"That sneaky devil…"
"What? Do you see him?"
The chilly wind blew hard past Bentley's face and the stars twinkled in the velvet sky as the two figures he'd been observing retreated from the balcony across the street. He shivered in his shell, and grasped the tiny microphone that protruded from his helmet and held it close to his mouth.
"This is Chip to Gadget, I've been spotted, over."
"Gadget to Chip, do you want to abort? Over."
"Chip to… Aw, the hell with this, I'm sick of these names Penelope." Bentley grumbled. He really hated that show.
"Okay, okay, it was just in case anyone was monitoring the line. Who spotted you?" Penelope's soothing voice came through his ear piece.
"Who d'you think?" Bentley laughed.
"I see. What now?"
"Well, it doesn't look like he's raised the alarm…" Bentley stated, scanning the area with his binocucom. "Guess the old friendship still counts for something."
"Sly'd never do that to you. How are you going to proceed?"
"I've gotta get in there." Bentley replied. "Can you stay on the line and keep the RC chopper ready for aerial support?"
"Sure thing hun."
"How did I ever manage without you, sweetie?" The tortoise murmured softly to the mic.
"You didn't. Sly did. Over and out."
There was a brutal two seconds of white noise in a night where the only other sound was the subtle whistling of the wind before the mic cut out. Bentley exhaled, his breath forming a cloud that hovered for a few seconds in the air, before vanishing into the ether, like his thoughts. He blinked. He smiled.
"Alright, let's go."
He gently caressed the joystick on his custom wheelchair, and chair, Bentley and all swung gently round 180 degrees. The hydraulics were smoother than quicksilver, and slowly, he inched forward, gradually picking up speed, until he came within three feet of the small wall at the edge of the roof. It was there that he hit the special button on the side of his chair, and began to ascend into the air with all the grace of a tortoise in a wheelchair. He moved up then out, over the Parisian streets. As he hovered over the alley that ran adjacent to the building he was until recently occupying, the thrusters underneath his chair coughed and spluttered like a chimney sweep with cystic fibrosis. A repeating pattern of brickwork rushed past Bentley's eyes for two bloodcurdling seconds. Then the parachute the tortoise wore on his back deployed, and the sudden jolt forced him down into his own shell. The chair floated down the last few stories of the building then touched down lightly in the alleyway next to a pair of foul smelling bins. The odour assaulted Bentley's nostrils, but he did his best to ignore the stupefying smell.
"Thanks for servicing the chair Pen, it's moving smoother than ever," Bentley whispered to the night.
"I can see," came the reply. Penelope's voice, normally melodious and beautiful to Bentley's ears, came in uncharacteristically tinny and mechanical through the microphone speaker.
"You can?" Bentley replied.
"Eyes to the skies, babe."
Bentley glanced back up the way he had come, just in time to see the tiny RC chopper slice past the strip of pinprick sky he could see. Grinning, he returned his gaze to the ground.
"Thanks cutie. Over and out."
He severed the parachute cords and scrunched the silk back into his backpack as best he could. He opened the front compartment of his pack and pulled out something made of white fabric. He exhaled hard, creating more clouds in the night. He hoped this would go ok. Sly always was much better at this kind of thing.
-
The warm light from the crystal chandeliers shone down from the acoustic ceiling tiles onto the party below. The dance floor was a complex flurry of ball gowns and cocktail dresses. Every colour of the spectrum was well represented, and everywhere you looked there were smiles interspersed with tiny ricochets of elegant laughter. At the centre of this social spectrum, a vixen stood, head held high, her violet hair pinned up in flirtatious manner; with a few renegade strands flowing down her back like a water fall. She wore a deep blue dancing dress to match; it wrapped her, cling film tight, showing off her best features. There was a slit up one side of the dress, from which her auburn leg could be seen. If you were to follow it down, which it must be said, many men over the course of the night did, you would reach her cyan stiletto shoes, in which she stood like she'd worn them all her life. Her legs were slightly splayed, and although she was in the middle of the dance floor, she was the one person who wasn't dancing. It would almost have made for a sad scene, as she coyly lifted up her bare arms to adjust one of her hairpins by a few millionths of an inch, but for the broad smile that illuminated her face. She was unashamed, completely comfortable in her surroundings, in fact, she was perfect, for that time and that space she was perfect, she fit in more than the familiar slow step that washed over the dancers, more than the frilly ball gowns and the black tie tuxedoes, and certainly more than flowers and candles that bedecked the dining tables around the edge of the vast ballroom.
