I almost didn’t follow Carmelita out of her automobile. Nor did Murray, who only fit with the passenger seat put all the way down so he could lay his butt on it with his shoulders by the back seat. It didn’t occur to either of us to ask Carmelita about using our van, but by the time the idea came up, we couldn’t find the keys in time and she said the rehabilitation board was strict about deadlines. And maybe we were in too much anticipation for that van idea to stem in time too.

Anyway, I had to remind myself about 20 times today that she was our accomplice now. Sly would say if he were here that she’s helped us out more than a few times in the past and she and Interpol aren’t after us anymore (er, right now is more like it). I guess the excuse I gave my cerebellum for finally just going in there was I have never been in a prison outside of a few hours in the 19th century, and it might be good for me to get a sense of it if I ever landed here. 

Murray’s got the chills even more than me, and I think I know why. He was in prison for a few months with Sly and Carmelita, and he was brainwashed really bad by the Contessa. Prisons are especially not his turf. Murray’s strong, but he’s also a softie through and through.

“M-maybe I should stay behind and guard the turf o the parking spot,” says our guest. I nearly roll my eyes before deciding against the action. Dimitri Lousteau is also with us. Taking advantage of Carmelita’s offering, Murray and I looked around for people we could bring, and I came to realize the Cooper gang has always been a bit of an exclusive, outsider sort of business. Sly, Murray and I have managed to stay free through trusting only one another, and it can be hard to make full friends when traveling all the time and being hunted down by law enforcement and other criminals we may have stolen from or beat to the punch. The Panda King is currently all the way in China, and none of us know where the Guru is right now, so we figured the fashion critic of the gang would theoretically be better than no one. 

“Okay Dimitri,” I say to him, “we should be back soon. Just get yourself comfortable.”

I know that the guards at Heathrow Penitentiary are not technically in charge of catching thieves. At least when they’re not trying to escape the institution. But it somehow feels even worse than going right to the cops. Way worse.

Carmelita walks up to the gate, where an ape in gear, just like Venice’s mercenaries, is eyeing us suspiciously. “I am here to finalize details with one Jim McSweeney,” she instructs.

“Yes, I can see that, Inspector Fox. And who exactly are these two?” I can tell he knows us. He’s probably seen a wanted poster or two in the past.

“They’re with me. Here to discuss custody.”

“I thought old James tried to adopt way back and couldn’t cause he was a lowlife. Now you expect young lowlifes to take care of him?”

“Just let us in, Lieutenant Gronk. We have permission from Barkley.”

I can smell Murray’s B.O. And I think I’m starting to smell that way too.

“Clearly my judgment means nothing,” the guard grunts. “Very well. Warden’s in his office, ma’am. Things.”

The prison is clearly built for prisoners of numerous species. The front door is triple layered. The biggest door has a locked door on top of a locked door. I theorize they try to transfer prisoners here in orders based on size so the smallest one can’t slip away between two big ones. I see the guards are carrying various sizes of handcuffs, but they all seem to be tight as owl metal. The windows are all pretty tiny. I bet there are weights, lunch trays, and types of confinement suited for loads of different people, though I’m sure it’s the biggest and most threatening animals in this world who end up transferred to this institution. It’s big. And yet something that makes me strangely less afraid of this place, as I observe what I can, is Penelope easily escaped here. Shortly after arriving, no less. So why not us if it came down to it? And somehow McSweeney hasn’t found this place to be hell. Beats me why, but okay.

After getting past a metal detector Murray has to carry me through because my chair would set it off, and two barred doors that shut rather frighteningly loud behind us, we get a pit stop at the warden’s office. I read the name ‘Warden Barkley’ on the door, and Carmelita whispers to me that his first name is Larson, reading my mind.

Carmelita knocks and lets herself in. Inside is a European badger who looks up from some paperwork. My stomach does a slight dive. I recognize him. He was in the paper discussing that Bavarian chocolate. Only...wait, he’s younger. He doesn’t have a beard. Maybe this is a different relative?

“Oh, good, Ms. Fox, you’re here.” I notice Carmelita has a strange reaction to him. I’ll have to ask her later.

In the office I see a table of security feed, a mini fridge, and a desk that’s quite plain, save for what’s hung up around it. There are framed photos and posters of some of the randomest things; a poster of the Ecuador Elephants versus the Bolivia Beavers, a photo of a magnificent rock in a glass casing, maybe from a museum that nearly got robbed but was stopped thanks to security, a painting of Mt. Fuji with an ambiguous time in the year, a picture of him smiling with some suited badged sergeant not smiling back. So I guess his office does display some personality. It’s kind of hard to identify how he sees people who make their own decisions about the law. After we first took down the Panda King, when he got himself reformed, the warden of the prison where he was held was lenient on him. I learned from that that there are different kinds of authoritarians in correctional facilities.

I consider saying something, but I feel this man is kind of prideful and doesn’t want to do anything that would resemble a negotiation. So I keep my mouth shut. “Do we have your permission to sit in on McSweeney’s parole hearing?” asks Carmelita.

“Well…” Barkley acts like he’s thinking this over, flipping through the last of his papers, but his eyes tell me he’s made up his mind. “When that old crook ends up breaking in somewhere again, at least he’ll be able to reminisce on his words and remember he was given a huge opportunity for a home.” He glances at us. “With a disabled turtle and an obese hippo.”

“Now hold on!” I can’t help but open my mouth and I can tell that hit a nerve with Murray too. “McSweeney’s going to be a model citizen when he gets out! And we are not the losers you think we-” Barkley puts up a hand, somehow silencing me. Carmelita glares at me from my side. I remember where I am and painfully swallow my pride. “Sorry,” I mutter to Barkley.

“Well…” Barkley takes a sip from a mug. “Good to know some criminals can stick up for themselves. Will be useful if you do that again in this establishment, because you’ll be in two cells of your own like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Take them to the hearing, Ms. Fox.”

“Aye aye,” she says. I’m shaking, and Murray’s shaking even more as we leave his office as soon as possible.