A Few Blocks Over

Written by IronicSnap

Summary: An original Dimitri Lousteau artwork is in the sights of the world’s most legendary master thief, forcing a long-suffering Interpol inspector to investigate. 

“Hey guys,” said Murray, laying down his comic book. “Do you ever wonder about... like, alternate universes, and stuff?”
Sly considered the question for a moment.
“... Nope. Not really.”

#

Berlin, Germany. The Heimengugg Art Museum.

A dark figure slunk through the night, darting from shadow to shadow along the museum's roof. The security cameras would occasionally catch a glimpse of movement, but it seemed to be nothing more than a moving shadow, a trick of the light.

By the end of the night, the only evidence the cameras produced was a blurry image of a long, thick tail silhouetted against the crescent moon.

Only one guard was stationed on the roof, slouched in a chair by the door to the stairwell. The bear was zoned-out, practically asleep, when a noise grabbed his attention. He snapped to attention, suddenly alert.

“Huh? Somebody there?” He took out his flashlight and shone it around, but the light revealed nothing.
 
Just when he was about to brush it off, another sound cut through the still night air. He whipped around, his flashlight catching a stack of scrap metal collapsing over itself noisily – and had he caught a glimpse of someone moving in the darkness, too?

“Hey! Show yourself!” The bear stood up and moved forward, eyes and flashlight working in frantic unison. But he still couldn't find the intruder – if there even was one. “Where are you?!”

A voice said, “Behind you.”

The guard whirled around, reaching for his nightstick with his free hand. Before he could lay eyes on the interloper, a cane was flying for his face. The silver tip touched lightly against his forehead.

Then it discharged a charge of electricity right into his face.

The guard grunted and fell to the floor. His flashlight slipped from his hand and ended up balanced against his leg, illuminating the intruder.

The light fell on yellow boots, navy jeans and a bright yellow shirt. It fell on a black cane ending in a silver mechanism, which still sparked with electricity for a few seconds before powering down. It fell on a orange fox with dark blue hair and a black domino mask around her playful brown eyes. She was smiling triumphantly.

“Sorry, pal,” she said. “Nothing personal, but I'm not exactly invited to this party.”

And with that, legendary master thief Carmelita Fox strode into the museum building.

#
 
On ground level, two bears were manning the front doors. The current exhibition was a stately affair: the museum had just been gifted an original Dimitri Lousteau painting, directly from the artist himself. Tonight was the opening, and they had strict instructions to make sure the event went ahead exactly as planned – which was why they were apprehensive when an unlisted guest marched up the steps.
 
He was a raccoon with humourless hazel eyes. He wore a drab grey suit, the only splashes of colour being his dark blue tie and the golden badge pinned to his chest.
 
“Inspector Cooper, Interpol,” he said, flashing an ID. “I have reason to believe your latest acquisition is in danger. Let me in and show me where you've secured the painting.”

The guards shared an uneasy look. “Um, we got orders not to admit anybody who's not on the guest-list...”

“And I have orders to investigate sightings of the world's most elusive thief!” Cooper barked. “So you'd better let me in before that painting disappears, along with your chances of ever being hired as security guards anywhere.”

The anger in the raccoon's eyes took both guards by surprise. “Okay, okay! Come in!” said one.

Cooper scoffed and followed them inside. He put a finger to one ear. “I've gained entry. Stay vigilant.”

No response.

Cooper sighed through his teeth, pressing the device in his ear harder. “Hel-lo?”

#

Down the street, a plain black van was parked against the curb. It was Interpol standard issue – no ornamentation whatsoever.

Two constables were inside. In the driver's seat, staring absently out of the window, was a green turtle. Behind him was a pink hippo, sitting by the van's collection of surveillance equipment. He had a thin, svelte frame for a hippo, the result of strict dieting – and, indeed, was currently stuffing a fistful of kale into a blender.

Bentley turned around. “Do you, like, have to do that now?”

“Why not?” snapped Murray. “I'll do as I please.”
 
“But dude, it's so loud!”
 
“What you judge to be too loud is not my concern.”

Bentley groaned. “Dude. Real talk. I hate working with you.”

“Well, the feeling's mutual,” replied Murray sourly. “The only officer on the force worse than you is that pompous, uptight di- oh, well, speak of the devil.” The van's communication device was blinking an angry red light – and indeed had been doing so for some time. Murray lazily pressed a button, opening the line. “What?”

“Firstly,” came Cooper's voice, “I told you to keep this channel open at all times.”

