Being a cat burglar here in LA had always proven to be quite a lucrative employment for me. After all, there are plenty of upper-middle class families here, spread around a vast geographic area and falling under several police jurisdictions. That meant I could move from place to place, never setting a pattern for the cops to follow. I was able to do a little research on one house, hit it on a night when I knew they were out, and make out like a bandit. Also, there is so much more violent crime in this town, the local police barely even notice when a few houses get hit apparently by random with no one hurt.
This was my line of work, and I loved it so.
This one particular night I was staking out the house I was planning to hit. It was a very nice house in the hill country outside of town, but it wasn't a totally ostentatious, over-the-top mansion or anything. I prefer to hit houses of the upper-middle class because they tend to have a great deal of valuables right there in their homes, rather than the super rich who tend to have them hidden away in various bank vaults. Plus, houses like these also tended to either not have security systems at all or have systems that are easy to bypass, something not often seen in the homes of the upper crust.
As was my habit, I had been watching the place for about a month now. I knew that the occupant was a single woman. She apparently had quite a vigorous social life, because she had been entertaining a whole string of different guys this week, plus going out a few nights until early in the morning. There was no alarm system, nor were there any dogs in there. I had been watching the house earlier and had seen her leave, so I was pretty certain the house was still empty. I had gone for a while and it was possible she had come back without my being aware of it, but I didn't think that likely.
Besides, one of the skills of being a cat burglar is to sneak out as quickly and quietly as you snuck in, so even if she was home I wasn't overly worried about it.
It was now well past 2:00 am, which tends to be the best time to sneak into a house. Depending upon what shift a person works they are either at work or deep asleep by this time, which lessens the risk of any pain-in-the-ass witnesses, as well as unexpected occupants. I also knew from experience that the cops take what amounts to a break at this hour, so this was my time to work.
I walked swiftly from my car to the side yard, looking around quickly just to make sure no one saw me, my face conveniently hidden by my hoodie. The street and the surrounding houses were equally quiet. I then jogged to the back of the house; the light on the back porch had been disabled by me earlier in the week, and I was pleased to see that the homeowner hadn't fixed it. Walking up to the rear French doors, I effortlessly picked the lock, and silently let myself into her home.
I stopped cold, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dark and my ears to detect any sounds of movement. The attuned cat burglar will often hear the movements of an occupant well before the homeowner will, but not if he just blunders into the home like an elephant. I heard nothing, and was satisfied that the lady was not in the house at all.
Nonetheless, I proceeded quietly, moving softly and swiftly. Being quiet was made far easier by the thick plush carpet that ran throughout the entire house. As I looked around with a dim flashlight, I could tell this lady had both money and class. Being an uninvited guest into so many people's homes I get to see an unvarnished, unadulterated side of their personalities, and have grown to be a pretty good judge of folks. Everything from the carpeting, to the furniture, to the prints on the walls spoke of a lady who had a fair amount of money, knew the good things in life, and lived to enjoy herself.
I can be a burglar of opportunity, meaning if something is small and valuable I will grab if given the chance. However, I prefer to focus on jewelry because it's the smallest and most valuable take that's easy to transport, hide, and sell. So if you want a woman's jewels, that typically means going to her bedroom.
From my stake outs I knew where her room was in relation to the doors, so I knew that I'd have to take the steps and turn left. As I slowly and gently opened the door to what was clearly the master bedroom, I saw that my suspicions were correct and the owner was not here. The bed – again another example of quality, beauty, and class – was tightly made, and I assumed the lady wouldn't be back now all night.
I scanned the room with my flashlight, and spotted a large wooden jewelry box on her dresser; if my assessment about this lady was correct, I believed her jewelry would be of high value, beautiful, but not gauche, and very easy for me to turn into cash. I opened the lid of the box, feeling for a moment like a pirate who had just knocked over a valuable treasure ship, about to discover if all the toil and trouble was worth it. As my flashlight danced across her jewels, I was thrilled to see that I was correct beyond even my greatest hopes. This lady had mounds of very high quality, valuable stuff, a take that would make me a ton of money and most likely set me up for a whole year.
I stood there, being almost mesmerized by the sight of these jewels and the thoughts of all the wonderful things I would do with this, my largest take yet...
It was at just that moment that my eyes were blinded by the bedroom lights being flicked on, and I heard a stern female voice say, "Who the fuck are you?" My heart skipped a beat, and my stomach flipped over itself in fear. I considered running, but my eyes were still too blinded by the lights, so I instead slowly turned around.
"Get your hands up!" the voice ordered again. This woman's voice was deep, but not manly, and very secure. It had a strange, sultry aspect to it, and it seemed as if she was accustomed to giving orders. There was no fear, no panic in her voice, just that cool, commanding authority to it.
I slowly put my hands up as told, and my eyes started to adjust to the glaring light. I saw that I was now being confronted by the owner of the home, who was holding a large handgun at me. I had only ever observed her from afar, but now that I was a mere ten feet away from her I saw that she was strikingly beautiful, with coal-black hair, clear white skin, and a stern yet strangely beautiful face. She was wearing a black thigh-length trench coat tied tightly at the waist, black tights and red, high heel shoes. I could only assume she had somehow returned home and entered without altering me and so was able to get the drop on me.
Yet for as beautiful as she was, I really could only focus on the gun pointing at me.
I stood there with my arms up, now realizing that my knees were shaking and I was sweating, even though it was very cool in the house. My heart was pounding and the blood was racing through my veins so hard I feared I might pass out. I then realized that I was absolutely terrified, while this lady – who had just found a prowler in her house at night – seemed not the least bit affected by it.
Now, even though I am a good cat burglar, I'm not perfect. I've been caught before, confronted unexpectedly by the home owners while doing my work; what usually happens is they are more scared than you, and go running away screaming at the top of their lungs, giving you an easy opportunity to split. In the confusion, they also forget any trace of what you look like, which is an added bonus.
But not this lady. Oh, no, she was cold as ice.
She stood there, glaring at me, pointing the gun at my chest, while I stared at her in terror. I waited to see if she would shoot me or call the police on me.
She looked me over from head to toe, then said, "I think I know what I'm going to do with you," which gave me hope even as it confused me all to hell. What she did next, however, just plain scared me. She reached into her coat pocket and tossed me a pair of handcuffs. I stared at them stupidly for a moment, wondering who the fuck walked around with cuffs in their pockets, then she ordered, "Put them on."
Still scared shitless, I complied, not particularly liking the cold grasp of the cuffs across my wrists as I locked them. "This way," she said in that low, sultry tone of hers, as she twitched her gun down the hall, "move slowly and keep your arms at your waist. Don't try to run, or I'll shoot your fucking head off."
I did exactly as she said, fearing she would indeed put a bullet in my brain. She had by now turned on the lights, and she ordered me down the stairs, into the kitchen, and then told me to open a door. I did as I was told, and peered down into a dimly lit set of steps running to her basement. I proceeded slowly and carefully, very much aware of the gun being pointed at my back and finding it hard to go down dark steps with the cuffs on.
When I got to the bottom I looked around, which was difficult because the large finished basement was dimly lit by recessed lighting turned low. There was, however, one light shining brightly in the middle of the basement, illuminating something in the center of the room.
