Prosper threw the jacket over to him. Scipio slipped into the long sleeves and sighed. "Here, you'd better keep this safe. It's probably best in our money box," he said, handing Hornet the photograph, the card, and the floor plan. "I've got to go. I'll be out of the city for three days. Until I return you will observe the house. We have to know everything: who comes and goes, the habits of the people living there, how many visitors, when the house is empty, the best way to get in, and whether there really are any dogs there. You know, the usual stuff. Check whether the doors are marked in the right places on the floor plan. The house is supposed to have a garden, which may be useful. Oh, and Prosper" -- Scipio turned to him once more -- "you and Bo had better not leave the hideout in the next few days. We've shaken off the detective for now, but you never know." Scipio pulled the mask over his face.
As Scipio turned to leave, Riccio stood in his way. "Listen, can we help you with this job? I mean not just with the staking out, but with the burglary itself. Can't you take us with you just this once? We...we," Riccio stuttered with excitement, "we could keep watch and help you carry the loot. The wing is probably pretty heavy. It's not like a gold chain or a pair of sugar tongs, which you can just stuff into a bag, is it? What...what do you say?"
Scipio listened to him impassively, his face hidden by the mask. Riccio had finished and was 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 down and forgotten about by the owner. There weren't many movie theaters in Venice. Victor opened the current telephone book as well as last year's edition, then called every movie theater he could find. In most cases he was asked whether he wanted to book a ticket, but in one of them, the Fantasia, no one answered the phone. Another movie theater had no address listed next to its name. This one was called the Stella and the number only appeared in the older telephone book.
The Stella and the Fantasia. Well, that gives us two possibilities, Victor thought before reheating yesterday's risotto. Then he took the sniveling tortoise to the vet again. On the way back he took a detour to the Fantasia.
The movie theater was just opening for the afternoon show when Victor arrived. There wasn't really a big crowd. The only ones in line for tickets were two children and a young couple who immediately vanished inside the dark auditorium. Victor approached the ticket booth and cleared his throat.
"Front or back?" said the lady in the booth popping a piece of chewing gum into her mouth. "Where do you want to sit?"
"Nowhere," Victor replied. "But I would like to know whether you have heard of a movie theater called the Stella?"
The ticket lady blew a large chewing-gum bubble with her brightly painted lips and let it pop. "The Stella? That's been closed for a few months now."
Victor's heart leaped. "Yes, I thought so," he said. He answered the ticket lady's baffled look with a satisfied smile. "Do you happen to know the address?" He rested the box with the sick tortoise on the counter next to the register.
The ticket lady let another gum bubble pop and eyed the box curiously. "What have you got in there?"
"A sniffy tortoise," Victor answered. "But she's getting better already. So, do you know the address?"
"Can I have a look?" the lady asked.
