(A/N: Hey, sorry that this one's a litle shorter than the others. I got stuck after the end. Couldn't think of a better ending. Oh, and another note, I won't be giving sneak peeks anymore (dodges thrown tomato) because if I give anything else away, I won't have to tell the story. ( get's hit by another tomato) But I will update more often, I can promise that!)
Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous
Tampico, Mexico
5:07 am
As the police hauled the unconscious forms of Murray, Sly, Julio, and Mikhail to the vans, they forgot to take special notice for where the prisoners' guns were. Not far away from the commotion of the prisoners and casualties being loaded up, an intact crate sat on the docks next to the ship, splattered with blood and covered with ashes. The police, however, gave it no mind, and simply removed the fugitives, anxious to call in the chief about the double agent, Sly Cooper, as well as capturing two-thirds of the McCoy Gang. In the squad leader's mind, he was already counting Marty as a fatality, the others as escapees, and envisioning the medal that would undoubtedly be awaiting him back at the station.
Two squad vans, one to transport the prisoners, the other to transport the officers, were being loaded up when one officer, the coyote who'd started the shootout (and gotten a bullet piercing his ear for it), had looked back at the dock to see something peculiar. It seemed to be a black hand clutching the boards from below. He leaned forward, squinting. But then, it was gone, and had he been listening carefully, which is hard to do after being in a shootout without earplugs, he would've heard a faint splash. But instead, he simply shrugged, disregarding it as a figment of his imagination and climbing up into the van where his companions were calling to him. The door shut behind him, and the van took off for Mexico City, HQ of the Mexican Interpol branch. The other van followed it, backfiring with a loud bang.
A minute passed.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Finally, the officer who'd been left behind to watch for re-enforcements hiding on the ship leapt down from his perch. The vulture straightened his cap and uniform, then set off for the train station, rifle slung over his shoulder.
Five more minutes passed.
A paper blew past on a breeze that stirred the humid fog. A pelican flew past, eyes scanning the water for leaping fish.
Finally, when all seemed quiet as the grave, the crate blew up. Well, actually, more like disappeared in a cloud of dust. In its place stood a little old koala, his arms holding a bundle of guns and a walking staff. Slowly, the Guru set down each pistol, making sure it didn't fall through the cracks in the boards. Dimitri's Luger was placed down first. Then Sly's automatic, Carmelita's Sig Sauer, dropped on the run due to being empty, Julio's Buntline, and Mikhail's twin silenced Glocks. The Guru had gathered all these up in the chaos, then hidden, knowing it would be these weapons of today, not ancient magic, that would save the rest of the gang now.
A noise under the dock prompted the Guru to turn around, suspiciously, then peer curiously over the edge. In the water, clinging to the ship's anchor chain, was Caroline, Penelope, and Carmelita. Dimitri, still out, was hanging by the collar of his jacket from the anchor chain, a burn mark on his tail where the shock bolt had hit. Bentley had already been brought around, and was hanging onto his now ruined wheelchair, looking like he would burst into tears any minute. The chair was no longer fit for combat use, but certain functions of it were still on-line, such as the buoyancy system, recently installed, never tested. It was supposed to shoot out rubber pontoons from the sides, but only one had been deployed, and was still a little flat. The other had been pierced by one of Mikhail's ricocheting bullet's.
Everyone looked in pretty good shape. Nothing but a few cuts and bruises.
And then the Guru looked at Marty. The horse's still form was slumped over what was left of one of the ammunition crates, and was being held by Caroline. To put it simply, Marty looked like hell. Numerous burn marks covered his chest, the shock bolts had reduced his shirt to shreds, his hat was gone, his pants and coat of hair matted with blood, two fingers on his right hand missing. But the thing that made Marty REALLY look like he'd gone to hell and back, and then gone in again, was what made the Guru sick to his stomach; Marty's right foot was gone.
No, screw that, half his lower leg was gone.
A bit of bone poked out of the blackened, burned flesh where the electricity that had coursed through him had decided to make its exit. Blood kept pouring, non-stop, despite the cloth Caroline had wrapped around the stump, which technically only covered half of it.
The Guru made a noise of alarm, and everyone looked up at the koala, first panic, then relief written over all their faces.
Except Caroline.
She didn't even look up at Guru. She just kept staring at Marty. The same thought kept running through her mind; He'd known how potent a Shock Pistol was, and a Shock Rifle was even more powerful. Yet, he'd gone ahead and risked his life to warn them. And now he was dying, blood spewing from a missing leg and two fingers.
She felt a tugging on her shoulder and turned into the sympathetic face of Carmelita.
"Hey, c'mon kid, we've gotta get moving. The cops could be back anytime, or Muggshot could send his goons to pick us up."
Caroline nodded slowly, not really hearing her. She looked back at Marty, whose shoulder she was still clutching. After about another minute, Carmelita tugged on her shoulder again, and this time, she followed, pulling the equine through the water, all the while turning her mind to a new thought; this strange connection to Marty McCoy. As Carmelita and Penelope helped her haul the muscular horse up the ship's gangway, she came to a startling, and slightly disturbing, conclusion.
In the short time they'd known each other, Marty McCoy, despite being a wanted killer on the vengeance trail, had saved her life twice now. He'd stuck up for her every time someone, Bentley, Julio, anyone, had questioned her being with them. His mind was determined, intelligent, and deadly. His hands could take apart, clean, reassemble, load, and fire any weapon in about ten minutes, and he would hit the target, whether it was moving or not. She'd seen him practice in the new gun range in the Hazard Room of the Cooper Gang Paris Safe house. True, whoe wouldn't deny she had taken every opportunity she could get to sneak a look at him, his rugged face, his stubbled jaw, his cold, searching eyes. He didn't even need gel to keep his hair up like that, and he was constantly sweating, enough to lay his hair flat. Must've been a hereditary thing. She'd also watched Marty go at it with a punching bag. His hits kept getting harder and harder, until finally he knocked the damn thing clean off the chains fastening it to ceiling and floor. The bag had then bounced off the wall and fallen with a wump. After that, he had simply stooped over, picked the bag up with one hand, and reattached the chain with the other, then moved on to the treadmill. Yes, he was certainly a force to behold. Even without a Kevlar vest, he took bullets with only a grunt from the impact, then pulled the bullets out later with his own hand and treat the wounds all by himself. He'd said he'd only had training in medical school for about half a year, but he must've learned a lot in that time. Of course, learning surgery on your own could prove very handy after a gunfight.
All these things, courage, respect to others, loyalty to his parents and friends, determination, strength, intelligence, and ruggedness were all the very essence of Marty. None made itself more clear than the other. In every man she'd ever met, she'd saw one of these elements portray itself strongly, and only faint glimmers of the others. Marty was like a mixing pot, set on full spin. You couldn't pull one piece of his soul apart from the other and say it was stronger.
To sum it up, it was, at that moment, standing alone on the fog-covered docks, that Caroline realized why she was thinking these things about Marty, a younger man she had met only a little over two weeks ago. Miraculously, even though she despised men in general…
She was in love with him.
(Ba-ba-ba-bummmmmm!)