She radiated the aura of a woman in love, it was clear to anyone who brushed past her, any man (or for that matter woman) who made eye contact with her got the clear message. That went some way to explaining why no one was bothering her, if it hadn't been perfectly obvious to everyone why she was alone, you could bet that she would not be able to move for the propositions that would have come her way. Every man in the room who kept throwing her wistful, longing glances knew she had her lover with her. Maybe he was at the bar, ordering Champagne that they would sip together on the balcony. Maybe he was fetching their coats, so as to retire for an early night. Maybe he was hailing a taxi to show this goddess the Parisian nightlife. Or maybe…
The dancers parted before her. Anyone watching would have been surprised. Before her stood no biblical or mythological figure, not one with the power or even the presence to ordinarily divide a throng, not even one who was feared or who held public notoriety. Not one who was renowned for his sterling work in the Paris police force, not one who had a solid ten year work record. In fact, not one that anyone else knew at all. The fellow dancers in the room would choke into their cocktails if they knew half of the gentleman's shady past. Before her stood no saint.
The raccoon passed through the generous gap the dancers had allowed him. He couldn't really understand it, it was like all eyes in the room were fixed on him, he was the centre of attention, somehow everyone there knew who he was. But none of that mattered right now. He shifted his broad shoulders around in his snugly fitting tuxedo and glanced downwards to adjust his carnation. Then he looked up, and met the vixen's gaze perfectly. It was all the she could do not to draw breath when she saw those eyes. Those eyes had held her captive, her, a policewoman of all things, for far too long. She felt as though she was on the edge of an abyss, staring in to those eyes, and if she lost concentration for even a second, she would fall and those two pools of hazel infinity would claim her forever. Already she could feel herself slipping, those eyes, framed by black rings of fur to further accentuate their brightness, engulfed her. It had never been so intense before. She later reasoned that it was because she had no false pretences, no agendas, and she could fully appreciate the raccoon for what, if not who, he was. He had her, and the rakish grin that he wore told her he knew it. He continued his unashamed stare, taking in every curl of hair, every fold of dress and most certainly every curve of fox. For the vixen, the lights appeared to dim by some almost unnoticeable degree, and it might have just been her senses becoming overloaded, but it soundly the band had stopped playing. The dancers around her slowly finished their steps, and looked on expectantly. The raccoon continued his slow advance, as if he were in no hurry. After what felt like eons he reached her, and stood just inside what she would normally refer to as her personal space. She dared not breathe. Her entire body tingled. She was unsure of what to do, but she knew that she could not take the suspense any longer.
"May I have this dance?" He whispered, extending his paw.
Time snapped back to normal. The band struck up with the romantic ballad that the raccoon had obviously requested, the dancers respectively swapped partners, decided to sit one out or continued with their partners, and the soft background noise from the bar returned. The vixen faltered for a second on the tail of the racoon's entrance, but she recovered beautifully. She smiled curtly and took his paw in her own. No way was she going to let him know that he affected her this badly, though somehow she couldn't prevent a small shiver when he placed a hand on her waist. He hoped he didn't notice. Around the room, countless men sitting at tables, some smoking cheroots, some sipping whiskey or bourbon, some glaring from behind glasses, some resting their heads on their hands, some staring with abandon, some only taking sly glances, all had the same thought:
"Lucky bastard."
-
Leo dried a cocktail glass and placed it carefully next to its crystal brethren. There wasn't much to do, as at that moment most of the party goers were dancing, or else staring enviously in to the middle of the dance floor. He leaned over the top of the bar and tried to catch a glimpse of what everyone was staring at. It took a few moments, but then he just managed to catch a two second gap between dancers. There was a slinky vixen whom was wrapped around some raccoon guy, who looked like he was trying to be James Bond. Well, he could say what he liked about the raccoon, but it certainly seemed to have wowed the lady he was with, and she was a looker by anyone's standards. Leo sighed deeply. Life just wasn't fair.
