Chapter 3: Same Time, Same Place

The Interpol Building is scary. Can I just say that?

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Carmelita," Sly says, casing the area using his Binocucom-thingy.

"I'm not afraid," I snap, obviously blowing the lie out the water.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure, sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you absolutely—"

"—sure I'm going to bust your ass? Bet."

He smiles. After a moment I simmer down and return it. He already knows how to read my mind and mess with me. I guess I can be okay with that.

"Uh," Bentley's voice comes in on my brand-new communicator. "If you both are done, can we get started?"

"Bentley, we've been ready! I can't wait another moment," Sly says, flicking his tail like a squirrel. "Come on, what's the scoop?"

"Well, I just had to double check my notes from where I eavesdropped on the Chief. He's going to be on the move soon and before he starts speaking at the press conference, he'll hand your file off to his assistant Winthorp."

"So where's this guy gonna be?" I ask. "Let's find him and make him cry!"

"Not to ruin your reprehensible mood, but that assistant is likely going to be surrounded by other officers. If you try to ambush him at the wrong moment, you'll be swarmed faster than you can blink."

Oh. That makes sense.

"That makes sense," Sly says in disappointment. "How much of this plan is going to be on the fly, Bentley?"

"A good portion of it. I unfortunately didn't have the time or wherewithal to formulate a solid and steady plan. Add in the multitude of officers and you've got a powder keg for disaster."

I cover my mouth, trying not to sigh too loudly. This turtle talks WAY too damn much. Sly perks, focusing on something down below. He flits off the roof and disappears.

When I join him on the ground he's already toting an unconscious Interpol officer over his shoulders. "I just got an idea on the fly, guys," he says. "Carmelita, you mind making a brief wardrobe change?"

"You want me to wear his clothes?" I demand.

"Ehhh, that's actually a good idea! I mean, at some point you'll need to get close enough to Barkley's assistant to lure him away without drawing suspicion," Bentley says.

The unconscious officer is a beanpole red panda. Ugh! He does match my build and height so his clothes would fit, but I'm not cool with this.

"Oh, alright," I hiss. "You're lucky I like you, ringtail…"

I'm in the building. Oh my gosh, I'm in the Interpol building by myself.

It'd taken me a while to put the officer's uniform on, remove his tag, and unfortunately take my hair down, but the second I can I'm ditching this disguise. I'm itching all over from wearing the clothes of the virtuous; it must be guilt eating at me.

Bentley has to have floor schematics or some shit because he accurately guides me and seems to be choosing the lesser traveled halls on purpose. Which I mean, score for us. The less officers I run into, the better. Due to the time and circumstance I only cross paths with a handful of them.

"Hi," I say to a pig officer who's coming from the opposite direction, "conference is that'a way, right?"

"'ello. That's right. Careful not to get in the way when you go in," he says. "The news crews are already makin' their nests in the back. You new?"

"Yes. Just hired."

"Not the new Inspector though, right?"

"Oh, no! That position's not filled?"

"I wish it were already. Ol' chief's been getting antsier the longer that seat stays cold," he says, laughing. "He'll be talking about the position at length so if you're interested, give it a listen and chat him up afterwards."

Well, of course I wasn't doing that. Who do I look like, an enforcer of the law?

Though, at the back of my mind, being an Interpol Inspector sounds like a cool idea. Maybe…just maybe, that's something I could've done with pride if I'd taken a different path in life.

"Carmelita, what's the room number for the conference hall?" Bentley asks. "Sly's about to trip the lights and he needs to know which switch to pull."

Oh, right. The plan. "Um…hold on," I say, tense as I peer into the door windows.

The meeting hall is huge. I spot Chief Barkley on stage and want to cackle. He's standing on several phone books just to reach the mike. There's cops behind him. Oh what the hell! Did he pick the biggest and scariest looking ones, 'cause they all look like they don't screw around. And ooh, the room is completely filled with dozens of people: civilians, news reporters, and officers alike.

I look down the hall and determine there's only three entrances to the conference room. That assistant had to be around here somewhere. But what if he was in the room?

"Great…looks like they're coming to block off the north side of the parking lot. There goes a smoother getaway," Bentley sighs. "Sly, Carmelita—Murray and I are going to be moving around to the other side of the parking lot towards the only other exit that isn't blocked."

"I spotted it earlier. That's the exit near a fire escape," Sly reports. "I don't think that slight change in plans will be an issue."

"Hopefully not, but I'll never rule out the possibility of the worst coming to worst. Found that room number yet, Carmelita?"

"Yeah. 2500," I whisper, sneaking down the hall. "There's three entrances to the conference room all on the eastern wall. Are you sure this guy is going to be outside?"

