kriadydragon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kriadydragon) wrote2011-02-07 09:07 pm
kriadydragon) wrote2011-02-07 09:07 pm
Entry tags:
White Collar - Neal's Menagerie
Title: Neal's Menagerie
Rating: PG for a smidgen 'o language
Characters: Neal, Peter
Warnings: Possible cuteness overload
Summary: “Neal, please tell me that's a white cat painted with black spots.” Not beta'd but edited. Just a bit of fluff (pun intended) I felt like writing.
Neal's Menagerie
Neal loved going undercover. Granted, he didn't like it when going undercover meant ending up with a gun in his face; or being locked in a room with the air being sucked out; or being tazered and punched in the gut. But during those times when his life was not in Jeopardy, it was fun. Neal had skills and he liked being able to use them, and though he would never really admit it out loud, he liked being able to use them to take down very bad people. He liked how it kept him on his toes.
And he loved how no two stings were alike.
“Neal, please tell me that's a white cat painted with black spots.”
Neal hefted the care bag higher up his shoulder, then adjusted the “white cat with black spots” more comfortably in his arms. The cat made a very uncat-like mewl.
“Sorry Peter,” Neal side, smiling wide. He couldn't help it, he really couldn't. “It's exactly what it looks like.”
Peter looked from the not-cat glancing languidly around the interior of the van to Neal. “A Leopard.”
“A snow leopard. A baby snow leopard so it's completely harmless. Hey, Jones, move over.”
Jones moved, even though there were few places to move to, and Neal sat while fishing a bottle from the care bag. “Guess those guys weren't smuggling art after all. Hey, does this mean it's not our case anymore?” The bottle had been pre-made, because the targets were pros and knew better than to hand over an animal on the verge of starvation. They were also assholes, because the little tiny helpless baby leopard took to the bottle like it hadn't eaten in days. Then again, that could have been par for the course with baby snow leopards.
“No,” Peter said gruffly. “We have video surveillance proving that these guys were moving art. Getting a leopard instead doesn't change that. Now let's drop that thing off at the nearest humane society...”
Neal held the leopard protectively to his chest. “Peter! We can't.”
“Oh?” Peter challenged, eyebrow arched.
“If we want this operation to see its end then I've gotta keep playing the part of the handler. This little guy ends up at an animal shelter, wildlife refuge, zoo or where ever then they're going to know something's up. Trust me. I knew a guy who worked for a crew that smuggled exotic pets. The moment they hear about a leopard ending up at the shelter, they'll run.”
Neal held the leopard up in both his hands, its muzzle sporting the biggest milk mustache in the history of milk mustaches.
“Think I'll call her dot.”
Peter groaned.
--------------------------
Neal had a pet leopard. Not a permanent arrangement but for the time being the thought alone went right off the awesome meter. Neal kept her at the loft, with a large dog crate to sleep in (borrowed from Satchmo) and a box of kitty litter what with Dot currently no bigger than a full grown house cat. She was skittish at first, as any baby animal ripped from its mother and dumped in a strange new place would be. But mothering the hell out of her paid off, and Dot went from hiding in hard to reach places to cuddling up against Neal's chest at night.
Mozzie watched her while Neal was at work. He could complain about the hazards of wild animals, even baby wild animals, all he wanted; Neal had come home time to see Moz asleep on the couch and Dot asleep on his stomach. Neal had no intentions of keeping Dot, because leopards grew up and they weren't exactly pack animals, but there was no harm in enjoying the moment.
The guys who had unknowingly gifted Neal with Dot moved their drop zones from place to place but Peter was sure they had a central location. Someplace close to the drop zones for a quick and easy exchange. And the more they exchanged, the more Peter and his team could narrow down the location.
Neal's “boss” - aka a man by the name of Walter Hanson, cooperating with the FBI in exchange that they didn't throw his ass in jail for tax evasion and whatever deal he'd made with these smugglers – got another call. The location? The back of an old electronics store. Neal went in unarmed and empty handed.
He came out with a cat crate full of Persian kittens.
“Not exactly exotic,” Peter said, glaring at the cat-cage full of writhing, mewling puffballs.
“Pedigree documents are probably a forgery,” Neal said, waggling the folder full of documents. “But the cats still have to pass a visual inspection.”
“So, what, they kidnapped a litter of kittens?”
“Or know a guy who breeds them. They could've gotten them from the local pound for all we know.”
Peter heaved a sigh. “And to send them back to the pound would set off alarm bells.”
Neal smiled.
And now had a crate of kittens to go with his snow leopard. Dot and the kittens got along swimmingly. He named them Michelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo and Raphael: whether after the artists or Ninja Turtles he refused to say – he loved to keep people guessing - but the lone female he'd named Georgia.
