Post by Stardrifter on Jul 16, 2015 13:22:11 GMT -5
by
Stardrifter
Sweat dripped down his brow on the hot summer night. It wasn't the heat it was the humidity, he thought to himself. He scoffed at the idea and wiped away the sweat before it dripped into his eyes. Placing his hand back onto the small metal box, he gently removed the outer casing, his hands as steady as a surgeons.
"Dis gon' be easy," Remy Lebeau whispered to himself, smiling at the sight of the exposed wires.
The alarm system was a good one. Expensive. It had a number of redundant systems to keep it from being easily disarmed. Some dummy parts to try and trick would be thieves into thinking they had disarmed it.
Remy was no amateur. He was the self proclaimed "King of Thieves." This system was out for less than two weeks before he learned how to disarm it and practiced the process to perfection.
Pulling a tiny set of wire strippers from a pouch on his belt, Remy exposed a tiny wire hidden in the back of the box. He then pulled out a small black box with a single wire and clamp on the end. He slowly closed the clamp onto the exposed wire and pressed the single button on top of the black box. Satisfied, he then touched the exposed wire about a centimeter above the clamp. His finger then darted about, lightly touching various wires and parts in a flash of movement. As he walked away, keeping his back against the western wall of the large Greenwich, CT. mansion, he heard the tiny pops of explosions, like someone stepping on bubble wrap, telling him the alarm was now disarmed.
Security was light otherwise. Only four guards patrolled the area. Mr. Francis Garon was a firm believer in science and technology, which was to be expected of the owner of one of the most successful robotics companies in the world. He placed the protection of his home and it's contents in the hands of technology. It was a common mistake.
Remy moved quickly, his back against the wall, until he reached the corner. He ducked down into a bush and waited, pulling at his tight black shirt that was now clinging to him, drenched in sweat. It wasn't as bad as the black mask that covered his entire head except for his eyes. Summer was not the most comfortable season for thievery.
It took about two minutes for the guard to come into view. The short and slightly round man strolled along, shining his flashlight here and there, obviously disinterested. Seems one Francis Garon placed his trust in the wrong human hands as well. Still, as the guard got within a few feet of him, Remy held his breath and tensed his muscles, ready to spring into action should the man see him. He didn't.
After the guard rounded the corner, Remy let out his breath and relaxed. He waited another two minutes before rising from behind the bush. He walked about ten feet along the wall until he was underneath a third story balcony.
Showing a level of athletic prowess that would impress the most hardened of Olympic athletes, Remy ran about five feet up the side of the building, leaping up to grab the ledge of a window before his feet gave out. He quickly scrambled up, placed his feet on the window ledge, and leapt out from the building, turning his body as he went. At the last second, he grabbed the edge of the third story balcony, twisted himself around, and pulled himself up and over the railing.
His feet landed on the balcony with barely a sound. He quickly rushed over to the edge of one of the glass doors, peering inside to see if anyone was in the room. He had it on good authority it was only a guest room, but it never paid to take these things on faith.
Satisfied the room was empty, Remy moved over toward the middle of the double glass doors, still crouched down. He opened a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small glass cutting tool. He could easily have gotten in without it now that the alarm was down, but even the slightest noise could be enough to announce his presence. The extra seconds to cut the glass was more than worth it.
When the tiny hole was cut, he reached in with his fingers and unlocked the doors. He moved quickly to the next door, gently turning the knob and cracking it ever so slightly. Peering out, he saw the coast was clear, and slowly opened the door just enough to squeeze through.
As Remy moved down the hallway, he concluded to himself that he was making good time. Garon's study was less than twenty meters away. Garon and his wife were in D.C. for some charity event so there was almost no chance he would bump into anyone. Just get in the study, find the safe, grab the files, and get out. Easy.
Then Remy bumped into someone. He walked up to a corner, crouched down low, and peered around to see another shadowy figure moving slowly down the hallway away from him. It was hard to make out in the dark, but it looked like he was wearing light black body armor.