"Seen the main attraction, huh?" Malcolm leaned in beside Leo. Malcolm was a average sized wolf, with fur slightly darker than was typical for his species. He had pale blue eyes that always seemed to be able to see Leo's thoughts, and he never missed an opportunity to point this fact out to Leo. Leo himself was a grey cat of quite tall proportions, his emerald eyes betraying more than he would like about his own feelings, which was perhaps why he was always read by Malcolm. They both wore the white shirts with red bow-ties that was the uniform of the bar staff. Still there were no customers, so both friends knew that they were safe in lounging over the bar for a few moments and observing the vixen.
"Why can't I ever get any girls like that?" Leo lamented. "I mean what does she see in him?"
Malcolm threw a sideways glance at his friend.
"You don't want her man. She has a dirty secret."
Leo looked at Malcolm.
"What do you mean?"
"She's a cop."
"Aw, no!" Leo groaned. He took a second look at the vixen. "But she's soo cute!"
"You'll get over her man." Malcolm joked. "Besides, it 'aint just you for once. Every guy in this place is checking her out."
"Yeah, well." Leo mumbled. "What about him, what's his deal?"
"Not sure. I heard he's a cop too, but I dunno man, I never saw him before."
Leo raised his eyebrows in interest. He knew that Malcolm had had dealings with most of the Parisian constabulary in his colourful and varied background, and he was still on first name terms with most of them. That raccoon guy must have been transferred from another city or something. The two bartenders continued to stare at the vixen and raccoon along with most of the room. After a few minutes (or it could have been a little longer, time seemed to flit by like the dancers in front of their vision) there was a light knocking on the service door behind the door. Leo looked back at Malcolm who just shrugged. This had never happened before; they had no idea who it was as they were the only ones who were shifted to work tonight. Leo did a quick look around to check that none of the customers had heard the knocking; if they did they didn't pay any attention to it. He placed his paw lightly on the handle, and once again looked back at his friend. Malcolm shrugged at him a second time, in an encouraging sort of way. Leo tugged the door open lightly and stood back to greet whoever was there. He didn't see anyone at first, until he happened to glance down. There was a small tortoise in a wheelchair and the bar staff uniform sitting in the doorway, looking up at him expectantly. Leo backed up a step, and let his gaze hover on the tortoise for just a second too long. Malcolm joined him at the doorway to see who their guest was.
"Oh, um, hi…" Leo floundered at the disabled tortoise.
"Hi fellas, I'm Bobby, I'm working as the auxiliary bar staff for this evening."
"Oh right, we thought we were the only ones who were on tonight." Malcolm chipped in, backing up to allow Bobby to wheel himself in from the doorway.
"The management hired me as an equal opportunities gesture. You know, 'see the person, not the disability' that whole thing."
"Oh. Well, I'm Leo, that's Malcolm…"
Bobby exchanged brief handshakes with the cat and wolf in turn.
"Er, do you need us to find you some cushions or something, just that…" Leo trailed off, not liking to draw attention to the fact that Bobby was in a wheelchair. He glanced guiltily at the bar top, then back to Bobby, whose eye line was only just level with the surface of the bar. Bobby got the message and smiled, hitting a button on the control pad of his wheelchair. The chair's hidden hydraulics hissed quietly to life, and Bobby ascended like some kind of monster rising from the depths, until he was only a little bit shorter than his co-workers. Malcolm and Leo exchanged impressed looks.
"Looks like we got that one covered." Malcolm said with a shrewd smile. "Well, anyway, I'm not sure there'll be much to do for you, this place closes in two hours, and it seems to have wound down now."
"I can see…" Bobby said, looking out at the crowd of dancers, and in particular the couple dancing at the centre. Malcolm raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah, we saw them too."
"Yes, they're quite something…" Bobby said quietly. "Well I'll tell you guys what, seeing as it's quiet and I'd quite like to learn the ropes, why don't I finish up here and you two can get off early?"
Malcolm and Leo looked at each other.
"Er…"
"Could we?"
-
It took Leo and Malcolm all of thirty seconds to decide that getting off two hours early at full pay was indeed a good idea, and after they haphazardly told Bentley what to do with the cash and how to lock up, the small tortoise couldn't see the bartenders for dust.
"Black Russian." A dreary looking hound slumped over the bartop.
"Black Russian." Bentley repeated.
"That's Vodka, Tia Maria and cola." Penelope whispered through Bentley's earpiece.
"Coming right up."
