported, "No broken or cracked ribs that we can see. Probably just bruised."
He took out a penlight and shone it in Neal's eyes, holding up a finger and moving it back and forth. Neal's blue eyes followed the finger though he squinted at the light.
"Doesn't look like a concussion. Do you know your name? Where you are?"
"Neal Caffrey. In New York, in the back of an ambulance, sitting in my underwear," Neal replied, his tone slightly aggrieved.
"Don't be smart with the doctors," I reproved him before looking at the medics. "Ask him something hard, like the eighth president or the capital of Brazil."
"Martin Van Buren and Brasília," Neal answered, looking tired.
"His injuries all seem superficial rather than internal," the tall male medic reported. "But we can admit him for observation overnight."
"No, I'm fine," Neal shook his head slightly.
"Would you just let the doctor talk?" I asked, exasperated.
"I think I know my own body more than anyone else."
"Well, when you've been to medical school, you get to make that call. Until then, we listen to the doctors."
"Pe-e-eter," he sighed.
"You could have whiplash or torn joints. I think a night in the hospital is the best choice right now."
"The hospital is for people who are really, really sick. I'm just . . . banged up a little bit," he turned begging blue eyes up to me, and with his bruised face, he looked so pitiful I wanted to thump him for making me feel so sorry for him. Man, it killed me to see him so hurt.
The woman medic helped me out. "We could let your partner go home if someone else can check up on him during the night. And tomorrow morning, he would need a follow-up to make sure he's okay. Sir," to Neal, "do you live with someone or have a friend who could spend the night to check on you?"
"Yes, I do."
"Mozzie?" I snorted, guessing that would be his only friend. "Over my dead body. That guy wouldn't know what to do if you got sick. You can come to my place. The doctors can give me a list of things to look for."
Neal seemed to want to protest, but he finally nodded along. They wrapped him in a blanket, and I drove my car around so he could get in the front seat. Once he was bundled in the car, I drove the car to the other side and left him in the car with the engine on, with the heat full blast. I cracked the driver's window an inch so he wouldn't be breathing the exhaust.
The fire truck had come, and the firemen inspected the overturned truck, keeping everyone back in case it suddenly caught fire.
Jones and Lauren met me in the warehouse to report.
"We got all the artwork checked," Jones said. "The other two trucks were perfectly fine, but the flipped one –"
"It's mostly okay," Lauren interrupted. "A few pieces are banged up, but most are unharmed. I think an art restorer could repair the pieces pretty easily."
"This is going to be a pain to write up," I let my breath out heavily. "A semi turned over, a consultant hurt, a hole broken through the warehouse. Not things the FBI likes."
"Just another day working with Caffrey," Lauren grinned.
"I still can't believe it," Jones shook his head at the wreckage. "I mean, he killed the semi. Broke through the wall and then killed the semi like a motherfu – well, a you-know-what."
I smiled to hear Jones break off mid-swear. Jones doesn't usually cuss, but Neal has that effect on people.
"So, are we going to report that Neal got here first, and in an attempt to save the artwork, he jumped into one of the trucks and drove through the wall?"
"It's mostly the truth," Jones agreed.
"And the overturned truck?" I asked.
"Afraid he was going to hit something, he turned too sharp and it flipped?" Lauren suggested. "We're not really lying."
"Omission of the truth is lying," I pointed out.
"Yeah, but it's Neal. You got to omit a few things to get by and keep him working. Besides, we have more than enough evidence here to get everyone locked away. With Caffrey's injuries, we can add assault and battery of an FBI consultant to the list."
"He was breaking and entering private property without a warrant," Jones objected.
"That's right," I sighed. "No way any defense lawyer will let the assault charges stand. We'll have to trade assault and battery for breaking and entering."
We three looked at each other glumly. We would have a lot of paperwork to straighten out. And then I still had to get Neal home and make sure he healed up properly before I could straighten him out.
Some days, this job isn't worth the money they pay me.
A minute before, I had just got out of the car, my gun drawn, Lauren right beside me, when out of nowhere, the semi-truck burst out of the metal warehouse. I slowed down, amazed at something so incredible happening, and then the truck turned towards me.
