And we are back! Finishing up Venice in this chapter, fun for the whole family! It's a good thing I've already got this story written because I'm so busy I barely have time to put on socks in the morning, much less write. I hope you enjoy!

On with the chapter!

"I actually rather like this job," I said, loosening yet another nut before looking around for guards and jumping down off the rooftop.

"Aw, our little Jinx, all grown up."

"Now, be careful. You're remembering to-"

"Loosen everything just enough so it'll fall apart after I'm well away. Don't worry so much, Bentley, just focus on getting that safe open. Sly, you might want to work on your Italian accent while you're waiting, it's just awful."

"You're-a just-a jealous."

I groaned loudly in protest and kept walking, sticking the wrench I'd been given into my belt, between the baton holster and the binocucom pouch.

My job in this excursion was to go around and loosen the fixtures on the pipes that carried the tar around the city so that, after a certain amount of time, they would come loose. Ideally, that would send guards running towards them and focusing less on the coffee shops Bentley and Sly were canvassing.

I just had one more set of pipes to hit before finding a nice vantage point to watch the carnage. I was thinking of heading above the police station, I needed to practice climbing anyway.

I thought of just how I was going to get up there while I was loosening the last set of pipes, though I was more focused on my task because the pipes were in plain sight.

That done, I headed down the street as casually as possible before turning right and running headlong into what felt like a brick wall.

My head protested violently as I stumbled back and gave it a shake to clear the cobwebs before looking up at what I'd run into.

"Didn't you used to be black?"

I stared blankly, but fortunately, my mouth kept working. I stumbled over my words a few times before finally coming up with, "Temporary dye, one of my friends talked me into trying it. I did, just to make her stop talking about it, but I don't like it too much."

The cougar from earlier was standing in front of me, hands in his pockets. His jogging clothes had been replaced with a pale blue button-down and a pair of black slacks. He looked like he was on his way home from a white-collar job, "White is more your color anyway."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so my mouth kept running, "Cripes, you're tall." And he was, he had to be at least 6'4".

He threw back his head and let out a laugh, "Is that so?" His accent seemed to be British, mixed with something distinctly southern, which was a weird combination to behold.

I opened my mouth to reply, but immediately shut it, wincing when I heard the first pipes give way a few blocks over, "Err, I have to go…"

One of his eyebrows went up, "Got somewhere to be?"

"Something like that," I said, sidling around him as I heard several pairs of footsteps running in our direction, "I heard there's an unsavory group of mobsters running the show around here and really don't feel like being out after dark." I nodded to the setting sun. Feeling like I should warn him, despite the fact that he looked like he could juggle mobsters with one hand, I added, "You might want to head home too."

"Oh, I think I'll be fine. See you around."

I hesitated briefly, but the mobsters were getting pretty close, "Yeah, see ya." I hurried off, taking to the roofs just as soon as I was out of sight.

"Guys," I said into my binocucom, "The tar pipes are coming loose, so security should be pretty thin temporarily."

"You got it, Jinx. We've got one more coffee house to hit, then we'll have all the blueprints."

"Yes, now you're talking sense!"

"And then- we eat."

"I just can't get it out of my head," Sly said, balancing his cane on one hand as he spoke, "Have you ever had pasta sauce that good?"

"No, I don't like spaghetti, but I know how you feel," I said, staring mournfully out the window in the direction of the gelato shop.

"If we can begin?" Bentley said irritably from where he was positioned near the slide machine, "We do have a heist to pull this evening and I'd like everyone to know what we're doing. But if you want to sit there and compare recipes, don't let me stop you."

I exchanged glances with Sly and we both turned to the projector screen.

"Thank you," Bentley said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "With Octavio's comeback recital just a few hours away, we're all set up for the main event. Get ready for Operation: Tar-Be-Gone! Our objective: Get Murray back on the team. Sly, you'll start things off by using your disguise to get into the opera house. Make your way down to the pump room and let me and Kaia in through the side entrance. Thanks to blueprints we stole, I now know just where to bomb to cripple the machinery. While we're doing that, Kaia will sneak into Octavio's office and find some incriminating documents that we can pass on to Interpol."

