A/N: This story is set in the future. No particular reason.
"James Bonds and Robin Hoodie were bad enough. But Chicago Jones? It doesn't even sound like he's a criminal, which I suppose he isn't since he may not have even known they were forgeries...but it's still confusing," Neal said as he and Peter walked down the street in the quiet Chicago suburb.
"Two Jones too many, huh?" Peter nodded and chuckled as he continued looking at the house numbers.
"Just because I said he was a regular Indiana Jones didn't mean we should call him that," Neal continued.
"Face it, Neal, the moment you took the job at the bureau, you became one of us."
"I may have traded my anklet for a real FBI badge, but that doesn't mean I want to forget my previous reputation. Besides, we both know that I'm on the verge of losing this badge at least once every two weeks."
"Well, that's true enough," Peter commented lightly as he stopped. "I think this is the one we're looking for."
The house was in a subdivision where all the homes look the same down to the perfect black mailbox with a little red flag. This particular residence had distinguished itself from its uniform neighbors with a flag pole supporting an American flag as well as a local sports' team flag and some assorted tacky garden art. Nothing about the yard or unassuming house suggested the wealth of the owner. Peter walked up to the door and rapped steadily on it.
After a minute, they heard shuffling as well as a light tapping sound along the floor inside. A man with a pronounced limp opened the door. Peter began to dig his FBI badge out of his pocket, but the man ushered them in with his cane, "Come in, come in, it's too cold out there for you to stand in the doorway. Whatever business you want to discuss can be done in the living room."
Peter and Neal, although they were a little startled at the welcome, followed the man inside.
"Mr. Campbell, I presume?" Neal offered his hand to the man. The man shook Neal's proffered hand gently, "I'm Neal Caffrey, Consulting Agent for the FBI , and this is my partner, Special Agent Peter Burke."
"Consulting Agent?" The man asked, a little baffled.
"I have the field experience, just not the credentials. I've been a consultant for the White Collar Crime Division for the past four years," Neal explained. Although Neal could not become an actual agent because of his criminal past, after quite a bit of arguing, the Bureau had agreed to let him introduce himself as a Consulting Agent. And since this was the first case on which he was allowed to do so, Neal did not waste the opportunity. Peter was silently thankful for that since he was sure Neal would do something slightly more impromptu next time.
"Now, Mr. Campbell, we are here to ask you about the collection of Egyptian art that you donated to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, " Peter pulled a paper out of his briefcase and perused it for a moment, "It says here that you donated three small statuettes done in Attic Greek style but of Egyptian provenance."
"I donated those anonymously," Mr. Campbell huffed, his demeanor suddenly becoming agitated. "How did you find out about them?"
"Although I suspect you already know this, I'll tell you anyway. The museum never put them on display because the inconsistency in style suggested that they could have been forgeries. However, in the past week, an expert came forward claiming they could prove the authenticity of the works. The next day, the pieces were mysteriously missing. What we need to know from you is where you obtained the pieces."
"They're missing?" Mr. Campbell asked, suddenly looking horrified. He glanced cautiously around the living room. Then he began muttering more to himself than to Peter and Neal, "Probably coming back to haunt me. They will never stop haunting me."
"I'm sorry, haunt you, how?" Peter asked.
Before Mr. Campbell had a chance to answer, Neal interjected, "Did you know something suspicious about the statuettes?"
"Yes," He said matter-of-factly. "They were cursed."