In fact, why would the Chief have his assistant standing outside and not in the room? I was beginning to question the intents behind that. Or maybe Bentley's intelligence gathering was off and he didn't have updated information. That wouldn't be his fault, though. People can be unpredictable and change plans on a whim, after all.

But when I peek around the corner, I spy a purple nerd in slacks with the stupidest haircut I've ever seen. Even if Bentley hadn't given us a description of the guy, his appearance totally screams assistant. He's holding a file underarm as he talks with a pair of fellow officers.

"Well…I found 'im," I whisper, clinging to the corner. "What's my next move, Einstein?"

"Have you got the file in sight?"

"Yep…he's got two other officers there with him."

"Good, good. Go ahead and make contact. And you've got night-vision goggles, right? Get ready to use them in a bit," Bentley says.

I casually walk out and approach the trio of officers. Right off the bat one of them, a tiger, seems to be a little too interested in my arrival. Shoot, there's no way she knows I'm a phony, right? It always takes one to know one!

"Hey, there!" the other senior officer notices me. "How're you? I've never seen you around here before."

"She can't be the new Inspector," the tiger says. Her voice is annoying, her accent is stupid, and I already want to punch her in the face. "The Chief would've made a point of that before going onstage."

The stupid-haircut assistant looks like a weasel. He's staring at me all lovey-dovey with hearts in his eyes. Oh, God no.

"Well, what's your name?" asks the tiger.

I start, "Non—"

Ooooh, I was about to tell her it was none of her damn business. I just roll with the punches. It's a part of being crafty.

"Nonya Tejano Fox," I answer smoothly. "You wouldn't have heard of me. I joined not too long ago."

Her eyes slit as she looks down at my side. "Mm, oh my. That's a nice weapon you've got there."

I already can't wait to use it on her. Bentley comes to grant me my wish: "You sound close enough to take 'em out. Give us a cue, and we'll give you some cover."

"Thank you," I answer. "And I'd say now's the time."

The tiger peers at me. "Time for what, then?"

Within seconds the lights cut. I whip my night-vision goggles on with one hand and draw my shock pistol with the other. The weasel squeals; he ducks out of the way as I fire rapidly, striking the two senior officers multiple times. They jerk and twitch violently before collapsing to the ground.

"C'mere you skinny little bastard," I hiss at the weasel, who's already making a run for it. I chase him to the corner and to my disappointment, he's too stupid to go into the conference hall where he would've been safe...but it would've been hilarious to see his reaction to how I'd chained every entrance shut as I passed it.

Anyway, I return to the two officers to see what they had to offer. The big dude, an alligator, is clean-cut and only has boring officer stuff on him. And I'm not going to take the dude's wedding ring.

The tiger bitch is still conscious and lucid enough to glare in my general direction. "Codgy old tramp!" she snarls.

"Kiss my ass," I say, pulling out a gag for her big mouth. "I see you've got a bullwhip."

"That's MINE!"

"Not anymore!"

After I shut her up and steal my new toy I charge off, shedding the officer clothes as I go and fixing my hair back up. I'm not some magical fairy princess warrior, but I'm good at switching outfits in the blink of an eye!

Oh, that weasel guy? Winthorp, I think? I wasn't concerned about him. He only had one way to go and it'd be a dead end for him.

Winthorp stops when he reaches the stairwell, gasping for breath. What a baby. He doesn't seem that keen on running down several flights to get to safety either, instead looking over his shoulder to see if I was still following him.

Which, of course I am, I'm just camping out in the ceiling. I'd reached this spot about half a minute before he did. Hooray for good memory and athleticism! And even if he'd gone down the stairs he would've run into the ringtail.

So of course by now, Sly is standing at the weasel's shoulder. "You've got something of mine, pal."

"AIEEE!" Winthorp screams, pivoting mid-air. Several papers fall out of the file. Wait. I peer closer through the ceiling tiles, frowning. Were my eyes acting up, or where those papers blank?

"...Bentley—!" Sly exclaims. "He's been carrying a fake!"

"WHAAAT?!" Bentley hollers. I almost holler with him but I would've blown my cover. I need the element of surprise!

Sly starts swinging his cane, but the weasel is so damn slippery he's able to dodge and twist around the blows. He wheels around and sprints off, abandoning the false file as he does.

"Come—pfah!" Sly bats the papers out of his face, charging after him. "C'mere! I just want to talk to you!"

I quickly race ahead and drop down from the ceiling. Winthorp is barreling straight my way. I fire at him head-on and he moves weirdly, contorting his body in a jittery panic to avoid getting hit. The last shot barely grazes his dump of a haircut; in disbelief I spin into a kick. He jumps, stretching his long body out, but I catch him square in the waist.

