Cat Taljov the Fifth's First Heist

Carol stared at her mother nervously, unsure of what she would have to do.

            “Mother, are you sure that I’m ready?”

Mother smiled.

            “Carol, you’ll do well. You must be confident in the skills you’ve learned. Pull this off, and you’ll make me proud to be not only my daughter, but also the fifth generation of our family to be the Cat, professional thief.”

 

At 1am, Carol Taljov infiltrated Kal Dus’ well-built, imposing mansion in Budapest. Before it, a wide patch of white, painted road that split off into two paths, with trees at both sides, standing like plant soldiers remaining loyal to a kingdom. In the garden were a grand selection of sunflowers, roses, poppies, bluebells, and violets, patterned in a beautiful, rainbow-like swirl that would look captivating if it hadn’t been for the fact that the flowers closed themselves up at night.

            A security guard walked on one of the paths. Kal only employed ten guards. She thought, Best stay alert. Ten is enough to make things problematic. But then again, with her training, she’d be in and out without a single problem. Everything was going to go smoothly.

She wore a black catsuit and belt, a personal favourite in burglary clothes. Her mother said to take advantage of the night and shadows by wearing dark clothes. A leather poster tube was over her shoulder as part of her plan.

She climbed over the golden gate, and made a dash to a corner of the mansion that was out of the guard’s line of sight. The guard was too far away to notice her, even in the shadows, as she made her way to a door near the back of the building. A lockpick was all she needed to break in.

            She grabbed the handle, preparing to enter, feeling that this was going well. But that sensation was interrupted when a slow, assertive voice whispered.

            “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.”

            “Oh, a man with a gun. You must think you’re macho with it.”

            One of the guards had discovered her. The old quick-turn-with-punch-before-he-has-time-to-react technique worked, and a few hits to the head knocked him out. She dragged him into a nearby bush. It pained her to do heavy work, but some things are necessary.

She rummaged through his wallet, interested in what she could find – he was Roff Gáspár, and pictures showed he was a family man, with a wife and two kids. He had 35572.37 forints (356.90 would be £1), which she was tempted to steal. But images of his family appeared in her head, and she asked herself, Am I willing to steal from a working dad? Internal debate ended with not a single florint taken out. He needed that money to support his family, and that was a line she couldn’t cross. She hated herself with a flicker of guilt.

 

“Mother, I’ve found a target for my first job!”

“Who is it, Carol?”

“Kal Dus, millionaire, owns the painting Many an Anniversary, painted by Harold Kelly, 1926. I’ve looked into researching the layout of his mansion, so I know where to find it. I can steal it for the Cat’s 250th anniversary!”

“Are you sure it’s not a fake?”

“Absolutely.”

Mother smiled. “That’s my girl.”

 

Opening the door, she found herself in the kitchen, which was spacious enough that walking through it felt like you were in a car park. The tools of food, knives, ladles, plates, like a kitchen army, were lined up like soldiers when their superiors requested them. Going through kitchens always made her feel hungry, if not greedy.

            She saw one of her favourite kinds of food in a see-through casing. A large chocolate cake with sprinkles, icing, and small chocolate balls. Ever since she was little, she loved cakes. And chocolate. And chocolate cakes.            

Looking at such a delicious sight, she smiled as her hunger returned. Was it Kal’s birthday? Even if it wasn’t, it made her think of how to celebrate the anniversary of generations of burglars other than stealing a painting – eat the cake. She was going to steal from him anyway, so why not? According to research, Kal was involved in drug dealing and had ties to a few criminal empires. He was corrupt and rich: two acceptable requirements for targets in the Cat lineage. Just as he didn’t deserve the painting, he didn’t need cake.

Her thoughts were strengthened as her stomach yelled like some overindulged child not satisfied. She agreed with it – the cake wasn’t Kal’s, it was hers!

            She grabbed a fork and tucked in. Every bite was like eating Heaven. Afterwards, a moment of clarity struck her; how much time had she spent eating? What if she had been caught by one of Kal’s guards checking the dining room and kitchen?

            She had broken one of the rules of being the Cat: don’t eat in the middle of a heist. It was a good thing that her predecessors were dead – they’d shake their heads in shame knowing that their latest successor was a pig.

“Great,” she thought. “Might as well change my name to Pig Taljov.”

To make up for it, she took out a permanent marker and wrote on the sideboard where the cake had been:

 

“Dear Kal Das,

Your cake’s missing. I know where it is – in my stomach.

Don’t worry, it was delicious.

I hope you’re okay with it.

       Cat”

 

While she was embarrassed by the whole affair, at least it gave her a chance to also embarrass Kal. At least she had something to eat.

Past the kitchen was the dining room, featuring a magnificent, well-decorated series of tables; half were rectangular, the other half square.

            Through the dining room, there was a stairway that would allow passage to the location of ‘Many an Anniversary’. Kal didn’t bother to install security cameras. He was arrogant, stupid or just never thought of it. With no cameras, her infiltration was given that little extra stealth. It would be difficult trying to sneak around when taking security devices into count.

