Chapter 2: Powder Keg - Sly Causes Trouble

Scarcely two minutes later Dimitri sheathed his sword, strolling over to the bruised and bleeding forms of the two bounty hunters. He casually lit a cigarette. "So, have my little dance partners rethought their silly scheme?"

The ram tried to struggle up onto one knee, supporting himself with his splintered club. "Go…to…hell…" he spat bloodily.

The club owner squatted down so he was level with his defiant attacker. He exhaled a plume of smoke into the ram's face in a draconic fashion, staring intently. The ram glared blearily back.

"What was, that, Jack? Dimitri couldn't quite hear you," asked the iguana, a deceptively friendly tone to his voice.

"Well then…Dimitri can…go fu-"

Before the ram could finish his insult, Dimitri lashed out, gripping the unfortunate's head in a vice grip. The slim reptile then rose to his feet, taking the much larger man with him. With his free hand, he wagged a finger, tsking sadly.

"Watch your sailor talk, bro. This club is a classy joint, and I've had enough of punks like you bumming my house up and bringing me down, dig?"

Dimitri's victim nodded as best he could, indicating that yes, he dug. Unfortunately, the man's friend was not so savvy.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAR!" the bull announced helpfully, charging towards Dimitri with horns lowered.

Dimitri released his grip on the ram's head and, without hesitation, delivered a spinning roundhouse kick to his assailant's head, launching the heavy bovine through a nearby window with a great deal of velocity. He rolled his eyes.

"BRO!" bellowed the ram, swaying dangerously. "You bastard…whaddayou think yer…"

"He was giving me static," Dimitri gave him a patronizing look. "So I gave him the boot, of course." He glanced down at his bloodied footwear. "Or to be more on the money, I gave him the stylish designer shoe."

The bounty hunter growled, taking a step forward and raising a knobby fist. Suddenly, his eyes crossed and his knees buckled. Like a miniature avalanche, the ram crumpled into blissful unconsciousness.


Winthorp sighed to himself. He just wasn't having a good day. His glasses had been smudged, the bartender couldn't mix a decent lemonade if his life depended on it, and now he was being accosted by a large group of boorish thugs. Not just any thugs, but exceptionally ill-tempered thugs; thugs whose attention that Winthorp had been trying his utmost not to attain.

It just wasn't fair.

"We've had enough of you snoopin' about," growled the self-appointed leader of the group, a burly warthog who loomed over all the other patrons of the tavern. "Just who d'you think you are anyway, shrimp?" He tapped Winthorp's chest with a sausagelike finger.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, gentlemen," Winthorp replied. He took a sip from his beverage, grimacing. "I'm just minding my own business."

"Like hell," snarled the thug. "We've seen you skulkin' around the city. Dimitri don't appreciate people poking their snout where it don't belong. Just who d'you work for?"

Winthorp shrugged, shifting his weight slightly so that his hand was positioned near the hilt of his sword. "Look, friend. I don't want any trouble."

Another crook, a wide-mouthed toad, sniggered gleefully. "Then you picked the wrong people to annoy."

"Ain't that the truth. Just what is it with little punks like you pissin' us off lately?" the warthog grumbled. "First that damn hippo gets in the boss's way, now you."

"Excuse me, but did you say hippo?" came a voice from down the bar. The speaker, a slim raccoon who had been sitting next to a turtle in a wheelchair, stood up.

The burly thug snorted, turning a baleful eye on the raccoon. "And what if I did?"

Sly's brown eyes glittered dangerously. "You should tell me. After all, you might be talking about a friend of mine."

The warthog gave a surprised grunt as he regarded the insolent raccoon, who was at least two feet shorter and 300 pounds lighter than him.

Did this punk have a death wish? he thought to himself, one calloused hand curling into a fist.

Winthorp tensed, sensing that things were about to take a turn for the interesting.

Slitting his bloodshot eyes, the porcine thug brought his arm around in a swift arc towards Sly's head. With an effortless sliding motion, Sly ducked beneath the wild swing, allowing it to whoosh harmlessly over his head. His headfur scarcely ruffled, Sly made a quick step to position himself back-to-back with his assailant.

"Hah?" grunted the warthog in surprise.

"Check this out," Sly said, giving Winthorp a quick wink as he slipped his weapon out of its sheath.

It was a metal cane with a dull black shaft. One end of the cane held a swordlike grip, while the head of the cane had a bladelike hook, gold in color. Sly hooked the cane's head into the thug's leather belt, lowering his stance. With a sudden twist, he drove an elbow into the warthog's kidney. As the crook doubled over in pain, Sly twisted the other way, launching his opponent into the air. The thug flew head over heels into two other guards, who went down in a heap.

Another smaller porcine thug moved forward to attack Sly with a heavy cudgel, but instead collapsed with a grunt, two green darts protruding from his back. A rat standing next to him attempted to draw a pistol, but caught a third dart in the shoulder.

"Nice work, Bentley!" Sly congratulated his friend, bringing his cane around to bludgeon the wide-mouthed toad, who was too slow in retreating. He ducked under a projectile thrown by another scrawny rat, then hooked a chair with his cane and propelled it into his attacker's face.

Another thug, a one-eyed rat had decided for some reason that a turtle in a wheelchair wielding a dart gun seemed to be easier prey than a raccoon swinging around a metal cane. He charged Bentley with a twisted smirk on his face. The smirk quickly transformed into a grimace of pain as one of the smaller wheels extended, crashing directly into the rat's groin. He went down with scarcely a whimper. Bentley then spun his chair into a knot of thugs, the extended wheels bludgeoning anyone within reach.

