Chapter Six

When they returned to the ranch house, the robbers agreed to a reprieve of two hours. It was enough of an interval to collect themselves, to put on their gear, and to ensure reduced civilian distraction. Diplomacy had fallen apart like the lady thief's leather catsuit. Unabashed warfare remained the sole viable option. Within two hours, they'd launch out onto the field full force. And those two hours were almost up.

The side of her mouth twitching in annoyance, Alice examined the hole in her previous outfit. She held it up to the light then passed her hand through the wide, open tear. An utter waste! She threw the damaged costume into the trash as vile, ugly thoughts coalesced in her brain. She couldn't very well be sure if the Pruitt brat had caused her last bout of indignity, but she felt the irresistible urge to strangle the pest nonetheless. Someone had to take the fall for making her look like a dipstick in public, for making her inadequacies visible to herself if only for a short while.

Now, mere minutes before the siege, the woman had finished washing the gunk off her face and brushing her hair back into place. Despite having had a pine cone shoved up her ass, despite having been dragged across soil and slush, and despite having had her panties exposed in public, she recovered from each of those encounters with little more than a slight limp and a glowing red tush. Alice retained her killer looks, her sexy figure. The prospect of permanently losing any of those prized qualities didn't occur to her. Indeed, she imagined that the boy had already done his juvenile worst, that he'd run out of tricks. Just as well, she had a few tricks up her own sleeve. Knife, taser, pistol, ammunition – she made a mental note of each handsome instrument lovingly designed for maximum overkill.

This time, prepped for the final battle, she wore two layers of clothing. The first layer consisted of a pair of cream-colored thermal underwear bottoms, a white turtleneck sweater, and woolen socks to keep warm with in the midst of the blizzard. On top of that, the second layer was comprised of a pair of grey, knee-high ugg boots and a white one-piece snowmobile suit that emphasized her ass, following seamlessly the curvature of her buttocks while inflating it to appear twice as large, twice as fluffy. She completed the outfit with her utility belt, mittens, and a cap fit for the winter season. In spite of all the cushioning, she still managed to convey a high degree of femininity. Each enticing step she took made the fabric tighten around her legs, made the fabric strain against her butt with its attractive and blatantly visible crack. It hinted at the shapely flesh underneath. She could've driven any man or woman wild with desire.

Satisfied, Alice went down to the kitchen where Beaupre waited. The older man reclined by the sink, staring up at the sky. The snow outside fell harder. He'd clearly just eaten a pack of salted crackers and was about to sneak another into his pocket when Alice filched the snack from his hand. She laid it on the counter with a flourish.

"No food on the mission," she scolded coolly. "You wouldn't break protocol now, would you?"

Beaupre drew a deep breath then exhaled. "It's about time we go."

Both thieves exited the ranch house. Unger and Jernigan had gone on ahead. Alice adjusted the frequency on her wrist communicator then whispered into it. "We are on our way. What is your status?"

Unger's rough voice broke through the static. "Everything's peachy. I've cut the phone lines and Jernigan here has blocked the main road. No cops. We're moving in on that shit."

"We'll see you inside then."

"Heh. Good luck on that. This kid's got the place locked up pretty darn good. You better watch out."

"What do you mean, Mr. Unger?"

Unger laughed sarcastically. "High voltage! Danger! Danger! Little prick's built himself a make-shift electric fence. Really cute, too. Some home defense system! Probably doesn't even work."

"Don't be too shocked. It's easy to forget how extraordinarily foolish children can be. Over and out."

[…]

Holed up in his attic, home alone, Alex Pruitt scrutinized the improvised video security system he'd built the night before. A bunch of old televisions lay on top of each other in an evenly spread stack, and each monitor displayed visual feedbacks from 8mm cameras strategically hidden throughout the house. All of them were set to record the day's events for evidence and for posterity.

The boy smiled. On one screen, a familiar van parked outside his house by the east side. Two men wearing white camouflage snowsuits with ammunition belts stepped out onto the pavement. Alex flipped through a thick booklet on his left; it was entitled World's Most Wanted – a compendium of the most dangerous criminals to have ever disgraced the planet with their presence. He easily found their entries, and recognized them as the same two men from the chase.

