A/N: Okay, chapter four. Fair warning to all my readers – you know who you are – this chapter has turned out to be mostly filler. I can't seem to avoid putting at least one of these kinds of chapters in everything I write, so if anyone has any suggestions on how to avoid this, I'd appreciate it. I've tried to flesh it out and add more depth to it, but it's still filler. The next chapter will be a kind of make up for this one – plenty of action. But we do finally find out why I chose this particular title for this particular story in this chapter.
Thanks to all of my reviewers, and to all the lurkers who just read but don't review, I hope y'all are enjoying the show!
Disclaimer; Sucker Punch Pro. owns all original Sly Cooper characters/situations, all the new ones are mine. ;-)
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Thief for a Day
Raven Ehtar
Chapter Four, 'Explanations'
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Bentley was pacing the short length of the van worriedly. It had been taking far too long for Sly to complete such a simple mission – something must have gone wrong. And, of course, the anti-noise ear plugs he had given him had made keeping in constant contact via comm.'s impossible. Bentley cursed softly, he should have taken more time to design something more fail-proof, or found a different target! Sly was far too unpredictable for Bentley to trust that he would stay completely on target without constant reminders.
Murray, for once being the calmer of the two, was using his binocucomm set to watch for Sly's approach from the van roof. Murray wasn't as worried for his young raccoon friend as Bentley was, he trusted that whatever trouble he had gotten into, if any, he could get out of it again. Sly was good at that sort of thing. He was on the lookout mostly to keep out of Bentley's hair – figuratively speaking. The little guy just couldn't sit still whenever his plans didn't go right, and was likely to badger Murray's ear off if he were too available. Safer to just stay on the roof.
Bentley, when Sly was more than forty minutes late, was just considering sending Murray out to look for the wayward raccoon when his rotund friend shouted down, "Bentley! Sly's comin'!"
Tension in his shoulders snapped loose again, making Bentley stumble slightly as made his way to the van doors. "It's about time! Is he being pursued?" he called up.
There was a pause as Murray looked through the binocucomm set again. His jaw dropped when he realized what he was looking at. "No," he called hesitantly, "nobody's chasin' him, but--"
"Well, then, what could have taken him so long?" Bentley demanded hotly, "It's not like him to lollygag on a job."
"No- but Bentley--"
"You don't suppose he stopped to go on another stupid roller coaster, do you?"
"No, I don't. But Bentley!"
Bentley had reached the doors and was just about to open them, "What is it, Murray?"
"Sly's got someone with him!"
"What?" He opened the doors, "Egad! Inspector Fox!"
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Ten minutes later, Bentley and Murray were both sitting in the van, listening to Sly explain why Carmelita had come back with him, and why she wasn't arresting everyone. Why she wasn't acting at all like herself, in fact. While Sly was narrating what had happened at the Atlantis, the Inspector was acting as lookout, sitting in Murray's old spot on top of the van. Neither Murray nor Bentley seemed to trust her up there, they kept looking out the windows to check for any sign of an ambush. Sly ignored their fears and told the story:
After Carmelita had disappeared from the stage and the Great Llazarrad had finished up his act, the magician/hypnotist led Sly backstage. Sitting in a chair, blank stare still in place, was Carmelita. When Llazarrad had made her disappear, she had wound up below the stage, but the stage crew had steered her upstairs where she would be out of trouble and safe. Rather than conducting their business where anyone could overhear it, Llazarrad had led the two of them into his dressing room and closed the door behind them.
Before turning to the raccoon immediately, he had first shed the rings on his fingers, the jewel on his forehead, and his vest and shirt. Even for a reptile, wearing silk under hot lights for any amount of time was unbearable. Somehow looking more intimidating without half of his extravagant getup, Llazarrad had looked at Sly askance, "Now, I'm takin' considerable risk if I do what you asked for in the wings, young fella." Once the lights were off of him, Llazarrad's speech pattern had shifted to almost a country boy twang, "How d'I know your intentions with this young lady are honorable?"
Sly shrugged, "I guess you don't. You'll just have to trust my word."
Llazarrad smirked and motioned to the bag he had taken out of his belt, "And your money."
"And that," Sly conceded.
The lizard paused and looked over at the fox, sitting in one of his guest chairs. She was still a mental blank, and would remain so until some image had been impressed on her, like wax waiting for a seal. She was very vulnerable until then, as anyone with a drop of sense could program her. It made Llazarrad feel both powerful and incredibly small. "I could always bring her out of her trance and ask her," Llazarrad had suggested.
Sly winced, "I don't think she'd appreciate the humor."
Llazarrad turned looked at him through narrowed eyes, "I could always hypnotize you, bumpkin, and get the news straight from the horse's mouth." The magician's frill had rippled slightly, threateningly, making the decorations rattle.
Sly had dropped his cane and spread his arms defenselessly to his sides, "Go ahead, Llazarrad, I'm all yours!"
