Paris, the City of Lights, the backdrop of many a caper and escapade. A figure stands upon the rooftops of the city, looking down from his vantage point towards an inconspicuous office building nestled among the chic architecture through the lens of a cobalt-blue binoc-u-com.
The figure hunches over on his perch, the tips of his toes precariously balanced on a fingertip point at the top of an antenna. A technique perfected on the pagodas of feudal Japan.
A tinny crackle echoed in his ears before a voice came through his earpiece, connected through the binoc-u-com.
"Bravo to Alpha, come in Alpha."
He lifted a finger to the receiver of the earpiece, pressing down on it. "Read you loud and clear, Bravo. Is Charlie in position?"
"Waiting and ready to pick you up at street level once you're done in the office. I gotta say, I'm surprised you wanted to do something so… white-collar for your first time. I thought I was gonna have to plan for a museum heist or something."
He paused at that, reflecting on his partner's words. It's true, their current, and first, job didn't exactly scream 'glamorous master thieves.' Their target wasn't exactly a large-and-in-charge crime boss with hordes of enforcers patrolling the streets.
But, in a way, that just made him a better target. Anyone who saw him saw a respectable member of the community. A 9-to-5 social worker who did his job well. Nobody ever expected that he was stealing his clients' personal info to skim off their government subsidies, often putting his clients in trouble with the government for something they didn't do, making it even harder for them to receive the aid they desperately needed.
His family had made their reputation taking down the worst of the criminal world, absolute scum and monsters who prey on the innocent.
But some of the worst monsters are the ones who look like the guy who brings brownies to the community PTA meetings.
If a crime boss wants to hurt you, he'll just shoot you and be done with it. Maybe go to work on you with crowbars and a blowtorch, but at least you know what to expect.
Their target tonight ruined lives by shaking your hand and giving you the most trusted smile you've ever seen.
The blue-clad figure stood up on his perch, gripping the wooden handle of his crooked cane. "Can't always be glitz and glamour in this life, Bravo."
"I hear that. Once you have the paper trail for the stolen money, we can send that info to the 'proper' channels through your mother's contacts. They'll hang Mr. Gurretts out to dry for a long, long time."
"You sure he keeps the files in his office safe?" He asked, absentmindedly twirling his cane as he scanned the walls of the building for his entry point. There, a second story window. A jump, skip, and a flip and he'll be inside in no time. "Seems like he's just asking us to take it."
"I know you didn't exactly have a normal upbringing, Alpha, but most people consider putting things in safes as 'keeping them secure'."
He smiled, his fingers already starting to get that increasingly familiar itch. He remembered the first time he felt that itch when his dad gave him his very first padlock to play around with. "You'd think they would have learned by now. Also, Bravo, not to put too fine a point on it, but you didn't exactly have a very normal childhood either."
"Guh, don't remind me…"
--
The office building's dimly lit corridors stretched outward from the window he jimmied open from the outside, gingerly stepping onto the carpeted floors with a silent step. The nice thing about working a white-collar case like this was that Gurretts' security was on a much tighter budget. He had been trained to deal with floor sensors, motion trackers, laser defense grids, spotlights, and armies of guards with guns.
All Gurretts had were a series of cameras in key points throughout the building. It was easy enough to move around in their blind spots, thanks to the blueprints for the building 'provided' to them by Gurretts' work computer.
Following those blueprints, memorized to perfection in his head, he finally found his way to the main office of the man himself.
A quick pick of the lock, and he was inside, no one the wiser. The pale light of the moon shone through in ribbons of light through the hastily closed blinds of the window, illuminating the room in a soft, blue glow. The walls were adorned with famed accolades and family photos, creating the facade of respectability that hid Gurretts' true nature.
Admittedly, his throat did tighten a bit upon seeing one particular photo of Gurretts, a slim yet athletic-looking cougar, kneeling next to a young cub, no doubt his son.
They looked happy.
He tore himself away from the photo. Whatever happened between the two of them after tonight was on Gurretts, not him. He was just here to do his job. His duty.
Finally, his gaze settled upon the imposing safe in the corner of the room, the polished steel reflecting the cool, blue moonlight that washed the room.
