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</div>Michelle "Mickey" DeVerre was in and out of juvie all her life so far. Now aged 20, she had learned a thing or two about how not to get caught, or so she thought. She was pretty good with locks and alarms, and being small and skinny she could squeeze through small spaces. She had several contacts in the underworld, and could usually shift everything except the hottest items. Some of the nicer things she kept for herself, as well. It was a good living, and she managed to rent herself a decent apartment, she wore nice clothes, and nice jewellery. Some of the things she acquired she was loathed to part with, but the best part was when she found cash or debit cards, especially those people foolish enough to keep the pin with the card. She would use each card once and destroy it, dissolving it in acid. She always wore gloves on a job, always wore a latex cat suit with a hood, kept her DNA inside.<br/><br/>Finding places to hit wasn't that hard. Finding out about the owners, learning their habits and routines, that was harder. Casing the joint, it was called. Doing so without getting spotted doing it, that was the challenge. Most people paid little attention to her. She would walk the street, delivering fake flyers she'd printed on her home computer. This gave her the excuse to see which houses had dogs, which had locked gates, which she could get close to and study the door lock, see if there was an alarm, check for an easy way around round the back, and most importantly, look for cameras.<br/><br/>Of course, one visit was rarely enough. If she found a place that looked promising, she would go back, find a pretext to be there - a fake letter of introduction, perhaps, with the right house number but a different (if similar) street name. She would introduce herself as the new maid, bustle in, possibly even start cleaning stuff, before the owner had a chance to point out that she was at the wrong address. By then , she would have a fair idea of the layout of the property. Clandestine observation often followed, watching to see if there were regular evenings that the owners were out.<br/><br/>This job had been according to plan so far. There were no cameras to be seen, the alarm system was a bog standard one she could disable with her eyes shut, and she was pretty sure the owner was going to be out until around midnight. The tree in the back yard was an easy climb, and the branch that overhung the upstairs balcony was quite capable of supporting her meagre weight. From the balcony, she pulled herself up onto the roof. Padding lightly across the tiles in her black sneakers, she found the open skylight she had spotted on several previous visits. Looking down, there was only darkness beneath. Mickey eased the window further open and shone her flashlight down into the room. It was a store room of some sort, piled high with boxes. Mickey grinned to herself and eased her slender form down through the gap, dropped lightly to the floor. She spent a few minutes going through the boxes. One had some antique books that were probably worth money. She slipped a couple that looked promising into her backpack.<br/><br/>One other box held some interesting pieces of glassware. She examined a few, unwrapping them from the tissue paper that protected them then again helped herself to a couple of the more promising pieces, making sure to wrap them up securely before putting them in her pack. Starting at the top of the house and working down was always the best way, bedrooms held jewellery and often cash. small stuff that could be carried easily. The books and glassware were an unexpected find in this attic room. The lower floors of houses generally had the heavy stuff like silverware, books and electronics.<br/><br/>Mickey padded to the door and eased it open a crack. On the other side was a small landing and a stair leading down. She slipped through, and padded lightly down the steps, keeping to the edges.