Sorry for any delays. Final exams were brutal this semester.
Chapter 7: The Best Laid Plans
Remus O'Connell looked across the table at his fellow Interpol agents. "So, about an hour left before things go down. Any questions?"
"Not really," Sly shrugged. "It seems pretty cut-and-dried."
O'Connell gave a slow nod. "Even so, I'll go over it one more time. We move in as soon as we confirm that the meeting's underway. Fox, you and Garfield will take the bulk of the local cops and engage Don Megalo's forces. If you get the chance to take down Muggshot or Megalo, take it."
Carmelita nodded. Garfield just gave a snort of acknowledgement.
"Cooper, you'll be supporting the other two. However, if Gray or any of his gang show up, you are to pursue them immediately. Our main targets are the mobsters, but it doesn't look good if some scrawny sneak-thief manages to pull off a heist right under our noses."
"Gotcha," Sly replied, smirking. "You sure you'll be all right without me?"
The wolf gave a tight-lipped smile. "Between me, Fox, Garfield, and a hundred-odd police officers, I think we'll manage," he said dryly.
Sly changed the subject. "And you, sir? You're after Megalo's bodyguard, right?"
"That's right. I'll be keeping Kidd busy on my own," O'Connell patted his sidearm absently. "Less potential casualties that way."
"Kidd's crazy, a loose cannon," Inspector Garfield offered. "He's as likely to shoot his employer as his enemies."
"Doesn't sound like very good business," Sly observed.
The pig only shrugged.
"Anyway," O'Connell said, retaking control of the conversation. "Just leave Kidd to me and attend to your own duties, and tonight should go down without any problems."
Gray looked up the heavens as the rain continued to pour down, a curious half smile on his face.
"Excellent weather for the heist," he said mildly to his companion, who had taken refuge beneath an ornate parasol.
"If you say so," Marie Leblanc replied, sounding annoyed.
Gray wiped his glasses and looked at Marie. "You don't sound convinced, newbie."
"That's because I am not convinced, Chaton," came the response. "It is, if you will pardon the expression: 'raining cats and dogs." As far as I am concerned, this rain will be nothing but an 'inderance to our movements."
"Meh," Gray said dismissively. "The rain could be a problem if for us if we're not careful, but you're overlooking the advantages. After, one of the most vital skills for a thief is the art of not being seen."
Marie's only response was to raise a well-groomed eyebrow, so Gray continued, gesturing at the street below.
"Now think about it. In this weather, most people will keep their eyes down to keep out the rainwater. That means they're much less likely to spot us up here, which means we'll have a much better chance of getting to the hotel unscathed."
"I suppose that is true."
"Plus, the rain should help us lose any pursuit if the getaway doesn't go quite according to plan."
Marie nodded. "All right, chaton, you 'ave made your point. Still, I wouldn't have expected a cat like you to actually enjoy ze rain."
Gray smiled. He hated that joke. "Cats hating water is a common misconception, newbie. You know, like skunks spraying anyone who surprises them."
The skunk wrinkled her nose at that. "I do not spray anyone at all, chaton. It is…exceptionally unladylike."
Gray laughed. "Fair enough. Anyway, the way I figure it, the weather's just one of those things that can't be helped, so why waste time worrying about it?"
At that moment, something inside of Gray's longcoat let out a soft chirping noise. Without changing his expression, he began rummaging through the garment's many pockets. Gray finally found what he was looking for in the fourth pocket, pulling out a small communicator and clicking it on.
"Talk to me," Gray prompted the device.
"Hey, party crashers," Nicole's voice chirped back. "Ready to get started?"
"Ready when you are, love," Gray replied smoothly, glancing over at Marie. "Just say the word."
"We're all set on this end, Gray, but you're gonna have to be careful. There's a lot of cops positioned near the hotel."
Gray shrugged. "We'll just be counting on you to guide us around them."
"Will do," Nicole said dutifully. "Oh, and by the way, I spotted another acquaintance of ours with the cops."
Gray's brow furrowed in thought for a brief moment. "Bloody hell, not O'Connell again."
"Got it in one. Looks like he's in charge of all of them. D'you think he's still sore about the time you kicked him in the face?"
"No, no," Gray said breezily. "I'm sure he's forgotten all about it. Live and let live and all that."
"You don't really believe that, do you Gray?"
"Not a bit, love, not a bit."
In fact, Gray suspected that O'Connell would try to even the score if they met again.
Just then, another troubling thought struck Ms. Leblanc. "What about the explosives?" she asked. "Will they be all right in all this rain?"
Gray cocked his head and addressed the intercom. "You heard the lady, Vernon. How're we doing on that score?"
There was a brief burst of static as the scorpion's voice joined the channel.
"There ain't no need to fret," he growled. "Old Vernon's an expert in all things that go boom. Trust me on this, those bombs are as watertight as the Titanic."