Bentley's knowledge of alcoholic beverages only went so far, but with the help of Penelope and the internet she had access to, he wasn't feeling particularly worried. He quickly mixed the drink, placed it in front of the dog and continued to mop down the bar surface. The dog nodded in thanks, loosened his tie and retreated back to the solitude of his table, drink in hand. The romantic ballad that had been playing came to an end, and in the short time between songs, Bentley was able to get his first good look at Sly and Carmelita.
"Damn it, Sly…" He mumbled.
No wonder every man in the whole place had faces like wet weekends. Bentley had never seen anything particularly special about Carmelita Fox before now, but even he had to admit that the blue haired vixen looked stunning in her deep blue ball gown. As he watched, the fox loosened her grip around Sly's waist by a fraction of an inch, and planted a tender kiss on the raccoon's lips, the kind of kiss that caused frogs to spontaneously combust into princes, just because they wanted it so goddamn badly. The room audibly sighed. Bentley rolled his eyes. As he watched, Sly whispered something into her ear and she smiled and nodded at him, before vanishing off into the crowd to one of the tables near the back of the room. The raccoon then turned on his heel and strode casually towards the bar. He saw Bentley a good few meters before he got there of course, and if he was surprised to see the tortoise there he didn't show it in the slightest. He circled around a few groups of people caught up in their own conversations, and seemed in no hurry to reach the bar. When he finally did get there, he leaned against the top facing away from Bentley.
"I'll take two glasses of the house red please barkeep,"
"Coming right up sir," Bentley replied, who was not about to be outdone when it came to being aloof. He reached for a bottle and deliberately took a long time to open it.
"You know, I was wondering when you'd come looking for me," Sly said, still not turning around.
"Are you surprised?" Bentley fiddled with the bottle opener. "I think there's one or two loose ends that we need to sort out."
Sly turned and looked Bentley in the eye.
"No I'm not," He sighed. "But I don't know what to tell you about loose ends."
"Well, let's start with a simple question." Bentley met his gaze evenly. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm a cop now."
"I can see that. I've read the papers. Half the guys in this room will have files three inches think on you."
"Keep it down," Sly cautioned. "And no they don't. Thanks to Carmelita officially I'm dead. I died in that cave in with Dr. M. She doesn't know I know that."
The tortoise kept his expression neutral.
"Why wouldn't she know that…?"
Sly avoided his friend's eyes.
"She thinks I really believe I'm a cop. I faked amnesia."
Bentley closed his eyes.
"I figured it was something like that."
"You gotta understand man, I only had seconds to make a decision. What was I supposed to do? She would have arrested me."
"And in the meantime you leave the rest of us high and dry, is that it?"
"I left you the Cooper family fortune," Sly said, the anger rising in his voice.
"To what end, Sly?" The tortoise's own rage simmering. "What the hell were we supposed to do with it? It took Penelope and I months to secure it."
"I thought it'd make up for leaving…" Sly's indignation deserting him.
"Look, if you don't want to be a thief anymore, that's fine. But you gotta know, we spent years trying to track that fortune down, and then months planning the downfall of Dr. M, we all risked life and limb - all for you. And then when we finally get there, you just give it away? It doesn't work like that. You may as well have just let Dr. M keep it."
The raccoon was stunned into silence. After a long pause during which Bentley poured one of the glasses of wine he'd requested, he said:
"Look, I didn't mean it to go down like that. But when I was about to be crushed by that beast, there was only one person on my mind. I realized that I may never get to see her again, and that…that hurt more than anything. And then she saves my life, and I get one chance to be with her. I had to take it. You must have felt the same thing when Penelope was captured."
Now it was Bentley's turn to avert his gaze. His friend's words struck a chord.
"I guess I can understand that."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean you any guys any disrespect."
"I know, I know." Bentley sighed. "But seriously, how long do you think you can keep this charade with Carmelita going? She's going to find out one way or the other."
Sly stared at the floor.
"You gotta tell her you remember. Then for God's sake come and claim some of your family's fortune. After that, if you still wanna be a cop, I won't hold it against you."
"What if she arrests me?"
"Just tell her you love her."
"You reckon?"
"Works for me."
Sly smiled at his friend as he finished pouring the second glass of wine.
"On the house."
"Thanks man. You're a true friend. I'll contact you in a day or two, yeah?"