The man with the pony-tail and a week's worth of stubble was logged in the book as Earl Unger, a mean mercenary who'd served as a hired gun for dictators across the globe, last spotted somewhere in Latin America, now here in a quiet Chicago suburb. Next to him, the clean-shaven man with the thousand-mile stare went by the name of Burton Jernigan, also known online as "the Eel", a lawless hacker specializing in the theft and sale of corporate, state, and military secrets. The reward money for their arrest totaled in the millions. Yet, simply observing them minus their disguises, Alex knew that they weren't to be taken lightly. He reasoned, though, that he could still win if these scary adults under-estimated him. Guerrilla tactics were the key. And he was glad to see the terrible duo split up so early. Unger traveled to the front door on the west side of the house, while Jernigan stayed on the east end.

At that moment, Alex could see Unger pause in front of his improvised electric fence, a deceptive trap which seemed like a harmless web of yarn near a warning sign. The pony-tailed mercenary chortled then stooped over to snip it with wire cutters. As soon as the metallic surface touched the copper concealed inside the strings, however, blue sparks flew. The man was promptly electrocuted. His pony-tail burst asunder as the current coursed through his dark, frayed locks. Smoke emanated from him. The cartridges around his waist exploded, and the bozo was sent spiraling backwards, alive but temporarily paralyzed.

The kid snickered.

He directed his sights on the other crook, watching as Jernigan ambled across the lawn at a leisurely pace. The hacker was clearly clueless as to the traps scattered therein. A conveniently placed wrought-iron chair hooked up to a car battery was enough to dispatch him. It set the seat of his pants aflame and fried his own ammo belt. The poor techie went diving into the snow, desperately trying to extinguish the fire.

The combined antics of these dorks amused Alex. He'd never had so much fun before in his life. Still, he wondered where the other two burglars might be.

He went over by the window and peeked into his telescope. There they were! The big butt lady and the man in black were walking up the street, the woman clinging onto the man's arm, acting all lovey-dovey. If he didn't know better, he'd have mistaken them for a newly-wed couple. Alex saw through their façade, however. The lady's bulky lesbian jumpsuit was a dead giveaway to her true orientation.

He flipped through the guidebook again.

He had a nagging suspicion that he'd seen the man in black before; now that Alex had a clearer image of his face, there was no mistaking it – he was the same guy whose mug adorned the cover of the book!

The boy gasped. The man's real name was unknown, but he'd gone by the assumed names of Aleksandr Krupsky, Edward Teller, Viktor Zhukov, and Jean Lefleur. Alex had overheard the other scoundrels calling him Beaupre, and guessed that it was merely an alias too. Nonetheless, what he read sounded closer to rumor than fact. FBI Reports claimed that the man was once a KGB spy, that he'd retained these contacts long after the dissolution of the Soviet Union to commit crimes on an international scale, all without once having been caught. Yikes!

Surely, the big butt lady was not to be outdone by her partner. Despite being a relative newcomer with a criminal career spanning less than a decade, Alice Ribbons was well on her way to becoming the most infamous and most prolific female thief in recent history, a real-life Catwoman as the newspapers dubbed her. What she lacked in years, she compensated for in sheer tenacity. She'd participated in over a hundred prominent heists, pilfering jewelry, cash, artifacts, statues, paintings, and anything else of astonishingly high value. She'd never been successfully convicted and her criminal record was as clean as a toddler's rap sheet. Still, police agencies across the globe were onto her. The testimonials of the countless felons she'd betrayed to save her own skin guaranteed that much.

Alex shivered. Compared to the first two clowns, Alice and Beaupre were in the big leagues. Yet, where were they off to? Why weren't they attempting to enter the house? He swiveled his telescope to where the pair was headed, and the answer immediately disheartened him, for it was Mrs Hess!

[…]

Alice felt genuinely delighted to see Mrs Hess. The incident at the airport which instigated this week-long farce remained fresh in her memory. Brimming with hatred, she yearned to payback the old crone for "sabotaging" her mission. This was her chance. She glanced up at Beaupre and, as her breathtaking baby blues met his faded green eyes, she understood that he thought the same.

"How fortunate. Look who woke up from her nap," Beaupre stated sardonically.

Alice's soft red lips formed a sadistic grin. "Shall we go say hello?"

"Definitely. Although… a minor performance is in order."