I fully expected it to try to run me down, and I was pulling Lauren out of the way when I caught sight of the driver. It was Neal . . . Neal was driving the semi.
The whole world slowed down to a crawl, and I couldn't breathe as I realized that he had cut too sharply. I saw the back of the truck tipping over, the whole long truck falling on its right side. I yelled something incoherent, but I knew I couldn't do anything against a multi-ton semi. I watched in horror as the cab thrashed up in the air and then slammed against the pavement.
Glass splintered and blew everywhere, but I was running towards the truck like a madman.
"Peter, be careful," Lauren shouted, but she was right behind me.
I've seen car wrecks before – I've seen mangled bodies and blood covering broken limbs, and every awful image of human carnage I had ever witnessed flashed through my mind in the four seconds it took me to reach the truck.
Please, please, please, don't let it be Neal. God, I'm praying, I'm begging you, don't let that be Neal. Not Neal – he's too young – he's barely started turning his life around, no, no, no! Not Neal!
I reached the truck and ducked to see through the broken windshield. "Neal? Neal?"
"Peter?" the kid's voice had never sounded so good to me before. "Peter, is that you?"
"Yeah, yeah, are you hurt?"
"Not too much. I'm caught and hanging upside down. There's a lot of glass in here, but I can't get free."
"Do not move," I ordered him. I whipped out my radio. "Man down," I spoke into the speaker. "Man down, and I need a bus immediately. Send any bus in the area. We need a fire truck, too."
"Affirmative," came the reply over the radio.
"No," Neal protested from inside, "I don't need an ambulance. I'll be fine. I just need to get free."
I heard movement inside the car and without thinking, I panicked and barked out, "You move another inch and I'll take a belt to you right here and now."
Lauren blinked in surprise, but the expression on my face must have scared her because she spoke up, "Neal, just stay still. Peter and I are going to work together to get the door open and get you out."
"You think we can?" I gave her a worried look. My heart was hammering in fear and I felt frantic to make sure he got out safely.
"I don't smell gasoline so there's probably not a leak," Lauren assured me. "The engine cut out when it flipped. If you boost me up, I can get to the top and open the door enough. I could help him from the top and you could duck inside the broken windshield."
I hesitated – all my training told me to wait until the medics got here and handled the situation properly – but I knew Neal. With all that energy, he couldn't hold still for that long and he would try to get free. From what I could see of his body, I knew if he pulled free he would fall right on his face into all the glass, probably damaging his eyes.
"We move slowly," I told Lauren. "Neal, do not move at all until I tell you. Stay perfectly still, and whatever happens, try to avoid the glass."
"Got it," he answered, his voice sounding odd against the seat.
The top of the cab, which was now the side door, was about eight feet in the air, but I laced my hands together to make a step. Lauren put her right foot in it, and I heaved her up in the air. She caught onto the edge of the cab, and I moved under her, placing her feet on my shoulders so she could get all the way up. Lauren isn't a heavy girl by any stretch of the imagination, but she's still over a hundred pounds, and my body told me I was getting too old to have that much weight stand on my shoulders.
Thankfully, she pulled herself up quickly and stood atop the fallen cab. It shook a little, but nothing else happened as she crouched by the door to open it.
"Careful," I warned her. "The weight of the door might be faulty, what with it up in the air now. Open it slowly and make sure it stays open before you lean in. I don't want the door slamming on you suddenly."
"Right, boss," Lauren opened the door and pulled it up into the air.
"Okay," she reported, "I can brace the door open. Caffrey's upside down with his lower legs and feet trapped between the steering wheel and the driver's seat."
"I could have told you that," Neal objected.
"What else?" I ignored him.
"If you got into the windshield and supported his top half, I could lean into the cab and free his legs. But if he falls down, he lands in a lot of glass. Your call, boss."
I strained to hear any sign of approaching ambulances, but I heard nothing. My radio suddenly chirped. I grabbed it to change the frequency, and Jones's voice came through.
"Yeah, we caught all the perps. Got about twelve guys in all. A few shots fired, but no one injured. Cuffing everyone and putting them in cars. You found Caffrey?"
"Yeah, he's stuck in a semi," I spoke back.
"Thanks for telling everyone," Neal grumbled.
"Right, I can see it from here," Jones radioed back.
