The Clumsy Thief
Prologue
Ross smiled, quite proud of himself as he lowered himself down a thin rope on a homemade pulley system. The room he entered was quiet, which was to be expected in the dead of night.
The bank was a simple one, and didn't seem like much of a challenge to him. He knew the vault had its own supposed state-of-the-art security system, and he knew he wouldn't be able to defeat it singlehandedly. But for his purposes, there would be plenty of information in the bank computers to make the trip worthwhile.
He dropped to the floor and surveyed the empty bank lobby.
No one. He wore his cockiness openly as he sauntered to the manager's office. Ross started to pull out a hard drive from a dark bag draped across his shoulder when a blaring alarm sounded.
Stunned, he looked around where he stood. Behind him was a thin beam of light, barely above the ground.
He cursed inwardly, and moved back and forth, wavering on his decision. The computer was not far away, filled with codes and routing numbers and files of high-end clients.
The wail of the alarm persuaded him. Quickly, he raced back to his pulley and rope.
Ross pulled on the rope. As he tried to scramble up it, the ceiling tiles and pulley crumbled to the ground. Not good. Ross groaned as looked from his back up at his first failed escape route.
He brushed dust off his faded black attire as he heard squealing tires in front of the bank. The police would later watch the security cameras with laughter as Ross danced around the lobby, obviously unsure of what to do next.
Ross decided on a back exit.
A police car came screeching up behind him as he ran out. Rain fell, but Ross didn't remember any call for it. It did work in his favor, though.
Plowing down the street as fast as his young legs could carry him, Ross slipped down an alley as cars and officers followed him. A car or two slipped out of control, blocking the way of his pursuers.
Looking up at the buildings around him, Ross saw ladders going to roofs, garbage dumpsters, a couple of doors and a dead-end. Quickly, he kicked in a door.
His breathing was shallow. Ross heard footsteps filing through the open door. He quietly settled in a for a long wait, and tried holding his breath to keep from the overwhelming stench.
It had been quiet for half an hour. Water dripped in the dumpster, mixing with rotten food, plastic bags, and what he feared were diapers. Ross debated whether to make a move, but held his place when he heard more footsteps.
The steps were slow, purposeful, and coming near him. One person, Ross judged. He stopped breathing as they stopped in front of the dumpster.
A figure opened the lid, dug one arm into the messy rubble, and came up with Ross's hair.
"Hey!!" Ross complained. He couldn't distinguish the face of what he determined was a man, but the grip he had on Ross communicated that he not fight back.
The man dropped Ross on the wet ground in front of the garbage. He stared at Ross, analyzing him until Ross squirmed.
"That has to be the most pathetic excuse for attempted robbery I have ever seen," the man said. Ross glared at the bold man, but stayed silent. He couldn't be sure if this man was RUC or some other police.
"What's your name?" the man asked.
"What's yours?" Ross shot back. The man shot him a tight smile.
"I'm here to help you, not cart you off to jail, where you deserve to go, especially after that lack-luster performance. Your name?" The man's eyes persisted for an answer.
"Ross," the young man answered tentatively.
"Ross what?"
"Ross is my last name," he stated shortly.
The man continued to look for an answer. Ross sighed.
"Fabian Ross." With that, the man let out a chuckling laugh that grew to mocking proportions. It lasted long enough to make Ross squirm.
The man finally stopped laughing, much to Ross's comfort.
"I see why you go by your last name. That'll be the first thing to go. I'm Henry," he said, extending his hand to lift the boy to his feet.
"What do you want with me?" Ross asked. His body was tense, ready to take off if the answer was what he still feared. The man, Henry, saw this, and smiled with just enough gentleness to settle the boy's nerves as he said:
"Teach you to succeed."
Henry stopped the car in front of a decent-sized house in a secluded, but ritzy part of Dublin. Ross stared from the passenger seat as Henry got out, motioning for the boy to follow.
The interior was more lavish than anything he'd ever seen, but that wasn't hard given his upbringing and lifestyle so far. Henry stopped in a sort of den, and faced the boy.
"You'll be staying here, in my home. We'll start in the morning. Any questions?"
Ross regarded that question with a smirk, the first of many.
"You said my name was the first thing to go. What did you mean?"
"A weak name is weak. A strong name is strong. We're going to make you strong," Henry said. Ross stood puzzled before him.
"Has anyone ever told you that you sound like that Yogi Berra fellow?"
Henry smiled tightly at him as he pointed down a dark hallway.
"Your quarters are that way, at the end of that hall," Henry said, pointing. Ross didn't move.
"So what is my new name going to be?"
"I was thinking of Sark." Henry watched the teenage boy's confused reaction. "Get some rest. You'll need it."