Riccio loved to walk the streets of Venice, where there was always something new to dig up. He loved to walk through the alleyways, some of which were new to him. Riccio savored in the scent of the fresh cakes and other baked goods the pastry chefs took such care in preparing. But most of all, he loved all the unsuspecting tourists, who paid no attention to their wallets.
Riccio loved stealing things. He loved the thrill it gave him. He often used the money he aquired to buy the sweets that were destroying his teeth, but sometimes he used the money to help him and his friends. He and the others, Hornet, Mosca, Prosper, and Bo were all orphans, living together in a movie theater that their leader, a thirteen year old boy known as The Thief Lord or Scipio, had found for them. Even though The Thief Lord provides plenty of goods for them, Riccio loves to pick-pocket the tourists anyway.
Walking through St. Mark's Square, Riccio saw a group of tourists taking pictures of the four golden horses that stood in front of the portal to the Basilica. Riccio smiled, showing the world his horrible teeth. Whenever Bo, who's only six walks by the Basilica, he stops and stares at the horses, as though he expects them to move. Riccio walked nonchalantly over to the group of tourists, who were talking excitedly in English. He saw a wallet stick out of the back pocket of a rather skinny man and, without drawing any attention to himself, grabbed it. After a few steps Riccio grinned, a proud feeling growing in his chest. He felt the warm leather of the wallet in his hand and, after the skinny man was out of sight, Riccio opened the wallet to see what he had won. Credit cards, an ID, and only seven thousand lire. "Dammit!" Riccio yelled to no one in particular. Several people turned to stare at him, but Riccio didn't care. He hated when he did a bad job at stealing. He didn't live up to his own expectations, and he couldn't imagine what Scipio would have thought. He dropped the wallet, and sulked away. But he didn't get very far.
There was a large group of people near the fountain. As Riccio walked over (maybe there was another unsuspecting pocket over here?) he heard music. First, only the sound of a guitar was heard. It was playing such a beautiful tune and Riccio guessed whoever playing it was a master, professionally trained. As he reached the outer egde of on-lookers, a girl started singing. "Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better," she sung in English, her American accent heard. Later that day, Riccio wished that Prosper were here with him. English was Prosper native language, and maybe he would have been able to tell him what this girl was singing. But at the moment, Riccio didn't care what she was saying. All he wanted to do was see who was making such beautiful music. Riccio pushed through the mass of people listening to the girl's fantastic singing voice. When he was finally able to see he was amazed at what he saw. The person playing the guitar was not, as he originally guessed, a trained professional, but a girl, who looked at least fourteen years old. She had light brown hair down to her sholders and olive skin. Riccio couldn't see the girl's eyes due to the fact that she was looking at the neck of her guitar, watching her fingers move up and down on the strings. And somehow, through all the concentration it took to play the guitar, the girl was singing, singing with the most beautiful voice in the world, or at least that's what Riccio thought. "Nananana. Hey Jude," the girl finished. The crowd cheered. "Grazie," the girl said to the crowd in perfect Italian, smiling and giving them a slight bow. "That was my last song today. My throat's becoming sore." Her audience began departing, but before they left they threw some lire into the girl's guitar case and told her how fantastic she did.
Riccio wished he had kept the wallet. Then he could give some of the money to her... Wait! he thought. Riccio looked back over to the young American teenager. She must have collected a hundred thousand lire from that song alone. Riccio looked the girl up and down as she was putting her money in a brown paper bag. She wore a nice red coat to keep out the cool air that was fast approaching. Her jeans were without patches and her black sneakers looked new. Her clothes were clean and she looked well-fed. Yes, Riccio thought, this girl is well off! She doesn't need all that money. It's not like she's living off the street and starving like we are! Then Riccio made his decision to rob the girl. He sure hoped he got away with it too; Riccio was small and thin and this girl looked like she could knock the living daylights out of him. He watched the girl put her bag of money in her coat pocket, a very easy place for Riccio to grab the money. Riccio walked by the girl he "accidently" bumped into her, and in doing so, put his hand into her pocket, grabbing the money. "Scusi," Riccio said.