Remy pulled his head back and held his breath. Someone else was here. Did his employer hire a backup in case Remy failed? Or perhaps competition? It didn't matter really. Either way the other intruder was moving toward Garon's office and he was ahead of Remy. Friend or foe, Remy wasn't about to let someone else beat him to the score.
Remy began to turn around the corner, intending to move up behind the other person and get the jump on them. Instead, he turned the corner and found the silenced barrel of a rifle inches from his face.
Reacting on instinct, Remy grabbed the barrel with his hand and pulled it toward him. It caused the other person to lose their balance and stumble forward, their face meeting with Remy's elbow.
Despite the blow, his enemy reacted by reaching out and slamming Remy's head against the wall, hard. It dazed Remy for a moment. The two recovered about the same time and rose to their feet. Remy raised his right hand and a playing card appeared in his hand.
"Remy?" the other person asked in a harsh whisper, his eyes looking at the card. "That you?"
It took a second, but Remy looked into the eyes behind the mask of the other man and realized he recognized them. "Greycrow?"
Both men lowered their weapons and ducked back down, leaning against the wall. "What are you doing here?" John Greycrow asked, his voice deep and gravely.
"Working, what you think?" Remy spat back in a whisper. John began to say something else but Remy put a finger to his lips and moved on toward the study. John followed. Once inside, Remy gently shut the door and moved to the center of the room.
"What de hell are you doin' here?" Remy asked, lifting his mask up. John wasn't a thief. He was an assassin. One of the best.
"Same as you. Working," John said, lifting his own mask up. The Native American's features were angular and hard. He had a large, bushy black mustache above his lip. He reminded Remy of a Native American Sgt. Slaughter.
"You don' find it strange dat we were both hired ta come here?"
"Not really," John whispered. He spoke like he was chewing over the words. "Garon's got a lot of enemies."
"Well some of dem appear ta be badly informed," Remy said, moving to begin his search for the hidden safe. "Garon ain't here ta be assassinated tonight."
"Shucks."
There was no emotion in John's response. It caused Remy to turn and look at the man. He simply stared back at Remy with his cold, emotionless eyes.
The two of them had worked together in the past, here and there. Remy wasn't an assassin, he wasn't particularly fond of killing, but there were jobs where his skills for breaking and entering were needed to reach a target. The pay was good and Remy wasn't doing the killing. That's what he kept telling himself anyway.
As he continued to search the office for a safe, he came to a large portrait of Francis Garon hanging behind the desk. His fingers slid along the side until they found the latch and he swung the portrait open to reveal the large wall safe.
"Cliche," John scoffed from behind him.
Remy was about to start opening the safe when John's comment got to him. "Y'know, tis cliche. Dis man is all about technology. He ain't dis stupid."
Remy shut the portrait back over the safe and began his search again. He stepped over to the desk and began to feel around it's smooth surfaces. On the right side, in between two drawers, he felt the slightest movement when his fingers brushed the wood.
"Facile," Remy muttered and pulled a tool out of his pouch to open the hidden drawer. Inside, next to some cigars and a cell phone, was a tiny remote control with a single button.
At the push of the button, one of the bookcases on Remy's left moved away from the wall and slid aside, revealing a large safe. It was not a walk in safe, but still as big as a good sized refrigerator.
"Impressive," John muttered, still standing like a statue, watching Remy.
"Don' you got somewhere ta be?" Remy asked, annoyed.
"I'll let you finish first. No point having us both sneaking around the building. Twice as likely get seen."
"Have it your way," Remy muttered.
The safe was expensive. Only the best for Garon. Remy could have cracked it easily, in less than a half hour, but John was making him uncomfortable and he didn't want to risk anyone discovering the alarm while he worked. So instead, he quickly touched the three hinges and the latch on the door, using his mutant power to charge them with explosive kinetic energy.
"What're you..." John began to protest.
"Shh," Remy hissed, grabbing the door as the hinges exploded, catching it before it could crash into the floor. The explosions were small, Remy filling them with exactly enough energy to crack the metal and no more, but it still sounded like someone set off a small firework in the office.
"You trying to get caught?" John spat in a harsh whisper.