Gray wrinkled his nose in consternation. "Come again?"
" The Titanic! You know…big boat."
The ensuing silence seemed interminable, broken only when Gray softly cleared his throat.
"Vernon…the Titanic sank."
"What? Yer shittin' me."
"I'm afraid not. Hit an iceberg in 1912, cracked in half and sank. 1500 people died, Vernon; this is common knowledge."
"They even made a few films about it, Professor," piped up Nicole. "Oscar-winning films."
Gray's voice took on a light and playful tone as he baited the scorpion. "So you'll forgive me, Vernon, if I don't find your choice of words to be entirely confidence-inspiring."
"Aw, shaddap!" graveled Vernon stubbornly. "I'll stand what I said, smartass!"
"Oh?"
"Yeah, so long as we don 't run into no icebergs tonight, there ain't gonna be no problems with the ordinance." Vernon raised his voice as he vented. "That good enough for ya, or do I have to tear off yer arms?
The cat blinked placidly at the threat. He adjusted his glasses before replying. "I'd really prefer that you didn't, Vernon."
Nicole gamely attempted to make peace between the two. "Please don't tear off Gray's arms, Professor. He needs them for thieving, and…other stuff."
"Well then the boy shouldn't be sassin' his elders and betters!"
"Heh," was all Gray said.
"Why you-" sputtered Vernon.
"But then again…" Nicole mused. "If your arms get ripped off I' could build you new ones! Big shiny new ones made of metal."
Gray adjusted his glasses as he considered Nicole's offer. "That's very sweet of you love, but honestly, I'd like to keep both of my arms…if it's all the same to Vernon, of course."
"Bah," was the arachnid's only response.
"Vous êtes fou, non?" muttered Marie under her breath.
"You don't know the half of it, Newbie," Gray laughed.
Hotel Durand looked like something out of a Hollywood movie. It was both grandiose and extravagant, two characteristics that a man like Muggshot could certainly appreciate, if not spell. He preferred to think of the place as 'big and flashy'. Not quite as flashy as the old Boneyard Casino back in Mesa, but hey, not everyone ran as classy a joint as Muggshot, the gangster thought to himself as he stumped heavily through the hotel's entrance lobby with a pair of lieutenants in tow.
"Well, if it ain't Two-Gun Tony in the flesh!" Johnny Megalo was all smiles as he strode forward to greet his guest. "How long's it been?"
"Damned if I know," Muggshot replied. "Never been much good wit' numbers."
The shark guffawed at that. "Dat makes two of us."
As the two spoke, Kidd slid up next to his employer. Muggshot eyed the rabbit dismissively. The scrawny brat sure didn't look like much.
"Anyways, Johnny, one of my boys tells me that your lagomorphic bodyguard here," Muggshot jerked a thumb in Kidd's direction. "Gave him a kick right in the solar plex-e-is. What kinda operation you runnin' here, anyway?"
Megalo's eyes glinted. "You understand how it is, Tony? He disrespected a very good friend o'mine. Somethin' hadda be done. Plus, Kidd here, he's ah…excitable."
Muggshot glowered, then laughed. "Oh yeah, I gotcha. You gotta do what you gotta do, Johnny."
Inkspot Jackson, standing behind his boss, glared impotently at Kidd, who just smirked back.
"All right, shall we get down ta business?" Megalo asked, making a sweeping gesture to indicate that Muggshot should follow him into the hotel's main concourse.
Muggshot glanced around at the room's high ceiling, the décor reminiscent of an old-fashioned movie theater. He gave a low whistle of appreciation. "Not bad."
"It is, ain't it?" said Megalo in an almost reverent tone. "Most of da other hotels in the area look like every other friggin' hotel in Europe, but dis one caught my eye. Because, really, what do people think of when they think of Cannes?"
Muggshot screwed up his face in thought. "Ehhhh…da movies?" he ventured.
"Damn right." The shark led Muggshot to a well-lit table near the center of the hall. "Dat's actually part of why I asked Don Falcone to send me to dis town. You ever hear of da Cannes Film Festival?" Despite receiving nothing but a blank stare from Muggshot, he blithely continued. "Dis town's one of the biggest in the entire film industry next ta Hollywood, and I wanna piece of the action, ya follow?"
Muggshot plopped himself into a small chair, which creaked dangerously under his weight. "Yeah, dat's great and all, Johnny, but t'be honest, I didn't come here for lessons in cinematographery and architecture. I came here for business." The bulldog snapped his fingers, and one of his underlings placed a small metal briefcase on the table. "So whaddaya say we cut out da rigamarole, huh?"
Johnny Megalo's predatory grin was so wide it seemed to take up nearly all of his face. "Same as ever, eh Tony? But you're right. We should be gettin' down ta business. So let's start things off with a little toast to our health, eh?"
