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Dimitri's around 18 in this one. It's a three-part chapter and it does NOT all take place during the same day. Behold, the spectacularness. ;D Do enjoy.

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"Good morning, Dimitri."

"Mrs. Johanson, how's life?"

"Oh, you know, some good days, some bad days. It's good to see you!"

"Same here."

He hadn't stopped walking during the whole conversation, brief though it was. If he knew one of St. Petersburg's upbeat, downtrodden citizens, he knew them all.

Rounding the corner, Dimitri went over the plan in his head one final time. Not that it was neccesary. He knew it like he knew his own name.

He stepped off the curb and into the street, completely ignoring the ancient old car rambling toward him, chugging black smoke in its wake.

He didn't hear the horn, either. There was a screech of brakes, and Dimitri slammed into the hood, falling to the pavement like a rag doll.

A crowd of passers-by began to gather and stare, including Vlad, who had been browsing the market on the other side of the street. The driver got out to survey the damage, and Vlad was on him in seconds flat. "What have you done?"

"Well I...I..."

"That's my son! What do you think you were doing, driving like that?"

"I...I was barely even moving; he came out of nowhere! Walked right in front of me!"

With a groan just loud enough to draw the audience's attention back to the victim, Dimitri sat up and rubbed his head. Vlad was on hand immediately. "Are you all right?"

"I can't tell...ow..."

"You idiot!" Vlad aimed a blaming finger at the driver. "He may never walk again! He may not remember his own name! Do you, Dimitri?"

He blinked, as if light itself was painful. "Who?"

"You see? Why, why...you're lucky I don't call the authorities on you right this very instant! I should sue you for every no-good penny you're worth, comerade."

"No no no! I mean, uh..." The driver's hand almost automatically went for his jacket pocket. "Surely I can fix this? It was a complete accident, I swear. Here." He dumped a handful of coins in Dimitri's hat that now lay on the cobblestones. "I'm sorry, really I am."

"You should be. Now go on! Go!"

That was the end of the conversation. Vlad assisted Dimitri in getting to his feet and making it to the sidewalk, and the driver couldn't have driven away faster if he'd had propellers on his vehicle. The crowd of observers trickled off.

Dimitri limped until they were out of sight. "I think I actually hit my head that time," he muttered, returning to his normal stride. "Great job on the speech, by the way. I almost felt sorry for you."

Vlad chuckled, and returned the praise. "Brilliant, as always. But honestly, Dimitri, don't throw yourself so hard next time."

He tugged his hat back onto his head "What am I supposed to do, let it actually hit me?"

"Of course not. You could at least be less apparent about it. It must be convincing, and you nearly jumped through the front window."

"Okay, I'll tell you what. I'll throw the fit, and next time you can get hit by a car."

"Fine, fine, point taken." They stopped and sat down on the front steps of an abandoned building.

"How much did we get?"

Vlad took the profits from his coat and counted them over. "Enough for a hot dinner tonight and to get us through the week."

"Great!" Dimitri stood up, tired and ready to sneak back into the old palace. Bashing into vehicles will do that to you. "I was thinking you shouldn't use my real name the next time, though."

"Oh," Vlad considered, "good point."

"I mean, somebody who stops has to have seen it before. It's better if they don't recognize me. It's a very precise game we play, you know."

"Game?" Vlad stopped walking. He felt a life lesson coming on. "Dimitri, this is not a game. This is how we make our living. It's not honest, and it's not honorable, but it's a living nonetheless."

"Oh, so I can't enjoy it a little?" Kicking up a storm of dead leaves from the gutter, he hopped up onto the curb, balancing one foot over the other for the next block. Working his craft was really the only time he had fun, anymore. He was good at what he did, almost proud of it.

Almost.

"I'm only saying...."

"Yeah? What?"

Vlad let out a sigh. "I'm saying...what do you want to eat?"

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It wasn't so hard. He'd calculated it well. Just duck through the crowd, past the market, 'round the corner, and he'd be in the clear. They'd never---

"Where are you off to, Dimitri?"

---see him.

Okay, Plan B. Caught red handed---at least thankfully not by a cop---Dimitri played it cool and sauntered over to the group of middle-aged, cloak-wrapped women standing by the produce cart.

"Morning, ladies---and may I say you are looking lovely today."