"It's okay," the girl said, smiling. As Riccio turned to leave, he took the money out of the girl's pocket and walked on. Yes! he thought. He was successful! He walked on with purpose, proud of the fantastic steal he just performed. He got to an abandonded alley and did a small dance of accomplishment. But this happiness didn't last long. Before he relized what was happening, Riccio was pushed up against a wall. He looked at his attacker; it was the singer girl. Oh no, Riccio thought. She discovered the money was missing and now she going to kill me!
"Where's my money?" the girl questioned him in English. Her green eyes stared angerily into his.
"Uh- Non parlo inglese." Riccio replied, terrified. "No English!"
The girl shoved him harder against the wall. "Where is my money?" the girl repeated, now in crisp, clear Italian.
"Oh, uh I don't have your money." Riccio squeaked. He was not going to give up the money that he stole perfectly. Well, almost perfectly, he thought.
"Come on, kid," the girl said. The rage left her eyes. Now they pleaded with him. "Just give me my money and I'll leave you alone."
"Is there a problem here?" asked a voice. Riccio know that voice. The girl and Riccio turned their heads to the sound of the voice. Instantly, Riccio had calmed down. At the end of the alley stood Prosper and Scipio. Prosper had light brown hair and a protective, serious face. Scipio's hair was raven black, long and pulled back into a ponytail. His face was thin, and his eyes were dark as night. He was wearing a long black coat that reached the floor and high-heeled shoes.
"Yeah, we have a problem," the girl replied. She let go of Riccio to face the boys. She pointed at Riccio. "This kid stole my money."
"Did he?" the Thief Lord asked, amused. He had a small smile on his face. "When?"
"About five minutes ago at St. Mark's Square," the girl said. Adjusting the guitar case which hung on her sholder.
"Well then Miss..." Scipio paused, wanting the girl to tell him her name.
"Mia," she said shortly, knowing Scipio was trying to use his charm to help Riccio.
"Well then Miss Mia, I regret to inform you that you have the wrong guy."
"I do not!" the girl, Mia, yelled. "I followed him after I lost the saw the money was gone."
"Well, my friend over there was with us until about a minute ago," Scipio lied. Mia's face fell. "I sent him to buy us some cakes at the bakery at the other end of this alley. We were curious what was taking him so long when we happened upon you two."
"Your lying!" Mia yelled, crushed. "I followed him! All I want is my money back. I won't even call your mother, now just give it back!" Riccio shook hs head. He didn't have a mother for her to call.
"I think you lost the boy you were following in the crowds," Scipio said, "and followed my friend here instead. It's an honest mistake. Now we better be getting home. It's getting dark. Now, if you'd please let him go..."
Mia looked at the boys: a terrified Riccio, a certain Scipio, an embarrassed Prosper, who looked very fasinated with the pavement. Riccio looked back at Mia, who's face showed a mixture of desperation- and fear. Why is she afraid? Riccio thought. She could probably take down the three of them with one blow.
Mia shifted her guitar again. "Whatever," she said. She walked to the end of the alley and kicked a rock and said a word in English that Prosper refused to translate.
After she was gone, the boys turned to Riccio. "You better have gotten a lot for what we just went through," the Thief Lord said.
Riccio held open the paper bag full of cash and said, "She was singing in St. Mark's Square. She can make it all back tomorrow, easily. Trust me."
Prosper shook his head. Prosper hated stealing things. He felt so bad doing it, and was afraid that if he was caught he would be sent to prision and his brother Bo would be sent to their horrible Aunt Esther who, after thier mother died, only allowed Prosper to see Bo once a month.
"Well, at least its a decent amount," Scipio relpied. "Now, I ought to be off. Tell the other's I'll be back later tonight." He walked to the oposite side of the alley. "Oh, and Riccio," Scipio called out. Prosper and Riccio turned their heads. "Next time, don't choose a teenage girl. They tend to be very hormonal." And with that, the Thief Lord was gone.