"Whoo, I get a job!"

"…"

"Shutting up."

"Then we'll go for Octavio's detonation switch. I'm sure you'll agree that we can't leave a weapon that powerful in the hands of such a madman. I'll distract the old mobster with an opera duel, he's sure not to attack while we're both on stage…. Remarkable self-control, Kaia."

"Hardest thing I've ever done in my life."

"Meanwhile, Sly will cut the lines to the chandelier and drop it on his head! I'll swipe the switch and we'll all go find Murray. By then, the water will be sure to be running clear and he'll be free to come with us."

"Why aren't there any guards in the pump room?" I asked, leaning against the bars and looking into said room, "I mean, I'm not complaining, but it seems like a critical planning fault."

"A fault which I am currently exploiting," Bentley hissed, insisting on whispering even though we were alone. The door to the hall opened and he stiffened before relaxing, "Sly… Hey, Sly, over here!"

"Nice to see you two," Sly said facetiously, letting us in.

"Okay, we need to act quickly while the recital is getting under way," Bentley said, looking around.

"That's my cue," I said, slipping towards the door.

"Watch out for guards!"

"They should all be outside," At Sly's look, I amended, "But I'll be careful."

There were a couple of guards on patrol, but I was able to stay out of their sight as I made my way slowly to the second floor, where I assumed Octavio's office would be.

It was really easy to find, because it was the only one with two guards stationed out front.

I was trying to figure out how I could possibly get past them when the very foundation of the opera house shook with an explosion. I barely managed to duck behind a pedestal holding a bust before the guards took off, heading downstairs.

After waiting for a few moments to make sure they didn't have friends, I made my way over to the door. Surprise, surprise, it was locked. Still, that wasn't really a big deal. I might not have learned how to pick locks yet, but Sly had provided me with a variety of basic skeleton keys, just in case. They couldn't open every lock, but they could open quite a few and could hopefully do the job.

And sure enough, I got the door open with the second key I tried. I closed and locked the door behind me before turning to the room in question. There were old posters of various opera performances everywhere, but my focus was on the desk.

I searched the solid mahogany relic for nearly five minutes, but couldn't find anything, not even a false bottom in any of the drawers. Biting my lip, I turned back to the room. Bentley had mentioned that any incriminating documents might be in a safe instead, probably one behind a painting if the coffee houses were any indication.

There was only one painting that I could see. It was probably ridiculously expensive, but I'd never had much of an eye for art, so I pulled it off the wall and set it aside.

Sure enough, there was a wall safe. Fortunately, it was a classic metal safe with a numeric dial and not electronic. If it had been electronic, there would have been nothing I could do about it except leave the painting off the wall so the safe could be seen clearly.

However, since it was a dial safe, I could do something about it. I rubbed my hands against the carpet until they tingled, then placed the tips of the fingers of my left hand against the metal and rested my ears against it as well, keeping my right hand on the dial.

In the two hours we had to spare before the heist, Sly had given me a concentrated crash course in safe-cracking. I was not an expert by any means, but I had taken to it fairly easily. Despite little cartoons of people holding stethoscopes to safes, they were cracked by touch, not sound. My left hand was more sensitive than my dominant hand and so was my ear, which I was using for feeling, not listening.

I twisted the knob right, so very slowly, feeling for the drop of a tumbler. It took a good twenty minutes before I felt the last tumbler drop and the latch give.

I breathed a sigh of relief that the safe was so old and opened it up, "How's it going guys?"

"We almost had Octavio, but then Carmelita showed up. So we're chasing him and she's chasing us."

"Don't sound too excited Sly, someone might get the impression you're enjoying yourself." I teased before cutting the line and turning to the papers, trying to find the most incriminating stuff.

"Jinx, you still in the opera house?" Sly sounded out of breath

"Just leaving," I said, making my way up the stairs to the cellar door.

