Hugodrax poured himself a mug of coffee and sipped it down. “A quiet night. They are rare… but so refreshing.” He said to Frevvor who approached him.
“Agreed Captain. However, not always perfect.”
“Well, that is our job. Wouldn’t be any fun if was quiet. What have we got?”
“A domestic dispute. I’m not sure what to make of it. Some old fur called in that a crazy raccoon and dog were threatening people with guns and grenades at her garden party.”
“Sounds interesting. Did you send a unit over to investigate?”
Frevvor said. “Of course. They got there, it was a family reunion. And the home owner assured us that nothing was wrong. No guns, no grenades. Just grandma being crazy. I’m not sure what to think of it. The officers said he seemed angry and shook up. They asked a neighbor who said that the family suffers from an apparent lack of mental capacity.”
Hugodrax chuckled and sipped his coffee again. “That sounds like a typical day in Herdnan. Anything new on our robbery ring?”
“Nothing yet sir. I expect some more information soon though.”
Hugodrax nodded. “Very good. But, do keep me posted if another strike hits. I’d like to look at the CS myself.”
- - - - -
“Come on you bastard!” Cymaenie growled pulling as hard as he could on his wrench. He was in his hideout garage, under the hood of his Monte Carlo, fighting with a frozen nut on the alternator.
He had both feet propped against the fender, and both paws wrapped around the handle on the wrench, putting all of his weight in trying to break the seal. He pulled again, growling and straining to even budge the wrench.
He stopped and dropped his feet back to the garage floor. He smoothed out his ruffed arm fur. He pulled the wrench and slammed the hood down. It would have to wait till a later date. He tossed the wrench into his tool box.
He had already changed into his thieving gear. After the incident at Feirya’s house, he needed to unwind. He could think of only one way to do it. He opened the door on the Chevy and got in behind the wheel. He slammed the door and started the car.
He shifted into drive and pulled out of the garage and out into the streets. The night was calm, with clear skies and a dry, warm evening. He drove, savoring the nearly empty streets and quiet that the night had to offer. He was almost in a totally state of zen when the engine staggered for a moment, and shook the whole car.
He looked down at the dash to see the fuel was quite low. It had been a while since he last filled the tank. He looked back up at the four lane road he was on. He spotted a gas station on the right.
He clicked on his turn signal, pulled into the station and alongside a pump. He turned the car off, and froze when he saw the station store. It had a coffee house built into it and sitting just outside the front doors were three squad cars.
He looked himself over. If would appear as if he was going into battle. But, his car would be out of gas as soon as he left the station. His fingers flew to the clasps on his sword. He quickly removed it, tossing it under the seat and opened his back pack. He rummaged through it, pulling out a t-shirt he had tucked at the bottom. He pulled this on. He cringed as he had no shorts with him.
He shook his head and opened the car door. He hoped that the pumps and the car itself would be enough to hide most of him. He quickly grabbed up the pump and started filling the tank.
He looked over as the doors on the gas station opened and six police officers walked out, laughing with one another. He watched out of the corner of his eye as they all climbed into their cars. He breathed a sigh of relief as none of them so much as batted an eye in his direction.
He watched as they backed up and went on their separate ways. He turned back to his pumping and stopped it. He hung the nozzle up and pulled his desert eagle holster and tossed this into the car. He grabbed his backpack and pulled out a hundred and closed the car door.
He jogged inside the gas station and up to the counter. “Pump three.” He said.
The attendant paid him no attention and yawned as he took the bill and gave it a quick mark with his counterfeit pen. He rang up the fuel purchase and slid Cymaenie his change without even so much as a word.
He rolled the bills in his paw and headed out the door to his car. He got in, stuffed the change into the bag and started the car. He shifted to drive and roared out of the gas station.
He drove a few more blocks down the road till he spotted a phone booth. He pulled the Chevy over and parked, leaving the engine running. He hopped out of the car and leaned through the door and picked up the phone book.
He opened it and flipped through the white pages. His claw scanning through. He flipped the page, quickly scanning down the names. His claw stopped on Hoffer. He picked up a pen hanging from the phone and ripped off part of the phone book cover. He jotted down the address, and climbed back into the car.
