Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous
Paris, France
6:14 am
5 minutes after the end of the previous chapter
Everyone was in the hazard room, even Dimitri, who, with Marty and Murray's help, was transported downstairs, if you can call 'transported' involving a lot of jostling and bumping. This also happened in the small crowd surrounding the door. Bentley, Penelope, and Julio were setting up a low level laser barrier underneath the platform that the match would be held on. There was a smaller, slightly higher platform next to it that everyone else would be watching from.
As Murray and Marty eased Dimitri onto a seat on the platform, eagerness shone on both of their faces. It also showed in various ways from the spectators. Julio was enthusiastic, Sly was self-assured that Murray couldn't lose, Mikhail was bored, Guru was shouting some quick nonsense to Murray, and Bentley and Penelope were running quick tests on a laptop, calculating the odds.
Finally, as Murray and Marty hauled themselves onto the ring and everyone else clambered onto the spectator platform, Bentley, Penelope and Julio engaged the barrier, and a blood red electric layer began pulsing beneath the two platforms. Marty pulled his gear on, his face expressionless, his eyes on Murray, who was grinning from ear to ear, already in the boxing gloves and dancing on his feet, eager to move.
As soon as the horse finished, Bentley said "Alright you two, first one down for ten seconds is the loser. Make this as fair a fight as you can and try not to kill each other. I don't want to have to call a morgue."
It was a bit of black humor.
On a fast note, Sly turned and said "No 'color commentary' this time Dimitri."
The lizard slumped in his seat and winced, muttering something in which the words "Rooty-poot, two-bit, cracker box" were distinguishable amid the rest of his sentence, which was slurred.
Bentley rang the bell, and the fight started!
Or, at least, the match started. Murray had dug in, waiting for Marty to come rushing at him, ready to defend. Instead, however, Marty simply stood there, watching him. Cautiously, Murray took a few steps forward, fists raised, and that's when Marty struck. With lightening speed, he sunk his fist into Murray's gullet, causing the hippo to reflexively bend over, and Marty kneed him in the chest, bringing a fist down on his broad back at the same time. Murray staggered away, drawing breath, putting his fists back up.
'Damn! That hurt! I don't even know what the hell he did to me, he was moving so fast!'
Marty, thinking quickly about what the hippo might do, put his fists close together up near his head, shifting weight from one foot to the other.
This action did not go unnoticed by Murray, who thought, with glee, 'Ah, HA! He's expecting an uppercut, or a jab to the face. Hmm, knowing guys like him, he's probably setting me up, trying to get me to strike at his stomach. Well, who am I to deny him that?'
Murray grinned, then took a swipe at the horse's exposed torso, cutting it short a foot before impact, and jerking his fist upward, connecting with Marty's jaw. This caught the muscle-bound equine off-guard, and he stumbled back, then staggered as Murray tackled him around the middle. Throwing the hippo off, Marty quickly scrambled up, wiping some blood off his chin as he looked at the hippo with slight admiration in his eyes. He pulled off his gloves and dove forward at the exact same moment that Murray did, their hands meeting in midair, their faces only inches away from each other as they locked into a power struggle. Whoever made the slightest tip of the scales would have the upper hand. Both Murray and Marty wore smirks as the sweat poured off their faces, soaking their shirts as each pushed harder, trying to make some slight change. The rest of the two gangs watched with baited breath, Mikhail even cocked an eyebrow, a curious expression on his face. Having all their attention focused on the two muscle-bound men in front of them, all were oblivious to what was going on anywhere else.
Meanwhile, upstairs…
Ever notice how dark true blackness is? It's like the old expression, concerning not seeing your hand in front of your face. Well, multiply that by ten, maybe even fifty, and you'd be somewhere on the right track. Carmelita Fox was two miles down that track as she started to come around. The first thing she became aware of was the pain that seemed to come from every part of her body. She experimentally tried to wiggle her fingers and toes. Instantly, lightening-quick pain shot through three of her limbs as they gave only a feeble movement response. She groaned lightly, clenching her teeth, which sped up the dull throb in her sore jaw.
'Well, at least I got my gun hand to work with.'
She intended to lift her arm to examine it and find out the damage, when she realized she was bound to the bed she was on.
"Madre y Dios," she said under her breath.
Obviously, her captors had healed her to a degree, then bound her so she couldn't arrest them. What would they do next? She decided she would find out eventually. She'd play the chameleon game, making them think she was still out while she was really awake and hopefully find out their plans.
Mexico City
7:23 am
The door was thrown open, and Muggshot stormed into his penthouse, recently reconstructed to fit his style and size.
"WHY!" he thundered to no one in particular. "WHY CAN'T I GET RID OF THAT STICK-PACKING RAT'S GANG!"
He snarled, then pulled his machine guns off his back, turned, and started blasting cardboard cutouts of the Cooper Gang. Sly's head was already gone, and Bentley's belly had a large hole in it, but he hadn't done much of anything to the others. Now, however, he focused his fire on Dimitri's cutout, blasting the image of the lizard from head to toe. Once his anger had subsided slightly, and his guns smoking from overheating, he strapped the firearms across his back. Muggshot had always made his own guns, but they always had one potential weakness; they were extremely vulnerable to heat. If he fired for too long, or there was a large and powerful heat source nearby, his guns would instantly jam. The more delicate parts would met slightly, rendering the weapons useless. It only took a few seconds for the guns to cool down, but he knew that as long as that flaw was still there, he had a weakness.