That was the signal. Leaning close to Beaupre's shoulder in a false show of affection, the lady thief wrapped herself around the older man's arm and forced her mouth into a wide, ditzy smile. Like fine pearls, her brilliant teeth gleamed in the sun's rays. She had to make a good first impression in order to win her target's trust, to lure in her prey. Only then could she strike. Zero witnesses, zero nuisances. She'd been waiting a long, long time for this. Next to the brat, this Mrs Hess proved the most bothersome, most infuriating, most loathsome insect Alice had thus far encountered. Her heart beat rose in excitement. The pair approached the old woman.

"Good afternoon!" Alice chimed in sing-song fashion, sounding as if the most sickeningly saccharine of upper-middle class housewives. "My husband and I have just moved into the neighborhood."

Mrs Hess glared at her as though Alice were crazy. "Well, what do you want? A Willkie button?"

The lady thief stopped in her tracks. Her cheerful countenance gradually yielded to an irked grimace. She trembled, anger rising short of boiling point. How dare this bitch! Alice didn't expect to be so blatantly disrespected, especially not by some sour hag!

Beaupre quickly noticed the change in his female colleague's demeanor. Judging from the crushing grip which threatened to shred the sleeve off his coat, he deemed it necessary to control the uneasy situation. He stepped forward. "Let me explain. We were supposed to have an important package delivered to us, ma'am. But apparently the driver got confused. We thought maybe he brought the package here, since you share the same address on Washington as we have on Jefferson Street."

"Nobody brought anything here," Mrs Hess muttered.

"We checked with the delivery company," Beaupre insisted. "They told us no one was home so the driver left it in the garage."

The old lady shook her head. "Not my garage!"

"Please," Alice intervened, checking her temper, putting on a stereotypically pleading tone. "My husband here is an entomologist. The package contains several thousand parasitic worms from Latin America. They carry many dreadful diseases. Some incurable. It's very important that we find it."

Mrs Hess wavered at the mention of worms and diseases. She stood in thought for half a minute then spoke. "Fine! Fine! Fine! Come take a look. I doubt you'll find anything though."

"Wonderful," Beaupre exclaimed. Those were the exact words he wanted to hear. "Allow me to leave you girls to it. I'll be right back with the car." Yet, of course, there was no car and no package either. The man in black, an ominous silhouette against the clean, postcard-perfect backdrop, strode towards the Pruitt house. Whatever the case, his partner would take care of Mrs Hess. He almost felt obligated to send a wreath to the ensuing funeral. Almost.

Gently, very sweetly, Alice took the old lady by the arm as if to help her up the driveway. "Of all the people in the world, I have to marry a man who's interested in endoparasitic invertebrates," she commented with a wistful sigh. She derived a devious pleasure from this kind of banter – the same sort of joy an arachnid might experience from lulling its quarry into a false sense of security prior to an ambush. "My mother asked why it couldn't have been a nice lawyer or an engineer." The whole process whetted her appetite. "Oh, but attraction works in mysterious ways." She was going to eat her hapless victim alive.

When they reached the garage, Alice lingered by the entrance while Mrs Hess scanned a few dusty boxes for the so-called package. The old lady had her back turned to the voluptuous, young woman. A short distance lay between them. The anticipation was too much to bear. And the cat burglar pounced. With a flick of the switch, the shutters came down, reverberating like prison bars upon touching bottom.

Perplexed, Mrs Hess spun around in the semi-darkness. She locked her questioning stare on the woman in white. "What are you doing? Why did you close the door?"

Resting a hand on her cocked hip, an evil twinkle in her eye, Alice dropped the cutesy act. She calmly pulled out a modified Ruger MK-II pistol from a hidden compartment inside her snowsuit and aimed the weapon at the old lady's chest. "I left my heart in San Francisco," she purred. Mrs Hess froze.

The beautiful villainess could taste the fear in the musty air. She savored it and licked her lips. She ran her gaze over her hostage's elderly frame, noting the cold sweat developing on the senior citizen's furrowed brow, the terror enclosed in little but a thin sweater and a house dress – details which furnished her with a wicked idea. Using the barrel of her pistol, she gestured at a lawn chair. "I want you to sit over there. Make a noise and I'll make a louder one with this gun. That's it. Good."

Mrs Hess obeyed, too frightened to put up any resistance.