“Certainly, Inspector,” said Murray dryly. “Won't happen again.”

“Secondly, I'm about to check in on the painting. Have you established a perimeter as I instructed?”

“Um,” said Bentley, the cogs in his brain creakily turning as he tried to remember, “... maybe?”

“So no, then,” said Cooper irritably. “Well, get on it. You idiots need to make yourselves useful.”

“Rest assured, Inspector,” said Constable Murray without looking up from the blender, “that, for us, is most certainly Priority One.”

With that, he disconnected the comm line again.

#

Cooper strode through the museum, alert and focused. If his intel was accurate and Fox was in the area, then the painting was definitely in her sights – and with her flair for the dramatic, there was no question that she would strike tonight. He doubted anything would stop her from getting into the museum – but getting out was another story. Too often she had slipped through his fingers and into the night.
 
He idly patted the pistol holstered under his jacket. Not tonight. Not this time.
 
He had almost made it to the vault when a tall purple lizard in a fine green suit wandered into his path. Cooper shot him a glare, idly wondering how someone who clearly wasn't on the museum staff could make it so far backstage, before belatedly realizing the lizard was actually the guest of honour – up-and-coming painter Dimitri Lousteau.

Dimitri noticed him and smiled warmly. “Ah, good evening, my friend. Who might you be?” His French accent was still noticeable, but he spoke English with a precise fluency.

“Inspector Cooper, Interpol. I'm here to check on your painting,” said Cooper without breaking his stride. Dimitri began to follow him, floating along the corridor like an errant balloon.

“Ah, yes,” said Dimitri. “This celebration is quite... what is the word? Extravagant? I did not anticipate to ever have my work displayed in a gallery as lovely as this. A most pleasing development, no?”

“I'll be blunt, Mr Lousteau,” said Cooper, whose remaining patience was wearing thin. “I don't have time for pleasantries. Your work is in danger of being stolen by Carmelita Fox.”

Dimitri gasped. “The Carmelita Fox?”

“Yes,” growled Cooper, “'the' Carmelita Fox. So I'd appreciate it if you could just – ”
 
They turned a corner and Cooper cut himself short. The thick steel door of the vault was hanging slightly ajar. Four guards lay on the surrounding floor, either groaning softly or outright unconscious.

Cooper wasted no time. He ran up to the vault door and looked inside. A trolley was parked near the entrance, meant to transport the painting from the vault to the space where it would be officially hung at the peak of the ceremony. The painting wasn't on it – in its place was a small piece of orange paper, folded in the shape of a fox's head.

Her calling card.

“Dammit!” Cooper yanked the walkie-talkie off one of the unconscious guards as Dimitri drifted up to him. “The painting has been stolen! Seal every exit immediately!”

“Um, who are you?” replied a voice on the other end.

“What part of 'the painting has been stolen' do you fail to understand?!” bellowed Cooper.

“Agh! Okay! We'll seal the exits!”

“Good heavens,” said Dimitri, surveying the fallen guards. “That Miss Fox is quite the woman, is she not?”

“Stay here and don't do anything stupid,” said Cooper. Discarding the walkie-talkie, he glanced around efficiently for a clue as to where Carmelita had went. His eyes fell on an arrowed sign; 'Roof Access'.
 
There.
 
Cooper set off in a sprint, leaving Dimitri behind. As he ran, he pressed a finger to his ear. “Fox is on the scene, repeat, she's on the scene. Do you have the roads blocked?”

#

In the van, the red light began flashing again. Neither constable noticed – Bentley had his head on dashboard, half asleep, while Murray had turned on the blender, which was indeed incredibly loud.

#

No reply came over the comms. Cooper's eye twitched. “I hate you both so much,” he muttered to himself.

He burst through the door leading to the stairwell. Two floors above, he could just about make out Carmelita battling with some more guards. A cylindrical tube was hanging on her back – the painting, rolled up and stored.
 
Cooper wanted to rush up the stairs and apprehend her. Instead, he bent over awkwardly and sucked in a breath. “I seriously need to get into better shape...” he admonished himself. He turned disdainfully from the stairs and pressed the button for the elevator.
 
Carmelita was dispatching the guards with ease. One bear came in with his nightstick, but his swing was far too slow. She dodged under it, grinned, and zapped him in the torso. Another guard leapt for her – she slid to the side, and he tripped and clattered down the stairs, limbs flailing.

Only one guard was left, bigger and nastier than his colleagues. Carmelita smirked, danced up to him, and tapped her cane against his neck, activating the taser.

