White Collar - The Cat's Meow

[kriadydragon]

Title: The Cat's Meow
Rating: PG
Characters: Peter, Neal, Mozzie, Diana, Jones, a couple of cats
Summary: Peter and Neal's latest undercover assignment gets a little "hairy" - pun totally intended. Written for love_82 for this Prompt at collarcorner. Sorry it took so long. For such a simple plot it sure put up a fight.

The Cat's Meow

Up until now, Peter had figured the oddest undercover assignment he'd ever been on was that time in his rookie years when someone had needed to go in as a clown – the balloon tying kind with the big pants, too much makeup and assigned the thankless task of corralling a gang of mouthy kids. He'd been the new guy, ergo, he got the crap assignments because it was funny to give the new guy crap.

Funny how life could come full circle and still be original about it. Hands down, going in as a clown wasn't strange. Attending a cat's birthday party complete with the most expensive jewelry on loan as decorations was.

“It's a cat,” Peter said for the upteenth time.

“It's for a good cause,” Neal said, also for the upteenth time and sounding a little extra chipper about it, which in Neal-speak translated to you-are-starting-to-annoy-me-please-stop. “The Algonquin's celebration of Matilda's birthday is a time honored tradition. I told you, all proceeds go to the ASPCA and everyone gets to have a good time. What's not to love?”

Peter looked down at what Neal had jokingly referred to as their newest undercover operative – their fluffy, pampered, looking-a-little-too-full-of-herself operative. What had Neal called it? A Bermese? Peter glanced at the small paper placard on the table that was the cat's “dressing room.” A Birmin, that was it. She stared at Peter right backed and blinked slowly.

“How did I let you talk me into this?” Peter asked.

Neal gave him a half odd, half amused look. “I... didn't. Frank Albert, the Jewel thief, remember? This is right up his alley and we had it on good authority he'd bought tickets.”

“I meant the undercover aspect. How did you talk me into it?”

“Step aside, gentlemen, the costume parade is in thirty minutes and Princess Divine needs to dress.”

Peter hooked his thumb at Mozzie. “How did I let you talk me into him”

Mozzie, wearing the worst tuxedo in creation (mostly because it was covered in glittery paw prints) elbowed his way to Princess, a hangar with a small suit and tie in one hand.

“You ooze the aura of a dog lover, Suit. While I have enough experience as a cat fancier to pass off as... well, obviously a cat fancier.”

“obviously,” Peter said, eying Mozzie's choice of wardrobe, then his choice for Princess' wardrobe – apparently she was going as J. Edgar Hoover.

Peter had asked – because he had to, even though he really didn't want to know – where Mozzie and Neal had gotten the cat. They knew someone, supposedly, allegedly, and seeing as how that someone was a nice middle-aged woman who liked to wear sweaters with kittens on them (and who had been holding a kitten when she had answered the door to two thieves and an FBI agent – Peter might not be the biggest cat fan but baby Birmins were kind of cute), Peter had ended his line of inquiry right then and there. It had been enough that the woman, Agnes, had recognized Neal as Neal rather than one of his sundry aliases, which was always less of a hassle.

But Peter had made a mental note to look into any reason Neal might have had to attend cat shows. Just to satisfy curiosity, not for any legal reasons.

Right now, he, Neal and Mozzie were the team representing Princess Divine, who may have been undercover but the part about her being a big time show winner for her breed wasn't. Agnes, despite her love of kitten sweaters, was a woman in a position to hire teams to show her cats.

Okay, so Peter had to admit – to himself – that it was a good in. Weird, but allowing them far more freedom if they'd come in as part of the wait staff or hotel crew.

“Scoff all you wish,” Mozzie rambled on. “Cat shows are serious competition. Perfection is not a requirement it is a demand and the judging is brutal.”

“It's a birthday party for a cat.”

Mozzie lifted his chin. “How about you focus on your little mission and I focus on what's really at stake.”

Peter was already doing just that, his eyes wandering the Alonquin's lobby currently a maze of tables, cat carriers, cat toys and cats – as well as stands displaying the finest jewelry from New York's finest stores - for their target. A huge glittering banner swallowing most of the wall behind the (Peter mentally coughed) “cat” walk read “Diamonds are a Feline's Best Friend.”

And yet, despite his concentration, he seemed completely unable to stop himself from asking, “And what's really at stake?” He spotted Jones and Diana, the pretend rich couple here to make a difference for animals everywhere, and various agents acting as bodyguards for the various jewel displays. The top twenty cats to win the competitions would go on to be models to display some of the jewels, led by the birthday girl herself, Matilda.

