Boris Diaw carefully lowered himself from the drop ceiling of the bakery. The darkness inside the store was almost complete, save for the faint glow of moonlight drifting in through windows mostly blocked by displays of breads and other baked goods. It had been a challenge for him to get in through the roof; the building had obviously been designed to accommodate maintenance workers of a normal size, not behemoths like him. Several times he had almost gotten stuck, but by sucking in his stomach and applying a little bit of Vaseline, he had made it.
And now, he was about to get rewarded for his ingenuity and cunning. Feet lightly landing on the floor, he unhooked his rope. He wouldn’t need it to get out; he would simply walk through the main entrance, setting off the alarms far too late for police to mount any kind of response. Getting out a flashlight, he looked around the front of the bakery. As he had expected, the selection of croissants out here was very slim, not nearly enough to satisfy his raging hunger. The real treasure trove would be in the back, where large batches of fresh croissants had undoubtedly been baked to be sold the next day.
Boris giggled. The hard-working people of San Antonio would have to settle for a bearclaw or a piece of coffee cake. There would be no croissants left when he was finished.
Not bothering to muffle the sound of his footsteps, Boris entered the kitchen area, swinging his flashlight around. Where did they keep the goods? Were they refrigerated? He was just about to check out one of several large refrigeration units when a voice from behind him stopped him in his tracks.
“That’s enough, Boris.”
Boris whipped around, preparing to run. However, when his flashlight beam illuminated Tim Duncan’s face, he stayed where he was. “How did you know?” Boris asked, defeated and already in mourning over the croissants he would not get to consume.
Tim withdrew a folder piece of paper from his pocket. “I found these crudely drawn plans next to your locker,” he answered, unfolding the paper to examine it again. “Your planning was very thorough. You even calculated whether the ceiling would be able to support your weight based on your previous secret observations.”
“Yeah, well, now you’ve gone and ruined it,” Boris replied, shoulders slumped. “I suppose you’re going to call the cops now.”
“I already did when I saw your car pull up in the back,” Tim said. “They should be here soon.”
Boris pointed his flashlight away from Tim’s face and back towards the refrigerators. “Can’t I just have one croissant? Please?”
In the pitch-black alcove behind the door, Tim shook his head. “No, Boris. No croissants tonight.”
Sighing, Boris whined, “Why do you always have to look after us? Can’t you just let us get into trouble by ourselves?” When he didn’t get a response, Boris shined the light back to where he thought Tim should be standing, but there was nobody there. “Tim?” he yelled, but there was still no sign of his teammate. In the distance, he could hear sirens.
“Damn it Timmy,” Boris said sadly, sitting down on the floor to wait for his inevitable arrest.