She blinked at me in surprise. “No what?”
“No, we are not giving him a ride to Paris.”
“I wasn’t going to suggest that, silly.” She smiled at Vitale reassuringly and said in French, “Dixon is English.”
“Yes, so I see,” Vitale said, giving me the eye. The dog, a mix of something very hairy and something piebald, gave me a similar once-over before emitting an obnoxious odor. “The English, they are very proper.”
“Very, but in this case Dixon will totally agree with me that you should let us drive you to Izhevsk, since we’re headed that way anyway.” She switched back to English and appealed to me. “Dixon, Vitale is a world traveler. He’s walking around the globe, kind of how we’re driving part of the way. Isn’t that cool? The things he must have seen! I can’t wait to interview him. But in the meantime, Chou-Chou, his dog, isn’t doing too hot, and Vitale has a contact in Moscow who said he’d help him. I thought if we drove him to Izhevsk, he could rest up and his friend could take the train out to see him.”
“That would defeat the goal of walking around the world, wouldn’t it?” I asked.
The tears dried in Paulie’s eyes and the look she gave me was anything but affectionate. “That is beside the point. His dog is sick, and Vitale is having an attack of the sciatica, and we’re going to drive him to Izhevsk. You can help him get the baby carriage into the backseat.” She switched to French. “Here, let me take Chou-Chou while you and Dixon get the baby machine into the car.”
“Erm...” Tabby cleared her throat and lowered the microphone boom. “I should mention that taking on passengers is against the rules.”
“Unless it’s an emergency, and this is one,” Paulie said, lifting the dog out of the pram and marching to the car with it.
I looked directly at the camera, sighed, and proceeded to help stuff the blasted pram into the backseat of the Thomas Flyer.
“Why are you in Stormtrooper clothes?” Paulie asked in French.
“It is because I stand out this way, yes?” Vitale answered. His dog was snuggled up against him on the red leather seat, the incongruity of the pair doing much to make my mind boggle. “People give me money for my journey and give Chou food. It works well, except in Russia people do not much like the Stormtrooper.”
“Well, we’ll get you to town and then you can get Chou to the vet.” She said in a lower tone than the yell she’d used to converse with Vitale, “He’s out of money. That’s why he didn’t get to a vet in Yekaterinburg. I’ve got some dollars I’m going to give him.”
“You are aware that this could be a scam of some sort?” I asked, casting a look at the backseat. Vitale was leaning back, eyes closed, a blissful look on his face that was exactly matched by the dog. “He may prey on people’s sense of guilt over the dog.”
“Bah. Even if he is lying about Chou-Chou, it’ll be worth a few bucks to get the story of his life for my journal. It’s exciting, don’t you think?”
“It’s something,” I muttered, and pulled out my journal to make some notes. “I just hope you won’t be sorry you gave in to your generous impulse.”
“You’re cynical because your toe is purple,” she said, and blew me a kiss. “Just you wait and see—we’ll help Vitale, get a good story for our journals, and rack up some good karma all in one fell swoop. It’s a win-win situation all around.”
I had a feeling she was being naive, but forwent saying anything more.
Paulina Rostakova’s Adventures
AUGUST 5
1:02 a.m.
Kazan, Russia
Vitale stole our car. And my passport, and my clothes, and Dixon’s clothes, and... well, pretty much everything.
Am exhausted. More later.
AUGUST 5
8:16 a.m.
Kazan, Russia
Dixon and I just had our first official argument. It started off when, while we were checking in to a motel on the outskirts of Kazan (keeping a low profile in case the Essex team was around—Tabby and Sam have been sworn to silence on their location, but from the looks Tabby keeps giving me, I think they’re just barely ahead of us), Vitale drove off in the Thomas Flyer.
“Hey,” I said, spinning around when I heard a familiar roaring sound go past the tiny lobby of the motel. “Holy shit! Dixon, that’s our car heading out—”
“What?” Dixon spun around, then bolted. He wasthrough the door and running down the street after the car before I could even finish my sentence.
