Shadow cast itself across the city, casting the fire escape on the backside of the old apartment building in blackness. Going up the fire escape, taking two stairs at a time was Cymaenie. He was an athletically built raccoon standing at six foot two. His slim muscled body was covered with soft shimmering silver-gray fur, white chest, black paws, ears and mask.
He carried with him a usual array of things. Lashed to his waist were two pouches on a strong leather strap on his right hip. On the left, a loaded .50 caliber Desert Eagle along with a couple extra magazines. Just below these, he donned a pair of black form fitting shorts, running to his knee with a large dark gray panel on each leg.
His torso fur was exposed, wrapped in several straps for more gear he carried. The largest crossed over his right shoulder and down, wrapping around his lower back to hold a sheathed sword upon his back. A small backpack was worn over this for ease at getting at. On the shoulder straps of the pack were several small pouches where he kept random tools and one with a buck knife. Soft soled and flexible lightweight shoes encompassed his feet, and held another small knife on his left ankle.
His head was wrapped neatly in a solid black bandana with two holes for his ears to protrude. Stunning yellow eyes were contrasted by the bandana and his mask fur. Clear, sharp and quick to details in the dark.
Clearly he was a machine of stealth as his bounding footsteps made nothing more than a quiet thump on the iron stairs. He rounded another corner, springing by an open window, and wrapped his paws around the ladder.
Losing not a bit of momentum, his strong arms hauled him up the first few steps, where his legs fluidly followed behind him, continuing his journey upwards. At the top of the ladder was the roof top of the building. Here, he leaped from the rungs, landing quietly on the rooftop.
Scouting the low lighting from the moonless night, he continued across the flat roof, dodging his way around air conditioners and antennas. He soon reached the opposite edge of the building. He looked below to the adjacent roof top of the neighboring building’s roof, some five floors below him.
He looked down the wall and spotted a drain pipe running up the side of the brick face. He headed to this, sat on the edge of the roof top wall and carefully lowered himself down. His legs wrapped around the pipe, several feet down, and he carefully slid down the pipe.
Not a minute later, he was jogging across the roof top of the new building. A step and leap sent him flying through the air, over an alley and to the next roof top. Here he paused, his ears swiveling as the obnoxious, yet familiar sound of sirens was detected from the city streets below.
He kept moving, walking across this rooftop to the building pressed against it. It was significantly taller, and he looked up at it. A gaze was cast back and forth and he walked to a window. A dim, depressing light poured out from retired old ceiling lights of an apartment building hallway.
Cymaenie thought a moment, and fished out a small metal collapsible tool from one of his chest pouches. Expert fingers slid over the metal surface and pulled a thin, long, stiff metal file. He quickly twisted it and slid it into the window crack. He carefully slid the file sideways, and unlocked the window.
He pulled the pane partially open to test, then with a flick of the wrist, returned the tool to it’s pouch. He slid open the window the remaining distance and carefully crawled through. On the inside, he slid the window back and looked around the hall. He stealthily padded across the worn carpet, keeping all of his reflexes at their keenest.
He rounded a corner where a stairwell was located. Wasting not another moment, he started rounding up the spiral staircase. At the eighteenth floor, he opened the doorway and stepped through to another hallway lined with doors. He cautiously made his way down this hallway and kept track of the apartment numbers.
He stopped outside of a door that had the number 1833 in cheap brass plated numbers. The door was mostly brown, with green spots showing through where the brown had flaked off over the many years. Here, Cymaenie grabbed a lock pick from one of his upper pouches and swiftly began his work on the deadbolt.
The lock was easy, and quickly undone. He moved to the door knob. This too was a simple task, and the door opened easily. However, it caught on the chain on the inside and stopped. He sighed, and slid a coat hanger from his waist pouch strap. He fished the wire through the door’s crack and closed it slightly.
Using care, he slid the chain and popped it from it’s attachment. He opened the door all the way, and stepped inside. Carefully, he pushed close the door and looked around.
The grungy apartment was dimly lit by a small table lamp from the living room. Cymaenie looked around the kitchen he was standing in carefully. His tail gently rolled in a leisurely wag. He crossed the tile floor and through the threshold to the living room.
Here, he looked around again finding nothing other than empty beer cans and pizza boxes. He checked two closets and a bathroom, but found nothing. He sighed and crossed the apartment to the bedroom.
