Sly Cooper and the Gang In: A Long Lost Love

CHAPTER 8

Art Credit: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/lyeko

Sly stifled a wince as the rat clamped the cuffs on his wrists. A few yards away, Murray was being given a similar treatment by a street cop who just so happened to join the new Police Chief on his rounds. Uromys was reading Sly his rights, his beady eyes narrowed, but Sly didn't hear a word. Everything was humming silence as the lawman shoved him inside the squad car beside Murray and they flew through the airways to the Paris Police Department's headquarters.

"I hope you're comfortable," Uromys said as he shut Sly into his holding cell. Murray had been locked into one five cells down–lest they 'conspire.' "With your record, you'll be here a long time."

"Get Barkley on the phone," Sly demanded, trying to stuff down the burning temper rising in him. "I worked undercover for this department for five hundred years. If you'd give me a chance to explain what's happening instead of sticking that nose of yours where it doesn't belong–"

The rat who stole Carmelita's job pressed the button to open the automatic exit door. Hydraulics hissed as it raised into the wall and he stepped through, turning to face him. "The only reason you got that pardon was because she'd gone soft." He rested a hand on the baton at his hip. "You can't charm your way through our ranks anymore, Cooper. I don't know where she ran off to, and I don't care. All that matters to me is this department finally sees you for what you are: a criminal, and justice can be done."

Sly had just started telling the Chief exactly what he could do with his filthy, bribing, forging, usurping nose when Uromys hit the button on the other side of the wall. "You lied to get her, and now you've lost her. It comes around, Sly. It all comes back around." Before Sly could respond, the automatic door whirred shut, locking him and Murray away in the lowest floor of the police tower.

"It'll be okay, Sly," Murray half-shouted from down the hall. "Bentley'll find a way to get us out."

Bentley would try, Sly knew. But a temporary incarceration was the least of their worries. That stupid, haggard, backstabbing, commandeering, mutinous piece of rat shit had radioed the officials at FarFlight Tower and alerted LaTour his helicopter had been stolen. Which meant Clockwerk knew Sly was onto him, and any chance he'd had at covertly sabotaging the machine was lost the second that helicopter took flight back to the Tower.

He put his head in his hands. Why. Back in the day when he'd taught himself to steal and gotten one over on the most professional thieves in town, everything had gone smoothly. When he'd gone against the Fiendish Five, reassembled the Thievius Raccoonus, and found his family's buried treasure, things had been rough–challenging, even–but successful. But now. . . Now, when he was trying to save his entire city . . . maybe even the world, now that coincidence was against him.

"Why d'you look so surprised?" the prisoner in the cell next to him mocked. "You spun a helicopter down in Junker City. What'd you expect?"

A chance. But Sly didn't bother replying, not when every word out of his mouth was just more evidence against him and his friends. Bentley had timed it perfectly. He'd timed it perfectly, and that helicopter made its flight when there was the least amount of air traffic–even LaTour's men didn't want to deal with unwanted eyes.

How many rounds did that police car make in a night? How many skyscrapers did it patrol? How many levels did Uromys and his partner have to scan per hour? Sly had picked a quiet space, a lull in traffic. He hadn't hit a single civilian aerial vehicle, hadn't so much as scraped a rotor wing against the building, or caused the smallest shower of sparks. He'd even turned off the headlights so the brights wouldn't spin during the fight, and they'd still seen him.

The night hours passed miserably. A cold, clinical dampness hung over the cell block, the gleaming white ceiling and floor tiles lending a disoriented effect when paired with the bright fluorescent lights. Everything was perfectly uniform. Perfectly perfect. If it hadn't been for the beds, toilets, and bars, he wouldn't know up from down. How Carmelita could stand this place, he'd never understand. But even that thought made his chest crumple a little more.

Lied to get her, live to lose her. Uromys's words hung in his mind as the hours ran by like sand, spinning and spinning a blade further into Sly's heart. Was he right? Had her selective ignorance worn off, and she'd seen his amnesia for what it was? No. Carmelita wouldn't leave him. At least, she wouldn't do it like this . . . 

Time ceased to exist in the Department's holding cells, so he had no idea if it was the next day or the middle of the night when Uromys returned with a sour look on his face and ran his baton along the bars. All five cells' worth. The sharp ting-ting-ting made Sly want to take the baton and smash the Police Chief's two overly large front teeth in with it. Murray woke with a grunt and a snort, looking around like he'd forgotten where he was before he rallied himself and scowled at the rat with enough intimidation even Sly felt the urge to run. "You better be making all that noise 'cause you got good news," the hippo threatened.

"Actually, I do."

Sly looked up from the floor between his knees.

"Someone posted bail for you. Looks like your lady still has some pull with the higher-ups, despite being MIA these past few years." He hawked and spat at Sly's feet. "Must've worked so hard to get that perk."

He threw the letter into Sly's cell, angling the envelope so it landed in the pool of saliva.

"What can I say?" Sly said, forcing a smile he made certain was more a baring of teeth. "I've always been a charmer."

"I'm sure you really threw your back into it."

Sly mocked him for a minute before picking up the disgusting envelope. As he read the contents, his hands started shaking so badly that the letters blurred together.

Ringtail,

I don't have much time to write. LaTour's machine works. My squad and I were sent through it by accident. I'm trapped on the other side. Trying to find my way back but I don't know where I am. Whenever they turn it on for testing, we can send messages through to the police receivers. Our sensors heard the staff saying you tried to steal some parts. Sly, Clockwerk is back, and he's going to open the portal to somewhere else. You have to beat him to the machine. If he changes the coordinates, I won't be able to come home.

Love,

Your Fox.

Come home. The words echoed in Sly's heart. Thrummed through his blood.

Home.

Sly's heart beat against his ribs so hard he felt certain it would break out of his chest. If he could get out of here, if he could get to the Tower first, he could get her back. His stomach flipped over. She hadn't left him. Maybe his loss had been perfect; all the parts were already there. He'd just need to turn it on, make sure it was still tuned to its last coordinates . . . Carmelita's face filled in his head, his chest, every vein and artery. Home. He could bring her home.

Careful not to give anything away, he sauntered to the bars as Uromys opened the cell door, patting the rat on the shoulder on his way out. "Give my best to your boss. And put your back into it, pal" He grinned. "Maybe one day you'll have some perks of your own." To add insult, he flicked the scheming, conniving, backstabbing lickspittle's nose like he might a child's.

With a wink, he followed Murray out the door, out of the station, and down every backroad he could think of to the Safe House to give Bentley the news. If anyone could figure out how to make sure Carmelita came back through the Gate in one piece, it was him.