HEART, AND EAR, AND EYE

Job 9: Alekhine's Gun

Murray follows Sly onto the streets, bouncing to the rooftops behind him and always keeping the raccoon in sight. Sly doesn't blame him: every few minutes, Carmelita comes over the binoc-u-com, reminding them to keep an eye on each other and not do anything stupid. He's pretty sure trying to rescue Bentley right now would qualify. But he can't blame Carmelita. And his grip on his cane is so tight, he's surprised the wood hasn't splintered. Nerves. Anger.

He'd trade places with Bentley in a heartbeat, even knowing what went on in that prison of hers. Especially knowing.

So he keeps an eye on Murray, on the streets more often than not, warning him when guard patrols are nearby and making sure both of them stay out of sight, out of mind. The Contessa has Bentley, which means she's on her guard.

When they reach the pawn shop, Sly somersaults to the street and turns to Murray. "Carmelita talked to you just before we left. What's the plan?"

"She gave me all this," he says, holding up a bag of cash. "Said she won it in shooting contests last night, and I'm to use it to buy the jewelry."

Sly nods, then pauses and flips his microphone off for a second. He motions for Murray to do the same. "Are we buying back the same jewelry Bentley sold earlier?"

"Yep," says Murray.

"Does Carmelita know we sold it here earlier?"

"Nope."

"Let's keep it that way." Sly holds out his hand, and Murray gives him a fist-bump. "We're going to get him out."

"Of course!" says Murray. "Now come on. You do the talking; you're better at this."

Sly nods, and they turn to the door of the pawn shop, flipping their earpieces back on. Sly reaches for the door and pulls. Pushes.

Locked.

Sly knocks. Nothing.

Murray knocks. The entire building shakes. There's no response.

Sly groans and pulls out his binoc-u-com. "Carmelita, we may have to do this the hard way."

"You mean breaking and entering?" she asks, sounding irritated.

"Yep," says Sly. He focuses on a window over the door. "I can enter there, then let Murray in. We won't be separated long. Then we can find the owner and get out."

Carmelita mulls it over. "I don't like it... but okay. Though... maybe don't find the owner. He may not take kindly to trespassers. Just find the jewelry, take it, and leave twice the asking price."

"You're joking." Sly can't keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"No, I'm not."

"Carm, pawn shops aren't much better than thieves themselves, they jack the price up through the roof to begin with!"

"We're paying it, Sly," says Carmelita. Her tone leaves no room for arguments. "If we can't be proper citizens, at least we can pay double as an apology for the scare. And leave your microphone on the whole time you're in there; if anything happens, we're breaking down the door."

Sly sighs and puts away his binoc-u-com. "See you in a few," he says to Murray.

Murray grins. "Don't worry," he says, then drops his voice to a whisper. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

"You mind reader," says Sly.

"Totally! The Guru kept trying to teach me, and I've been trying to get that right for months!"

Sly stares at him for a few seconds. "...Right. I'll see you in a few minutes."

With that, Sly climbs up to the window, slides it all the way open, and climbs in. A neat ninja-spire landing gets him on a rafter, which lets him look around before anyone spots him.

This floor of the pawn shop is empty. The neat rows of shelves are bare, except the ones by the door and cash register; dust coats every surface. From his position, he can even see the tell-tale seams of a trapdoor behind the counter, and grimaces. He hasn't seen such an obvious front for illegal activity since he was a teenager.

Still, there's no one here now, and the door is locked by a simple latch. A drop to the floor, a flick of the wrist, and Murray's inside. "Think you can take care of a trap door for me?" asks Sly, nodding behind the counter. "Bet you anything our gems are inside their most hidden safe."

Play switches to Murray. There are many breakables in this shop, but nothing gives more than a coin; dust rises with every step, making Sly—and sometimes Murray—sneeze. When he makes his way to the trapdoor and picks it up, it reveals a steep stairway down.