"My address is on the napkin," Bentley glanced down at the piece of paper he'd set the glasses on.
Sly nodded at his lifetime friend. Under different circumstances, he would have hugged him, but it wasn't the time or place. Sly picked up the glasses and offered Bentley a simple nod. The tortoise understood the weight behind the gesture and nodded back. He watched Sly as he disappeared into the crowd, then smiled and continued to mop down the bar.
-
Sly hugged Carmelita close. She let out a contented sigh, and for a moment Sly was scared he'd accidentally woken her. However, she simply pushed herself slightly into his hug and continued sleeping. A light breeze blew through the French windows, causing the inspector's drapes to billow into the room, weightless silky ghosts. Sly stared at Carmelita's body, as it rose and fell with her breathing. Only her nightdress separated them, but her warmth and her natural perfumed scent permeated the whole room, a constant reminder to the smitten raccoon, that this is where he wanted to be; where he was supposed to be.
And yet nagging doubts kept coming back to him, penetrating his brain, sending unwanted messages to his limbs, conspiring to tear him from his own personal heaven and send him careening back into his old life, where the closest he ever got to Carmelita was when she arrested him. He told himself for months that he had nothing to feel guilty about, but his one brief meeting with Bentley had shown him with shocking clarity just the extent of his own self delusion. Now that he thought back, was he interested in the Cooper fortune at all? Did he really want it as his birthright, or did he simply not want Dr. M to have it? Similarly, he wondered if the crimes he had committed towards the end of his career as a thief were for money or the thrill of the kudos, or if they were simply a means to an end, specifically getting closer to Carmelita? He knew that they hadn't used to be. When did he turn into a lovesick idiot? And, if that were true, why hadn't he given up his thievery sooner? He could have saved everyone a lot of pain and effort if he'd just made his intentions clear from the start.
'Ah,' a little voice in his head said, 'but who knows what might have happened if you hadn't almost been killed? And what if Carmelita hadn't given you the fine 'Cop' opportunity? You might've ended up still with the team, still giving Carmelita the run around. Funny what near death experiences will do for you, eh?'
Funny indeed. Sly smoothed down Carmelita's luxurious purple hair with his free hand. He wouldn't change things even if he could, not for all the fortunes in the world. It felt so good! To have his feelings with Carmelita out in the open! And, having done that, to discover that she felt the same way! He'd always suspected, but…
He breathed in the cool night air, breathed in her sweet breath, breathed her in in gulps, getting as much of her as he could. His stomach tingled with exquisite electricity, a greater thrill than any job he'd ever pulled. But even now he knew that he had to square things with Bentley, and for that matter the other members of the team. He sighed. There was no way he was getting to sleep now.
Very carefully, with the care that one might apply when performing brain surgery on a loved one, Sly slid his arm out from underneath Carmelita, then slowly shifted his weight away from her. She didn't stir. Sly paused to cast one loving glance back in her direction before lifting off the bed. There was plenty of light to see be because of the full moon and the faint glow of the city around them. He located the jacket he'd been wearing earlier, and as he lifted it off the chair he caught sight of his gun holster on the chair. Standard issue berretta, for all officers of the law in Paris. He'd never got used to carrying it; he hated the feeling of the heavy uncomfortable chunk of metal knocking against his chest whenever he walked anywhere, but if he was going to be a cop he had to act like one. He'd never so much as held a gun before, let alone fired one, but all the same, there it was, glinting in the moonlight, waiting patiently for him to ease it from its snug leather sheath and unleash it on the world. Sly scowled at the weapon. He was feeling quite wired at that moment. There was no other explanation for the theatrics. He dressed quickly, looking like what he hoped was smart yet casual, and stepped out onto the balcony. They were on the second floor, and the street was a good thirty feet down. There was a streetlight just below him, maybe twenty feet tall, casting its yellow haze up at him, and in all other directions.
Sly somersaulted off the balcony, fell ten feet, grabbed onto the lamppost, and slid down it like a fireman's pole, spinning around it as he did so. He hit the pavement with a light thud on the soles of his feet. He glanced up, quite pleased with his decent. He might have left his cane for Bentley and the others to find, but he was far from out of tricks. A couple a little way up the street made sounds of awe. Sly gave them a slight bow, then trotted, whistling, in the direction of Bentley's apartment. Now that he had a solid game plan he felt much better. He'd make sure he did right by Bentley and the others, then come clean with Carmelita. He didn't want to be overly confident, but something told him she'd treat him with leniency. Especially when he told her that he'd be willing to give it all up for her. The raccoon's whistling grew louder.