“Princess' pride,” Mozzie said like it should have been obvious. “Princess is a professional. She takes her showmanship various serious.” He manipulated her floppy body into the kitty-sized suit jacket and tie.

“You do remember why we're here, Moz,” Neal said kindly.

“That's why you're here. I'm here to help Princess win this. Aren't I, Princess,” Mozzie simpered in a gooey, soppy voice.

Princess blinked slowly and flicked her tail. She kind of, sort of, did look like J Edgar, in a way.

Neal nudged Peter with his elbow, then lifted his chin in the direction of the hotel's entrance. A man a little older than Neal but younger than Peter sauntered through the doors. He was dressed business casual (or college teacher) in jeans and a brown suit jacket. It was his hair that gave him away; sandy blond and slicked back showing off a high forehead and hawk nose. He was wearing sunglasses, surveying the show with a neutral expression.

“Boss...” Diana's voice came over the comm.

Peter said into the radio disguised as a lapel pin, “We see him. Keep on him.”

Frank was making his way to the Blue Bar, just a man enjoying the scene and looking for a drink. But going to the bar put him out of Peter's sights.

“Diana, Jones?” he said. He would have followed, but too many people moving at once following Frank would have tipped the guy off like a sign as big and gaudy as the one behind the catwalk.

“I've got him,” Jones said. “He's at the bar. Looks like he's talking with someone.”

“Stay on him,” Peter said. It was all they could do at the moment. Frank was a slick bastard or he would have been caught by now, and when he went to ground it could be years before anything was heard about him.

Peter looked to Neal. “Neal?”

“Frank prefers working alone,” Neal said. “Unless he's flirting...”

“Doubt it. The guy he's talking to looks a little too nervous to be dealing with pick-up lines.”

Neal nodded. “Then Frank is getting conformation. Whoever he's talking to has either brought something Frank needs or he did something and he's letting Frank know.”

“Do we need to talk to Frank's buddy?” Jones asked.

“No,” Neal said. “Like I said, it's most likely a conformation meet, the guy letting Frank know that whatever was needed to be done is done. No way would Frank do any kind of exchange in a public place.”

“Great,” Peter growled. “That means whatever Frank's plan it's already in motion.”

The announcement that the next show was about to begin and that all participants needed to be at the catwalk echoed through the lobby. People flowed like a herd of cattle to the catwalk's location.

“Time for the costume show. Wish me luck!” Mozzie said, bundling J Edgar Hairball off to the next show.

“Good luck, Moz,” Neal said, smiling.

One person, however, was moving against the flow, making his harried way to Peter and Neal. Peter recognized him – Matilda's caretaker, Lloyd – and he was looking a little ill.

“Um... Mr. Renolds, Mr. Halden, could you spare a few minutes for a word?” he said as casually as he could, most of it belied by his painfully obvious tension and the sweat shining on his forehead. He led them through the crowds, to a room at the back where Matilda was supposed to be getting ready for the costume show. The cat in question had her own private table where she was currently being fitted into a royal purple robe and a little plastic princess crown.

“I'm sorry, Agent Burke,” Lloyd said. “But there's a problem. I know it probably seems a trifle thing but... but I think someone may have taken Matilda.”

Peter looked at Lloyd, then the cat.

Lloyd sighed. “Yes, I know, she looks exactly the same. But I've been caring for Matilda since she was a kitten. I know her. So believe me when I say this isn't Matilda.”

Neal, brow furrowed, went straight for the cat currently struggling in the handler's hands. “May I?” he asked, holding out his hands. The handler happily handed the cat off to squirm in Neal's gentle grip.

“See?” said Lloyd. “She's too fidgety, too nervous. Matilda is usually far more reserved. She's used to this. And her markings are all wrong. They're too dark.”

Neal lifted the cape, ran his hand through the cat's fur, sniffed at the cat, ran his hand through her fur again and rubbed his fingers and thumb together.

“Peter, he's right. The cat's fur's been dyed. Whoever did it used pretty cheap stuff. It comes off too easily.”

Peter stared. “You're telling me that someone's forged a cat?”

Neal gave him a shrug and his rather annoying what-can-you-do expression.

“A cat.”

“You really are having a hard time with this whole cat situation,” Neal said. He shook his head. “And to think you chase cat burglars for a living.”