Peter finally buckled down and grilled Hanson about the pet thing.
“I love animals,” Hanson said with a weak smile and a shrug.
Loved animals so much, in fact, that money was no object and extra had been paid for the smugglers to “surprise him.” He had no idea what animal was coming next.
“An animal hoarder with money,” Diana said while she and Neal watched Hanson shrink beneath Peter's disapproving glower. Neal had been on the wrong end of that glower enough times to pity Hanson.
“Worst combination ever,” Neal finished.
But the best undercover operation yet.
-------------------------
The next call came. Hanson needed to have ready a pool that could support sea-life. Peter had to make some calls, fast.
The smugglers met Neal at an empty warehouse near the docks. Inside was one of those large, round inflatable pools. In the pool was a bottle nose dolphin.
“Tursiops Truncatus,” Neal said, his amusement without end. The smugglers left Neal with his new charge only after they had him contact the people who would be transporting the dolphin. Thank goodness for zoologists eager to help one of God's creatures even if it meant lying through their teeth.
There was a bucket of fish on a small table by the pool. By the time Peter and the zoo people arrived with the needed transportation, Neal had made another new friend.
“Think I'll call him Flipper,” Neal said, dangling a fish within Flipper's reach. The dolphin took it and Neal rubbed its rubbery snout.
“You're not keeping this one, Neal,” Peter warned.
Neal shrugged. “Doesn't mean I can't give him a name.”
The dolphin clicked, squeaked and bobbed it's head as though in agreement.
----------------------
One wolf cub, two chinchillas and a Koala bear later, and Peter and team had the location of where the goods – and animals – were being brought in. They caught the guys just as they were bringing a baby elephant hidden in a shipping crate from off the ship. The elephant was taken directly to the zoo. Neal lamented what could have been.
Hanson was released but fined something fierce per the FBI's agreement. But the FBI planned on keeping close tabs on him. Anything arriving at his house that wasn't domesticated and legal, and the deal was off. Animal smugglers had one less client. Not much, but definitely a start.
It was time for Neal to say good bye to Dot, the Ninja-Turtle Kittens, Sam the wolf cub, Tristan and Isolde the chinchillas and Frank the Koala bear.
But not Georgia. June had fallen in love with the puffball. It spent most of its time hanging out in Neal's loft, wrestling with catnip bags and cuddling up to Neal's chest at night.
Man, Neal loved going under cover.
The End
Rating: PG for a smidgen 'o language
Characters: Neal, Peter
Warnings: Possible cuteness overload
Summary: “Neal, please tell me that's a white cat painted with black spots.” Not beta'd but edited. Just a bit of fluff (pun intended) I felt like writing.
Neal loved going undercover. Granted, he didn't like it when going undercover meant ending up with a gun in his face; or being locked in a room with the air being sucked out; or being tazered and punched in the gut. But during those times when his life was not in Jeopardy, it was fun. Neal had skills and he liked being able to use them, and though he would never really admit it out loud, he liked being able to use them to take down very bad people. He liked how it kept him on his toes.
And he loved how no two stings were alike.
“Neal, please tell me that's a white cat painted with black spots.”
Neal hefted the care bag higher up his shoulder, then adjusted the “white cat with black spots” more comfortably in his arms. The cat made a very uncat-like mewl.
“Sorry Peter,” Neal side, smiling wide. He couldn't help it, he really couldn't. “It's exactly what it looks like.”
Peter looked from the not-cat glancing languidly around the interior of the van to Neal. “A Leopard.”
“A snow leopard. A baby snow leopard so it's completely harmless. Hey, Jones, move over.”
Jones moved, even though there were few places to move to, and Neal sat while fishing a bottle from the care bag. “Guess those guys weren't smuggling art after all. Hey, does this mean it's not our case anymore?” The bottle had been pre-made, because the targets were pros and knew better than to hand over an animal on the verge of starvation. They were also assholes, because the little tiny helpless baby leopard took to the bottle like it hadn't eaten in days. Then again, that could have been par for the course with baby snow leopards.
“No,” Peter said gruffly. “We have video surveillance proving that these guys were moving art. Getting a leopard instead doesn't change that. Now let's drop that thing off at the nearest humane society...”
Neal held the leopard protectively to his chest. “Peter! We can't.”
“Oh?” Peter challenged, eyebrow arched.
“If we want this operation to see its end then I've gotta keep playing the part of the handler. This little guy ends up at an animal shelter, wildlife refuge, zoo or where ever then they're going to know something's up. Trust me. I knew a guy who worked for a crew that smuggled exotic pets. The moment they hear about a leopard ending up at the shelter, they'll run.”
