Sorry about the time between updates. School has been really hectic. On a plus note I HAVE SLY 3! WHEE! BWHAHA and so on and so forth. I would like to ask again though, how do I add things to my personal profile? I would really appreciate if someone would tell me. Lastly, Guru is awesome.
Bentley booted up the computer and put in the disk Xavius gave them. He ran it through a gauntlet of virus and worm detection. When he determined it was simply a word document he loaded it up. It was the location of a dead drop in Prague and a special frequency labeled, "for Emergency Use Only". It also contained the little information the Obsidian League had on their mysterious attackers. It consisted of a few photos of slain assassins, who had no connection whatsoever. One had been a bouncer in a bar in Ohio, another a yoga instructor from Portugal and so on and so forth. No connection whatsoever, except one day they had acquired firearms, in some cases automatics, and decided to come gunning for Obsidian League members.
Bentley then started doing some background research on the Obsidian League members. Xavius and Van Trysk were recorded as have been expelled from universities, one in England and Germany respectively, though details were scarce. Vladimir apparently had connections to the Russian Mafia in Vladivostok and Apep had connections with several organized crime organizations. There was absolutely no information on anyone named Kitsune, but it was probably an alias.
"The League members seem to be your typical group of successful criminals. With the price they're offering, we should definitely take this job. I mean fifty million coins! That's quite a lot of cash." Bentley said as he finished up on his computer. "We could do so much with that kind of money."
"I could turn the van into a super-vehicle." Murray said with glee, rubbing his hands together. "And I could buy SO MUCH food." Sly just smiled, images of an entire field of flowers with a certain vixen's name on it. Or perhaps a tank, it might be more appropriate.
"We have a lot of contacts on both sides of the law." Sly said. "We should begin looking for unusual activities in the underworld. Anything might be useful"
We spent two months combing the underworld. We probably didn't cover much ground the Obsidian League hadn't already canvassed, but maybe we could see it from a different perspective. Weeks of breaking into records rooms, weeks of questioning informants from dozens of different nations, weeks of hacking, driving and climbing. We learned several influential criminal gangs had been wiped out, but that sort of thing happens all the time. Finally a paranoid acquaintance of ours named Mr. Everywhere gave us a lead. Mr. Everywhere is a master hacker who watches every signal he can, from military broadcasts to travel plans. He told us, after a hefty fee, that all of the assassins had once visited a town in Montana called Little Albedo. It was a slim lead, but it was a start. We just kept thinking of those fifty million coins.
Lita was having a slow day. Working at an airport was never exciting, but today was especially boring. It was a Tuesday, which was never a popular day for flying. She began drifting off, thinking about the new paint scheme for her apartment, until a voice snapped her back to reality.
"Excuse me Miss, but could we get our tickets please?" Lita looked up and was greeted with an unusual sight. A large green hippo in biker leathers loomed above her. Next to him was a short turtle, also green, dressed in punk style, with a large orange Mohawk. It was the last person who caught her eye though. He was a raccoon also dressed in leather, but was more stylish than the other two. He had an athlete's muscle and deep brown eyes. He spoke again. "Could we have our tickets please? There under the name Cartwright."
Sly and the gang's disguises and fake IDs worked perfectly. The flight to America was uneventful, except for the couple across the aisle, who seemed to think that Murray was going to mug them during the flight. The van made the journey easily as well, and the gang drove out of the L.A. airport towards Little Albedo. It took a day or two, but it was fun. The gang decided to keep the fake identity of the Cartwright Boys, the remains of a particularly mean but essentially harmless biker gang. They pulled off the highway into Little Albedo. It looked a lot like an old western town, with all the important buildings along a main street. For tourism reasons it even looked like an old west town, with wooden facades and even a few posts for tying up horses. Murray effortlessly pulled the van into a mostly empty parking lot adjacent to the building marked Hotel. The lobby was completely empty except for the clerk at the desk. Sly asked for two rooms.
"You sure you want a room?" The clerk said, unusually nervous. He pulled at his collar, sweat beading his brow. "Might not be the right thing. This town isn't right for guys like you. Nothing here for tough guys like you." He pulled at his collar again, his breathing quickening.
"What's wrong with you?" Murray asked, his size and appearance belying the concern in his voice.
"You boys ought to leave here. Today's Friday, and well, biker boys like you don't want to be here Friday. It isn't safe for guys like you." Suddenly there was a loud noise, like an army of engines closing in on the town. "They're here!" The clerk dived under his desk and cowered. Sly, Murray and Bentley rushed outside, interested in finding out what was the commotion was.
A large crowd of bikers had pulled up on the other end of the street, at least twenty of them. The biker in front got off his bike. He was a tall hound dog, dressed like a character out of a western. He wore a cowboy hat, vest and leather chaps. Tall boots adorned his feet, with wickedly sharpened spurs on each heel. A revolver hung on either hip. He strode forward, his eyes on Sly.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here? A rival bunch here to mess up our town? Got to be pretty mean if you think you can take us all with only three of ya." The hound dog spoke with a western drawl, his cold eyes fixed on Sly. "I'm Tex, and this here is my town. You want to challenge me for it, so be it."
"The people of the town certainly don't seem to like you," Sly retorted, "so I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"HA, HA, HA!" Tex laughed hardily. "That a challenge, boy? Ya see, I'm a bit well known as a marksman, and you seem to be unarmed. DANCE YOU MISERABLE COON!" With these words he moved fast, almost faster than Sly could follow, and whipped out both revolvers.