The warthog who had been flung by Sly struggled to his feet using one of the barstools as a handhold. Winthorp shrugged, deciding to take the opportunity to strike a blow of his own. He lashed out with the hilt of his sword, catching the behemoth in the jaw and sending him to the floor for a second time.

The last few conscious guards quickly decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and fled without even stopping to aid their fallen companions.

Sly watched them go with a lopsided grin, leaning against the bar. He winked at Winthorp, who was watching him closely.

"You all right?" he asked.

Winthorp nodded. "Many thanks," he said mildly, adjusting his glasses. "I honestly thought I was in trouble for a moment."

Sly shook his head and grinned ruefully. "I guess it was pretty exciting, huh. Sorry about that, Mr…"

"Winthorp" the weasel proffered his hand. "Call me Winthorp. And you two are?"

Sly sheathed his weapon before accepting the handshake. "My friend there is Bentley. I'm Sly Cooper. The man who will someday be called King of the P-"

"Sorry, Sly, but we should really get going," Bentley interrupted, glancing out into the street. "Things could get pretty dicey if we stay in this bar."

"I should probably get going, too," Winthorp admitted, a half-anxious, half-curious expression on his face. "But first…you said earlier that you were looking for a hippo friend of yours."

Sly nodded.

"Well, there was a large pink hippo on Lepaon a few days ago. He managed to cause quite a disturbance down at Dimitri's club. Several broken bones."

"Sounds like Murray," Sly quipped. "Where'd he go after that?"

"I'm not sure," admitted Winthorp. "According to some conversations I overheard between Dimitri's guards, he wasn't captured, and I haven't seen him on the island since."

"So you're saying if anyone knows where he is, it's this Dimitri guy?"

A concerned expression fell over Winthorp's face. "Yes, but-"

"Thanks, pal!" Sly had given Winthorp's hand another hearty shake and was out the door before Winthorp could say anything more. "Catch you later!" he called back.

Winthorp sighed and downed the rest of his sour lemonade.


"It's me."

"You sound agitated, Master Chief Petty Officer," a smooth female voice replied from the other end of the line.

"Things got a little exciting, Captain."

"Again?" the woman's voice had an irritated tone. "Fine. Tell me what happened."

"Right away!" Winthorp saluted the phone snail. "Apparently my activities have not gone unnoticed by some of Dimitri's men."

"Please tell me your cover wasn't completely blown."

"No," the weasel said, relieved. "They had no idea of my actual identity. They just saw me as a 'nosy punk' and attempted to take corrective action. Fortunately a nearby traveler attracted their ire and summarily pummeled them. I didn't even need to draw my own sword."

"Doing nothing isn't usually something to be proud of, Winthorp." The woman's voice now sounded slightly amused.

"No, Captain," he agreed, blushing slightly. "But I have some more bad news. This brawl looks like could trigger a larger incident, and soon. I don't think I can handle everything here by myself."

There was a long pause. "Stay put for now. I'll contact you with new orders this evening. Is that understood, Winthorp?"

"Understood, Captain Fox."

Captain Carmelita Fox gritted her teeth and hung up the phone snail. "Damn. As if I didn't have enough to deal with."

A large gorilla glanced up from the paperwork he was working on.

"Now what, Captain?" he growled in a heavily accented voice. "That brat screw up again?"

"Watch your mouth, Lieutenant," the fox warned, getting to her feet and brushing a strand of long blue hair out of her eyes. "Just another brawl on Lepaon."

"That Dimitri's been causing a lot of trouble lately."

"Not for long," the Marine Captain said coldly.

"You want I should take care of it?"

"No," she said, pulling on a white jacket. "I'm tired of this. I'll be taking care of Dimitri personally."

Gronk raised an eyebrow. "But, Captain Fox-"

"No buts, Lieutenant Gronk!" she snapped. "I'm setting off immediately, provided that a ship is ready to depart."

Gronk tilted his head to one side thoughtfully. "We just resupplied one of our brigantine sloops, the Reliant." He paused for a moment before answering her obvious next question. "Her crew is standing by and she can be ready to sail within the hour."

Carmelita slipped an oversized jutte into a sling on her back and holstered a large pistol. "Good. Get them ready. I want to reach Lepaon before nightfall."

Gronk saluted "Right away!"

Pausing by the door, the Captain turned back for one last order. "You're in charge again while I'm gone, Lieutenant."

The Lieutenant made a face and Carmelita sighed.

"Look, just try to keep the base standing until I get back."

The gorilla thought for a moment. He shrugged.

"I'll see what I can do, Ma'am."


"Are you sure you want to stick around, Sly?" Bentley asked his friend. "Murray's probably not even on the island anymore, and those thugs could be trouble."

Sly smiled. "You heard what Winthorp said, didn't you Bentley?"

"Yeah, but still, are we just gonna ask Dimitri if he happens to know where Murray, a guy that attacked him, went? I've read about this Dimitri guy, Sly; he plays rough."

"Sure, we just have to ask nicely."

Bentley sighed heavily. "Really? And how are we even going to make it to Dimitri through all his guards? You're a hell of a fighter, Sly, but I still don't like the odds."

Sly's eyes twinkled merrily. "We'll think of something."

"You mean I'll think of something."

"Isn't that what I said?"

Next Chapter: Let's Dance! – The Fruit of the Devil.