“Neal--”

“It must have been Frank,” Neal said. “Well, Frank's buddy at the bar. Is Matilda wearing anything special for the Jewelry show?”

“The Broken Heart,” Lloyd said. He seemed to deflate. “The diamond necklace.”

Neal nodded wistfully. “With an impressively large heart-shaped diamond. Beautiful piece.” At a warning glare from Peter, he added, “If you're in to over-sized and overpriced diamond necklaces. Which Frank is.” Neal brightened. “That must be it, what he's up to. The diamond gets put on the fake Matilda and sometime either before or after the show Frank switches the fake Matilda with the real one.”

“We need to cancel the show,” Peter said immediately, but Neal shook his head.

“No, that'll just spook Frank. Look, the jewelry show isn't until after the costume show. We've got time. We can use this. All we need to do is find the real Matilda. Frank's going to need her close by which means she's somewhere in this hotel, and where Matilda is a duplicate of the broken heart is. We find where he's keeping both, wait until he shows up and we have him.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Which will probably mean hiding in a closet or under a bed, right?”

Neal smirked. “Better than a car trunk.”

“True. All right. Lloyd, we'll find Matilda. In the meantime we don't want to tip this guy off so you're going to have to use the fake Matilda.”

“I wish we didn't have to,” Lloyd said, taking fake Matilda. “Matilda loves the costume show.”

“We'll get her back,” Neal said in that kind, sympathetic way of his that was a silent promise. “Frank will want Matilda where no one can hear her if she makes any noise.”

“I'll have Diana check for anyone who checked in under any of Frank's aliases,” Peter said.

“The two middle floors are currently unoccupied. Most people either want a top floor room or something close to the lobby,” Lloyd said.

Peter, having relayed his instructions to Diana, nodded. “We'll start looking. Diana, get those names to us as soon as you can.”

Neal led the way through the lobby to the elevators with ease.

“If I didn't know any better I would say you'd been here before,” Peter said as the elevator carried them to the next floor.

“It's a classic hotel, Peter. Did you know they offer discounts to struggling writers if you offer them a copy of your book?”

“Are you telling me you have a book here, most likely under an alias?”

Neal shrugged, wearing that smile on his face that might as well be a big fat yes.

“It wouldn't happen to be your autobiography would it?” Peter said.

“I bet you would love that.”

“It would make for some interesting bedtime reading.”

“Then I'm sorry to disappoint you. I didn't actual write it, just illustrated.”

Peter eyed him shrewdly.

Neal raised his hands. “Honest work, Peter, I swear. I needed some cash, a friend needed some art. The Algonquin liked the pictures so much they gave me a discount, anyway.”

“Imagine that, Neal Caffrey doing honest work and getting into a hotel the honest way.”

“Semi-honest.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The elevator dinged, they got off and split up, Peter calling over his shoulder, “Stay in contact at all times.”

Peter went left, Neal right, pressing their ears to each door and hoping to hear the pathetic mewls of a caged cat. At least Peter hoped she was mewling and not sleeping contentedly away from all the noise of her own party. Just in case...

“Um... here kitty, kitty, kitty.”

“I'm eight doors in, Peter. Nothing,” Neal said.

“I'm about the same,” Peter said. “Diana, you got anything?”

“No, boss. Either this guy didn't officially check in or he's using an alias we don't know about.”

“Frank wouldn't need one of his aliases for a job like this. It's quick so any name would do,” Neal said.

Peter tightened his jaw. “Now you tell me.”

“Wait, quiet, I think I hear something,” Neal cut in.

Peter froze. “Neal, tell me where you are.”

Neal shushed him irritably. Peter, growling, back tracked toward Neal's last known direction. He could hear Neal's steady breathing as well as some sort of clicking – lockpicks at work, had to be.

The line crackled. It was Jones. “Peter, I've lost Frank. The bastard's given us the slip.”

“Neal!” Peter hissed.

“I'm in. Hey Matilda, I'm--” there followed a thump, a pained grunt, and a cat mewling its head off.

Peter gritted his teeth, damming back a string of swears. He entered the hall Neal had taken, turned the corner and nearly tripped when a ball of tan, black and dusky fur barreled between his feet. And chasing the cat was Frank with the fake diamond necklace in his hand. He looked up at Peter and chuckled.

“Yeah, sorry, my cat decided to make a bid for freedom when I was getting her ready for the show and--”

Peter pulled both his badge and his gun. “Sorry, Frank, try another one. And freeze.”