The lady thief gloried in the power. It intoxicated her. She didn't care if she was dealing with a stupid kid or a senior citizen; what mattered to her was the thrill of dominating another human being, the thrill of holding somebody else's life in the balance. She was addicted to pain, her own excluded. She knew this made her a naughty girl, a very bad girl. Yet, she unapologetically reveled in the fact, making no secret of it to anyone, least of all to herself.

She took out a large roll of surgical tape from her utility belt and dangled it in front of Mrs Hess. Tearing sounds soon echoed within the sealed room. In an instant, she slapped a strip across the old woman's mouth. Such violence warmed her soul, stimulated the vixen's moistening pussy. The rest of the cruel play proceeded painfully slow. Alice bound her victim's limbs to the arms and legs of the chair, committing each careful motion to memory. She did the wrists first, then kneeled down to do the ankles. All the while, her snowsuit rode up her ass and her slit, teasing those most sensitive parts of her body. It was pure, unadulterated ecstasy. She couldn't help but taunt her prey some more. She leaned forward, her face mere inches away from Mrs Hess's tortured visage.

With unflinching eye contact, she addressed the purported saboteur in a sultry whisper. "Here's a thought for you to consider in your next life…. At airport security, always make sure you have the right package."

The old lady's pupils widened. She got the message; Alice unfailingly detected this and beamed.

"Funny isn't it? Your fate tied to a toy car. It's so… absurd. But, that's not all." Alice straightened herself. She encircled her hostage until she stood behind her, stopping to apply more tape round Mrs Hess's torso. "I certainly hope you're not… fond of that little boy across the street." This remark got a slightly more interesting reaction. The old lady gawked at her captor, began finally to fight her restraints. The meaningless effort, though, simply entertained the lady thief. She digested the sight, practically on the verge of orgasm, elated by the picture of another person's exquisite and spectacularly delicious suffering.

There were, however, bigger fish to fry. The appetizer tickled her fancy, but she couldn't postpone the main course any longer. At that, Alice unplugged the internal heating system. She kissed the old woman on the forehead – a parting gift, a kiss of impending death – then waltzed out the rear exit, giggling, turning back only to admire her handiwork.

"I'll leave this open, sweetie," she said, her foot on the doorstop. "The fresh air will be good for you."

[…]

Alex had to admit it; he was genuinely impressed. The robbers were learning fast, perhaps a tad too fast for his liking.

It was thirty minutes into the assault.

After he recovered from the jolt, Unger made the rather intelligent decision of leaping over the electric fence. Consequently, he discovered the extension cord, ripped it from its socket, and demolished the web of string and copper wires. The mercenary didn't stop there, though. Suspecting another snare, he kicked the welcome mat into the gutter, thus exposing the marbles concealed below.

Not bad, Alex thought.

Before long, Unger was joined by Beaupre. The two conversed awhile, shaking their heads, gesticulating at the fallen vestiges of the dismantled traps. Alex watched in suspense. The man in black pointed at the roof, no doubt having located the barbells the kid had placed up there that morning. Immediately, the two men moved aside, out of range. Anyway, the barbells were tied to the front door via fishing line. To cross the threshold, one would first have to trigger the release mechanism, thus causing the weights to drop – completely avoidable if one knew where to stand.

Alex frowned. That was one of his favorite tricks too! He couldn't let it go to waste. And though he promised himself he'd let the traps do all the work, special measures were required. Those bad guys demanded it. The boy nonchalantly fetched a pair of scissors then clipped the contingency cables. Without warning, all the traps in that single vicinity were automatically deployed. Cherry bombs on the left and right of the villains detonated, pushing them into the center of the porch. The window above them suddenly shattered into a million pieces as an old steamer trunk burst through the glass at fearsome speed. It plummeted down upon the pair, ruptured upon contact, raining its fill of hard-bound encyclopedias everywhere. Soon, Beaupre and Unger lay sprawled on the ground. Within seconds, the barbells subsequently followed. It was a photo finish, nothing else like it, and all captured direct-to-video.

[…]

She was happy to be rid of the hag. Alice had almost forgotten what it was like to be at the very top of the food chain, had almost forgotten how utterly exhilarating it felt. Her glee gave way to irritation, however, as she advanced towards the Pruitt house. Two familiar bodies greeted her, moaning like sick patients, surrounded by books. Somehow, the lady thief didn't think it at all surprising. She simply pursed her lips, rolled her eyes, and approached her cohorts. It was truly so predictable of men, she believed, so typical for them to screw up, to think with their muscles instead of their wits.