I looked around the car, and saw Jones waving from the broken hole in the side of the warehouse.
"Bus is coming," I said into the radio. "But we're going to try to get him free. Start reading all the perps their rights."
"Yes, sir," Jones stepped back into the warehouse.
I tucked the radio in my pocket and then took off my overcoat and suit coat, making sure I had nothing that could get caught on the edges.
I crouched down and put on a pair of leather gloves I keep in my pocket. Gently, I started breaking off the remaining glass from the edges of the windshield. Neal was angled in such a way, facedown on the seat, that I couldn't really see his face, but I reached in to put a hand on his shoulder.
"In just a second," I told him, "I'm going to grab you around the waist. The moment I do, I want you to turn, wrap your arms around my neck, and hold on as tight as you can. Lauren is going to get your feet free then and I'm going to pull you out. I'm going to count to four. On two, I'm going to grab you. On three, you grab me. On four, Lauren, you push his feet free as I pull him out. Everybody got that?"
"Yes, boss," Lauren answered from overhead, dangling her torso down to grab Neal's ankles.
"Got it," Neal answered.
I took a deep breath. "One. Two," I grabbed Neal's upper body, pulling him towards me. "Three."
Neal twisted and wrapped his arms around me, crushing himself against me in a giant bear hug.
"Four."
I felt Neal's body start to fall and I pulled backwards out of the cab, dragging Neal with me.
I felt a rush of thankfulness flood me as I straightened, pulling Neal to his feet and tentatively stepping back to make sure he was all right.
He looked awful. The left side of his face was bruising – red and black – and his lips were cut and bleeding. His arms were scratched up, and he had bits of glass everywhere. I had never seen him look this awful, and I gazed at him in horror.
"I'll be okay," he assured me. "I'm beat up, but I don't think anything's broken."
"We'll let the paramedics be the judge of that," I told him. "Sit down on the ground until they come."
"Peter, I'm fine," he waved me off, then winced and put a hand to his rib. "Sorry, one of the guys kicked me before I escaped."
"You could have internal bleeding or a concussion. Go ahead and sit down."
Lauren lowered herself off the top of the cab and jumped lightly to the ground below. "Yeah, Caffrey, sit and wait for the medics."
Neal looked like he would argue further, but Lauren added, "It's FBI protocol. When you get hurt on the job, you got to wait for the paramedics, even if it's just a scratch."
Neal nodded slowly and lowered himself to sit on the ground. He looked dazed, and I fought the urge to strip him myself and check for bruising and fractured bones. I planned to be there when the bus finally came, and I fully intended to see that they put him on the gurney and I would ride with him all the way to the hospital. My palms were still sweaty, and I ran my fingers over my hair nervously.
Two minutes later, I heard the howl of the ambulance. Good grief, they're slow. I knew that it was New York with all the traffic and only about twelve minutes had passed since I called for them, but still -!
"Should I go help Jones?" Lauren asked.
"Yeah," I nodded. "Come back later so we can make a full report."
"I hate this part," Neal said as Lauren ran off. "Catching the bad guys is fun enough, but making the reports at the end is a drag. So much paperwork."
"You flipped a semi-truck full of stolen artwork over – of course, there's going to be paperwork," I tried to keep my temper down. Now that he was out of danger and the medics were almost here, I felt furious at him for acting so recklessly. If he hadn't been so beat up, I would have started lecturing right there and not let up until I got him home.
"I should learn how to drive one," he remarked off hand. "Oh, wait, do you think the artwork in the back is okay?"
"We'll worry about that later. Uh-uh, don't get up. Other agents can check the artwork,"
I waved the ambulance down and once it parked and the paramedics sprinted towards him, Neal tried to protest.
"I'm okay really."
Thankfully, the medics, two men and a woman, were not having any of that nonsense.
"Were you in the truck that flipped?" the woman asked.
"Yeah, a little," Neal admitted.
"Get a gurney," the woman directed the two guys.
In the back of the ambulance, they gingerly took off Neal's shirt and pants, shaking the glass free. He shivered in his boxers and t-shirt as he sat on the gurney, but one of the medics assured me,
"The glass isn't as bad as it looks. The windshield glass is meant to crumble upon impact. Most of the cuts were caused by hitting the dashboard when he flipped. He doesn't have to worry about glass shards getting in his skin."