With a rattling snap, the frill had suddenly appeared around Llazarrad's face. Sly twitched slightly at the sudden appearance. From his position up the lights, the frill pattern had appeared strange, but from only a few feet away, it took on a new dimension. It was like looking at a 3-D picture, the design seemed to fall back and leap forward at the same time, creating depths of paint and scales. Llazarrad began to weave his head as he had done on stage, the same sonorous tune making Sly's body feel heavy.
Sly blinked.
He blinked again. He shook his head. It felt strange, like his ears had been stuffed with cotton. Had he been hypnotized?
Llazarrad had lowered his frill back onto his shoulders, a different expression on his face. An instant before he had looked determined, almost angry. Now he looked thoughtful, maybe even a little resigned. He hadn't spoken to Sly directly, but turned to Carmelita again, watching the mannequin like stare. "I trust you won't do nothing to harm the little lady, raccoon," he had said. "I'm not sure about her, but I think you might actually be needin' this experiment."
Sly hadn't questioned Llazarrad outright, but wondered what he meant. As far as he was concerned, this was a lark. Remaining quiet, he watched as the lizard began to program the Inspector.
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"So…" Bentley began slowly, as though he were talking to a child, "you paid a stage hypnotist with the money stolen from the casino I sent you to--"
"Only half of it," Sly objected quickly.
"Half of an entire day's takings," the turtle continued, "for a hypnotist to convince Inspector Fox – our long time pursuer – into thinking she's a member of our gang?"
Sly grinned sheepishly, "Only for 48 hours." He tried to look apologetic, but only succeeded in looking smugly pleased.
Bentley frowned at his friend's flippancy, "What could have possibly possessed you to--"
"Look, look, look, guys," he said, motioning with his hands calmly, "It's only for 48 hours, and then everything's back to normal. Think of it as an experiment. You like experiments, Bentley." Bentley grumbled, but didn't reply. Sly looked over at Murray, "And we can think of it as more of an adventure, right?"
Murray, who had remained silent throughout, crossed his arms and shook his head, "I don't know, Sly. I mean, she's great at the whole kicking butt thing – usually ours – but I don't know if she'll fit in!"
Up at the front of the van, through the driver's side window, popped Carmelita's head. Hanging upside down off the roof, her long dark hair making a small waterfall behind her, she said, "Hey guys, you almost done?" She paused, scanning the inside while still inverted. "Nice job upgrading! And the paint job on the outside is great! Awesome job, Murray!" And the head abruptly popped back out again.
There was a pause inside the van as everyone absorbed what had just happened. Murray was the first to speak up, "She's totally in!"
Sly let out a whoop, then turned to Bentley.
The turtle grumbled and shifted in his chair. Taking on an 'experiment' that might turn around and arrest them all any moment wasn't exactly appealing, but it didn't look like they had much choice in the matter. Now that she was 'programmed,' as Sly put it, the Cooper Gang was stuck with a fourth member. "Alright," he muttered darkly, "though I hardly condone this atrocity."
Sly slapped Bentley on the back, knocking his glasses halfway down his nose, "I knew you would see it my way!" He jumped up and started for the doors, "Now it's time to take Carmelita out and show her a few tricks of the trade."
"What!"
Sly stopped and looked back, "Well, what good is having Carmelita think she's a thief if she doesn't really know how the thieve?" he pointed out.
"Whatever possessed you to do this, Sly?" Bentley asked again with a groan.
Sly grinned from ear to ear, "'Cause I thought it would be fun!" He ducked out of the van before Bentley could raise any more objections.
Murray leaned out and called after him, "There are only a few hours till dawn, Sly, so keep it short!"
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PT was pleased. Almost as soon as the cops knew where Sly and his gang were, he knew where they were. His inside sources had proved reliable and efficient. And that the vixen Inspector had left for Vegas only two flights ahead of him. Keeping to form, she hadn't taken any partners or Interpol backup with her, but would be depending on the local police to provide any extra muscle. That would be just fine. PT had nearly filled the plane with people under his employ. He could take on Sly, his gang, and anything the Interpol woman could throw at him. He would smash through them all and find that computer.
The plane shook as they hit a strong crosswind. There were only a few furtive looks from alarmed passengers; his people were used to planes. PT was, of course, riding first class, and so were many of his higher ranking associates. No one was sitting directly next to him, but just behind him were the three men who made up the first level of his hired muscle. His 'generals' so to speak. All heavyset, all with permanent scowls scrunching their features, and all ruthless in their methods. In the seats closest to the windows sat his advisors, who only advised when they felt PT was in a mood to listen. The rest of the plane, or nearly, was filled with what Carmelita would consider thugs and lowlifes. Brute force came cheap, but PT believed that with the proper hierarchy set in place, even cheap hooligans could be an effective fighting force. It all depended on how things were organized and who was doing the organizing.
The pilot of the plane announced their immanent decent into a stop-over port. This would be the last one before they reached Vegas. PT grinned and took a sip of the coffee he had brought with him, (the idea of drinking an airline's coffee made him shudder). It was going to be a fun time in Las Vegas with his family of crooks.