"We need you to get street level ASAP. Octavio attacked Bentley. Murray and I are holding him off, but Bentley can't get to his wheelchair by himself and we need you to get him somewhere safe."

"Consider it done." I said, throwing the cellar door open and hurrying up the last few steps, blinking in the sunlight.

"Fancy meeting you here."

I did a double take, "Who on Earth are you?"

The cougar didn't get up from his relaxed seat on the stone edge of the garden fountain. He didn't have to; his Interpol badge did all the talking.

I fought the urge to groan loudly. Instead I crossed my arms and adopted a standoffish pose, "Can I help you…?"

Unlike the agents I'd met in Paris, this guy didn't get off balance when I faced him down. If anything, he looked bored. The friendly face he'd worn the two times I'd met him before had disappeared entirely. He tucked his badge away in the back pocket of his slacks and gave me a smile that was not at all nice, "Inspector Kristian Garter, London branch of Interpol. Nice to finally be able to tell you that."

I set my jaw, injecting as much venom as possible into my voice when I asked, "What, so you've been following me?"

He stood languidly. He had no reason to rush; I was pretty much cornered unless I wanted to head back into the opera house. "Well, your dad is throwing an unholy fuss, so I volunteered to be the Interpol interest in the 'case'. Basically, I was supposed to see if we had any grounds to have a case on you at all. And I wouldn't sound so scandalized if I was you, especially considering I just caught you coming out of the basement of a well-known mob boss. That's grounds enough to take you in."

"Kaia… where are you?"

I bit down on the inside of my lip, hard. After a second of thought, I nodded to myself, and slung my backpack off of my shoulders. Kristian watched in smug amusement, until I took two steps to the left and swung my backpack through the bars of the fence, dangling it over the canal, and locked eyes with him.

"This bag contains documents incriminating key parts of Octavio's operation. I can safely assume that's not your case, but you can either arrest me, a process during which I fully intend to drop this bag, or I can give you the documents and you can arrest someone who is actually causing harm. Your choice."

He stared at me for just a moment, then gave a razor thin smirk, "I think we are going to get along just fine, Kaia Jenks. Leave the files on the cellar door and I will become very interested in the clouds for a few moments."

I swallowed, taking the papers out of my backpack and putting them on the cellar doors, placing a small rock on top of them so the breeze wouldn't sweep them into the nearby canal.

Sure enough, when I looked up, Kristian appeared to be cloud-gazing very intently. I ran past him, drew myself up and over the low fence of the garden, and took off down the cobblestone street, not daring to look back.

"I'm so sorry, Bentley!" I said when I reached the turtle, righting his wheelchair and helping him into it, "I got delayed."

"What could have possibly delayed you?" He hissed out, rubbing his head.

I glanced over my shoulder, "I'll tell you later, once we're safely out of town."

"You've got a point; we need to get out of here before Carmelita puts the city under martial law." He shook his head one last time, "Come on, let's get going."

We met up with Sly and Murray (who nearly broke my back with the ferocity of his hug) on the way to the airport. We stopped in a public restroom to change into disguises (except me, because I was actually using my passport) and then quickly hurried into the enormous series of buildings.

Sly was using his college student outfit, Bentley was an old man, and Murray was actually just using the clean passport Bentley had forged for him when he went off to go find his 'spiritual center'.

I went to the gate first and settled in, having tucked my field kit into my actual backpack. I rubbed at the lids of my eyes with the heels of my hands, sighing. Now that the heist was over, I was crashing off of the adrenaline and I was tired.

A weight settled into the seat next to me and I glanced over to see Sly holding out a cone to me, "Gelato, signorina?"

I laughed, taking it, "Grazie. What flavor is it?"

"Dark chocolate and coffee." He said, turning to his own cup.

"Ah, well done."

We sat in silence, enjoying our frozen treats, until Bentley and Murray made their way over. The turtle turned to me and said, "Okay, we've got an hour to kill until our plane gets here. Kaia, I think you should tell us what happened in the opera house. Did you get the files?"