"You got hit with a book?" she prodded, her tone as acerbic as ever.

Unger sat up, holding a handful of snow to his head. "Books," he corrected. "Plural. A trunk full of books. Plus a set of weights. We got hit twice, you dumb broad."

Alice crossed her arms. "Excuse me, Mr Unger. But I didn't get taken down by an infant."

"Enough!" Beaupre interjected, visibly exhausted. "We didn't anticipate the defense the boy would mount. He's clever. We're going to have to presume we're on equal ground with him, adapt our plan accordingly."

"Let's just burn the fucking house," Unger whined.

"We'll lose the chip, moron," Alice retorted.

"Cram it, spiteful witch. What do you say, Beaupre? I'll grab a torch. We can roast marshmallows."

The man in black massaged his temples. "May we continue, please? I assume Mr Jernigan is somewhere in the east. I'll go in the front. Mr Unger, you take the north side. Alice, you take the south. Remember, the entire house is booby-trapped. Be on your guard."

The very image of the burly mercenary nodding in grim assent was too much for her.

Alice stalked off in silence. The lady thief couldn't believe how willing these buffoons were to take that craven ignoramus of a brat so seriously. She thought it laughable. Traps? What nonsense. How could they worry about a child's harmless pranks? So much for being grown men! They descended even lower in her estimation.

She traversed the side alley, trudging through the snow to the southern entrance. Chin up, arms swaying like a plastic legionnaire's, nary the tiniest hint of hesitation in her brisk, purposive steps, she abandoned caution to the wind. The wooden gate barely registered to her. She firmly grasped the handle and, pushing against it, fully expected to be past this trivial obstacle. "Ooomph!" The gate, though, refused to budge. The woman pushed again with added ferocity. "Huroomph! Oomph! Grrrrr…." Yet, that too garnered the same results. Alice wasn't in the mood for games. In her mind, the accursed rugrat had merely delayed the inevitable by locking the door; he couldn't halt her. She had ambitions – women, power, cash, jewelry, a French villa – and she was sticking to them. Frustrated, she removed her mittens and reached over the gate, fumbling after the latch in order to open it from behind.

Unfortunately, in her hurry, the classy cat burglar failed to perceive the bucket of sheet flooring adhesive hanging there. Splat! Her hand abruptly plunged into the sticky pale substance!

Confusion seized her. Alice couldn't process what exactly she was clutching, couldn't fathom this moist, gelatinous mass which now engulfed her fist, caressing her delicate skin, oozing into the spaces between her fingers, fastening tight. She had to do a double take. "Glue?!" She sneered. It was unbelievable! Scrunching her face in unparalleled disgust, the villainous vixen tried to withdraw, to wrench herself free. She dug her heels into the ground, twisted her wrists, thrashed about, pulled and pulled. Still, the adhesive wouldn't release. Rather, it stretched like a nauseating rope of snot, tethering her dainty, well-manicured hand to the insides of the container.

"Oooooh! Nice try, kid…. Urgh! But you'll need a lot more than this to save yourself!"

She stomped backwards, wincing as progress grew increasingly difficult. By then, the elongated coil of adhesive had lengthened into a six foot python. "One more," she told herself, "just one more!" Alice lifted her foot and vigorously rammed it down. This did the trick. The bucket was dislodged from its residence. It sailed across the air and – before she could react – crashed into her sumptuous breasts with sufficient impact to knock her off her feet. "Oooofphhh!"

The femme fatale plummeted upon her ass, found that she could hardly breathe on account of her aching tits. To make matters worse, she'd been doused in a gallon of goop! The wretchedly viscous liquid coated her gorgeous face along with the whole of her torso. On both her arms, it hung suspended in thick, rubbery strands, sinking then rising then spilling onto the snowy earth in an uneven rhythm. She sputtered and gagged. The pungent stench of solvent flooded her nostrils. In a wild panic, she rushed to wipe the mess off with her gummed up hands, but these motions served only to further spread the glue.

Alice wanted to scream. Yet, no sound emerged, except for an inhuman gurgle.