Neal held the leopard up in both his hands, its muzzle sporting the biggest milk mustache in the history of milk mustaches.
“Think I'll call her dot.”
Peter groaned.
--------------------------
Neal had a pet leopard. Not a permanent arrangement but for the time being the thought alone went right off the awesome meter. Neal kept her at the loft, with a large dog crate to sleep in (borrowed from Satchmo) and a box of kitty litter what with Dot currently no bigger than a full grown house cat. She was skittish at first, as any baby animal ripped from its mother and dumped in a strange new place would be. But mothering the hell out of her paid off, and Dot went from hiding in hard to reach places to cuddling up against Neal's chest at night.
Mozzie watched her while Neal was at work. He could complain about the hazards of wild animals, even baby wild animals, all he wanted; Neal had come home time to see Moz asleep on the couch and Dot asleep on his stomach. Neal had no intentions of keeping Dot, because leopards grew up and they weren't exactly pack animals, but there was no harm in enjoying the moment.
The guys who had unknowingly gifted Neal with Dot moved their drop zones from place to place but Peter was sure they had a central location. Someplace close to the drop zones for a quick and easy exchange. And the more they exchanged, the more Peter and his team could narrow down the location.
Neal's “boss” - aka a man by the name of Walter Hanson, cooperating with the FBI in exchange that they didn't throw his ass in jail for tax evasion and whatever deal he'd made with these smugglers – got another call. The location? The back of an old electronics store. Neal went in unarmed and empty handed.
He came out with a cat crate full of Persian kittens.
“Not exactly exotic,” Peter said, glaring at the cat-cage full of writhing, mewling puffballs.
“Pedigree documents are probably a forgery,” Neal said, waggling the folder full of documents. “But the cats still have to pass a visual inspection.”
“So, what, they kidnapped a litter of kittens?”
“Or know a guy who breeds them. They could've gotten them from the local pound for all we know.”
Peter heaved a sigh. “And to send them back to the pound would set off alarm bells.”
Neal smiled.
And now had a crate of kittens to go with his snow leopard. Dot and the kittens got along swimmingly. He named them Michelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo and Raphael: whether after the artists or Ninja Turtles he refused to say – he loved to keep people guessing - but the lone female he'd named Georgia.
Peter finally buckled down and grilled Hanson about the pet thing.
“I love animals,” Hanson said with a weak smile and a shrug.
Loved animals so much, in fact, that money was no object and extra had been paid for the smugglers to “surprise him.” He had no idea what animal was coming next.
“An animal hoarder with money,” Diana said while she and Neal watched Hanson shrink beneath Peter's disapproving glower. Neal had been on the wrong end of that glower enough times to pity Hanson.
“Worst combination ever,” Neal finished.
But the best undercover operation yet.
-------------------------
The next call came. Hanson needed to have ready a pool that could support sea-life. Peter had to make some calls, fast.
The smugglers met Neal at an empty warehouse near the docks. Inside was one of those large, round inflatable pools. In the pool was a bottle nose dolphin.
“Tursiops Truncatus,” Neal said, his amusement without end. The smugglers left Neal with his new charge only after they had him contact the people who would be transporting the dolphin. Thank goodness for zoologists eager to help one of God's creatures even if it meant lying through their teeth.
There was a bucket of fish on a small table by the pool. By the time Peter and the zoo people arrived with the needed transportation, Neal had made another new friend.
“Think I'll call him Flipper,” Neal said, dangling a fish within Flipper's reach. The dolphin took it and Neal rubbed its rubbery snout.
“You're not keeping this one, Neal,” Peter warned.
Neal shrugged. “Doesn't mean I can't give him a name.”
The dolphin clicked, squeaked and bobbed it's head as though in agreement.
----------------------
One wolf cub, two chinchillas and a Koala bear later, and Peter and team had the location of where the goods – and animals – were being brought in. They caught the guys just as they were bringing a baby elephant hidden in a shipping crate from off the ship. The elephant was taken directly to the zoo. Neal lamented what could have been.
Hanson was released but fined something fierce per the FBI's agreement. But the FBI planned on keeping close tabs on him. Anything arriving at his house that wasn't domesticated and legal, and the deal was off. Animal smugglers had one less client. Not much, but definitely a start.
It was time for Neal to say good bye to Dot, the Ninja-Turtle Kittens, Sam the wolf cub, Tristan and Isolde the chinchillas and Frank the Koala bear.
But not Georgia. June had fallen in love with the puffball. It spent most of its time hanging out in Neal's loft, wrestling with catnip bags and cuddling up to Neal's chest at night.
Man, Neal loved going under cover.
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