Without waiting for Muggshot's reply, Megalo waved over a feline waiter with a ponytail, who supplied them with thin flutes of champagne. The gangsters raised their glasses and drank deeply without any hesitation. Almost immediately Muggshot began coughing violently, sending a fine mist of champagne spraying across both the table and Johnny Megalo. The waiter stood transfixed, a half-apprehensive, half-amused expression on his face. Kidd was not so delicate. The rabbit openly guffawed.
"Yeccch!" groused Muggshot. "I've never been good with cham-pag-nee. Damn bubbles always go up my nose. Eh, sorry 'bout dat, Johnny."
Johnny Megalo looked decidedly damp and decidedly unhappy. "No problem," he lied unconvincingly.
The waiter, his duty complete, turned to leave. He only managed to walk a few steps before Megalo stopped him with a curt. "Hey, you!"
The waiter stopped and spun abruptly, his long ponytail of hair whipping behind him. "Is there a…problem, boss?"
The shark jabbed a thick finger at him. "Yeah, you." He glared at him through narrowed eyes. "I don't recognize you."
The waiter tensed, his glasses glinting. "Well, uh, I'm new."
The shark tapped his chin thoughtfully for a few moments. "Dat makes sense. One of da new hires, eh?"
"That's right, Mr. Megalo," the cat replied. "Is there anything else?"
"Yeah," said Megalo. He jabbed a finger at the cat's head. "That hair's unprofessional. Makes you look like some kinda greasy hippie!"
The waiter adjusted his glasses curiously, but otherwise seemed too dumbfounded to respond. Megalo pressed on.
"Make sure you cut dat shit off before you come into work tomorrow, or don't come in at all, got it, Matt?"
"My name's not Matt," The waiter muttered, before replying in a louder voice. "Whatever you say, Mr. Megalo."
Megalo sat back in his chair, his composure completely restored after his impromptu champagne shower. He waved the waiter off imperiously before turning back to Muggshot. "Now, to business."
Muggshot slid the metal case towards the shark. "Let's get this trade out of da way before we move on to the rest."
"Fine by me," Megalo said, eyeing the case hungrily. At his signal, a mobster brought over a pair of large briefcases and put them on the table. He then unlocked the metal case and opened it. His eager expression transformed abruptly into one of confusion. "Uhh, Tony?"
Muggshot, intent on the briefcases before him, paid Megalo no mind. He opened both, nodding approvingly at the large sum of cash contained within. "Looks good to me. Pleasure doin' business with ya, Johnny."
Don Megalo's confused expression slowly shifted towards anger. "Tony," he repeated, his tone icy.
"Whassamatta?" grunted the bulldog, wrenching his eyes off the cash.
"Just what the hell…is this?"
Muggshot eyed the item in question. It was a long, ceremonial-looking dagger, with a creepy winged skull carved into the pommel. Muggshot thought it looked kind of cheesy piece of junk, but apparently it was also a pretty rare and valuable piece of junk. What did that one freak call it? Cormag's Claw or something like that? Muggshot didn't really care about it, but why the hell was Megalo getting so mad? It was exactly what he asked for.
Muggshot opened his mouth and said as much, which if anything made the shark madder.
"You're saying I asked for this?" he waved the blade for emphasis. "No, you must be mistaken. What I was under the impression I was buying tonight was a rare original print of the film Casablanca!"
"Dat's not what your message said-" Muggshot protested, before Megalo cut him off.
"I think I know what I wrote, Tony!" he snapped. "Hey, I admit that my handwriting may not be da neatest around, but I don't see how you could mistake the words 'original print of Casablanca' with 'chintzy piece of Ren-nay-sance fair crap'!"
"So whatt're you sayin'?" growled Muggshot, his expression darkening. "Are ya tryin' to impugn my integrity?"
"Damn right I am!" Megalo slammed the dagger into the table for emphasis, leaving it quivering in the wood. " The hell do I need a knife for, anyway? I gotta whole mouth fulla knives!"
"You want I should knock a few of 'em out, huh?"
"You an' what army, chucklehead?"
The long-haired waiter watched the huge gangsters bellow insults at each other from the other side of the room, a slightly bemused expression on his face. Reaching into a pocket, he drew out a small intercom and depressed a button.
"Well, all," he purred. "It doesn't look like we could possibly get a better opportunity than this. Vernon, you there?" Reaching into his apron pocket, he pulled out a pair of black gloves and began methodically slipping them on.
"I'm here," the voice on the other end rasped. "Just say the word."
"I ain't gonna let you cheat me outta what's mine, Johnny!" barked Muggshot, a touch of foam appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"That's my line!" the shark shrieked, hurling himself jawfirst across the table at the burly canine, to his bodyguard's further amusement.
Gray cracked his neck from side to side and began slowly walking towards the brawling gangsters. He raised the intercom to his mouth.
"Light this place up, Vernon."