Muggshot rolled over to his large armchair and plopped down into it, thinking, which was something he didn't do often. Now that their lizard friend was riddled with bullets, the rest of the gang was sure to come after him. Well, he'd have a surprise or twofor them. He slammed his hand down on a button, a buzzer sounded elsewhere, and the doors flew open again as a Doberman Pincher, carrying a Tommy gun, rushed into the room, dressed in a blue suit and smoking a cigar.
A blue fedora sat perched on his head as he drew himself up to full height and said "Boss?"
Muggshot smirked. This town would do anything for him, and through the Doberman, he intended to use full benefit of that.
"Vinny, I've heard a rumor that the Cooper Gang will be intending to pay me a visit. Double the patrols, and shorten the business hours to 9am-5pm instead of 6am-1pm. Oh, and Vinny?"
"Yes, boss?"
"After business hours, all visitors, and I mean ALL visitors, are to be greeted with a HAIL OF LEAD!"
He roared the last part, and Vinny started scurrying out of the room, closing the door behind him. Muggshot waited for a few seconds, then pulled out a cell phone and started dialing. Before he did, however, he studied himself. There was an eight pointed star shaped scar on his cheek, where that cop hag had fired her first and last shots when she busted him back in Holland. Trading his pilot's cap for a cowboy hat, he'd changed a few other things as well. The pilots' jacket he kept, and underneath he wore a muscle shirt that was tight over his chest. He knew, or at least thought, that girls loved to see his pecs, so he showed them off constantly. He'd never liked the pilots' pants, so he'd traded them in for some ordinary blue jeans. To him, nothing was more comforting than a gun, a bucket of beer, and a pair of blue jeans.
Smiling at his tough face, he dialed a number only a few people knew. There was a ring on the other end. Two rings.
On the third ring, the phone was picked up and a voice said "Rodriguez Auto Shop, how can I help you?"
Muggshot rolled his eyes. The idiot hadn't gotten caller ID yet.
"Listen, Roberto, it's me. Now, I have a favor to ask of you."
Roberto Rodriguez was one of the only people in Mexico City where you could get any car outfitted with any kind of weapon, be it gun, bomb, or spiky battering ram.
Immediately, Roberto dropped the act and said "What kind of favor?"
Muggshot grinned to himself and said "Y' know that town that regularly ships to Europe, y' know, Tampico? Well, I'd like an SUV to be delivered to my boys there. They'll know what to do with it. Give it the works."
The Chihuahua on the other end smiled and said "It'll cost you big this time."
Muggshot waved the air, as if Roberto could actually see him, and said "Whatever it takes. Just make sure you're not caught. I may call in for another one for another city. Who knows?"
As Muggshot hung up, a plan began to take root in his mind, and he smiled fiendishly. That rat would either be crawling back to his hole with a smoking ass or…he wouldn't return at all.
Paris, France
6:45 am
Everyone was climbing out of the hazard room, chatting to one another, worked up by the match, which had come out in a tie. Eventually, Marty and Murray had broken out of their power struggle at the same time, smiled, and shook hands. Now, Marty and Murray both came back from outside, where they cooled off by dunking each others' heads in the fountain. It had its fun, but now it was back to business.
Bentley had started setting up his slideshow, hooking up the projector to his laptop, also hooking a cordless mouse to the computer. Once everyone was inside and sitting in chairs around the table the projector was on, Bentley dimmed the lights, then started the slideshow, using his mouse as a stylus to modify the pictures if need be. The first slide showed a picture of Muggshot that had been graciously acquired by the Interpol Mexican HQ.
"Now, we all know that this is Muggshot. We also know he's hiding out in Mexico City. What we don't know is what kind of defenses he's set up for us. Which is exactly why I've decided to proceed with our end of the deal with the McCoy Gang; we take down-I mean-out the Shuker brothers."
The next two slides had pictures of the rats. One of them was dressed in a leather jacket and torn jeans, while the other was wearing a tuxedo and top hat, with a monocle on one eye. Both the brothers had guns, and while Hanz was carrying an Uzi in full view, Lars had a snub-nosed revolver hidden in his sleeve. The next slide showed a butcher shop on the other side of town.
"Now, this weapons racket that's in the upper story of this butcher shop is the primary supplier of Hanz's guns and ammunition. If we take it out, we'll cripple him slightly."
Bentley flicked through three more shops, a fish mart, a jewelry store, and a car dealership; all of which Bentley said had rackets hidden in them.
"If we can take out all the rackets that Hanz controls, he'll start to lose money. If he doesn't have money-"
The next slide showed five or six ducks with machine guns standing in front of Hanz's HQ, an old warehouse nearby.
"-then he can't hire his mercenary goon squads, not only making it so he'll start losing his war with the police, but also so he'll be wide open for an assault. However, if things get too grim for him, he'll flee the country, so we need to stop him before that happens."
The slideshow stopped the lights were turned back on, and Bentley faced the others, saying "Any questions?"
There was silence for a few seconds, then-
"Yeah, when are you going to untie me?"
Everyone turned towards the sound of the voice to see Inspector Carmelita Fox laying there, wide awake and giving Sly a hurt look.