Chapter 7

As Murray drove quickly---but carefully!---back home, Bentley studiously watched Carmelita for any signs that she might be waking up. As he continued his vigil, he couldn't help admire how attractive Carmelita looked in Madame Sing's latest creation. No doubt about it, Bentley thought to himself, Sly was absolutely going to love this present! He grinned at the feeling of accomplishment…but only for a moment, really. For, he knew, that Carmelita was going to be screaming for both of their heads on a platter when she finally awoke and figured out what was happening to her. Bentley couldn't help but go pale and swallow at the prospect of their being the focus of the fiery vixen's wrath.

Murray eased the van softly into their hideaway's driveway, bringing the vehicle to a halt, then shutting it down. Murray turned to Bentley. "So, pal…we actually did it! Can you believe it?" he observed, pale and grinning. "Man, Sly is going to love it…and we are going to be so so dead, Bent."

Bentley could only nod. "Yeah, I know," he said shakily. "Now, you collect up the Inspector, and I'll take care of Sly, buddy."

Murray nodded, and they both stepped out of the van, each to his own assigned task.

Bentley made his way inside, in search of his boss and best pal. "Hello? Sly, are you here?" he called.

"Yeah!" Sly boomed back. "I'm in here…in the living room, Bentley!"

"Good!" Bentley screamed back. "Now, just you stay there until I come and get you, Sly!"

"Sure thing, buddy!" Sly replied. Needless to say, all this secret agent type behavior on his friends' parts made Sly very curious indeed about his present. Just leave it to those two, Sly told himself, shaking his head. Those guys were always trying to find new ways to show him how much they cared about him. If they're being this secretive, Sly deduced with a smile, this is gonna be great!

Bentley tried the door to the family room and made very sure it was closed tight. He then headed back to the front door, where Murray now stood holding the still sleeping Carmelita delicately in his arms.

"Okay, Murray," Bentley told him, "follow me, pal." Murray nodded and fell in line, following in Bentley's footsteps.

Bentley led him upstairs to Sly's very own room. Once there, the small turtle swung the door open and quickly turned on a small lamp to dimly illuminate the room. "You know the drill, pal. Put her there…on Sly's bed. That's it, gently now," Bentley instructed, watching as Murray laid the oddly peaceful Inspector Fox down upon Sly's made bed. "Now, this is the not-so-fun part," Bentley muttered.

"Do we really have to, Bent?" Murray asked, looking down at the peacefully sleeping Carmelita. Murray was a big softy at times like these.

"As a matter of fact…we do," Bentley told him, retrieving the pair of sturdy handcuffs Kitty had provided him. "Get real, Murray…think of it this way: how do you think Sly would feel if his birthday present woke up and gave him a punch in the nose?" he said to Murray.

"Good point," Murray conceded, but frowned. "I just don't like it, that's all."

"Well, you don't have to like it, pal," Bentley told him firmly as he encircled Carmelita's slender wrists with the polished chrome handcuff, locking it into place. "We just have to do it, that's all." He then pulled Carmelita's arms up, slid the free cuff through the bars of the headboard, and then locked her other wrist in the remaining cuff. "Say, Murray? Be a pal and get me a wet washcloth, would you?"

Murray frowned, but nodded, heading out into the hall a moment, returning moments later with a moistened washcloth.

"Well, here goes nothing," Bentley sighed, plying the warm moist cloth across Carmelita's forehead and cheeks. "If she kills me, buddy, you can have my headphones…I know how much you enjoy them."

Murray's eyes bulged at that, and his expression became even more troubled.

A few moments more, and Carmelita began to move, groaning once before her large eyes slowly flickered open. "W-Where am I?" she said muzzily.

"Good evening, Inspector. I trust you slept well?" Bentley said politely, smiling down at Carmelita who started at the sound of that somewhat familiar voice.

"What?" she demanded a moment later, finally putting two and two together. "All right, just where in the hell am I?" she demanded. She blinked as she looked around in the unfamiliar room, her brown eyes beginning to adjust somewhat to the dim light. She scowled, feeling distinctly disoriented. That scowl deepened moments later when she tried to bring her hands down to wipe her eyes, and was unable to because of her hands being securely handcuffed together around the brass bars of the headboard.

Bentley decided to break the news to the already heating up vixen slowly. "That is a good question, Inspector," he replied, again politely. "Presently, you are inside of the current locale of the Cooper Gang."