"I'll be out before dey get here," Remy smirked, setting the door down and moving back to rummage through the safe. "Shouldn't have waited, homme."
Remy pulled a black satchel from his back, opened it, and started shoving papers and portable hard drives into it. He ignored the traditional valuables, closed up the satchel, and started for the door.
Before either man could reach it, the door swung open from the other side. John raised his rifle, but Remy pushed it aside. Standing in the doorway was a small boy. He couldn't be older than ten, dressed in pajamas with the look of sleep in his eyes.
"Daddy, you home early?" the boy asked before his eyes focused on the two men standing before him.
Remy raised his hands up nonthreateningly and knelt down in front of the boy. "S'okay, fils. No one's here ta hurt you."
"Who are you?" the boy asked, fear in his eyes.
"We're..."
The sharp crack of a silenced gun shot rang out. Remy closed his eyes instinctively. He felt the warmth splash across his face. When his eyes opened, the boy was on the floor, motionless.
Remy wasn't a killer. He had killed before but it was self defense. Sure, like anyone he had the flashes of desire to kill someone in moments of anger. The brief, dark thoughts that you push aside as just primal instincts from the uncivilized times when man had to kill to survive. Remy never acted on such things. He'd never been angry enough, or cold enough, to kill unprovoked. Until now.
His cry of rage was choked up in his throat as he flicked a playing card into his hand, charged it, and spun to throw it at John. It slammed into his chest and exploded, knocking him clear across the room.
For John's part, despite being caught off guard, he responded quickly. After hitting the wall, he kept his feet under him and raised his rifle to fire. "Are you crazy?" John shouted in disbelief.
"ME?" Remy screamed, ducking down to avoid any incoming gunfire. "You jus' murdered a CHILD!"
John pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. He looked down to see the side of his rifle torn apart from the explosion. Remy, realizing something was wrong when the gunfire never came, dashed forward throwing two more cards as he went.
John dodged the first card, spinning along the wall to his left, but the second card impacted the wall next to his head. The explosion tore into the flesh on the right side of his face. He ignored the pain and raised his arms in time to guard himself as Remy slammed into him.
"You're going to get us both caught!" John shouted. He had Remy's wrists in his hands, struggling to keep the thief's hands from his throat.
"De'll catch your corpse!" Remy screamed.
He kicked John's foot out from under him and the two men fell to the floor, Remy on top. John still had his grip firmly on Remy's wrists. Remy could see the blackened and charred skin on the side of John's face begin to heal, his mutant healing factor already repairing the damage.
"Murderer!" Remy screamed, spit flying into John's face. "You really think de kid would have IDed you?"
John started to laugh. "You fucking dumb Cajun prick! The kid was the target!"
Remy's face dropped, John's words hitting him like a bucket of water. The distraction was enough for John to get his feet up and kick Remy over his head. John scrambled to hit feet and pulled a pistol out from behind his back.
"What?" Remy asked as he rolled up to his feet.
"As I said, the man has enemies," John smirked. "And not every enemy wants him dead."
"Jesus Christ!"
The shout came from the doorway. Two security guards were standing over the boy's body. They turned to see John and Remy in the office and went for their guns. John was faster.
Turning away from Remy, John opened fire on the guards. He hit one square in the head, but the second ducked behind the wall. They could hear him call for backup before returning fire.
Despite his anger, Remy did think to pull his mask back down over his face. That was the limit to his logical thinking. Ignoring the security guard firing into the room, he charged at John.
"You idiot!" John screamed as they tumbled to the ground. On his back, John punched Remy square in the mouth and kicked him off, then looked back to find the security guard moving into the room. John fired two quick shots, hitting the guard square in the chest, then turned back to fire at Remy.
Having recovered, Remy threw a charged card at John. It hit the pistol in John's hand and exploded. John cried in pain, then rolled backward to avoid to more cards.
With his uninjured hand, John grabbed a flash bang from his belt and threw it toward Remy's face. The light blinded him and caused him to stumble back. John rushed forward, punching Remy in the jaw, but caused Remy to three cards he had in his hand. They landed on the floor beneath them and exploded.
