Cops and Robber
Vicky got off the bus at Oak River Drive. The beige Ford was parked in the usual place. After a quick look around, and activation of the highly illegal CarPop phone app, the door unlocked.
It had taken her thirteen seconds to steal Jacob Farmer's car. After getting out of the area, Vicky used her cell phone to access Hannah Simon's hacked Uber driver account and put her on duty. Ms. Simon worked nights and would likely be sleeping now. She wouldn't notice the activity.
At the convenience store on the corner of 12th and Walters, Vicky hacked Gerald Roush's rider account and requested a car.
The computer records would show that Hannah had dropped Gerald at 427 Baker Street at 1:35 pm, though neither were anywhere near the place. Vicky's presence would go unnoticed.
In a grey sports bra and matching leggings, with a small bag around her neck holding the all-important cell phone, Vicky jogged to her destination. 17 Pine Tree Lane was just a half a mile away, but she crossed from the city into unincorporated county land. The police department and sheriff's department jealously guarded their respective turfs, so the abandoned Ford and Uber hacks would never be connected with the burglary Vicky was about to commit.
Vicky was a modern cat burglar. A quick Amazon hack had gotten her a list of cat owners. Cat treats, cat toys, and a pet door had been delivered to this house four months ago.
Taking busy schedules and procrastination into account, the pet door should have been installed by now. At 5 foot 3, weighing 96 pounds, Vicky could fit through there.
The lawn boasted a forbidding 'Beware of Dog' sign, but Vicky wasn't fooled. "Nice try, buddy. You didn't order dog food," she murmured to herself. The sign in the window read, 'Protected by Cortez Security.' It was just as easily dismissed. Cats run and jump and knock things over. That ruled out motion detectors. And unless you want Fluffy or Mittens to trigger an armed response, there would be no alarm on the kitty door.
The gate to the backdoor was locked, but Vicky had a special magnetic device that moved the tumblers and opened the lock. Once in the back, she found the rear door, complete with pet entrance.
Everybody should be at work right now. Vicky would pop in, grab cash, jewelry, and electronic devices. She'd find a purse or backpack to carry it in and walk out the front door. Twenty minutes, tops.
She knelt down by the pet door, observing everything. This was the risky moment. A sick child, a retiree, vacation time, a graveyard shift. There were reasons that someone might be home in the early afternoon.
The shed door was locked and the hose was tightly coiled. Nobody was doing any gardening. The barbecue grill was pushed up against the house. No backyard cookout was planned.
Slowly, Vicky pushed the pet door open. She saw no movement within. Carefully, she slid her right arm through the opening, as silently as possible. With one hand on the kitchen floor, she eased her shoulder in, then tucked her head under and through.
Now came the tricky part. She pushed forward with her knees until her breasts squeezed past, one at a time. If she'd been any bigger than a B cup, this would have been impossible. The little pouch carrying her cell phone and lock magnet was sheltered in her cleavage and made the transition without catching on the lip of the entrance. Finally, she pulled her left shoulder through the door and rested, halfway through, on her hands and knees.
Vicky stopped and listened very carefully. Any noise from a television, radio, dishwasher, or clothes dryer would mean someone was in the house. She heard nothing. No sneezing or snoring or crying baby. No running water. The lights were off. The coffeemaker was off and empty. Nobody was home.
Her hips were too wide for the pet door. She'd nearly gotten stuck the first time she'd done this. But if she tilted her pelvis, she could come through at an angle. She straightened her knees until she was in a pushup position and started shifting her weight.
Suddenly, there was a hand pressing down on the small of her back. A male hand, by the size of it. Vicky gasped. Her eyes went wide with panic. She was pushed back down onto her hands and knees.
From outside the door, a deep male voice said, "Hang on there, little lady. I don't believe you live here."
She tried to pull away, but he was preventing her from twisting, so she couldn't fit through the door. Backing up wouldn't be any easier. Without careful maneuvering, her shoulders and breasts would get stuck.
"This looks like Breaking and Entering to me," said the voice. "What do you think, Earl?"
A second male voice spoke in agreement. "I would have to say you're right, Hank. We have caught ourselves a criminal."
Vicky stared at the kitchen floor and took several deep breaths. "I didn't take anything," she said. "This is my cousin's house. I lost the key."
"What you saying' in there? You has got to speak up on account of the door between us."
"I said this is my cousin's house!"
"Lyin' makes it worse, Missy," Hank said. "I know the people who live here. They don't have no cousins, 'cept for one grouchy old man in Alaska. They is not on speaking terms."
The hand was lifted from her back, and instantly replaced with something cold, heavy, and narrow. Vicky realized it was the garden hose as Hank and Earl wrapped it twice around her waist. "That will keep you in place while we decide what to do with you," Hank said.
"Let me go," Vicky pleaded. "Can't you just let me go?"
"Could do," Hank said. "Tell the truth, I have me a powerful dislike for the people who own this here house. What ya think, Earl?"
"Maybe. They is unpleasant people to be sure. But we got a duty."
"Oh, that's right. I almost forgot. Here that, girl? We got a duty."
"Here's the thing," Earl said. "Hank and me, we're cops. And when we catch a criminal-"
