Not the Beginning
Summer heat oozes into everything by the time it hits August. Not even the night remain unaffected, turning muggy, sticky with a damp that refuses to cool anything down. Houses are left open in hope that maybe something resembling a breeze might grace the inside occupants. Windows up and curtains wide, it's easy to tell which neighborhoods are awake. It's the perfect environment for nefarious night dwellers like raccoons, burglars, and, on this particular occasion, a band of kidnappers looking to make a quick couple of hundred thousand bucks. Even if the parents can't pay ransom, kids sell for a lot these days.
Jeremy breathes a low chuckle and earns a sharp jab to the kidney from his supposed partner. "Shushit," the other man hisses. He looms aggressively over Jeremy's slighter form. "You'll wake the dog."
Ah, yes. The dog. They've been watching this neighborhood for days, lurking about as repairmen or some such. Mostly that was Baker's job. He looks the working class type, unlike Jeremy. 104 Cypress seemed the best target, according to the bulky man. Father was a doctor of some type so that obviously paid well. Mother stayed at home, gave private piano lessons. Their kid, a boy, is the youngest within three blocks of the place. He's maybe seven or eight. Small, easy to carry and stuff into unobtrusive baggage. Or trunks. It won't take much to keep him drugged either, which means less waste of the merchandise.
More of a chance for accidental overdose, Jeremy felt the need to point out. That only earned him a punch to the gut. Partners. Right.
The only problem with the place is the dog. She's a pretty thing. All sleek black fur and attentive, forward-pricked ears. Some sort of doberman cross, Jeremy thinks. She's great with the kid. So great, in fact, that the mother feels comfortable enough to let the boy wander around the neighborhood alone, so long as the dog is with him. And it's not like they've lived around here all that long. There are still boxes laying around unpacked and calls to have cable transferred. But that dog - she growls at anyone who takes too much of an interest in the boy, always standing protectively near him and herding him away from the street when it sounds like a car's coming. Such a shame they'll have to kill her. She sleeps in the boy's room, on his bed.
Jeremy does not fancy those teeth coming anywhere near his person. At all. Thus, a triple dose of Trapanal nicked from the local vet's office should be enough to put her out for good. Luckily for him, Baker's cousin has a dart gun or something similar. The girl's a freak about those things. Said she'd let Baker use it for a cut of the ransom. So it is Baker's job to shoot the dog. That's great news for Jeremy. She really is a lovely dog.
"Fuck's hot out here," Baker growls, apparently ignoring his own warning. Jeremy retaliates with an elbow to the spleen. Payback. Because they are partners, supposedly, and partners share.
"Then get on with it," he grumbles back.
They figured out earlier in the week how to scale the side of the building without making much noise. There are, unfortunately, no convenient trees stationed outside the kid's window, but the awning for the porch stretches out just a foot short. It's easy enough for Baker to climb up the ladder and stealth-walk over the opening. Then it is only a matter of leaning over far enough without falling to access with window.
A slight pop signals the gun firing. From the ground, Jeremy can hear the dog's startled yelp as she wakes from what was probably a dead sleep. The drug works fast though. The thunk of her hitting the floor again is audible and has the unfortunate side effect of waking the kid. Fuck.
"Anka?" the kid slurs. Baker curses quietly and ducks back onto the awning. He tucks the gun away and motions frantically for the dumbshit on the ground to get his ass up the ladder. Like hell if he can fit in that whole. 'sides, it'd be hard as hell getting that brat through the window without help. He'd probably drop the stupid thing and there goes a fuckload of cash. "Anka, wha's wrng? Anka?"
The dumbshit scrambles up the ladder quiet-like. If he wasn't, Baker might have had to push him off. Fall wouldn't kill him. Probably.
"Brat's awake," Baker mutters under his breath. The light clicks on. "Shit!"
"Who's there?"
The kid sounds...surprisingly awake and put together. Angry, not scared. Determined, not about to run for mommy and daddy. That sort of tone should never come from a kid's mouth, not ever, and Jeremy feels the niggling urge to call the whole thing a bust and scram. But Baker has a thick hand locked around the scruff of his neck. "Gettin there!" he demands roughly, and Jeremy is shoved forward.
That's right. He's in charge of this part. He has a syringe filled with a mix of saline and Trapanal. There's not enough of the drug in there to kill the kid, he hopes, just enough to knock him out for a while. It would have been so much easier if the boy was asleep though. Too much noise and the parents will wake. After that it's the police and jail and a whole bunch less money to spend.
"Anka, come on wake up!"
Jeremy takes the chance and slithers though the window, landing with a hushed thump on the carpet. He keeps his feet and the syringe, blinking at the light. The boy is crouched over the dog, the hopefully dead dog, his hand around her collar. Turquoise eyes glare menacingly out from beneath a mop of sleep tousled brown hair. His childish face is frozen in a snarl, teeth bared like an animal. Jeremy takes three steps forward.
Baker pops his head and the gun in through the window. "Scream and you're dead brat," he growls aiming the empty gun at at kid. Not that the kid will know it's empty. Baker's cousin, aside from being a gun freak, is stingy as fuck. She only gave them one round for the stupid thing. Useless, but at least the dog's out.
The kid glares, nearly growling, but he stays silent as Jeremy walks up to him. The syringe gets a wary look. Turquoise eyes trace its path through the air, each second bring it closer to hit arm. "That's not gunna kill me, right?" the kid asks. He's frowning at Jeremy now, one hand raised slightly towards his own face.
Jeremy finds that to be an odd motion. The hand isn't raised against him or to protect the kid, just sort of hovering between the two. "Probably not," he answers with a shrug. Then he touches the boy, pulling up his shirt sleeve. The kid's skin is burning hot, waves of heat flowing from him like invisible steam. "Damn kid! You sick or something?" The needle goes in easy. The solution follows
His words earn a sarcastic, cocky smirk that shouldn't belong on such a young child. "Or smthin'," the kid slurs and slumps sideways. He must be lighter than they thought. Hopefully the dose won't kill him. Jeremy passes the kid to Baker, places the note, and flicks off the lights.
They're off.