Prologue: Different Time, Different Place
Hello. My name is Carmelita Montoya Fox. I'm a thief.
And you better bet your ass, cheeks included, that I'm the best one around.
If one looked at my family history, they would find courageous men and women who were virtuous in heart and selfless in spirit. A lot of blue collars, basically. And then there's me, who decided I didn't want to go down any of those paths.
I hate to say this in relation to my own family, but there's always going to be at least one bad apple in a bunch. It's how the world is. No matter how much good there is, there'll always be a little blemish somewhere.
I may be a bad mark on my family's values and traditions, but that's not something they'd ever know if I continued to have my way. I'm excellent at pretending I'm a good girl.
But, in reality, I haven't been a genuinely good girl in quite a while. It started back when I was a child. I'd stolen some bully's icecream cone in retaliation after they'd made me drop mine. After splattering them in the face with it, I realized two things. One, that I had sticky fingers. I found that I liked the feeling of getting my hands on things that didn't belong to me.
Two…I had a slight anger problem that may or may not be completely resolved in the present. Bite me.
Sometimes I do ruminate on that day, when my thoughts and feelings of purpose veered off the track of good ethics. Sometimes…I feel as though maybe, I made the wrong decision, and built the wrong life for myself.
…
…
…nah. Maybe it's just me being sentimental. Stealing stuff is the highlight of my life!
But I'm not sloppy. Unlike other criminals, I've managed to keep my identity as a civilian and a thief separate.
It's a by day, by night sort of thing. When searched up, my name will not have any misdemeanor, infraction, or felony tied to it. Some criminals like having their names be known, and it's admittedly a tempting way to gain local and/or worldwide infamy. But I always think of my family and the risk of them finding out who I truly am. I'd sooner die than let anyone know that I, Carmelita Montoya Fox, is a slippery, conniving thief by night.
As a fox, being clever comes without thought. We're just great at being crafty even without trying. That's part of why keeping my two identities separate isn't that hard. It's just like flipping a switch. Though, I have to wonder. Is that genuine craftiness, or just blatant deceit on my part?
Okay, okay, hold on. That all sounds kinda bad. I may not dedicate my life to helping others and love being a sneaky thief, but I'm not some cold-hearted witch. Would I render aid to some old guy having a heart attack in front of me? Yes! I do admit when I help others, it's almost always circumstantial; unless it's an urgent matter, I won't go out of my way to lend a hand.
No, my typical way is this—deciding which pompous and extravagant asshole gets robbed next. You see, I might be a thief, but it's not like I'm the worst of the worst. Unlike most jerks I steal from, I don't take from those who are vulnerable. I might love getting my hands on things, but I don't steal indiscriminately.
I'm not heroine, or a seeker of justice. I just hate mean people, especially the ones who terrorize those who are weaker than them. When I catch up to those big-wig bullies, it's always worth it to take away the things they find precious and see them cry like the babies they really are.
But…and this is a very circumstantial but…
Would you believe me if I said that this upcoming job of mine would be my first time deviating from my typical thief code? No, no, I'm not ripping off some beggar or stealing from an orphanage. I've got my sights on an entity, an organization. They won't be missing much when I'm done with them.
Just recently I decided to investigate a huge newsbreak taking ThiefNet by storm. The place of interest was in Rome, Italy, so being American I had to fly my ass over to investigate.
It's here that a rare wall-sized mosaic is set to be appraised and then put on display in a museum. Apparently, the mosaic had been discovered in the ruined basement of a 17th century chapel without any signs of damage or deterioration. It was an archeological miracle that'd made news in the eastern and western world.
The Director of Arts of a nearby college, Westley "Wes" Rushire, was supposed to be the one to appraise it. Then as I learned, the pressure had gotten to him and he cracked. He had some sort of mental breakdown and had been institutionalized. This meant the mosaic was in a sort of limbo, but I'd snooped and discovered they were going to go ahead and move it into the museum for safekeeping.
