Sly speaks

I was royally pissed with being shoved off Carmelita's team, even though I understood what the Captain was saying. I honestly believed without me, they would not catch this guy. Carmelita caught me once. I was too close to a bomb blast and got knocked out. Two other times she got close, but only because we were working together against Clockwerk and Clock-la. Both times I got away, once by handcuffing her to an iron stair rail, the second time because when I offered to come quietly if she would let my friends go- Bentley was badly hurt and Murray was devastated- they managed rig the helicopter so I got away. Anyway, there were several differences between my jobs and this one, and when I got though the course once, I went back and climbed up to the top of the tower, squatted on the roof, and considered the situation. I had almost worked out what was bothering me, and how I would tell Carmelita, when I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye and moved. I felt a sharp pain on my head. I had to jump, and managed to get to the ground and get under the only real shelter- beneath the tower-in one piece, with bullets spitting around me, some too close. When I could catch my breath, I pulled out my communicator, which was buzzing.

"Finally, Cooper! Where are you!" It was the captain.

"Under the tower." There were more shots. "I'm pinned." My head was burning now.

"We're on it. Don't move until I tell you it's clear." I waited, trying to figure out how to look out without being shot at. Then a shot came too close, and I stopped trying. After what was thirty minutes by my watch and an eternity while I stayed still and tried to be invisible, my head throbbed, and sweat trickled down my neck and itched, I got the all-clear and came out. The sun hit me like a hammer blow, and I had to lean against the tower to stay upright, as Shelly came around the corner and stopped in shock, then ran over and got under my arm, in the meantime getting her communicator out and saying I was hurt. That brought others in a hurry. The sharp pain was a bullet graze, and what I thought was sweat was blood, quite a bit of it by the way everyone was acting.

On the promise that I would stay at home and stay quiet, the doctor finally agreed to let me go home. She had already explained carefully to Carmelita that head wounds bleed a great deal for their size and danger, and that while I did have a slight concussion, there was no danger of bleeding under my skull or other hidden injuries, before the terror in Carmelita's eyes faded to her normal anger. Also, by that time the would-be assassins had been interrogated and it turned out that they were traced back to an Indian religious sect of some kind. They were being held pending deportation. While I was being stitched, bandaged, and tested-God, how I hate hospitals! - and finally got something for the headache, I was able to think.We got the children from her mother and I had to lie down when we got home. I hated putting all the work on Carmelita but I wasn't good for much. Moses came in after his bath and came over, put his hands on his hips and said, "You supposed to duck, Papa Coop."

"That's right, Moses," Carmelita said, bringing Angelina over. "Do you want some milk before you go to bed?" He went to the kitchen with her, while Angelina kissed the bandage to make it better. I pushed myself up and helped her put the children to bed. Later, when I was cleaning up in the kitchen, she snapped at me, and then stood there for a moment. "Let's get you to bed. You need to have one of those hard sleeps of yours. And Sly-don't argue with the Captain. This is what he was afraid of. "I sighed. "I came too close today to raising those children alone," she said, almost in a whisper, and rushed over to me. As she took deep breaths to fight off tears, I held her as tightly as I could and promised I would stay out of the investigation.

Two days later Carmelita told me that the leader of the Indian cult was found dead in his temple.

From the diary of Carmelita Montoya Fox Cooper, Inspector

The next day Sly went with the children to Mama's, and I went to work with the image of Sly's bandaged head in my mind and a willingness to hold someone's toes over a burning flame until they talked. I was not able to. All of them committed barehanded suicide in their cells. The only new information was that a sacred idol with a valuable jewel had been stolen from their sect about three or four years ago, and ransomed back for a fortune. No one could figure out how that connected. There was a stiff, formal apology from the Indian ambassador for the incident. I went home almost as upset as I had left. Only the sight of Sly moving around at almost normal, playing with the children, made me feel better. On the way home, I notice Sly had his father's staff in the car, and the police staff he used by his hand; when he returned to work, he had his shock pistol in a holster. His temporary transfer to search and rescue kept him busy, but it also gave him more time with the children.