Frank didn't listen. “Stupid cat,” he sneered, then charged back up the hall.

“Damnit!” Peter snarled. He gave chase. “The target is on the run. Repeat, the target is on the run. Cover all exits, don't let him get out!”

Peter heard before he had a chance to see a door close just on the other side of the next turn. Peter skidded to a stop, entering the wing slowly, keeping his breaths slow and steady as possible as he listened. It was agony, having to creep along, keep his hearing strained for the slightest sound, seconds crawling by like ants on his nerves. But it kept him alert and ready, his senses sharper than a new butcher knife.

But Frank hadn't gotten as far as he had in his criminal career without having those same sharpened senses. Six doors in and a door crashed open behind Peter. He turned to see door number two slam off the wall and Frank tearing off back the way he had come. He was heading for the elevators, Peter knew, and with the distance now greater between them there was a chance he just might make it.

Make that a very good chance. Frank was almost to the hall with the elevators and Peter still too many steps behind no matter how hard he pumped his legs. Suddenly, that same ball of multi-shaded fur streaked past Frank, right between his feet. Unlike Peter, Frank couldn't catch his balance and dropped in a sprawl to the floor. Peter was on him, flipping him over then cuffing him.

“Frank Albert you're under arrest for attempted theft...”

“Don't forget cat-napping.”

Peter looked up. He smiled to see Neal, leaning against the wall, a hand to his head, but otherwise alive, mobile and smiling.

“And cat-napping.”

--------------------

“I'm fine, Peter.”

“You have a nasty bump on your head and you told me yourself everything went black when Frank hit you.”

“Not for long,” Neal protested.

“Doesn't matter, you're getting checked out.”

Neal heaved a long-suffering breath, stroking Matilda's head. Matilda purred, content. Frank glared at her as though her happiness was an affront to him. He eventually looked away, muttering something about stupid cats.

The elevator opened and Peter quickly escorted Frank to the kitchens, a jacket covering his cuffed hands. It had been Neal's idea. No need to ruin the celebration when the birthday girl was being returned safe and sound. Diana, Jones and several of the team were waiting in the kitchen to take Frank into custody. Neal went to return Matilda to her rightful place, much to Peter's hesitation. But though Neal might have been looking a little on the dazed side, he was walking fine and still knew exactly where to go.

“Too bad you missed the costume show,” Diana said as Jones and another agent led Frank away. She wrinkled her nose. “It was kind of cute.”

They made their way to the lobby. They'd caught Frank, their job here was done, and it was time to pack up. Neal was there waiting having already dropped off Matilda.

“Can we at least stay for the final show?” Neal begged.

“For the cats or for the diamonds?”

Neal feigned absolute innocence. “The cats, of course.”

“She did it, she did it!” They all three turned to see Mozzie hurrying toward him, his smile huge on his face as he held up Princess. “She's in the top twenty! She can be in the final show.”

Neal chuckled, clapping Mozzie on the shoulder then scratching Princess behind the ears. “That's great Moz.” He looked imploringly at Peter. “I feel fine, Peter,” he said even as he winced. “It won't be long. Just get me an icepack and we're good.”

Peter looked long-suffering from a hopeful Neal to an even more hopeful Mozzie, rolled his eyes Heaven-ward and sighed. “Fine, but if you die from intra cranial bleeding or something I'm not feeling guilty.”

Neal held up his hand. “I won't, promise.”

“Besides, like hell I'm leaving you two with a cat show full of jewelry. I'm searching you when this over Havasham. The cat, too.”

“Deal!” Mozzie said a little too easily, and he hurried off to get Princess ready.

Peter shook his head, bewildered. “Why do I get the feeling he really was in this for the cats?”

Neal clapped him on the shoulder. “Glad we can still surprise you, Peter.”

the End

A/N: Although Matilda the Algonquin Cat is very much real (and totally has awesome birthday parties), her caretaker, Lloyd, I made up.

Princess Divine, The Birmin Cat. Don't you just want to mush it's fluffy little cheeks!

Comments

[florastuart.livejournal.com]

You're telling me that someone's forged a cat?

Hee! *g* Oh, this is adorable! And I love Mozzie and the cat with the suit and tie - I can totally see him being into cats and cat shows. And Peter being suspicious, and Neal having stayed there before. Love it! *g*

[kriadydragon.livejournal.com]

Thank you :D