"Eheh," I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, "Well, funny story…"

I told them what had happened: getting into Octavio's office, finding and cracking the safe, getting the files and the unfortunate encounter afterwards.

"And his badge wasn't a fake?"

I shook my head, "No, Sly, it was legitimate. And what's more, I ran into him twice before that. Once when I was out running yesterday, and earlier today when I was loosening the tar pipes. He didn't tell me who he was then, of course."

Bentley looked thoughtful, "What did you say his name was?"

"Kristian, Inspector Kristian Garter." Seeing the look on his face, I added, "Do you know him?"

"Maybe," He said slowly, "I'll look him up in Interpol's personnel files when we get back home, I don't trust the airport wifi. The important thing is that Interpol has the files and not you."

"Our plane is here!" Murray exclaimed, practically bouncing up and down in his chair.

"Ugh, home sweet home," I lifted myself out of the chair with muscles that protested, "I can't wait."

By the time we got back to The Safehouse, I was dead tired. I'd managed to sleep a little by using Sly as a pillow, but the flight wasn't long enough for me to get a really good nap in.

So when we finally got in, I grunted something in the form of an excuse and went upstairs to my room, flopping onto the bed and not waking up for twelve hours.

At one in the afternoon, I blearily stumbled into my bathroom and took a scalding shower, belatedly remembering to remove the bandage on my arm after I'd shampooed my hair. That done, I went into my closet and found yet another T-shirt and jeans combo before reemerging into my room.

While we're on the subject, I adored my room. It was small, but I preferred it that way. There were two windows on the wall opposite the door, which was also the wall my bed was pushed against lengthwise. It was a 'full' sized bed with a high headboard and simple canopy, bigger than a twin, but smaller than a queen.

On the same wall as the door was the door that led to the bathroom and closet. The wall to the left was home to a writing desk (which in turn was home to a very impressive computer) and a mounted television (which I had yet to use) across from the bed. The only other furniture in the room was a night table to the right of the bed and a chair for the writing desk.

The crowning feature of the room was the wall color. The base color was a midnight blue (which the bedcovers matched), but coming down from the ceiling were bands of various other colors that were varying in opacity. It all reminded me rather fondly of the Northern Lights I'd seen in Canada.

Finally squeaky clean, I headed over to my computer and did a quick Google search.

Sly was trying very hard not to fall asleep in his oatmeal when Kaia came bounding down the stairs, and started talking more quickly and loudly than anyone should have been allowed when he was that tired.

"Hi, Bentley, Sly! Murray! Buddy ol' pal ol' friend, let's go bond!" She seized the hippo by the arm and dragged him out the door like she'd just chosen him to be her new shopping buddy of rainbow friendship.

Taking pity on his friend, Bentley brought over the coffee pot and placed it at his elbow. "Are you beyond monosyllables yet?"

The raccoon grunted in response, drinking the scalding coffee straight out of the pot.

Bentley sat nearby, working on something on his laptop and waiting for the coffee to kick in so he could talk to his friend. After about fifteen minutes, he started to speak, "So, I found Kristian Garter in the Interpol database."

"And?" Sly asked, upending the remains of a bag of brown sugar into his bowl.

"I knew the name sounded familiar." The turtle turned the laptop around so Sly could see the screen, "Recognize him?"

Narrowing his brown eyes at the screen, it took the raccoon a few moments to reply, "Where have I seen him before?"

Bentley turned the laptop back around, "Inspector Kristian Garter, London branch of Interpol. At the age of thirteen he survived a home invasion gone wrong that claimed the lives of his parents and younger brother. With no surviving relatives capable of taking him in, he was sent to the Happy Campers Orphanage."

Sly choked on his spoonful of oatmeal.

"That was roughly my reaction as well."

After downing half a glass of milk and regaining the ability to breathe, Sly turned the computer back around to look at the image, "I remember him now! You used to hang out with him all the time, way back when I first came to the orphanage. He never liked me."