"I'm where?" Carmelita gasped, her beautiful---and furious!---eyes widening in suspicion.

Bentley gulped, edged a bit back away, and added, "The Cooper residence, my dear Inspector. Upstairs, to be precise."

"Upstairs?" Carmelita repeated, not wanting to believe what she was hearing. "Inside of that wretch Cooper's hideout? What…has Interpol finally got its act together and nabbed that raccoon?"

"No, nothing quite that drastic," Bentley assured her. He grimaced next, knowing what he had to tell her next, but dreading it all the same. "No, it's just that…well, let's say you've been cordially invited to Mr. Cooper's birthday party, let's say."

Carmelita's pupils had finally dialated, so she could see the small figure dressed all in black. "And why would I of accepted an invitation to that bastard's birthday party?" she questioned harshly, still pulling at the handcuffs that bound her to the headboard.

"Well," Bentley answered, just a bit plaintively. "You really didn't, actually. As a matter of fact, Inspector…you're here in an entirely different role than honored guest, you see…"

Carmelita frowned. "Quit with the bloody games already, creep!" she growled. "Why am I being held here against my will?"

"Um, that would be because…er, well, that's because you're his present, I'm afraid," Bentley finally blurted out, eyes bulging with barely restrained terror.

"I'm what?" Carmelita screeched, yanking hard at the handcuffs now. "No! Absolutely no way! I am not---grr, listen you, you are so dead once I get these cuffs off, buster! Even if I have to chew off one of my hands to get to you, pal!"

Bentley stood back, and waited for Carmelita's temper tantrum to abate, which it did, once she realized that she couldn't get away. Bentley sighed with obvious relief.

"You'll never get away with this, creep," Carmelita growled, still incensed. "My partner will notify Interpol once she wakes up, and then you'll have the entire force busting down that door!"

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Inspector," Bentley replied…from a safe distance away, of course! "But, just who do you think we got those pretty bracelets you're wearing from, hmm?"

"She didn't!" Carmelita gasped, her mouth forming a silent 'O'. Then she wearily closed her eyes, thinking just who it was they were talking about. "On second thought, she could. And would."

"…and, she did," Bentley said nodding his head. "Hey, Inspector, we were as surprised as you were. I asked her about it, and she just mumbled something about you and Sly needing some time together without you pointing your stun pistol at him."

Carmelita growled softly, gritting her teeth in frustration. Damn that Kitty! she swore silently to herself. Damn her matchmaking, and damn her meddling where she shouldn't of ought to! "Oooh, that Kitty has just as good as booked herself a long trip to the beauty parlor. Oh my yes," Carmelita pledged under her breath. After she had calmed down somewhat, Carmelita looked up to her hands, and started when she saw she was now wearing a pair of fingerless gloves. "W-What the hell?" she mumbled, thinking furiously. She then arched both brows up in alarm, and looked warily down at her body. "Madre y Dios! Could you please tell me why I'm dressed like I've just stolen the bloody crown jewels?" she demanded. "I feel like a clown in this get-up."

"Trust me, you wouldn't of enjoyed the alternative, Ms. Fox," Bentley assured. "It was this…or we could of presented you to Sly dressed in only your nightgown."

Carmelita gasped---she seemed to be doing a lot of that this evening---at the very thought of being chained to this bed with Sly Cooper's hot eyes eyeing herself clad only in her flimsy nightie. She shuddered, feeling a slow rush of embarrassment---and, was that excitement?---at that thought. "No, thanks…this is just fine, really," she rapidly conceded.

"Hey, look," Bentely tried to sooth her. "We contacted the very top designers of thieves' apparel in Paris. Luckily for you, she had the time and the inclination to whip something up especially for you, Inspector. Now, I know it's not your usual mode of dress, Ms. Fox…but even you must admit it does look pretty good on you."

"I do, do I? Ha! I think not, criminal!" she hissed, upset at her current situation.

"I'm not lying, Inspector! Here, just take a look for yourself," he said and held up a mirror so that Carmelita could see her face.

She paled visibly at seeing her face. "What have you done?" she moaned, closing her eyes.

Bentley smiled. "Trust me, you'll grow to like it. However, now me and my friend need to go. And, before you worry about getting lonely all by your lonesome…rest assured you'll be receiving company before too long, Ms. Fox. After all…it is Sly's birthday, you know…"

And with that, he and Murray left to begin celebrating Sly´s birthday…