The sound of snoring was audible in the other room. He carefully twisted the knob and pushed the door inwards. The bedroom was covering in all sorts of things. Papers, clothes, furniture, more beer cans, and broken CD cases.
Lying in the mostly broken bed frame was a short, greasy, potbellied Rat. He was snoring loudly with his mouth draped open. Cymaenie kept a cautious finger on his blade as he scoped the room.
His eyes spotted what he had come to such a revolting place for. Buried under old magazines and cassette tapes was a medium sized dark green safe. He carefully knelt, and gently touched his fingers to the dial. Slowly, he spun the dial, feeling the tumblers inside shift.
It was all too easy and in mere moments, the last digit clicked into place. He quietly turned the handle, and pulled open the door. With a twitch of his shoulder, his backpack slid off of his right shoulder, and slid along his left arm. He caught it in his paw, and set it before him. Quietly, and swiftly he unzipped the bag as the raucous snore of the rat filled the room again.
He flipped open the top and looked up into the safe. A neat stack of solid gold bars were against the right side of the safe. To the left, several jewelry boxes. He grinned, and pulled out a handful of white linen sacks. Using speed and care, he slid the gold bars into individual bags, then pulled the draw strings to close them off.
After this, he tucked them into the bag, stacking them neatly. After they were all packed in, the jewelry boxes were next to follow leaving the safe empty. He closed the bag and grunted softly at the weight as he shouldered the extremely heavy bag to his back. He stood, lashing the straps down and began padding out of the room.
He stopped short as his thieving eye caught a diamond Rolex watch around the wrist of the rat’s right arm. The fur in his black fingers all tingled with opportunity. He quickly turned and stepped over to the bedside and examined the arm draped over his side.
He rubbed his fingertips against his palm to increase the sensitivity and gently unbuckled the clasp. He carefully slid the watch towards the hairy hand, taking care not to disturb the arm.
Unfortunately, the watch was made slightly smaller than it should have been as the smooth sliding of the band was stopped by the thick hand.
He snarled slightly, baring parts of his sharp white teeth. He moved his hand to the rat’s and pressed the fingers together to compress the bones. He was gentle as not to wake the fur he was pilfering blind.
Cymaenie jiggled the watch carefully, as it slowly slid over the bony hand. It was almost his when the rat stirred, and his hand clenched around the watch face. Cymaenie let loose the watch, as the rat rolled onto his back, with a cough.
The very air stopped as the raccoon eyes surveyed the situation carefully. He blinked, remaining calm. The rat sniffed and sat up groggily, he turned his digital alarm clock which read 2:38. Suddenly, his grogginess changed to that of a curious alarm. He noticed the watch half off of his right hand.
He clicked on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a yellowed light. He jumped with surprise when he saw the raccoon. His head whirled to the safe, which lay open.
“Shit! You bastard!” he yelled. Cymaenie was nothing more than a bushy striped tail out the door. The rat reached under his pillow pulling a Beretta out. He aimed to the door, but the raccoon was long since gone. He cursed, yelling out after him and charged out of the room.
He quickly looked about the room, seeing the shoe fly out of the front door. He fired a shot, putting little else than a hole in the hallway floor.
Cymaenie was in a full sprint down the hall, his long legs almost making him fly. The rat stumbled out of his apartment, and fired after him. Cymaenie didn’t break stride as there was a zip and small chunks of the gypsum in the drywall exploded to his right.
He reached the luckily open window and dived out as another bullet shattered the upper pane of glass. He rolled across the roof, and to his feet. He veered sharply to the left, heading for the street. The rat was at the window and firing off at him. Bullets ricocheted off the roof top and air conditioners.
Cymaenie jumped over the lip of the roof, his feet landing on a heavy power cable. He ran across this, leaping from it at the building across the street.
The rat fell from the window hard onto his shoulder, staggered back to his feet and wheezed up to the edge of the building. He spotted the raccoon perched atop the gabled roof peak across the street. He waved and jumped down the back side of the metal roof.
Cymaenie slid down the slick roof. He jumped from the gutter, where he grabbed the edge of the fire escape of another brick building across the alley. He let go, and landed on the grungy pavement of the alley.
A primer gray 1973 Monte Carlo was parked here. He opened the door, slid off his pack to the bench seat, climbed in and closed the door. He grabbed the key from the sun visor, and turned the car over.
He shifted the car into drive and with a grumbling exhaust, was moving down the alley and onto the street.