Secrat turned where he had shut the door behind him and the loophole filled itself for him. On this side, the door had no handle. All it had was a large keyhole. The thief pushed at the door. He poked into the keyhole as if his index finger was part key. It was not. No windows in this room. Secrat couldn’t help but smile. He was screwed beyond restitution. It would have been easy to knock down the door; one or two kicks and it would be off its hinges. This couldn’t be seen as an option though. The merchant would be alerted, and he’d absolutely wake up all five of the ladies. As skilled as he was, Copé doubted he could fend off and fight naked ladies coming at him. He didn’t know if he wanted to fend them off either.
A small jolt of fear struck his chest. He washed it away shortly. Certain necessities had their way with being a thief, and one of them was the ability to act even when it seemed all was lost. He started around the room. If there was anything that could help him in the situation, he wanted to find it. He blew out the pine stick in his hand and threw it down on the ground. It wasn’t like he would need it. The only thing in the room was the bed, the sluts, and the candles.
Copé went closer to the bed, looking over the feminine tabbies. He expected for one of them to wake up and make a jump at him at any moment. His left hand touched the hilt of a knife strapped to his waist. He dropped to his knees and looked beneath the bed. A wooden box sat about midway underneath the mattress. The box was barely close enough for him to grasp with his arms stretched as far as they could reach. No combinations and no keyholes, Copé took refuge in that one singular fact. The numbers to the vault would most definitely be here.
The thief readied himself to open it. Everything felt slower. The moment was being preserved as if it was some special occasion.
Secrat Copé heard the door handle turning behind him. He didn’t have to think about it. All he had to do was react. He shoved the box back down under the bed and joined it. Hiding like a small child from the boogeyman. Azlak Temps opened the door, his feet being the only thing Copé could see. They were bare, without shoes, and dirty. His ankles were thick as well. Temps was definitely a heavier flow. He walked in slow.
“You’ll have to excuse me, ladies. Our dearest Jen has taken it upon herself to stray out of my ever-so humble abode. I have to fetch her.” He followed his words with a laugh. A nasally laugh that sounded more obnoxious than joyous. Copé wondered how much the man had to pay these ladies for their company. He thought about how that wealth would soon belong to the Red Flux.
Azlak walked deeper into the room. And then, something happened.
The sound resembled a small twig breaking beneath the paws of a grizzly bear. Copé watched from the under the bed while Temps moved his foot. The pine-stick he had thrown down had shattered away into something like soot. He could hear the loud groan from the large-man.
Every bit of the fear Copé had ever felt paled in-comparison to this moment.
It was the shock of it all that really scared him, but once more, he knew he had to react swiftly. He rolled out from beneath the bed and leapt to his feet. Other-wise, he’d be dragged out by Temps, giving him the advantage. “Look what the cat dragged in,” the mammoth-sized man yelled out. Copé assumed that was what he said, but he wasn’t for certain. There was so much blubber on him that his words sounded muffled even when he enunciated.
Under the bed, Secrat couldn’t even have begun to appreciate the weight that Azlak Temps brought with him. The excess of flesh stood naked in-front him; except for a small pair of tan-colored clothe acting as shorts. His size was insurmountable by even all of the broads and Copé combined. Copé wondered how Temps managed not to kill them during sex. He didn’t have long to think though as Temps let out a grunt upon making a lunge in his direction.
Copé moved out of the way. His speed would prove an advantage. He readied a blade in his hands before making a stab to Temps’ rib-cage. The knife pierced his belly like butter, and Copé felt his arm sinking into his stomach. The blood shot out fast, but Temps paid it little mind. The large-man simply threw a clubbed fist at Copé, sending the thief spiraling in a daze. Copé struggled, haplessly trying to regain his composure. If he couldn’t, the monstrous man would certainly make ends to his life. He was turned around, but behind him, Copé could hear the loud footsteps of Temps. He desperately threw a boot behind him. It connected, but whether it did much damage, Copé knew not.