I was busy tracking the copycat. For a week there was nothing; then there was another robbery, this time of a warehouse of smuggled teak and jewels. This copycat was not like Sly in many, many ways. He was ruthless, silent, cold, hard-and alone. But he looked like Sly and he was just as damn good, and he left the cards. He was better with electronics than Sly, but not as good as Sly at running or sneaking or becoming almost invisible. He had a gun and he used it if he thought he needed to keep us back or on his victims if they got too close. He didn't kill, but he would send a bullet into a knee or an arm if he needed to; we found several guard thugs that way, and Hunk, the driver bull on my team, got tires shot out from under him when he tried to chase the copycat down. We never found any evidence of a gang or partner. After the week, we got word of three more thefts. All the thefts were lucrative, and all were of known criminal figures that eluded the police. One of the criminal victims was found dead, but there was no evidence that he was killed even with our best medical examiner doing the autopsy. I told Sly everything, and his suggestions helped us get closer, but never close enough, just like with Sly. Only my reminder of his promise to me kept him from demanding to join us.

Then one day, when I was at the office and not in the field, I got a call from the daycare. Moses was hiding under one of the tables and wouldn't come out. He had been playing on the slides when suddenly he climbed down and tore off for the building as fast as he could run. They tried pulling him out, and one of the workers now had a nasty bruise on her arm where he kicked her away. I went to the daycare, and as soon as he heard me call him he catapulted out from the table and clung to my leg until I picked him up. He started crying, great gulping sobs, with some kind of words garbled in. All I could do was pat his back and hold him tight and tell him he was safe until he calmed down. Angelina heard me and came by, and I took them home. By this time, Sly came home, and Moses ran to him. Sly gave me a look and I told him what happened. We got the kids fed and bathed and let Moses stay underfoot until he and Angelina went to sleep in Sly's lap in the rocking chair. When he came back from putting them to bed, he said," Why is Moses afraid he's leaving here?"

"Is that was he was trying to say?"

"'Want to stay with you, Papa Coop, with you and Auntie Carm and baby sister.' At which time Angelina informed him she was not a baby." He sighed.

"We are keeping him, right?" I couldn't remember if Sly and I ever discussed adopting Moses; somehow I just assumed we would.

"I told Jeanne that we wanted to adopt weeks ago, when she said their search hadn't found family. She's supposed to call when we can start the paperwork."

"Good." I put the last of the dishes away. "What started the hysterics, though? Did he say?"

"No. When I asked he hid his head in my neck, and I didn't push it." He stretched, and I snickered, remembering one morning when I came in the bedroom and found Sly stretching, and behind him, Moses imitating every move. I had to dive into the bathroom to smother my bursts of laughter. Sly asked me why I was laughing and I told him, but instead of smiling he sat down. I sobered and waited. "You do realize his mother was a thief, and she was training him."

"What do you mean?" I had not considered the matter.

He stood up and went to the drawer where we kept the children's drawings. He pulled out one, a picture of a book with a black and blue raccoon face on it that Moses had drawn. "Mama's book," he said. He went on to tell me about how Moses would freeze playing hide and seek, and reminding me about how Moses wanted to walk on the fence and walked on any thin line he could find. "Sylvia Cooper had no records showing what she did, how she lived before she went to live with the rabbit. And she defended herself very, very well. Two things worked against her. She refused to leave Moses, and she was outnumbered. As it was, she took four of them with her, and two died later. I don't know that you could have done as well." For Sly that was a high complement.

"He was only three!"

"I was trained as long as I could remember. I didn't know it was training; to me it was games; it was lots of attention from my father." He was watching me carefully.

"Clockwerk said you were the last of your line."

"He could have and would have lied if he felt like it. And he didn't know everything. He was a machine, not a god or a demon. There could easily be other Coopers, with other books, that I never heard of."

"Why are you telling me this, Sly?" Was he having second thoughts?

"First, so you know."

"I don't care. Do you?"

He relaxed. "Why should I? He looks so much like me that everyone, including Moses, will think he's ours in a few years. Second, because there might be family who don't dare approach the authorities. I don't think so, because if there are, they never approached me, and I think they would have found a way."

"Then we'll worry about that when the time comes." Sly grinned at me, that grin I had seen a million times, either when I was bantering with him and looking for a chance to shoot, or when he was sure we finally agreed on something he was worried about.

"Good enough."