            Making her way through corridors at night gave her the creeps, glass windows on one side, reflecting the moon, the great white pool ball looming above.

The doors felt like anyone could jump at you at any moment, coupled with the unseen forces from behind, that sensation you would get that goes down your spine and shoulders, never knowing what might surprise you. Anyone or anything sneaking up on you would remain quiet, so that when you didn’t turn around, they could grab you, and fear and shock would take over. That sudden rush of excitement would kick in, as the person behind drags you into a room and does unspeakable things to you.

 After all the advice that Mother had lent her about not being scared, she was damn terrified at the possibilities of dark corridors. Good old Mother, she never forced this title on her, never made her give up school for it. She felt that a good education comes first over training to be a thief, and this job was the one way to prove to her that Carol was capable of taking up the legacy after two years of hard training.

 

“Are you sure you want to take the title, Carol? There are risks to be taken.”

            “Mother, I’d do anything to make you proud of me. And besides, this’ll be such a cool experience.”

            “This isn’t a game, Carol. This is a very serious profession. One wrong move and you could be jailed, or even killed.”

            “Sorry, I just…need to see what it’s like. It’s a family tradition.” The name of the Cat had been taken up by the Taljov since 1755 by Ajtony Taljov. It was time for the new generation to follow in the footsteps of the old.

            “Please, teach me.”

            Her mother sat quietly for a minute before giving her life-altering answer.

            “Alright, I will. But the process of becoming the Cat isn’t something that can be finished quickly.”

           

The darkness was shattered by a torch from behind. It was one of Kal’s guards, ready to attack unwanted guests.

            “Szar,” she cursed.

            The guard was ten feet away, only bearing the torch.

He ordered her to freeze.

            She told him to go to hell.

            Carol ran towards him, risking the chance of having the daylights (or cake) kicked out of her. Unfortunately, he struck first, using his torch to hit her on the jaw. The pain felt like a hammer shattering glass; she had never been struck on the face before.

            Her head hit the floor. Gathering what strength she had, she sent a kick to the guard’s joy department. It worked, leaving him agonised. With this opportunity, Carol got back on her feet and grabbed the guard’s torch.

An animalistic surge of violence fuelled her as she pummelled his head with the torch. She checked his heartbeat – he was okay.

            It looked like she was both Cat the burglar and the animal. It felt so sudden, yet so good. This must have been what her predecessors felt: more animal than human. It could have consumed them to the point of killing. If so, then she wouldn’t want to follow it. She didn’t want to be a murderer; sure, she steals, but that’s a series of crimes she was okay with, and even with that, there were limitations. She had to stop before she started.

            She resumed her venture down the corridors until the sight of her objective caught her attention, hung up against the wall, a good five feet from the doors on either side. The frame was gold, with wing patterns at each corner, a stylistic touch. The painting featured fireworks, colours red, green, blue, white, yellow, that made the figures of a couple in wedding clothes, kissing. Though not the kind of anniversary she was hoping to celebrate, it looked nonetheless like something worthy for her fireplace.

            She placed the poster tube on the floor and took out a large rolled up sheet. The painting was removed from the wall, then from the frame. But the feel of the paper was…unexpected. It didn’t feel old, no cracks or creases.

            This was a copy. Just a copy. Carol froze.

Goddammit! A no-good piece of worthless paper!

How was she this stupid to go all this way for something that wasn’t the real deal? If Kal was rich, why not just buy the genuine article? What pride would he put at stake with a fake?

            Unless the actual painting no longer existed. It could have been destroyed, or maybe tucked away. The only other question she could think of was how she didn’t find out about this until the last minute. Maybe information regarding the true painting was discreet.

She hated herself for plunging into this, expecting it to go smoothly. But no, she had to knock out guards and find out it was all pointless. This was degrading for a first-time burglar. Mother would have scolded her.

Then it occurred to her. Maybe there was a way to succeed with this fake and make Mother proud. After all, she said, “When you bring it back safely, you’ve done the job.” It would be worth it, as, real or fake, Many an Anniversary would have been stolen.  

She rolled up the fake and stuck it in the tube, which was the right size for the job, and placed her sheet in the frame. The stand-in sheet had a hand-drawn picture of a grinning cat.

 

She had learned many things from this; her overconfidence and temptation were gone, as it came with the inexperience of an actual heist. More importantly, she needed to curb the darker side of being a criminal. Information had to be checked repeatedly to avoid any problems like with Many an Anniversary. To continue the Cat’s legacy, there must be no mistakes.

Back home, the painting stood above a fireplace as Carol and her mother sat down on a leather sofa, triumphantly holding champagne glasses. Mother wrapped an arm around Carol and smiled.

“I’m proud of you, Carol. You’re now Cat Taljov the Fifth.”

“Thanks, Mother. I couldn’t have done it without you. I’ll make sure you’ll be proud of me for the rest of your life.”

“You already have.”