Bentley nodded, reclaiming his laptop, "He came to the orphanage when I was eight, two years before you did. He was always nice to me, but I think now that that's because I was roughly the same age his brother had been. He got really into his studies in high school, though. He earned himself a scholarship to Cambridge and joined the force soon after graduation. He rose through the ranks at an alarming rate, getting himself a spot at Interpol when he was just twenty five. That was three years ago."

"Geez," Sly ran a hand through his hair, "What's he doing on Jinx's case?"

"He requested it, apparently."

"I don't like this," the thief stood and began pacing, "I do not like this at all."

"I agree and I definitely don't think it's coincidental." Bentley closed the laptop with a sigh, "I'll keep an eye on things, but that's really all we can do right now. We'll just have to be wary and react accordingly. Hopefully, that will be enough."

I stood in front of the spoils of my trip, arms crossed and staring them down as though my determination alone could cause them to leap to life and take care of themselves.

Sly's many and varied musings on the merits of home cooked meals had not fallen on deaf ears and I had before me the makings of spaghetti, meatballs, salad, garlic bread, and chocolate cake. The problem with this was that of those foods, I'd only made salad before.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair and consulting the small stack of papers I'd printed off the internet. I was making everything from scratch (excluding the bread and the noodles, I was not even going to attempt that), for which the internet was very helpful.

The only problem was getting started.

"Has this place ever been used before?" I asked aloud, digging around the unfamiliar kitchen in search of mixing bowls, spoons, pots, and pans. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust and required washing; I was honestly surprised that I didn't find any cobwebs.

After an intense argument with the stove and the oven, a truce was reached and I was able to get started.

A couple of hours later, Sly wandered in, yawning, obviously having just woken up from a nap, and I rounded on him.

"You'd better appreciate this!" I said, shaking my wooden spoon at him and getting little droplets of tomato juice everywhere, "This is harder than it looks!"

He blinked at me for a second in surprise, then looked around the kitchen, taking in the chaos. After that, his grin could have split the atom. "You're making dinner?"

"From scratch. This better be the best food you've ever tasted in your life," I said, turning to dump the spaghetti noodles into a large pot of boiling water. I jumped and almost elbowed him in the face when he grabbed me from behind in a bear hug.

"I love you!"

I laughed and gave him a shove, "Yeah, yeah, we'll see if you still say that once it's finished. I don't like spaghetti or tomatoes, so I have no idea how to taste test this stuff."

Then Murray wandered in, "You're making cake?! Can I lick the bowl?"

Before long, the entire gang had congregated in the kitchen. Bentley was lecturing us on the surprising amount of chemical reactions that occur when cooking, Murray was indeed licking the cake bowl, and Sly kept trying to sneak meatballs when he thought I wasn't looking.

After dinner (which turned out surprisingly well, if I do say so myself), we headed into the living room and all crowded onto the dilapidated old couch (even Bentley, though Sly was crouched on the back of the couch and 'accidentally' distracting us as critical points), balancing plates of cake on our knees precariously and trying to kill each other in Mario Kart.

I was having a blast, but after a particularly close race on Rainbow Road, Sly turned to Murray, who was staring off into the distance, "What's wrong buddy?"

Murray sighed, almost setting his controller in his cake by accident, "I just don't feel right giving up on my training without my guru saying it's okay, guys. I want to be back on the gang, but it doesn't feel right not talking to him about it."

"Well then," Bentley said, resting his controller on his knees, "Why don't we go talk to him about it?"

The hippo perked up immediately, "Really?"

"Why not?" Sly said, "Besides, we need to break in Jinx's new passport anyway."

"Wait, what?"

And that's it for now, folks! Congrats to those of you that correctly guessed the Cougar of Ambiguous Purpose was an Interpol Agent. I'll be interested to know your thoughts on him, so feel free to drop me a line, either in a review or at the blog.

Hope you enjoyed!