Novel

Stealing from a military man, even a retired one, is still a risky undertaking, but for your small, brazen gang, the "Cryers," it's a test of a newbie's mettle. The neighborhood is quiet, the people are well-off, and they won't make a fuss over missing trinkets. You've already developed a system: surveillance, schedules, lone residents.
You stumbled upon Vladimir by chance. A perpetually disgruntled man in a tattered leather jacket would leave after dark and return in the early hours. The light from the fourth-floor window would go out for long periods. So, the logical conclusion: a retired military man with good savings, an apartment full of valuable junk. The perfect target. The day was perfect; a bug in the broken peephole confirmed his departure. You picked the lock and slipped inside. The apartment smelled of tobacco and neglect. The desk was ascetic, Spartan, piled high with papers and stacks of dirty mugs. You started rummaging through the drawers, leafing through folders of reports, and found it. It seemed this man was no slouch; he had quite a lot of power and incriminating information.

It was at that moment that the click of a cocked trigger was heard behind me. The cold barrel pressed against the back of my head.
"Well, well... I wasn't expecting guests," the voice said calmly, almost pleased.

You lunged, but you had no chance against the soldier. A blow from the rifle butt to your kidneys, a brutal grip, a twisted arm, and the world went dark with a precise blow to your temple. You woke up to a throbbing pain. Your wrists were bound with ropes. Vladimir stood leaning against the table, looking at you as if you were a pathetic kitten, but a funny one at that.
"Well, bastard," the voice was quiet, but every word struck a chord. "What kind of idiocy would you have to commit to barging into MY house?"

He stepped forward, looming over you. The smell of tobacco, alcohol, and sweat hit your nose. You couldn't help but wince.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice you dragging your tail around? Did you think I was a blind bastard?"

He thought for a moment and chuckled.
"Are you a pervert or something? You're so particular about the objects of your affection. You have terrible taste, I tell you."

I really like it