Doughnut Dottie's Doughy Rampage

The cocky burglar, and the crazy baker

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have targets in Manchester, Lakeside, NYC, and Boston. Any takers?" Allen Trombone announced. He sat at the head of the long conference table, sipping his chocolate espresso. Dressed in a white vest, black shirt and black pants, Allen's premature long grey hair was swept back, and he looked at his employees with a steely gaze. It was in a different warehouse then last time, but the members of CI, an acronym for Catburglars, Inc, had unanimously agreed to relocate after Allen's morally questionable brother found their base of operations. All the members sat around the table dressed in leather burglary suits, munching on their traditional breakfast bar snacks.

Amaya Takahashi yawned, then looked down at her bowl of fruit loops mixed with frosted flakes. Dressed in a black leather catsuit, her black domino mask rested atop her straight black hair. Curious brown eyes surveyed the crowd, and the mischievous half smirk on her face tended to annoy people. Amaya was Japanese, and quite the looker, or so she was told. She raised her spoon, "Who's the target in Manchester?" so she was a homebody. Big whoop.

Allen hesitated, "Doughnut Dottie."

"Son of a bitch," Jerry, a thirty something burglar, cursed, "I'll take Boston."

"Shut up Jerry, she's not that bad," Allen grimaced, "Whoever takes it just needs to get in and out without her seeing. Rumor is she has a new stash of drugs on hand, we could resell them at a high profit."

Amaya chewed on her cereal, trying to look thoughtful, "I'll take it," she said impulsively, with her mouth full.

"Amaya have you ever run into her? She's certifiable. I think an older, more experienced one of us should go. Or take someone with you," Allen frowned at her, and Amaya stared right back at him, not flinching. What are you looking at?

Mrs Calder leaned over the table, keeping her hands in her lap, "I want to go to Lakeside. You need me on the field again, Allen. Time's are tough."

Allen seemed to consider Mrs. Calder's offer. He sipped his latte. Amaya swallowed her cereal, then gulped her own coffee laced with Tennessee whiskey, "The hell with that, Calder is too old," she smirked at the grey haired woman. Mrs. Calder glared back.

"It's Mrs. to you," she spat.

"Any other volunteers for Lakeside? It's a simple one," Allen asked.

"I'm taking Doughnut Dottie. She'll never know I was there. Besides, Allen, I bring in the most money each month, though heaven knows I don't need it," Amaya said in a cocky tone. Maybe she put too much alcohol in her coffee. Who cares?

Allen merely raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Mrs. Calder, "Not this time, though I appreciate you scoping it out. They have a lot going on down there for their size."

Mrs. Calder scowled, "They have a girl journalist there too, college kid, so what a surprise. I'm going next time Allen. I am sick to death of bookwork."

"We'll see," Allen said evenly.

Amaya smiled sweetly at Mrs. Calder, then showed her a mouthful of cereal.

"All right everyone!" Allen clapped his hands, "You are dismissed. You have exactly ten days to complete your assignment. No later. We may be low on personnel lately but we still run a tight, successful business of making the wealthy destitute, and ourselves ever more rich." Everyone began getting up, getting their things together. Allen motioned to Amaya, "In my office. Now."

Amaya shrugged then got up and followed him. She entered Allen's office, a soundproof cubicle off to the side of the large, well lit warehouse. The office was lavishly decorated, with potted plants and leather furniture. An ornate desk sat in the center, and Allen plopped heavily down in a high backed chair. He ran a hand through his hair, then waved for Amaya to sit down.