Nothing happened.

Carmelita quickly tried the button a few more times, but nothing came out of her cane other than a muted click. The guard exhaled through his nose, glaring at her.

“Huh,” said Carmelita, drawing back a little. “Must have forgotten to charge it this morning.”

The bear took a step forward, cracking his knuckles.

Carmelita smiled at him. “Y'know, my mom had some great advice about how to handle a situation like this. She'd always tell me, Carmelita Montoya Fox, if you ever get into more trouble than you can handle, just remember,” and then she turned around and ran off.

The guard yelled and went to grab at her, but Carmelita was too fast. She disappeared up the stairs, taking them two at a time. In less than a minute she had made it up multiple stories, leaving the guard in the proverbial dust.

She ran through the roof door she'd originally entered through, glad to be out into the cool night air. She jogged toward the edge of the roof, trying to estimate how quickly she could get to street level.

Her ear twitched at a sound and she immediately twisted to the side. A large gold hook, gleaming in the moonlight, shot through the air where she had been a second ago.
 
The hook retracted with a mechanical hiss. It sped backwards, the rope attached to it reeling back into a dark blue pistol, being held, naturally enough, by -

“Inspector Cooper!” said Carmelita cheerfully. “Hello again. I haven't seen you since I gave you the slip back in Montreal.”

“Which reminds me,” said Cooper firmly, “you need to return the Water Stone of Canada to its rightful owners.”

“Aw, and I was going to give to you as a little token of my – hey, y'know, that grappling-hook thing really brings out the colour of your eyes. Very fetching.”


“Hmph.” Cooper began to walk forward. “You're under arrest.”

“Oh, come on,” said Carmelita, backing up at the same pace. “You're done with the flirty chit-chat already? Aren't you going to give a little speech about your pistol? Say it might just snap me out of my crime spree?”

“Jail time should do that.”

“See, I guess that's a quip, but I can't help but feel you aren't trying very hard.”

Carmelita's boot hit the concrete wall around the edge of the roof. Without taking her eyes off of Cooper, she hopped backwards onto the wall. Despite the substantial drop to street level, her balance was perfect.

“You've got nowhere to go, Fox,” said Cooper. “Step down from there and surrender.”

Carmelita's smile widened. “Make me, handsome.”

Cooper growled to himself and fired the hook at Carmelita.

Carmelita watched it fly toward her for a second, her smile unwavering. She suddenly sprung into action, spinning her cane to get a good hold of the hook – and then taking a calm step backwards off the roof.

Cooper watched the rope speedily reel out of his pistol for a moment.

“Huh,” he said. Then the rope went taut and he was yanked forward.

Cooper whacked into the wall, the impact knocking the breath out of him. Below him, Carmelita was laughing merrily, hanging a little above street level.

A guttural thunder cut through the night air. A large purple motorcycle sped towards the museum, tearing down the street towards Carmelita. The light of the street-lamps reflected off the opaque visor of the driver's red helmet.

Carmelita looked up at Cooper, enjoying the surprised look on his face. She gave him a wink, let go of the hook –


– and landed neatly on the back of the motorcycle, managing not to crush the driver's striped, pink tail. Carmelita quickly wrapped her arms around the driver's waist for support. They sped away, leaving the museum – and Cooper – in the dust.
 
The driver offered Carmelita an orange helmet. Carmelita preferred to feel the rush of wind through her hair, but she took it anyway. Her friend was always worried for her safety.
 
Carmelita slid it onto her head. Both helmets had a simple microphone and speaker set-up, allowing them to easily hear each other over the roar of the engine.
 
Carmelita smiled broadly. “Neyla, you are the most reliable friend anyone could have.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” said Neyla bashfully. “I'm just happy to lend a hand.”
 
“Well, I'd be lost without you – and this poor painting would be stuck in that dreary museum, instead of over my fireplace.”

“Went well then, did it?”


“More or less. But the good Inspector tried his best to foil me.”

“Cooper? That mean old blighter?” Neyla took a sharp left, heading towards the Autobahn. “I hope he didn't cause you too much trouble.”
 
“Nothing I couldn't handle.” Carmelita smirked. “Y'know, he'd actually be pretty cute if he just loosened up a little.”

Neyla shook her head, smiling slightly. “I do not understand your taste in men, love, but I'm not here to judge. I think he'd need to loosen up an awful lot to want to date a master thief, though.”

“Anything's possible, right?”

“S'pose so, love. S'pose so.”
 
##

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