The floor opened up beneath them, causing both men to fall in a pile of debris onto the first floor living room of the mansion. John recovered first, rising from the wreckage, he immediately looked about for a weapon. He settled on a long piece of wood.
"You always were a sentimental fool," John spit blood as he looked for Remy. The wreckage beneath his feet started to glow suddenly. John lept away, the force of the explosion sending him high into the air.
Remy rose from the wreckage, his hand on his side. He could feel at least two broken ribs. Hopefully that's all it was. He grabbed a fistful of broken wood and began to charge it when he heard sirens.
"Heh," John smiled from across the room. "Now what? Is your petty revenge for a dead boy worth going to jail?"
Remy stared, his hand raised and ready to throw, unsure what to do. "You..."
"Given enough time, you might even be able to kill me. But not before the cops take us down. And guess what, you're an accessory to that boy's murder. Heck, with my testimony you'd be a co-conspirator! You gonna let this sudden conscience of yours send you to jail for life? Am I worth that much to you?"
The sirens were getting closer. If Remy wanted to escape he had to act now. If he stayed he could help take John down. Heck, Remy could probably escape with his powers. Unless John told the cops about them. Assuming they were even caught. John could just make a stand, planning for his healing factor to save him, but possibly getting Remy shot up in the process.
All these thoughts ran through Remy's head at once. It took only an instant for him to decide what to do. It made him want to vomit.
"We meet again and you a dead man!" Remy screamed as he threw the charged shards of wood at John. He didn't wait to see the outcome, but turned and ran as fast as he could toward the back of the mansion. His side burned with pain, his broken ribs making it hard to breath. He prayed they wouldn't puncture his lung as he flew.
He sprang out of a glass door to the backyard and didn't look back. He could see the flashing of red and blue lights all around him from the cop cars at the front of the building. Checking to make sure his satchel was still on his back, Remy dashed into the woods behind the mansion, freedom in sight.
***
"Gambit?" the frail, auburn haired young man sitting at the Starbucks' table asked as Remy walked up.
"Scarabaeus?" Remy raised an eyebrow behind his thick sunglasses.
Scarabaeus nodded, taking off his glasses to wipe them on a handkerchief. "You look like shit."
"I been better," Remy snarked, sitting down gently, trying not to tear the tape over his ribs.
"I heard," Scarabaeus said in a disappointing tone, putting his glasses back on his face. "Not exactly the professional job I was expecting."
"Well it got complicated," Remy grunted. "I got what you want. You got de money?"
Scarabaeus put a hand on a backpack sitting on the floor next to him. "I suppose you earned it, even if it was messy. At least Garon got what he deserved. The fucker."
Remy put the satchel on the table. Scarabaeus began to reach for it, but Remy kept his hands on it. "You hate Garon dat much?"
"The man is a thief!" Scarabaeus shouted. He realized how loud he said it and looked around to make sure no one was staring. "The designs you stole were developed on the technology my father developed! He..."
He stopped himself, realizing he might be giving too much away. Remy didn't honestly care. But it did tell him what he wanted to know. He pulled the satchel back down into his lap.
"You din' just hire me, did you?" Scarabaeus didn't respond, instead he looked away and sipped his cappuccino. "You got a lot of hate for Garon. You wanted ta do more than just steal from him. And you're new ta dis shady dealings thing, I get it. Didn't think about basic things like timing."
"Look," Scarabaeus finally said, turning back to Remy. "Do you want your money or not?"
"Yeah," Remy smiled, bringing the satchel back up to the table. He coughed loudly as he slid it over. "Sorry. Lovely doing business with you. But stick ta your day job, mon ami."
Rising to his feet, Remy walked past Scarabaeus, smoothly reaching down for the backpack as he went. Scarabaeus tried to object and started to get up out of his seat, but when he turned he couldn't see Remy anywhere. Just a crowd of people trying to get into the Starbucks.
Fear in his gut, Scarabaeus sat back down and quickly unzipped the satchel. A puff of smoke rose out and inside he found only blackened bits of plastic, metal, and paper.
-The End-