"On my way." Mosca quickly stuffed the floor plan under his waistband before vanishing through the big double door.
"I'll get the money we've got left," Scipio mumbled, avoiding the others' eyes as he went off after Mosca.
Silently, Bo placed the kittens one by one into the cardboard box. When he saw that Riccio was slumped on his mattress crying, he walked over and, awkwardly, stroked his spiky head.
"Where will we go?" Riccio kept sobbing. "Where, for god's sake, can we go?"
Hornet had to keep wiping tears from her face while she packed her favorite books into a plastic bag. But then she stopped.
"Wait a minute!" she said, turning toward the others. "I just had an absolutely insane idea. Do you want to hear it, or should I shut up?"
19 Trapped
Victor felt as if he had crossed at least a hundred bridges when, finally, he turned into the alley where he hoped to find Dottor Massimo's mysterious movie theater. There they were, the large neon letters. A piece of an L was missing, but the name was still quite obvious: the STELLA. A faded movie poster still hung in one of the display windows. Someone had drawn a heart on the grimy glass.
Breathing heavily, Victor walked up the two steps to the entrance. He tried to peer through the window, but it had been boarded up with cardboard. Well, the birds have probably all flown the coop already, Victor thought. His heart was still beating far too fast. Their leader has probably warned them.
How did the son of the rich Dottor Massimo fit in with the rest of the gang? Victor would have bet his beard collection that they were all runaways: the scrawny little hedgehog with the bad teeth, the tall dark one whose pants were much too short, and the girl with the sorrowful mouth. They were all runaways, like the two brothers Victor was after. But what was the connection with Dottor Massimo's offspring?
"Doesn't matter!" Victor muttered. He placed the box with the tortoise in it next to the door and pulled a bunch of lock picks from his pocket. The padlock was no problem at all, but the door presented more of a challenge. When it finally sprang open a crack, Victor realized that it had been barricaded with piles of trash.
It'll take me hours to get through here, Victor thought, throwing his full weight against the entrance. After five attempts his shoulder started to hurt badly, but the door had at least opened far enough for him to squeeze through. With only his feeble flashlight for illumination, he fought through the piled-up garbage, climbing over wedged chairs, crates, and broken partitions. It was pitch black behind the boarded-up door and Victor's heart nearly stopped when, by the ticket booth, he ran slam-bang into a cardboard cutout of a man pointing a machine gun into his face.
Cursing quietly, he shoved the thing aside and crept toward the double doors that led to the movie theater's auditorium. He opened the entrance carefully and listened, but he couldn't hear a sound. Just his own wheezing breath after his strenuous efforts. Of course, thought Victor, just as I thought -- they've left the nest.
He took a few cautious steps into the dark auditorium. He shined the beam of his flashlight. Rows of seats. A curtain. It was indeed a real movie theater. Curious, he aimed his light first at the walls and then up toward the ceiling. Suddenly something fluttered toward him and a wing brushed against his face. Victor screamed and dropped his light. He groped for it in the darkness and quickly pointed its beam at whatever was hovering above him. A pigeon. A stupid pigeon. Victor rubbed his face with his free hand, as if he could wipe away the shock.
One more fright like that and my poor heart will give out, Victor thought. He took another deep breath and moved on. This huge, gloomy auditorium was certainly a strange hiding place for a bunch of homeless children. Well, there was no other explanation: The young Mr. Massimo must have brought them here, into his father's empty movie theater. The curtain that concealed the screen glittered faintly when Victor's light caught it. What if they were still hiding here? He took another step forward and his shoe hit a mattress. There was a whole mattress camp on the floor behind the seats. There were blankets, pillows, books, comics, and even a camp stove.
The flashlight beam fell on a teddy bear, a stuffed toy rabbit, fishing rods, a toolbox, piles of books, and a plastic sword that stuck out of a sleeping bag. He was standing in the middle of a nursery -- a huge nursery!
I would have got a good hiding for painting a pirate's flag on the wall when I was a kid, Victor thought. For one short moment he had a crazy urge to lie down on one of the mattresses, to light a few of the many candles around the place, and to forget everything that had happened since his ninth birthday. But then he heard another sound.
The hair on the back of Victor's neck stood on end.
There was something there. He was sure.
Victor forgot about the mattresses and crept toward the folding seats. Could they really be foolish enough to try and play hide-and-seek with him? Did they think just because he was grown-up he'd forgotten how to play?
"I'm sorry to disappoint you!" Victor said out loud. "I've always been a first-class seeker. And when I played tag I always caught everyone, even with my short legs." His voice sounded strange as it echoed through the large room. "You can't possibly think," he called as he shined his flashlight between the red chairs, "that this could go on forever? What do you live on? Stealing? How long is that going to last? To be honest, I don't really care. I'm only interested in two of you."
What the devil am I talking about? Victor thought. I'm far too old to be playing hide-and-seek with a bunch of children in a pitch-black movie theater.
"Hey, Victor! Come and catch me!" a voice suddenly called. It was a high, clear voice. Victor recognized it. The glittering curtain suddenly developed a bulge. "Do you have a gun?" the voice behind the star-studded fabric asked. And then Bo's ink-dyed head popped out.
"Of course!" Victor pushed his hand underneath his jacket as if he was reaching for his revolver. "Do you want to see it?"
Bo stepped slowly out of his hiding place. He stood there, his head cocked to one side, and looked at Victor. Where was his big brother, Prosper? Victor looked first to the left, then to the right, and finally over his shoulder, but could see nothing in the complete darkness that enveloped him.
"I'm not scared," said Bo. "That's probably just a plastic gun."
"Well, well, if that's what you think." Victor held back a grin. "You're a real smart one." He didn't let the boy out of his sight. But that meant he couldn't keep the row of seats in his range of vision. By the time he sensed something moving between the folding seats, it was already too late. Suddenly five children were all over him. They yanked him off his feet and threw him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Then they sat on his stomach. As much as he struggled and kicked, Victor couldn't free himself. His light had dropped to the floor and it was now rolling back and forth, flashing its beam crazily around the room. Victor thought he could make out the girl who had set the ladies with the handbags on him. That girl was now holding on to his right arm while the black boy had grabbed his left. Two other kids, probably Prosper and the hedgehog, were clinging to his legs. Right on Victor's chest, however, with his knees pressing into his sides as if the felled detective were a stubborn horse, sat Scipio, smiling mockingly.