looking at him apprehensively, but Scipio was quiet, thinking. Then he shrugged and said, "Fine."
Riccio was so stunned that he just looked at Scipio open-mouthed.
"Yes, why not?" Scipio continued. "Let's do this burglary together. Of course, only those who really want to." He looked at Prosper, who remained silent.
"I want to do it!" Bo cried, jumping excitedly around Scipio. "I'm really small, I can squeeze into little holes and --"
"Stop it, Bo!" Prosper's voice sounded so harsh that Bo spun around looking terrified. "I won't take part," Prosper answered, "I can't do it. And I have to look after Bo. You understand that, don't you?"
Scipio nodded. "Of course," he said, but he sounded disappointed.
"And about that detective," Prosper said nervously, "I found my aunt's card in his wallet. That proves that he was after Bo and me. And Riccio was right about his name. He's called Victor Getz and he lives over in San Paolo."
"No! He lives on the Grand Canal," Bo said, casting a rather dark look at his brother. "And I will go and steal the wing! It's not fair -- you're not Mommy!"
"Come on, Bo!" Hornet placed her hands on his shoulders. "Prosper is right. A burglary is a dangerous thing. I'm not sure whether I will take part myself yet. But what makes you think the detective lives on the Grand Canal?"
"He told me. Go away!" Bo pushed her hands away and swallowed hard, trying not to cry. "You're all horrible, really, really horrible!" Even when Mosca tried to tickle him to make him laugh, Bo pinched his hand hard.
"Hey, now listen!" Prosper, looking stern, kneeled down in front of his brother and turned Bo toward him. "You two seem to have talked a lot. Did you tell the detective anything else? About our hideout, for example?"
Bo bit his lip. "No," he grumbled without looking at Prosper. "I didn't!"
Prosper smiled with relief.
"Come on, Bo," Hornet said, pulling him away. "Help me with the pasta. I'm hungry." Bo trailed after her with a gloomy face, stopping first to stick his tongue out at the others.
17 Victor's Trace
Victor's head hurt for three days. But what hurt more than the bumps on his skull was his injured pride. Taken for a ride by a bunch of kids! He ground his teeth every time he thought about it. The Carabinieri had dragged him to the police station like a common criminal. They had treated him like a child snatcher and when, full of rage, Victor wanted to show them his detective's ID, he realized that the little brats had robbed him as well.
Well, that was it! He would have no more pity for them. Enough was enough!
While Victor cooled the lumps on his head with ice and warmed his sick tortoise with an infrared light, he thought about nothing else except how to find that gang again. He recalled every single thing Bo had told him until one phrase rang in his brain as clear as the church bell chiming across the square.
Movie theater. We live in a movie theater.
What if it was true after all? What if it wasn't some childish fantasy? Victor hadn't told the police anything about Bo's strange clue, although they were now also looking for the children, since it was clear that they had stolen his wallet and that he really was a detective. But Victor didn't want the police to catch the little thieves. Oh no, I'll find them myself, he thought as he sat on the carpet, tickling his tortoises' crinkly heads. They'll soon learn that I'm not the idiot they think I am!
Oh rats! One of the tortoises was really sneezing quite worryingly. If he wasn't mistaken, that was probably Paula. The vet had assured him that Paula couldn't pass her cold on to Lando, which was why Victor had left them in the same carton. He'd brought them in from the balcony, where the nights were now growing ever colder, and he had even made them a house under his desk.
A movie theater...
What had Bo said? Yes: The seats were missing and the projector was gone. So it had to be an abandoned movie theater, of course, one that had been closed
Riccio was so stunned that he just looked at Scipio open-mouthed.
"Yes, why not?" Scipio continued. "Let's do this burglary together. Of course, only those who really want to." He looked at Prosper, who remained silent.
"I want to do it!" Bo cried, jumping excitedly around Scipio. "I'm really small, I can squeeze into little holes and --"
"Stop it, Bo!" Prosper's voice sounded so harsh that Bo spun around looking terrified. "I won't take part," Prosper answered, "I can't do it. And I have to look after Bo. You understand that, don't you?"
Scipio nodded. "Of course," he said, but he sounded disappointed.
"And about that detective," Prosper said nervously, "I found my aunt's card in his wallet. That proves that he was after Bo and me. And Riccio was right about his name. He's called Victor Getz and he lives over in San Paolo."
"No! He lives on the Grand Canal," Bo said, casting a rather dark look at his brother. "And I will go and steal the wing! It's not fair -- you're not Mommy!"
"Come on, Bo!" Hornet placed her hands on his shoulders. "Prosper is right. A burglary is a dangerous thing. I'm not sure whether I will take part myself yet. But what makes you think the detective lives on the Grand Canal?"
"He told me. Go away!" Bo pushed her hands away and swallowed hard, trying not to cry. "You're all horrible, really, really horrible!" Even when Mosca tried to tickle him to make him laugh, Bo pinched his hand hard.
"Hey, now listen!" Prosper, looking stern, kneeled down in front of his brother and turned Bo toward him. "You two seem to have talked a lot. Did you tell the detective anything else? About our hideout, for example?"
Bo bit his lip. "No," he grumbled without looking at Prosper. "I didn't!"
Prosper smiled with relief.
"Come on, Bo," Hornet said, pulling him away. "Help me with the pasta. I'm hungry." Bo trailed after her with a gloomy face, stopping first to stick his tongue out at the others.
17 Victor's Trace
Victor's head hurt for three days. But what hurt more than the bumps on his skull was his injured pride. Taken for a ride by a bunch of kids! He ground his teeth every time he thought about it. The Carabinieri had dragged him to the police station like a common criminal. They had treated him like a child snatcher and when, full of rage, Victor wanted to show them his detective's ID, he realized that the little brats had robbed him as well.
Well, that was it! He would have no more pity for them. Enough was enough!
While Victor cooled the lumps on his head with ice and warmed his sick tortoise with an infrared light, he thought about nothing else except how to find that gang again. He recalled every single thing Bo had told him until one phrase rang in his brain as clear as the church bell chiming across the square.
Movie theater. We live in a movie theater.
What if it was true after all? What if it wasn't some childish fantasy? Victor hadn't told the police anything about Bo's strange clue, although they were now also looking for the children, since it was clear that they had stolen his wallet and that he really was a detective. But Victor didn't want the police to catch the little thieves. Oh no, I'll find them myself, he thought as he sat on the carpet, tickling his tortoises' crinkly heads. They'll soon learn that I'm not the idiot they think I am!
Oh rats! One of the tortoises was really sneezing quite worryingly. If he wasn't mistaken, that was probably Paula. The vet had assured him that Paula couldn't pass her cold on to Lando, which was why Victor had left them in the same carton. He'd brought them in from the balcony, where the nights were now growing ever colder, and he had even made them a house under his desk.
A movie theater...
What had Bo said? Yes: The seats were missing and the projector was gone. So it had to be an abandoned movie theater, of course, one that had been closed