Peter brought a face up onto the screen, clicking the button a second later and pulling up financial records, receipts, and records.

"This,"

Peter told the agents and Neal gathered in the conference room,

"Is Marcus Edwards." Peter paused for a moment to glare at Neal, who was playing with his rubber band ball and not looking sorry at all.

"He's been embezzling funds from his parents' restaurant."

He clicked to another picture, this time of the same man, playing some role-playing game with a couple of other men.

"Fortunately," Diana cut in,

"We know just how to nail him. Marcus has been looking for this comic book for quite some time now."

She clicked the pointer, showing a old-looking comic.

Neal leaned forward, interested.

"Neal, you need to find a copy of this comic. It's the only bait for him. You have twenty-four hours, off-anklet, to find it. Got it?"

Neal grinned, and put his ankle on the table with a thump.

Neal pulled a comic out of a slat in his wall.

"Seriously?"
Mozzie asked, gesturing with his wine.

"How did you keep your intense nerdness from me for even as long as you did?"

Bryce grinned proudly.

"The FBI didn't even find this one last time they were searching the place."

Moz rolled his eyes.

"You know what this means?" Neal grinned, lifting up his ankletless foot.

"Neal? Where are you on that comic?"

Neal signaled away the waiter with a wave of his hand.

"These things take time, Peter. Mozzie has some very shady contacts."
He said knowingly, sipping his $2,000 bottle wine from the restaurant 2.555 miles away from June's.

Mozzie nodded.

"Oh, waiter, could I have the lobster? But no butter. No dairy."

"Was that Mozzie?"
"Bye, Peter. Got to go. We need to meet someone at a warehouse, and I need to figure out where to get watermelon in winter."

Bryce hung up.

"Could you bring out a plate of the steak?"

"How are things going?"

Peter asked.

Neal grinned over the phone, nudging Mozzie.

"The goose flies at dawn."

Moz said, flipping through the comic books and glaring suspiciously at the shop owner.

Neal kicked his feet up on his coffee table.

Mozzie shoved them off, then sat down next to him.

"You know we only have two more hours before your suit rechains you to the government doghouse that is your life."

"Thanks for that descriptive metaphor, Mozzie." Bryce said.

"Any time."

Neal grinned, pouring an outrageously expensive glass of wine and handing it to his friend.

"Now common. We only have two hours to get through as much of this bootlegged copy of Star Trek as we can."

"That, my friend, is a challenge I am willing to take."

Mozzie clinked his glass with Bryce's.

When Peter came to collect the comic book exactly two hours later, he found it laying innocuously on the counter, with a very drunk Mozzie and Neal debating the intricacies of space travel.