"AGHK!" Winthorp tumbles back to the ground. "Who, who are you!? Why are you with Sly Cooper!?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

He gets up, sweating. I'm blocking his way forward and Sly is blocking his way back. The weasel runs at the window. I can't believe he'd be this dumb.

"Ah—not so fast," Sly hooks Winthorp by the collar. "Did you forget which floor we're on? And to answer one of your questions, she only likes me for my body."

"Oh, shut up," I laugh. "So Purple, I'm gonna guess that you were carrying a fake to throw us off? That Chief is smarter than I thought."

"I guess since he's understaffed, it's forced him to be a little more calculating. Or paranoid, depending on how you look at it," Bentley cuts in. "Well, there's only one other place your file could be, Sly. Chief Barkley must have it with him on the podium, which is very unfortunate."

"How're we going to get it?" I wonder. "Everyone's going to be on guard, and they've probably found out that the doors have been locked from the outside."

"We can go through the ceiling," Sly says, pointing up. "But it's much higher in the conference hall."

"…ah! Wait! I think I may have an idea!"

"L...Let's hurry and hear it, then. We don't have a lot of time," Bentley's voice is starting to crack a little, which means it's T-minus fifty seconds before he has a nervous breakdown.

I pull handcuffs out of my hair. I'd just kept them from my officer disguise earlier.

"How much stuff do you have in there?" Sly asks, genuinely confused.

"I'll tell you later, but you'll have to take me for a ride when we're done."

"I don't get it! Why is a pretty lady like you running with him!?" Winthorp cries.

"Oh, what? So if I were ugly, you'd be fine with that?" I ask, pulling his arms behind his back to cuff him. "Don't even answer that, numbnuts. Just shut up and get ready to catch hell, because after this you're totally going to be demoted."

They got the backup lights running in the conference room. Predictably a few officers were fooling around with the three entrances, trying to strong-arm them open.

Barkely is continuing on with the conference, but there's heavy tension in his face that wasn't there before. Maybe he rightfully sensed that bullshit had happened or alternatively, it wasn't over yet.

I hover several yards over his head, holding a small pod in between my fingers. Finally a dummy on the stage notices something. "Hey!"

The officer's too late. Barkley looks over his shoulder at the yell, then back to the podium when the pod bounces down in front of him. He's still staring at it when a thick black gas erupts from it, smothering his entire upper body. I cackle shrilly as I fling smokescreen pods by the dozen around the room. Everyone begins shrieking and panicking. Ah ha ha ha ha, being a menace is so much fun!

"You sound like you're getting into it," Sly remarks, throwing a rope down. "Don't wait around, though. I won't take long."

"You better not," I partially tease, drawing my shock pistol. He puts his cane in between his teeth and, carrying the immobilized Winthorp on his shoulders, slides down into the hazy room. I begin sniping Interpol officers, prioritizing the ones that've actually managed to spot me over the ones that don't have a single damn clue as to what's happening.

With all the main threats soon neutralized I swing down from the ceiling, startling some ritzy-looking elephant broad into screaming when I land on her table. "Oh, shut up, you snooty banshee," I snap.

Using the tabletops I leap my way through the room, jumping up into a windowsill. Someone grabs my shoulder.

"AHH—! Don't do that!" I whisper furiously to Sly. He's wearing the biggest smirk I've seen yet and has his file in hand. "Oh my goodness, that quick?"

"Told you! Ah, and look at the Chief, just in time…"

Onstage Barkley is wandering out of the thinning haze, swiping at the air and coughing. Then he looks like he's about to have a heart attack: Winthorp is handcuffed and draped across the podium with Sly's calling card laid on his body.

"Hey, Chief!"

At Sly's call, Barkley furiously jerks his head over to us. My ringtail holds his file up, adding, "I'll have to thank you for keeping this safe for me all these years."

"And did you like what I did with the place?" I add.

Barkley clenches his hands, baring his teeth. "Sly Cooper," he seethes, then points at me and barks, "And WHO is SHE?!"

"That's for us to know and for you to find out, you old bag of rats."

The Chief turns red and crushes his cigar between his jaws. "GET HER! GET THEM BOTH! GET THEM IN A CELL RIGHT NOW!" he screams.

Too bad that can't happen because I've stunned most of the officers there. The most his force can do is groan and roll on the ground in pain. Hilarious! This was fun! And the news crews were snapping pictures of us. Beautiful! This was the infamy I was talking about before! And you know what, it's something I don't mind sharing.

SMASH! Sly breaks the window.

"We can't stand around looking nice for too much longer. Ready to go?" he asks.

"Let's hop to it, dear."

As we both escape from the scene of the crime Barkley yells, "CRIMINALS! I'LL GET YOU BOTH!"

You know, he's right.

Because, in order for him to get us both, we'd have to still be together moving forward. And maybe it's my time to admit that I don't have a single problem with that.