Immediately, he went to work, his gloved fingers manipulating the combination lock as his ears managed to pick up the soft, subtle clicking of tumblers falling into place.
Once again, his earpiece crackled to life. Only this time, it wasn't the soft tones of Bravo's voice, but a much deeper, commanding voice. "Alpha, it's Charlie. We've got a situation."
"Bad time for a distraction, Charlie…" He said, trying to keep his focus on the clicking tumblers.
"Gurretts is here. He just drove up and went inside. I think he's heading up to your location."
"Crap…" Bravo's voice spoke out over the comm, joining in. "Alpha, it's botched. Get out of there, we'll stake out and try again after he leaves."
"Wait…" He said, finally pausing his efforts on the safe. "I've got a better idea…"
His grip on his cane tightened.
--
Armando Gurretts, social worker, humanitarian, and a corrupt piece of slime, awkwardly fumbled with his keys in the dark before slipping them into the door of his primary office.
Stepping inside, Gurretts was taken aback at the sight of a young raccoon, dressed in blue and holding an ornate wooden cane with a golden crook behind his head, as he lounged nonchalantly in his desk chair, propping his blue-boot-clad feet up on his mahogany desk.
"Mr. Gurretts, glad you could make some time for us."
"What the f-?!" Gurretts exclaimed, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a pistol.
Within the blink of an eye, the raccoon flipped backward behind the chair, kicking the hanging light above Gurretts' desk and smashing the bulb, bringing the room to total darkness as Gurretts tried to adjust to the sudden change in light.
Something he wouldn't get a chance to do as the barest glint of gold suddenly streaked across his eyes, and the crook of the raccoon's cane hooked onto his wrist, twisting his arm and forcing him to drop the pistol to the ground.
The raccoon kicked the firearm away, skidding it across the office floor.
Gurretts, snarling at the intruder, bared his claws for a desperate swipe at the young punk's head. The raccoon deftly dodged, ducking under the swipe before bringing the crown of his head up to Gurretts' nose.
A sickening crunch sounded as blood started to drip from Gurretts' snout. He instinctively stumbled backward, holding his snout in pain, and left himself open to a sweeping cane strike at his legs, toppling Gurretts to the ground.
With a practiced maneuver, the raccoon flipped Gurretts onto his stomach and pulled back his arms before pulling out a pair of handcuffs from a pack attached to his leg, deftly locking Gurretts' wrists in place with a metallic 'clink.'
"Wh-Who do you think you are?!" Gurretts yelled out, more insulted than anything else. "Do you know who I am?!"
"More than most…" The raccoon said before strutting over to Gurretts' safe. "And soon, everyone else will know exactly who you are."
Gurretts could only look up from his position on the floor, helpless as the raccoon finished putting in the final combination as the tumblers in the safe all fell into place, opening the safe with a loud 'thunk.'
"N-No! You can't!" Gurretts cried, knowing exactly what the raccoon was after.
"Can, will, and have." The intruder said, flipping through all the incriminating documents that would no doubt nail the coffin to Gurretts' career and possibly his livelihood. "You hurt a lot of people, Gurretts. You should have seen this coming."
"It was just a little bit of money!" Gurretts begged, thrashing in vain against the cuffs. "I didn't think anyone would notice!"
"Oh, a lot of people noticed, Gurretts. The problem is you didn't notice them. 'A little bit of money' means a lot more to them than it did to you."
"What do you know?!" Gurretts snarled, desperation giving way to anger as he realized he wasn't going to talk his way out of this. "You're just a thief!"
"That's right, I am a thief. A master thief." The raccoon said, kneeling down next to Gurretts, boring down on the man with chocolate-brown eyes. "A better thief than you, at least."
"A better thief?! My scam was foolproof! I took those geezers for everything they had, and you know what?! I'd do it again!"
The raccoon was silent, staring down at Gurretts for a long time with absolute contempt… before a sly grin spread through his face. "Thank you, Mr. Gurretts. That's exactly what I was waiting for."
"…. What?"
