Ray Finnegan | Flynn Rider (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} reform_wanted) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} musingslogs,@ 2011-03-12 02:03:00 |
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What: Stealing Item Number One
When: 3/9 at 11pm until 3/10 at 2am
Where: Justin Webster's Apartment; the Warehouse Lilith told him to drop things off
Warnings: None
After his conversation with the mysterious woman from the bar, Ray set to work. He hadn't realized just how much he missed the adrenaline rush until he was faced with the sober truth of what had occurred the other night. He had gotten drunk and agreed to steal quite the laundry list of items for a woman he still didn't even know the name of.
For the better part of the day yesterday, Ray worked reconnaissance. He did some research on each of the five intended targets and ordered them in such a way that made the most sense for his line of work. He was stealing some high-priced items from five different people, and some of those people were very well known in Seattle. The first on his list was Justin Webster, a soft-spoken professor with a thing for watches.
Webster was the grandfatherly type of professor who had retired to the University of Washington after heading up the neuroscience research department at some university in Europe. The information Ray had been able to gather had the professor accepting a Nobel Prize for his work, and he owned several patents on tools used by neurologists all over the world. That meant quite a bit of money was coming in every year that just sat in a bank account. About a decade or so ago, Webster found his love for timepieces. His collection is valued at well over a million dollars, but Ray was only concerned with his Harry Winston collection of watches, worth approximately $163,000.
Ray dressed in dark blue jeans and a black short-sleeved cotton shirt. He wore the most common brand of sneakers he could find in a half-size too big for him. He had them padded appropriately so only the most seasoned of cops would be able to detect the truth. He had a messenger back slung over his shoulder, which contained his lock-picking set and two sets of disposable gloves, as well as a case for the watches he was going to steal. It was around midnight by the time he was satisfied that the apartment was suitably quiet. Webster himself was away at a conference, but he was known to have a house sitter on occasion.
He strolled into the building, thankful that the man didn't live in the Aubade. That would've been much harder to get into, and a problem for someone further down on the list. For now, Ray wandered up the stairs, acting very much like he lived in the building. He found the right apartment, pulled on a set of gloves and slipped out his kit, easily entering the apartment without drawing any attention to himself.
The door clicked shut behind him and Ray set about looking for his target. He checked the obvious places in the living room, and moved carefully around the various clocks placed in the room. The watches weren't there, however, so Ray made his way into the bedroom. The first place he checked was the large armoire on the wall opposite where the bed was. Inside was a dark, mahogany box that resembled a humidifier. Ray opened the lid carefully, and smiled as the watches came into view. He took only a moment to revel in his success before he became a flurry of activity. The watches were carefully pulled out of their display and put inside his messenger bag before he put everything back exactly the way he found it. He slipped out of the apartment, peeling off the gloves and sticking them back in the messenger bag.
Once out on the street, Ray let out a sigh of relief. He had done it. He had gotten back in the game without getting caught by the police or by Peter. A chuckle escaped him, and once it started, he couldn't stop the laughter from bubbling out of him. He had done it! With a slight bounce to his step, Ray made his way to the drop off location the woman had marked. He didn't leave any notes or any other identifying feature as he propped the messenger bag up against a blind spot on the wall. One quick glance around, a smirk, and then he was gone, melting into the shadows and slipping back into his and Peter's apartment through his bedroom window. Peter wouldn't know a thing.