He opened the glove compartment and removed a Herdnan City Atlas. He opened it and jumped to the index. He looked up the street name, and where it was. Once satisfied, he tossed the atlas on the seat and headed off in that direction.
- - - - -
Thirty minutes later, Cymaenie was stealthily running down the very same street, looking at addresses. Once he found the house he was after, he jogged back down the sidewalk to his car. He opened the door, popped the transmission into neutral and pushed it down the quiet street through the suburban bliss.
It took him a little effort to get the heavy car rolling, but once he had it motion, it was easy enough to keep moving.
Once he spotted the house again, he stopped the car on the street, and carefully closed the door, so as not to make any noise. He rubbed his paws and ran up to the front door. He peeked through the glass in the front door on each wall. There was an alarm system in place.
He rubbed his chin and jumped off the porch and ran around to the garage. An 02 Hyundai Sonata was parked in the driveway. He passed this and to the high wooden fence butted against the house. Not even so much as slowing, he grabbed the top of the 8 foot fence, and leaped. He propelled himself over the top, landing softly on the other side. He snuck up to the garage window and looked in. Parked inside was a brand new Cadillac Escalade. But, what interested him was the car next to it. A red 1964 Ferrari 275 GTB. Cymaenie’s draw dropped.
He pushed back from the window and continued around the house. He leaped up on the porch and peered in through the sliding glass door. All of the windows and doors were rigged into the security system.
He thought, and looked up. He Jumped on the deck railing, and tested its sturdiness. He ran along it, and jumped at the side of the house. This put him on the roof over the dining room and kitchen at the back of the house. He pulled himself fully on and stood. He walked up the shallow pitch of the roof.
He stooped at one of the windows facing the backyard and peered inside. It was the master bed room. He examined the window for any alarm sensors. The house might be a fortress on the ground level, but the window he was at was clean. He pulled the screen off from the outside and set it on the roof next to him. He rubbed his paws together and pushed up on the glass to open it.
It was locked. He pulled out on of his tools from the shoulder pouches and got his window slim Jim. He shoved it into the seam and gently worked the single lock over. Once this was done, he pulled his tool and pushed up on the window.
It slid open easily enough and he grinned putting his tool away. Then he glided in through the window and carefully closed it behind him. He looked around the room and snuck his way over to the bed.
He stood over the bed with his arms crossed and a large grin. Asleep in his bed was none other than Mr. Hoffer, his old boss. The bull was sound asleep in the bed with his wife, snoring away.
He opened the bedside table drawer and picked up his wallet. He flipped it open and thumbed through the many credit cards and scraps of paper wedged inside. He pulled out a card stuffed in the back of a pocket.
He pulled it out and looked it over. It was the security codes to the alarm system of the house. Cymaenie had to stifle a laugh. He set the wallet back in the table and closed the drawer. He made his way to the closet and opened it. The normal variety of hanging clothes and shoe boxes were arranged about.
But, Cymaenie was a professional and knew to always look a little deeper. He pushed a stack of shoes aside to reveal a small green floor safe. He leaned down and examined the safe. The dial was on the number 34. He scratched his head and carefully tried turning the handle.
Much to his surprise and luck, it was already unlocked. He opened the door and looked over his shoulder to check on the bulls in bed. He rolled his eyes and took of his bag. He opened it and started stuffing the piles of cash inside into his bag. Once the cash was all gone, he took the jewelry also stored inside, cleaning the whole safe out.
He carefully closed the safe door, and stepped out of the closet. He shouldered his bag and exited the bedroom to a hallway. He opened another door, just a bathroom, third door was a linen closet, the fourth door was another bedroom where his teenage daughter was sound asleep. Certainly nothing of intrinsic value there.
He turned the corner in the hall and headed down the staircase to the ground floor. He glided through the house to the office. He opened the door and looked around. A large corner desk was here, covered in papers and files. He passed this to the closet. He opened the door and spotted another, much larger safe tucked inside.
He tried the handle, but this was locked. ‘Makes sense with a kid.’ He thought to himself. Now, he would have to use some skill. He closed his eyes, and touched the cool metal of the combination. He took a deep breath and spun the dial, feeling the tumblers click and rattle on the other side of the door.