-
Bentley awoke with a start, the noise of the apartment's buzzer fresh in his ears.
"Mrph. Shud stuppid nois off." A petite mousey voice said quietly from the darkness next to him. He blinked rapidly, trying to get his head together. He hoisted himself from the bed and into his chair that sat next to it, and groggily navigated it past assorted clothes and debris that peppered the floor, and into the dim hallway. The buzzer went again. In the back of his mind a faint spark of worry glowed. If this was Interpol performing a night time raid, they could have problems. He was pretty sure that none of the officers at the ball had made him, but if they had he'd have a tough time explaining the countless stolen goods in the apartment, not to mention how to explain where his recent windfall had come from. He crossed the living room area, pausing only to lift his dressing gown from the back of one of the chairs since he was only in his underwear. 'Ask to see a warrant,' he told himself. 'If that fails, smoke bomb the hell out of the place, grab Penelope and leg it.'
They could always hide at the vault for a few hours if it came to that. The sheer volume of the Cooper fortune prevented himself and Penelope from keeping it at the apartment, but it was safe. He doubted even Sly could get through the security system he'd set up. He reached the intercom on the wall next to the door and pressed the talk button.
"I'm up. And I warn you, this had better be spectacularly important."
"Bentley, it's Sly."
The tortoise hung his head. He should've known.
"Should've known. Come on up."
He pressed the door unlock button and opened his front door so it was ajar, then wheeled his chair back to the bedroom to get some clothes on.
"What's going on?" Penelope asked when he entered.
"Sly's here. You go back to sleep."
"Oh," She yawned. Then she smiled, "You and your friends."
"Tell me about it."
-
Sly found the front door to Bentley's apartment slightly open, and tapped on it lightly before sticking his head around. He couldn't see anyone.
"Hello?" he called softly as he entered the room. Then he saw Bentley coming from the room directly opposite him, past the little kitchen/living room combo area and right at the back of the apartment. His friend closed the door over behind him, so they wouldn't wake Penelope Sly supposed. Likewise, Sly closed the front door behind him with a soft click.
"Hi," he smiled apologetically.
"What happened to 'I'll contact you in a day or two'?" Bentley mock frowned.
"Yeah, I uh…I couldn't sleep."
"Well, what a coincidence, neither could I," Bentley deadpanned as he wheeled himself over to the fridge. He opened the door and began to rummage around inside.
"Yeah, sorry about that," Sly fidgeted.
"Ah, forget about it," His disabled pal called from somewhere past the stuffed olives and Swiss cheese. "It's not like I have to go to work or anything."
"Yeah I suppose." Sly mused.
"Yep, for everything I said earlier, I must say your family fortune has been keeping Pen and myself extremely well." He said, emerging from the fridge with a carton of orange juice. "I hope you don't mind. We've barely scratched the surface, there's enough moolah in there for several hundred lifetimes."
"Not at all." The raccoon grinned. "As far as I'm concerned you've earned every single penny of it."
Bentley returned his smile and poured himself a glass of juice.
"You want anything?" He offered. "I think we have coke, lemonade, juice…"
"Coke sounds good."
Bentley rooted around in the fridge, located a can and tossed it to Sly. Sly cracked it open and slurped at it quickly to stop it spraying everywhere. Bentley indicated for him to take a seat in the sofa a few feet away from him in the living area. Sly did so, and Bentley parked himself nearby next to an armchair.
"It's good to see you. I didn't get a chance to say so earlier."
The raccoon smiled.
"It's good to see you too. That's partly why I came over tonight."
"I'm glad you did. It probably could've waited till morning, but never mind that now."
"I've been thinking about the money," Sly said, placing his coke can carefully on a glass coffee table in front of him. Bentley was horrified at the lack of a coaster, but said nothing.
"Yeah? Have you reached any conclusions?"
"Well, since you and Penelope have secured it, I think it would be bad to move it all now."
"Yeeeeees…" The tortoise mused.
"And since as you say, there's enough there for several hundred lifetimes…"
"Where are you going with this?"
