"T'was the night before Christmas and all through the house…
Not a creature was stirring, except for one mouse.
His tail was long, with a curl at the end…
His fur was all dirty, his eyes sunken in.
His paws they did tremble from nerves and delight,
His heart was pounding from worry and fright.
He picked up a box from under the tree,
Inside was a locket; its sparkle - Très Magnifique!
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
He sprang to the window to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he flew with a flash,
He reached for the drapes and pulled at the sash.
The moon on the breast of the snow all around,
It sparkled like diamonds on the suburban ground.
From the noise on the rooftop, his heart beat so quick,
He gazed to the hearth and saw an armed chick.
The stockings were hung by that chimney with care,
The vixen's large gun, red and gold, came to bear.
"Please, don't shoot me! I'm only a kid!"
"Lay down on the ground with your hands on your head."
Out in the front, his team gave a whistle,
They sprang to their van as quick as a missile.
But out in the street, their van did not start…
The hood was ajar, with three missing parts.
The battery lay alone, out in the snow,
The sparkplugs were gone, they had nowhere to go.
And so it was, on this Christmas Night…
The bad guys were caught, all wrongs were made right."
Carmelita Fox lifted her eyes from the poem written in blue ink. She recognized the handwriting. She'd wondered who disabled the getaway van and smiled inwardly, knowing who had come to back her up. She cut her gaze over the juvenile mouse in the nearby holding cell and tilted her head at him. "You're part of the largest child-crime syndication in all of France. Those puppeteers have no right forcing children to steal for them. All I need is for you to testify against them."
He frowned, looking up from the wooden bench. "We're brothers. Not by blood but… it would be dishonorable, Inspector. Do you know who disabled their getaway van?"
Fox's eyes narrowed a bit then a sly little grin tugged at the corner of her muzzle. "Probably the same guy who wrote this silly poem." She lifted the paper and waved it at him. "I know your story. You're only fourteen years old. If you testify against the people who make you and your friends steal… we could put them away forever and they wouldn't force you boys into this anymore. It's Christmas Eve. It's their fault you're spending it in jail. Why don't you start by telling me where you live?"
"I live on a floor in a warehouse with dirty curtains for walls. You wouldn't understand, lady."
"I understand that you boys are being forced to steal for a crime syndicate. No child should have to endure such a thing."
"You know what? You're just a cop. You wouldn't understand what it is to barely scrape by, to beg for meals and to live dollar to dollar. I take what I need in order to survive. The people I steal from have more than enough. I won't help you because I don't respect you."
A new voice caused both the mouse and the vixen to look up. His smooth, relaxed tone was calm and pleasant. "There is a better way and you could have a much better living if you listened to the Inspector's advice." Sly Cooper walked into the holding area, paws in his pockets. "And if you won't listen to her because she's a cop, then listen to me… because I'm not."
The mouse's eyes widened. "I… You're… You're Sly Cooper. You're the greatest thief in France… maybe even the world."
Carmelita glared at the raccoon then rolled her eyes. "Don't inflate his ego, kiddo." She turned back to the mouse and added, "But he's right… you'd have a better life if you made an honest living."
The boy stood up and approached the bars. "I'm fourteen! I don't go to school and I'm too young for a job! Tell me how I'm supposed to eat if I don't steal!"
Sly lifted a paw to Carmelita and approached the bars. "I'm sorry to say that change is in the wind, bud. The syndicate that owned the cold, dirty warehouse you called home… they've packed up and moved on. Carmelita's people think they know where these guys went… but we would need you to point them out in a lineup and testify to be sure."
"I'm not doing it." The boy sat back down on the wooden bench. "They gave us a roof over our heads, no matter how cold or dirty it was. No one else has ever given me anything."
"So, you know who I am," said Sly. He approached the bars and leaned against them. "Did you also know I'm an orphan? Nowhere to go, no parents… no warm house. I had nothing. In fact, the entire Cooper Gang is comprised of orphans."
"No orphanage would take us. Nobody would want my friends or me. We're dirty outcasts. No body wants us; that's why we stole for the syndicate. But I'll never rat them out. Just lock me up and throw away the key."
Carmelita sighed. "You'd be willing to let them get away after all they've done to you? Why?"
"Jail is warm and clean and I can eat three times a day every day. Send me to a juvenile detention center." He paused and glared at the vixen. "Oh, wait, you can't. I have no citizenship records, no birth certificate, no proof of legal residence. The state doesn't recognize me. I'm a nobody. I'm a reject. Orphanages don't take mysterious babies off the street like they used to… and they certainly won't take me or my friends without proof that we're citizens. No paperwork so it's not their problem. So I live on the streets. The government won't spend the money to give us an identity. That's how this society works. You're either legit or you're trash."
She opened her mouth to say something but Sly reached back, gesturing her with a paw. The raccoon turned towards the bars with a soft smile. "There are a dozen of you boys… you've been stealing from people's homes every day for over a year. That's very bold and very dangerous. Are you proud of your work?"
