Uncuff him

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Neal wheeled Mozzie out into the common room of the hospital.

"It's nice to see you're recovering, bud. Doctor says you'll be out of the wheelchair in the next couple of days."

"It builds something," Moz stated, changing the subject.

"What does?"

"The code inside the music box. It's an equation that builds something."

"We don't need to talk about this right now," Neal said as he parked the wheelchair by a table.

"I was shot for that code!" his friend pointed out, fighting to keep his voice down. "Now that Larssen took my notebook, they have the equation, too. I'll be damned if they're gonna build it before I do!"

It was serious that they had taken the notebook, but life and health were more important.

"All right, you need to rest." He put a hand on Mozzie's shoulder to calm him.

"I'll rest when this is done," Moz replied. "When this is finished, I'm retired."

Retiring? Was his friend going to quit? Neal faced him where he sat in hospital clothes and a brown terry robe.

"Okay, you know, deathbed epiphanies aren't your style. If this is about not being able to remember, Moz—"

"It has nothing to do with that," he interrupted. Neal frowned and waited for him to continue. With a sigh he did. "I betrayed everything I believe in."

"What are you talking about?"

"I narc'ed! I was the one who told the Suit you were going after Fowler!" Neal could hardly believe what he was hearing. "I was serious. The reason the bullet missed my heart is because I don't have one!"

Neal sat down beside Mozzie.

"You told Peter?"

"I'm a Judas, a turncoat, a quisling! I—"

"Thank you." Neal broke in, moved. "If you hadn't, Moz, I might have killed Fowler." By the body language, it was that thought that had made his friend make the call. "And Fowler didn't kill Kate."

"He didn't? Then who did?"

"The guy Larssen's working for. I think. So what does this coded equation build?"

"I have no idea," Mozzie said and Neal sighed. "Yet."


Peter walked around, frustrated. Before him on the other side of the table in the hearing room sat Larsen in cuffs and did not say much at all. What made Peter annoyed was that the man had not asked for a lawyer, nor seemed as desperate as Neal had described him.

He trusted the kid's story. He was confident that Neal did not lie to him.

"You offered Caffrey a deal," Peter said leaning at the table. "He doesn't make deals around here. I do. Now, you're a gun for hire, a bullet aimed at a target. I want to know the man who's pulling the trigger."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm innocent."

"Mm-hmm."

There was a knock on the door and Hughes put his head inside.

"Burke. A moment?"

Hopefully, he would get something to use against this stone face. He left the room and closed the door behind him. He saw the kid and Diana exiting from behind the mirror glass, curious.

"Did we get the ballistics?"

"The inside of the barrel was filed down," Hughe replied. "We couldn't make a match."

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