At the bottom line, what I've read from this whole situation is that I have very limited time to get to that son of a bitch before someone else does. Something that valuable and resilient wasn't going to stay undisturbed from pillaging for long. And I don't want the whole thing—I want the biggest jewel on it, a diamond-cut ruby in the shape of a jagged heart. I almost cried at seeing it in person earlier when I was posing as a curious college student.
So beautiful! So precious! And it was going to be mine!
Now I'm on the move.
It's been hours since I ditched my civilian disguise. Now I'm in my thieving threads and about to charge fearlessly into the beast's cave.
My outfit! Oh, I love it. I call it 'My Sneaking Ensemble".
It all starts with my full-body leopard print suit; it's thin but sturdy, blessing me with comfort and freedom of movement. Then there's my two favorite boas. One is puffy and pink, and the other is ermine-patterned. Fake fur, of course. I love jewelry and have a gold band on nearly every finger. My pearl necklace is my favorite piece since I got it from my sweet abuela before she passed. Onto my heels; depsite any doubts, I can run and jump in them as if they're tennis shoes. They're a royal blue and match with my long, polished nails, my earrings, and my wonderful hair. Oh! Speaking of hair, I wear it down to my shoulders when I'm not on a mission. Now I've got it up in a beehive for reasons other than having good taste—I can store a lot of nifty devices and gadgets in my hair without getting it tangled.
Sounds impossible, right ladies? Maybe, but I wound up making it work. But anyway, before I lose focus…
It's barely been thirty minutes since the sun has gone down and I'm already out. A tad bit early compared to my usual time to strike, but I wasn't going give any other prospective criminal an inch.
I lurk around the outside edges of the museum, careful to avoid searchlights and patrolling guards. I've already cased the place and read every map I could get, though I'm beginning to see that maybe those things don't matter. Finding an unguarded spot to enter was surprisingly easy. One can tell the culture of a place by how relaxed security is and it's obvious no one has ever stolen from this museum before. Adios mio, I hate easy jobs.
I make entry near the Building of Historic Arts. To my surprise, I now find the entry gate for carrier trucks wide open. I slip through, glancing into the guard shack.
What the hell! Why would they have a turtle as a security guard? Pardon if that sounds speciest, but…what chasing would a turtle be doing if they needed to do it? Nada.
Not only that the outside lighting is absolutely terrible, and to me it looks like it's just in this section of the museum. Even though I can see just fine in low-light levels, I'm suddenly uncomfortable. Something doesn't feel right.
So far, with how easy this has been, the situation almost seems to have been…contrived?!
No! Don't tell me!
I lose composure and rush in for the kill. I can afford to do it since the dipshit guards aren't even congregated in this area where a billion-dollar art piece is being held. I catch a glimpse down the way where a rather brawny security guard is directing the others away from this direction. What the hell is going on with that?
Damn, damn, damn it all! This isn't right! I slip up along the Art building's gutters and find the skylight I'd chosen as my entry point. I reach into my dome of hair and pull out a homemade mechanized glass-gutter. Majoring in engineering gave me the will and way to bring some of my ideas to life, you see.
I quickly make an opening in the glass and drop, flipping down and landing atop a display of old scrolls. I've got a good vantage point here. I don't see any flashlights, hear any noises, or feel like I'm in danger. But is it weird to say I still feel like I'm being watched?
I sneak down to ground level and make my way to the hall where the mosaic is. It'd been placed in a small walk-in chamber. I recall that there were a collection of reliefs leading up to the chamber. I pass the first relief—a kingly beast with a healthy mane. The second was of a snarling, lunging beast covered in stripes. The last was of a burly, towering beast on two legs…I round into the chamber. Yes!
The mosaic is still here—wait!
NO!
What the utter hell?! The crown jewel, the biggest feature of its design, the thing that I wanted…is MISSING?!
Someone speaks over my shoulder. "Oh, my…"
Okay, I can already tell you that this guy—sexy voice or not—is about to get his ass beat.