He felt the first tumbler lock. He stopped, and slowly started spinning the dial in the other direction. He felt it click. Then, even more slowly, turned the dial the other way, number by number until he felt the pins drop into position.
He opened his eyes, and turned the handle. The door was unlocked. He smiled at his handiwork and pulled open the door.
He stepped back examining the contents. Several lever action shotguns were inside, along with a few antique rifles were neatly placed on the left side. The center had two cutlasses, and the right had a file box of important papers.
He had his work cut out for him. He ran to the front door and held up the card he lifted from the wallet. He quickly punched the code in, and deactivated the alarm. He opened the front door and checked to make sure his windows were rolled down.
He closed the door to a slight crack and ran back to the office. He searched the closet over and grabbed the rifle gun bags he found on the top shelf above the safe. He quickly stuffed one gun in each bag, and zipped them closed. He worked quickly and soon had the whole collection in a pile. He grabbed them up in his arms and quickly carried them out to the car and tossed them on the backseat.
He ran back inside the house and took another look over the office. It was cleaned out. He continued through the house. The kitchen had nothing of interest, and the dining room didn’t either. He stepped into the living room, his last room before the garage.
A 54 inch plasma television was sitting on a low entertainment center. Cymaenie fell in love with it. It was much nicer than his. Not a problem, the Monte Carlo had plenty of space. He looked around and grabbed a folded blanket off the couch and tossed it over the screen. He continued to the garage. A wall hook held several sets of keys. He grabbed the keys to the Ferrari and opened the door.
He stepped down onto the concrete floor and walked up to the car. “Well hello gorgeous.” He said running his paw over the front fender. His next challenge was going to be the garage door. He looked around and spotted a toolbox and a hand truck.
He almost wondered if this burglary was a dream. He opened the toolbox, and dug around. He pulled out a pair of bolt cutters and tested them. He then climbed onto the hood of the Cadillac and kneeled under the automatic door opener. He held the bolt cutters to the heavy chain and cut a link off.
The chain rolled off the gear and clattered to the garage floor. Cymaenie froze, listening for anything stirring. He waited at least two minutes, but heard nothing.
He nodded, and jumped off the truck hood. He set the cutters on the workbench and approached the garage door. He manually twisted the handle and slowly lifted up on the door. The door clattered a little, but he knew was far quieter than the automatic opener. Once he had the door up, he snuck back to the house and listened again for stirring. Still nothing.
‘They sleep like the dead.’ Cymaenie mused. He went back to the car and opened the door. He got in and inserted the key. He pushed the clutch in and put the car in neutral.
The Ferrari rolled backwards out of the garage. He pressed the brake and turned the wheel so the car was facing the rear of the Monte. He got out of the car again, closing the door softly. He ran back to the house, grabbed the hand truck and took it into the living room.
He lifted the TV onto the dolly and carefully wheeled it to the garage. He gently brought it down the two steps, and then quickly rolled it down the driveway to the car. He opened the passenger door on the Monte Carlo and flopped the seat down.
He rolled the set into the door, and pushed it through to the back, folded the seat back and closed the door and used his hip to secure it. He went back to the trunk and popped it. He threw the dolly in as he didn’t have one of those either and pulled out some skid plates, locks and chains. He set these on the street, arranged the skid plates and opened the door on the Ferrari. He pushed the car so the front tires were resting on each plate. Then he quickly lashed the chains around the wheels, and locked them into place.
The other end of the chains he affixed to an iron cross bar. He then placed the iron cross bar into the trailer hitch he had welded on the back of the Monte and locked it into position.
He grabbed his ratchet out of the trunk and finalized his hitching job by tightening the chains and lifting the nose of the Ferrari off the ground. He cleaned up his tools and closed the trunk.
He then headed back to the house one last time, and closed and locked the front door, closed the garage doors, and was running back down the driveway again.
He checked his rigging job once more, and satisfied, got into the Monte Carlo. He turned the key and it roared to life. He popped the trans into drive and pulled away from the house and down the street, where he laughed at his exacted revenge.