Putting his finger back to his earpiece, his comm sparked to life as he spoke to his partners. "Did we get all that, Bravo?"
"What are you-?" Gurretts asked, his face starting to pale.
"Oh yeah, loud and clear. Nice job ticking him off, Alpha. He'll need to spend all that money he stole just to afford a good lawyer."
"We'll package his confession with the files. That should give Interpol everything they need to toss him in jail and throw away the key." The raccoon said, his smirk now spreading into a manic toothy grin as he took in the look of horror on Gurretts' face.
It was delicious.
"You… You can't!" Gurretts begged, crawling on his stomach, pleading to the raccoon. "You'll ruin me!"
"No, Mr. Gurretts…" The raccoon said, sauntering over to the window, Gurretts' incriminating paper trail tucked gingerly under his arm. "You ruined yourself long before we ever came along."
"We?"
With a cocky salute, the raccoon dived backward out the window and to the streets below, leaving Gurretts to howl in anger at the night sky outside his open window, a blue calling card in the shape of a stylized raccoon face sitting pretty in his now-empty safe.
--
The Cooper Van was a rust-bucket, but it was the family rust-bucket. Fleur once suggested upselling it for a more modern van, and Jace honestly couldn't tell whose gasp of horror at the suggestion was louder: His own, his father's, or his Uncle Murray's.
Landing deftly on the roof of the van with a quiet 'thud', Jace leaned over to the back of the van, rapping his knuckles against the rear doors. As the doors opened, a tawny tiger with rippling muscles stepped out, momentarily taken by surprise as Jace leaped and jumped into his arms, forcing the tiger to catch him, princess-style.
"Ooh, Horus. What big strong arms you have…" Jace said, mockingly fluttering his eyelashes as he traced a finger up Horus' arms.
"Don't make me drop you," Horus said, deadpan as he gave Jace a tired look.
"You got the file?" A soft voice called out from within the van as a pretty, young white mouse poked her head out. Her blond hair done up in a loose ponytail and a pair of cat-eye glasses resting on her pointed nose.
Jace wriggled himself out of Horus' arms, moments before Horus just decided to drop him anyway, and produced the paper trail with a flourish, presenting the file to the mouse with an exaggerated bow. "One less scam artist preying on the poor Grandmas and Grandpas of Paris." Jace said as Fleur took the file, already scanning its contents.
"Good work, Jace. I'll have our couriers in Thief-Net package this with Gurretts' confession and leave it on your mother's desk at Interpol." Fleur said, getting to work contacting said couriers.
"Then… Mission accomplished? Job well done?" Jace said, eyes hopeful as he looked back and forth between Horus and Fleur.
Fleur nodded, her gaze on her laptop. "All things considered, I'd say so. Short of changing his name and moving to another country, Gurretts is finished, and his victims are sure to get reparations from this."
"Yes!!" Jace exclaimed, pumping his fist into the air and almost hitting poor Horus in the cramped confines of the van. "The New Cooper Gang has officially taken to the streets, stealing from the wicked! Warriors of Justice! Carrying on a thousand-year legacy!"
Horus' giant hand clamped over Jace's mouth. "A legacy that will come to an end real quick if you wake up every cop in Paris."
Jace pulled down Horus' hand and gave him a half-lidded gaze. "Aw, I love it when you get rough, Horus…"
"Ugh…"
"Jace does have a point, though…" Fleur admitted, turning on her swivel chair to face the boys. "We did a good thing tonight, and we did it rather well. I'd say that's cause for celebration! Just… maybe let's celebrate a little quieter, Jace."
Jace blew out an exasperated raspberry. "Fine, party-poopers. But if we're celebrating, we're doing it right. As the leader of the Cooper Gang, I hereby make the executive decision that we are getting pancakes."
"I suppose it is almost morning…" Horus mumbled, looking out the window of the van toward the horizon of the French Bay, the dark blue night sky giving way to the warm purples and oranges of dawn.
"Pancakes it is." Fleur said, getting up from her swivel chair and climbing into the driver's seat. "Anyone know a good place open this early?"
"If you guys want the real deal, there's only one place in Paris we can go."