The mouse's eyes lowered to the floor. "I do what I do out of necessity. My survival is more important than the… the creature comforts of the rich. It's criminals who provided a roof over our heads, not the upstanding law abiding people of this world. It's criminals who opened their hearts and their wallets and gave me and mine a place to live."
"They were using you," said Sly. "Did they let you keep everything you stole? Did you personally take it to the pawn shop and pocket the money?"
"I'm not eighteen! They took care of turning the product into money."
Cooper grinned. "And then… what? Did they give you that money?"
"…No. They… used it to pay the lot rent so we'd have that warehouse."
Sly turned back to Carmelita and gestured for her to open the cell. Reluctantly, she did. Sly stepped in and sat down on the bench besides the boy. "Listen, bud, those guys made so much money off of you and your friends… they could have bought you each your own apartment, sent you to private school and installed central heating in that warehouse. Yet you boys lived day to day, low on food, with no money, freezing in the winter time."
Inspector Fox fidgeted. "You know, I could lock you in there with him."
Sly lifted his head with a grin. "But you know as well as Santa Clause… I've been on the Good List this year." He cut his gaze back to the boy and said, "It costs money to have paperwork drawn up to establish an identity. Do you want to be someone? Fine. If you could go to an orphanage, would you?"
"Of course," said the boy. His tail curled up and he picked at a dirty spot on his pants, above his right knee. "Free food, schooling and a warm bed with blankets? Who doesn't want that? But they won't take me."
"Shh," Sly put his arm around the kid and said, "We have a lot in common, you and I. We both had a hard time with a sour lot in life. Did you know I've never stolen a single thing that wasn't already stolen? That's right. I only take from other criminals. I refuse to steal from the innocent. They've worked hard for what they have in life so they should be allowed to keep it. I only go after the cheats and the troublemakers. They make a choice in life, and I choose to target them. But I also have a clean streak. I've not stolen in over a year."
Carmelita smirked. "But if you have, I'll eventually find out, Ringtail."
Sly nodded in agreement. "Yes, she's right bud. She'll eventually find out. She always does. What if I told you that I could help you and your friends get into a real orphanage? In fact, I know just the one."
"Yeah? What's in it for you?"
Sly shook his head. "Nothing at all. There's just one stipulation… you can't have a criminal record. However, Carmelita has the ability to absolve your criminal background. She can give you what the legal system calls… immunity. If you testify against the syndicate, she'll make sure you don't get a criminal record. And, without the criminal background, I can get you into the Happy Camper Orphanage, where I lived when I was your age."
"You would do that for me? Why?"
Sly shrugged and stood up. He approached the cell door and said, "Because it's the holiday season. It's Christmas! 'Tis the spirit of giving. Show me you deserve a good home and I'll make sure you get it." He lifted his gaze to Carmelita and said, "This facility is low staffed and there are a good number of you boys to feed. I think it's time I help Carmelita in the back. I brought a few things to make a nice Christmas Dinner." He took her by the paw and led her into the kitchen. True to his word, there was a great deal of food put out and ready.
"I…" Carmelita blinked at it all. "I thought you said you were going to help me in the back? You didn't mean help making it? This food is all ready to serve."
"Yes, yes it is. But I can't bring it all out by myself. Look, there's a silver platter over there." He pointed to it then guided her over to it. Directly above them mistletoe hung from a light fixture with care. She froze then looked at him. Sly offered her a grin. "I know I messed it up the first time I pulled that out on you… what? Four years ago? (A/N: Chapter 1 of this story) I want to make it up to you. I promise I won't run tonight."
Carmelita reached up and snatched the mistletoe from the string then glared at him. "Real funny. I bet you just think you're living up to your name again. Uh huh. Go on thinking that. You know, a kiss from you isn't that much of a Christmas Gift, mister Cooper. I won't cry tomorrow if I didn't get one."
Sly met her eyes. "I understand that. And I would never steal a kiss from you, even though that is the one thing on my Christmas Wish List this year. It's pretty much all I've thought about since last Valentine's Day. And to be honest, I probably would cry if I didn't get a Christmas kiss from you."
Carmelita continued to glare at him. She looked away, gazing over all the food laid out. Steam rose off of the feast and, on a table by the wall, there was a bottle of wine… the same brand and the same year that Carmelita had brought out just four years ago. There was a red bow on the side of the bottle. She drew her lip between her teeth. "I got that brand… and that year… and I opened it the day I caught you. But I had to drink it all alone that night, four years ago."
"I might not be behind bars," said Cooper, "But you definitely caught me, Inspector Fox. And if you let me, it would be an honor to share a drink with you tonight. I was thinking for New Years, we could go somewhere quiet and alone this time around."
"Oh what the hell," she said, lifting the mistletoe above his head. Sly brightened and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips firmly against her own. She leaned up into it. The mistletoe was forgotten and she draped her arms around his neck. A clock in a nearby office chimed midnight… Christmas Morning.
A/N: Merry Christmas, everybody! I thought I'd end on a romantic note this time! See you again on Valentine's Day with "Sly Cupid"!
-Kit Karamak
Friday, December 25th 2009