"Lets just keep it as a communal fortune, yeah? We'll all know the combination to the safe, and any of us can dip into it when we need to."
Bentley remained silent for a few seconds.
"That's not a bad idea." He said, finally. Sly cracked into a large grin.
"Groovy. You can give me the combination. Did the rest of the team take any money?"
"Uh, Dimitri took some. He bought a boat with it. I got a postcard from him, he says hi."
"Fair enough. Anyone else?"
"The Panda King and the Guru wouldn't take any. We offered, but Panda King said his honour was served and he wouldn't taint it with mere fiscal rewards. Or something. The Guru said he wouldn't have any use for it anyway."
"Could've guessed that." Sly said nodding.
"Murray claimed some." Bentley said, looking up.
"Murray, how is he? What's he doing now?" Sly said looking up, slightly embarrassed that he hadn't already asked about their mutual friend.
"Well, he finished off his training with the Guru, then he came back and used his share of the money to soop up the van. He's been racing all over the world. Gained quite a following I understand."
"Wow," Sly commented, "I'm glad he took some. Seems like he's doing exactly what he wants to do."
"He keeps coming back," Bentley added. "He's written off his van seven times since he started. He's set a new record for surviving crashes that would disintegrate lesser drivers."
"Damn," Sly raised his eyebrows. "Oh well. As long as he's happy. Where is he right now?"
"I think he's in Louisiana right now. There was an off road course he was keen to try."
Sly took a deep swig from his can.
"I'm glad you're cool with my idea. It's far too much for one thief."
"It's a good idea Sly. It's probably the fairest way of doing things. I just didn't want you to not have any of your own families money. That and I wanted to see you again."
There was a brief few seconds of silence whist the two friends thought. Bentley's frank honesty had deeply touched Sly, but he couldn't say anything because that would be girly. Sly was happy that Bentley had agreed to his plan, and so contented himself to just drink his coke. Bentley squirmed slightly before he spoke again.
"Have you…had any thoughts about what you want to do next?"
Sly sighed slightly. He sensed that that question coming a mile off, but he still didn't have a solid answer for it.
"I'm not sure. I've got enough money now to give up being a thief, but I'm not sure if I can keep up being a cop. I guess I'll just have to see."
"Well, no pressure mate," Bentley leaned over and patted him on the shoulder. "Just as long as you still keep in touch."
"Course I will. I'll be over all the time."
Bentley snorted a laugh. Sly returned his smile.
"You know," Bentley started, "Next week is quite a special date for you."
"What? Is it?"
"Yes, it is."
"What is it?"
"Your birthday you fool." He paused. "Well, the day we suppose is your birthday anyway."
"Eh? Oh…oh yes. God, is it September already?"
"Your modesty moves me, Sly."
"How did you remember if even I can't? We used to celebrate each other's birthdays most weekends when we first started out."
"Well, this is the official date we settled on. My computer reminded me actually."
"Figures. Well thanks for telling me, I'll have to remember to get drunk and have a sandwich."
Bentley shook his head despairingly.
"Look, why don't you come around here? I'll get a hold of Murray on the wire and see if I can get him down here, it'll be a blast!"
"Yeah, wow, thanks, that'd be great!" The raccoon beamed. "Should be a good laugh!"
"You can even bring that 'cop' woman you hang around with if you must." Bentley added.
"Thank you," Sly feigned annoyance. "We'll have to see how my little talk with her goes first though."
Bentley nodded at his long time friend. Sly finished off his can and set the empty back down on the table.
"Well, I've hassled you for long enough. I'll get going and you can get some sleep."
"Hang on a moment," Bentley said, wheeling himself around, over to a dark corner of the room where there stood a chest of drawers. "I've been hanging onto these since you left, I expect you'll be wanting them back."
Bentley dragged the bottom drawer open and pulled out a bundle of what looked like clothes. The bundle was blue, and Sly could detect what looked like gold poking out at one end. His face split into yet another smile. Bentley saw the look on his face.
"Yeah, I figured you'd want me to keep it for you."