One steep descent later, and Sly is impressed. "Boy," he says, surveying the room, "this guy just proves that lasers are unnecessary."

No kidding. Between the pressure plates on the floor that'll trigger spikes (very nice, classic, too bad they're as obvious as Dimitri's fashion sense); the floor-to-ceiling iron gates, secured with spinning combination locks, without even enough space for Sly to fit his cane through the bars; the deep, water-filled 'moats' before each gate; there are even swinging axes and other death traps that would make Khamen feel right at home.

Good thing the pawn shop owner is also sloppy. Piles of dirt and stone from his renovations litter the edges of the path; it also doubles back on itself, and in some places the soft earth looks thin enough to tunnel through. Barrels, too sturdy to break but perfect to pick up, lay all over the place; wooden crates are piled haphazardly by the sides of the path. Sly pries one open and glances inside, then does a double-take. He reaches for his binoc-u-com out of habit and says, "Bentley, this guy's got robot parts."

"Bentley's not here," says Carmelita, and wow if that isn't enough to make Sly wince. "Robots? That's not Victorian-era technology."

"But everything else here is," says Sly zooming in on Murray; he reaches inside another box and pulls out a metal egg, over a foot tall and bigger around than either of their heads. "So what's going on?"

Carmelita pauses. "Is this a new pawn shop?"

With a crackle of static, Thaddeus cuts in. "It is not. The owner, a Monsieur Belette, has run it for years. He has been known to grease the palms of those officers who look closely at his operation, and not look closely at where any of his acquisitions come from. Or whom they go to."

Sly grimaces. He knows those kinds of people are useful, even necessary, in a world with cops and thieves in it; in fact, he made great use of a few when he was younger, first selling to them and then following people who used them to steal from. But that doesn't make their job now easy.

"Thaddeus," says Carmelita, "if you've known about him for so long, and you're a detective, then why is he still in business?"

"Because there's always someone taking advantage of selling the underworld's goods, and by knowing who does we can keep him from doing any real harm." Thaddeus sounds almost offended. "Honestly, don't they teach you anything in your future police academy? If you let a few low-lifes go free, you can use them to lead you to the real problems."

Carmelita actually growls.

Sly clears his throat before this can escalate any further. "In any case, that means The Contessa has made this guy her contact in this time period," says Sly. "And since his whole shop is a front, we can assume none of this has been sold. So let's just... leave it."

"Fine." Carmelita's glare could peel paint.

Sly puts his binoc-u-com away and looks at Murray. "Boy, here I'd think knowing Thaddeus was a detective would make things easier."

"What would be the fun in that?" asks Murray.

Sly grins back. "You have a point there, big guy. Okay, let's get to work."

Play for this room swaps between Sly and Murray regularly. Murray stomps to pick up items—barrels, crates, assorted debris—and throws them into the deep, water-filled moats to create platforms he and Sly can use to jump on; he uses his phenomenal punching power to break through the thin wall in places the path doubles back on itself; and he stands on pressure plates to disable floor spikes so Sly can get by them. Sly, in turn, opens every combination lock, climbs the shafts of the swinging axes to disable them from the top, and climbs, crawls, or jumps to find the switches that disable the floor spikes entirely.

At the very end of the long 'death corridor' is an imposing safe. Sly kneels and undoes the combination lock, then eases the door open.

A foot big mechanical owl with glowing red eyes swoops out and straight for Sly's throat. Sly shrieks and dives to the floor on instinct as Murray punches it into oblivion—and the other three that come out of the safe. "You okay, buddy?"

Sly's breathing hard as he gets back up. "That was new," he says. "Thanks."

"No problem." Murray reaches in with one gloved hand and pulls out some jewelry. "This must be it; it's making me dizzy."

"Then let's get out of here." Sly turns around to survey the room they just crossed. "This place gives me the creeps."

JOB COMPLETE

Murray and Sly high-five each other, then start their trudge back out of the pawn death shop.

Available Jobs:

Following The Past