The distinctive groan from Temps told him that it did. Secrat Copé turned around as fast as he could, only to run into a wall of fat, strung out like a clothesline. Copé fell off of his feet. He felt the back of his head hit the hard, dirty ground. The view around him seemed to be fading. It was flickering like a candle at wit’s end. He fought back to a seated position. If he fell out of consciousness, everything would be over. He looked up at Temps. The knife was still stuck in his gut like a splinter.
Copé let out a breath of air and watched the man run toward him. He rolled out of the way and shot back up to his feet. He thought Temps might have lost balance, but that was thinking too much like an optimist.
He waited for Azlak to turn around while he took another knife from his ensemble. This one had been strapped to his left-leg. Once Temps obliged, Secrat threw the knife at him. It pierced his skin and went into his stomach the same way the other had.
It didn’t seem to bother him. It was nothing more than an inconvenience. Copé let out a sigh. He wanted to curse but didn’t. He wanted to flee. Beyond all else and more than anything, he wanted to escape. His eyes went over to the door.
It was closed.
The key was most definitely on Temps’ person, but that meant nothing.
“Stop your running, bug!” Azlak Temps yelled. “I’ll crush your skull like nothing!”
The pain felt unbearable beyond all else. The ache from his head felt piercing, he was surely bleeding. Copé readied another knife in his hands. This one had been strapped on his right-leg. However, before he could do anything with it, Azlak threw a fist to his stomach. Copé leaned forward at his whim only to be taken down to his knees with an elbow to his back. The knife flung itself out of his hands as Azlak towered over him.
Copé looked in his eyes. They were eyes of ignorance and impractical strength. The look of somebody that knew he’d always be on the offensive. Azlak looked at him for a moment. There was a sadistic grin on his fat face. A grimace came to his eyes momentarily as he plucked one knife out of his stomach and threw it to the ground. He grabbed the other and pulled it out as well. He didn’t throw this one. Instead, Azlak held it by the handle and made a fist. His hand nearly swallowed the knife whole.
Copé felt a spark of fear jolt in him. It didn’t look well for him. It didn’t look well for his legacy. Raised by Toucan Veras, and in his first solo heist, he was offed by some merchant?
He was better than that.
And like somebody that was better than that, like somebody with the utmost of class, he drove his head into the giant’s crotch like.
This seemed to get his attention, Temps dropped to one-knee holding his groin. “You fuck!”
The fuck mustered the strength to once more find his footing. His head felt like the Amisoic Seas, swishing and swashing in waves. He walked toward the door where Temps threw one of the knives. He picked that one up, the one he dropped earlier, and the one Temps had kept. He threw two of them at Temps’ stomach. They punctured two more holes for blood to let out. The last one, he kept. This one belonged in the side of Temps’ neck. Copé moved to him. As the blood left his sides, Temps seemed to understand it as his end. Copé didn’t have the energy left to smile. All that was left in him was used to watch over near him, the knife in hand. Except, before he could add the final nail, Azlak Temps fell flat … he was dead.
Secrat Copé looked away from him. The whores were there, lying unresponsive and lifeless to everything that had happened. Beads of sweat fell down Copé’s neck. Sweat and blood. He dropped down. Under the bed, there was the box. That was where the combination numbers were. In the box was the key to all of the wealth. He slid it out weakly.
The box opened easily.
Inside, Copé’s eyes wandered about the contents. Vials of all different shapes and sizes, all of them contained a brown powder Copé had definitely seen before. He flipped the box over, emptied it all out and looked around. No combination code to be seen.
He didn’t have the energy in him to be upset. He didn’t have the energy to do much of anything. The feeling of light-headedness overwhelmed all else. His fingers caressed the thigh of one of the ladies before he used her leg to pull himself up onto the bed. He crawled inside, beneath the covers, pushing and shoving between the drugged whores. That is where Secrat Copé lost consciousness.
The Red Flux & the Wunderkind THief
Chapter One (1 - 2 - 3)