He handed the raccoon his old cane. Sly unwrapped it from what turned out to be his spare blue shirt and cap, as well as his red leg holster for loot. He lifted the cane out of it's wrappings like it was the Turin shroud. He ran his hand over the polished wood, gently stroking his trademark accessory, his weapon of choice, his tool of the trade. It had dragged him out of several life threatening situations, and it was fair to say that he wouldn't have achieved half as much without it. He found its balancing point, close to the gold plated question mark head and spun it into a blur. It was completely flawless, as ever. He flicked it in the air, let it slide over his shoulder down his back, kicked it back up with the sole of his foot and caught it with his other hand.
"Show off," Bentley commented.
"Just glad to have it back," Sly said happily. He paused as a wicked idea oozed into his frontal lobe. "Say, before I leave, can I use your bathroom?"
-
The thief sped over the rooftop, hopping over skylights and somersaulting over TV aerials. He reached the end of the building and jumped off it without the slightest hesitation. Halfway down his decent the head of his cane made contact with a wrought iron light fixture and he used all his momentum to swing back up and onto the roof of the next building. He hit the deck, rolled twice and fell ten feet onto the lower roof. He hit the ground running and within seconds was shimmying up a drainpipe of the building opposite. It felt so good to be back out on the rooftops! Now that he was here, doing it, he wondered how he ever thought he could give it all up. There was no way he was ever going to be able to turn his back on this thrill. He reached the corner of his next building and perched there for a moment, like a particularly cheeky gargoyle whilst he got his bearings. This way. He jumped, landing with pin-point accuracy on the top of a telegraph pole, before running along the wire at an impossible speed. From up here, he could already see his destination, the French windows still open, the curtains still billowing inwards. The light wasn't on, so there was a chance she was still asleep. The thief grinned. One more spire jump off another telegraph pole and he was on the wire that would take him right to her building. He ran. The thought of her put a charge in his belly and air in his limbs, letting him run even lighter than usual. He felt as though he could become a being of pure electricity, and zap along the phone line right to her. In less time than it takes to read that last cliché, he was outside on her balcony. He spun his cane around in his hand in triumph and grinned widely, he couldn't help it. The beautiful creature in the bed hadn't stirred at all at his arrival, as he had alighted as softly as a songbird on the smooth polished marble of the balcony. He crept around her bed, careful not make a sound. He retreated to the back of the room into the shadows, where the moonlight wouldn't reach. He spied his keys glinting on a side table in the gloom, near the front door, and with one swift fluid movement, he swept them to the floor. The jangling sound reverberated around the solid room, and the figure in the bed sat bolt upright, instantly alert and prepared for the worst. A quick glance to her side told her that her lover was gone, although her sleeping senses had told her that much; these days her bed was just somehow wrong without him beside her. She narrowed her eyes. The thief swore she passed her gaze right over him, but she apparently saw nothing.
"Sly?" She called tentatively into the darkness with a Latina purr. Not yet. Not quite. A few more seconds."
"Sly?" She tried more forcefully, this time reaching for her bedside drawer where the thief knew for a fact that she kept her shock pistol. Now.
He stepped from the shadows into her field of sight. Her hand froze on the handle of the drawer. She took in his bold blue uniform and clashing red holster, his smart cap that matched his shirt and his enigmatic black facemask. She allowed her gaze to linger over his broad chest and manly yet elegant hands that were ensconced in flawless blue gloves, and she found herself drawn to his handsome angular face, with it's boyish looks and cheeky grin. She drew a sharp intake of breath.
"Sly?" She repeated, this time out of surprised than concern. The thief's eyes sparkled with an intensity that she remembered from the ballroom, the same intensity she lost herself in. The raccoon simply grinned wider, before producing a rose from nowhere, and approaching her, placed it tenderly in her hair just in front of her ear. That done, he leant in to her and kissed her passionately on the lips. She stiffened for the tiniest of moments, as if unsure what to do, but she softened almost instantly and returned his kiss with vigour. After a couple of seconds in which universes formed and died, they parted. He grinned sheepishly at her. She returned his smile, but hers was different, narrowed eyes, bared teeth, almost…predatory. The raccoon's expression shifted to puzzlement.
"Wh-"
She grabbed him roughly by the shirt, and yanked him down on top of her. Hard.
-
Author's notes:
Well, here's the first chapter. A bit crowd pleasing, but it had to happen sooner or later. Now it's done, we can all just move on. Still, hope you liked it, and there'll be more chapters in this story soon. I'm sure I'll be as surprised by what happens as everybody else. Thanks for reading!