Another medic lifted up Neal's shirt, and on one side of his torso, I saw an ugly red bruise stand out against the pale skin.
The medic pressed gently against the bruise and Neal winced, but the man reported, "No broken or cracked ribs that we can see. Probably just bruised."
He took out a penlight and shone it in Neal's eyes, holding up a finger and moving it back and forth. Neal's blue eyes followed the finger though he squinted at the light.
"Doesn't look like a concussion. Do you know your name? Where you are?"
"Neal Caffrey. In New York, in the back of an ambulance, sitting in my underwear," Neal replied, his tone slightly aggrieved.
"Don't be smart with the doctors," I reproved him before looking at the medics. "Ask him something hard, like the eighth president or the capital of Brazil."
"Martin Van Buren and Brasília," Neal answered, looking tired.
"His injuries all seem superficial rather than internal," the tall male medic reported. "But we can admit him for observation overnight."
"No, I'm fine," Neal shook his head slightly.
"Would you just let the doctor talk?" I asked, exasperated.
"I think I know my own body more than anyone else."
"Well, when you've been to medical school, you get to make that call. Until then, we listen to the doctors."
"Pe-e-eter," he sighed.
"You could have whiplash or torn joints. I think a night in the hospital is the best choice right now."
"The hospital is for people who are really, really sick. I'm just . . . banged up a little bit," he turned begging blue eyes up to me, and with his bruised face, he looked so pitiful I wanted to thump him for making me feel so sorry for him. Man, it killed me to see him so hurt.
The woman medic helped me out. "We could let your partner go home if someone else can check up on him during the night. And tomorrow morning, he would need a follow-up to make sure he's okay. Sir," to Neal, "do you live with someone or have a friend who could spend the night to check on you?"
"Yes, I do."
"Mozzie?" I snorted, guessing that would be his only friend. "Over my dead body. That guy wouldn't know what to do if you got sick. You can come to my place. The doctors can give me a list of things to look for."
Neal seemed to want to protest, but he finally nodded along. They wrapped him in a blanket, and I drove my car around so he could get in the front seat. Once he was bundled in the car, I drove the car to the other side and left him in the car with the engine on, with the heat full blast. I cracked the driver's window an inch so he wouldn't be breathing the exhaust.
The fire truck had come, and the firemen inspected the overturned truck, keeping everyone back in case it suddenly caught fire.
Jones and Lauren met me in the warehouse to report.
"We got all the artwork checked," Jones said. "The other two trucks were perfectly fine, but the flipped one –"
"It's mostly okay," Lauren interrupted. "A few pieces are banged up, but most are unharmed. I think an art restorer could repair the pieces pretty easily."
"This is going to be a pain to write up," I let my breath out heavily. "A semi turned over, a consultant hurt, a hole broken through the warehouse. Not things the FBI likes."
"Just another day working with Caffrey," Lauren grinned.
"I still can't believe it," Jones shook his head at the wreckage. "I mean, he killed the semi. Broke through the wall and then killed the semi like a motherfu – well, a you-know-what."
I smiled to hear Jones break off mid-swear. Jones doesn't usually cuss, but Neal has that effect on people.
"So, are we going to report that Neal got here first, and in an attempt to save the artwork, he jumped into one of the trucks and drove through the wall?"
"It's mostly the truth," Jones agreed.
"And the overturned truck?" I asked.
"Afraid he was going to hit something, he turned too sharp and it flipped?" Lauren suggested. "We're not really lying."
"Omission of the truth is lying," I pointed out.
"Yeah, but it's Neal. You got to omit a few things to get by and keep him working. Besides, we have more than enough evidence here to get everyone locked away. With Caffrey's injuries, we can add assault and battery of an FBI consultant to the list."
"He was breaking and entering private property without a warrant," Jones objected.
"That's right," I sighed. "No way any defense lawyer will let the assault charges stand. We'll have to trade assault and battery for breaking and entering."
We three looked at each other glumly. We would have a lot of paperwork to straighten out. And then I still had to get Neal home and make sure he healed up properly before I could straighten him out.
Some days, this job isn't worth the money they pay me.
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