Nine Lives of a Cat Burgler

Busy Fizzy

It's been 2 weeks since the Layton house robbery. I have kept low and sold the jewels off for a nifty price. Enough to get essentials for a month. So as a brief catch up, I haven't needed to steal. At this precise moment, I am sitting on the bridge at the old market. The old market is kind of a joke as no one with anything useful ever sells there. It is full of black market traders, drug dealers and prostitutes. For me, it is home. The murky brown water of the river below reflects the bright sunlight today has brought with it. Leaning over the bridge I see myself reflected in the fast moving currents.

"Arabella, are you just going to sit there all day, doing nothing. Haven't you got some where you can be?" The old face of Margret, the shop keeper appears next to mine. She is in conclusion, old, grumpy, old, sneaky, old, spiteful and did I mention old. She is the oldest person here in the market, at the age of 52. The average is 32, twice my age(for those of you who can't be bother to work it out, that makes me 16). She is the only person who uses my real name, Arabella. She is also my employer so I can't say anything about it. You see, every cat burgler has another job. It makes you appear less suspicious. And I drew the short straw and ended up working in the newsagents with Margret. Yay.

I go back work reluctantly. Stacking more unaffordable sweets in brightly coloured plastic packets on shelves, and serving customers who either are junkies, drunks or lost. As the clock strikes 5, Margret chucks me the keys.

"Lock up, tonight, will ya?" She then leaves, slamming the rickety door behind her, changing the sign to closed. I turn away to empty the till into the safe at the back of the shop. You might think that an easier way of getting money is to take it from the till. Thats what the last person who worked here thought. They still regret it now.

I hear the door swing open, creaking as the person walks in.

"We're closed." I say whilst absent mindedly tiding the desk.

"A.B."

I turn around. The strange boy from two weeks ago stares back. Suddenly I am incredibly self concious of how I look. White shirt, black skirt, red hair scraped back into a tight ponytail with straggly bits escaping. Nothing like the cat. "Yes." I say cautiously, "what do you want?"

"The Resistance wants you." the boy says

"No,no,no. I am not working for the Resistance." I shout at him after he explains what he means, "I am not working for them and I am not stealing for them. I have a job and that is here."

"In a shop? With that woman? She hit me with her umbrella as I was walking down the street!" He retorts, " You have the skills, you have the knowledge. You can do it. Its just like doing the Laytons again"

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Admitting that I do have the skills and that the job at the Laytons two weeks ago was easy is not a good tactic. Better to just play innocent.

"You do, I was there. I saw you. The Resistance needs you. Do it for your family. Do it for the people."

I flip. How can he expect me to 'work for the people' when I am struggling to get enough money to survive. When, around here it is every man (or woman. We don't want to be sexist here) for himself. Where people get so desperate they do anything. Like sell themselves to groups like the Resistance.

"I won't work for anyone apart from myself. Anything I steal is for my gain only. You may think that is selfish but it is what we do around here to survive. Without stealing, I'd be dead by now. I didn't choose to become a cat burgler. I had to. And as you seem to not know this, I don't have any family. It is just me. Groups like the government, the rich, the Resistance took so much, I have nothing left to give, I have no one left to live for apart from myself. So, whoever you are, if you don't mind, I shall be leaving now." And with that I push him out the door, lock the shop and walk away.

I take the quick way home. That is, across the bridge, through the market place, down through the alley way between East Way Terrace (a group of run down houses ruined by time. You can't get lower than East Way terrace.) and the local Italian restaurant (very nice if you can afford it), up the drainpipe at the end of the alley, across the roof of the restaurant and finally climbing through the skylight, I use as the front door, into my flat. I say flat, but I really mean top floor of a unused office block. It was never finished and never used as it was in 'our' side of town. So they never finished the flight of stairs up to my floor. It is good training for my 'job' and it means that door to door salesmen are rare. He won't be able to follow me up here.

Slinging my backpack onto the old armchair (God, that was a nightmare to get up here!) I grab my laptop and look up The Resistance. People say " oh, why do you have a Laptop if you have so little money?" What can I say? My job has benefits. A wikapedia page comes up with some information: who formed them, their goals, general info, contact details, general stuff. But it doesn't explain why they want secret information, why they are training spys. The Resistance are known for big gestures, for example, the occasional setting fire of a government official's house, the usual protests. Not doing anything by secret. It isn't their style.

"Why do you need spys?" I mutter to myself angrily. After a few more minuetes of scrawling through pointless information, I give up. It isn't my issue anyways.

Looking outside I see the clock tower in the distance. The clock tower that hasn't worked since 1882 due to a year of rain rusting up the mechanism. It tells me that it is 3 in the afternoon, which is obviously wrong. The corner of my laptop tells my it is 9pm. Drat! I said I would meet Fizzy at 8:45. Putting my Laptop away, I swoop down, pick up my backpack and climb on the old table, through the skylight.

As I make my way back towards the market, I see her waiting on the bridge chatting to someone. Fizzy is my all time best friend. She is bubbly, she is talkative, she is bouncy and she works as a stewardess in the cinema uptown. We met a few years ago, when I broke into her house and she caught me. We got chatting and now we are friends. She has bright blue hair, and wears bright neon colours, looking very out of place amongst the dark colours of the old market. That's a good way to describe Fizzy. Out of place. She isn't poor but certainally not rich. She isn't an uptown girl but hasn't reached downtown yet. As I get closer I see she is talking to a boy, to the boy. Won't he just leave my alone! I back away into the shadows before they see me hoping he will walk away soon. Turning to go I suddenly hear the high pitched squeal of Fizzy.

"Hey, A.B. Where are you going? I thought we said 8:45! Did you you forget? And now you're just leaving me again!" she scampers towards me and grabs my arm, dragging me onto the bridge. "Oh, no you don't! I came all the way from South avenue just to see you! And then you just hide! Honestly, what have I said about your unsociable behaviour!" Beaming she hugs me an then does the weird french thing where you kiss both cheeks. She then turns to the boy. " Sorry about her." she fake whispers the next bit 'for effect' ( Fizzy is also very dramatic) " She has 'issues' with boys."

I feel my cheeks going red as Fizzy continues, oblivious to the metaphorical daggers I am throwing at her.

" A.B. I would like you to meet Ace. Ace, A.B. It's short for Arabella!"

"Ok Fizzy, I would prefer it if you could restrain from telling the whole world my life story." I smile at her, teeth gritted.

"A.B, cool name." Ace says. He puts his head to one side and studies me with those dark blue eyes. "Haven't we met before?"

"A.B, Is there something you haven't told me?" Fizzy butts in, eyes eager. Yes Fizzy, there is a lot I don't tell you. I don't say that of course.

"Must be someone who looks similar." I stutter quietly " Now Fizzy, what do you want to do tonight?"

"Well, I was thinking we could go to see that new film out, you know the one about...." Fizzy continues, but I don't really listen. I am too busy glaring at Ace who just smiles back innocently.

"Does that sound ok A.B?" I spot a chance to get out of here. Without a fight. Without being dragged by force. Without him.

"Oh yeah, that's great Fizzy." Oh yeah, that's just great.