"Yes, yes, cut the flattery, junior." The one in the middle, an old friend of Mrs. Proletsky's, put her mouth where her distrust was. "Don't you still owe my Peter a good thirty rubles?"

Ah, that didn't take long to come up. Time to avert confrontation. "See, the thing is, I don't exactly have the money just yet." She was giving him that little eyebrow-raised grin that said I told you so, so he went on. "I'm actually working on a big investment right now that'll have all your money back where it belongs in no time."

"Oh really?" the other two siad, trading looks of interest. But the middle one still wasn't buying it.

"Your life is lying, Dimitri," she skeptically pointed out.

"Oh, no, not this time. But there's a slight problem." He leaned in and lowered his voice as if sharing some dark and precious family secret. "We don't quite have enough yet to get the project started. Once we get the investment up and running, of course, the problem solves itself, but as it is...." He let the sentence trail off, leaving the women to infer for themselves the financial horrors of bankruptcy.

Instantly the pushover on the left opened her purse. "How much do you need?"

"Not so fast." Again the middle one had her misgivings, and she snapped her comerade's purse shut again. Her eyes narrowed on Dimitri with curiosity. "What exactly is this investment?"

"You know, I'm not really at liberty to say that just yet---at least not until the firm goes public."

"Ah. And who are your partners in this?"

"Well, I can't give names, but I can tell you that there's at least one..." His eyes darted around a moment, and he lowered his voice again. "At least one member of the former Imperial Court."

That sealed it. Years of practice told him that it was in the bag at this moment.

Letting out a resigned sigh, the woman in the middle dropped her hand from her friend's purse and walked away, shaking her head. The other two immediately rifled through their money.

"Thank you, ladies, I appreciate this, I really do," he assured, as enough rubles for a fortnight dropped into his palm. "I'll get you your cut of the profits as soon as I can, I swear---by the way, is that a new shawl? You're a vision. And you---you've been getting more sun, haven't you? It's working wonders for you, it is."

"Oh, stop."

"You're too much!"

"You're probably right." Pocketing the money and tipping his cap, Dimitri backed away. "I'm sure two generous ladies like yourselves have a busy day ahead, so I'll be on my way."

Leaving the two easily-flattered saps behind, Dimitri turned and continued up the street. As luck would have it, though---or his luck, anyway---he practically slammed into the first woman's son on the curb, who was going the opposite way.

Before he could open his mouth to speak, Dimitri gave him a pat on the shoulder, and kept on walking.

"Peter! Good seeing you. I just gave your mother that thirty rubles. She went that way."

Looking confused, Peter headed in the direction he'd pointed. Dimitri, on the other hand, smiled to himself.

Piece of cake.

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It wasn't often that he went through the front door of a shop. He was pretty familiar with back steps and side entrances, just not with having money.

With every step, Dimitri flicked one of the coins high into the air and caught it again. Each time he got ahold of a little spending money, it was all the same, but never familiar.

As he wandered through town, browsing past windows as a customer and not a beggar, his eyes fell on an unsettling scene across the square. Some stocky brute of a shopowner was standing above a cowering little brother and sister, shouting to high heaven, demanding one of two things: repayment or consequences.

He knew what this was about. He'd been in that position too many times. Forgetting his chore, Dimitri quickened his pace and changed his course, coming to a halt next to the bedraggled-looking kids.

"Leave them alone!"

That got their attention. All three involved turned to him in almost slow-motion.

"These brats stole from my store," the shopowner growled.

"That doesn't give you the right to treat kids like this," Dimitri argued.

"Oh yeah? What's it to you, anyway?"

"I...." Dimitri looked at the kids, hoping for a clue, but they had even more 'nothing' than he did. "I'm their brother," he finally decided. Then he decided to make it interesting. "And you don't want me to tell father about this."

It had been a risk---a gigantic risk---but it worked. All at once the shopkeeper's face lost its color. He gulped. "You don't mean...."

Not having the first clue who the guy was suggesting, assuming it was some officer, Dimitri nodded solemnly. "And I will. Now. Are they in any trouble?"

Practically trembling, the owner shook his head. "Why, no, no, of course not." And with zero hesitation, he scurried back inside.

"There." Kneeling down to eye-level, Dimitri addressed the brother and sister. "You guys okay?"

The little boy, who looked to be the elder by about a year or so, nodded. "Thanks a lot for helpin' us. That was real nice of you."

"It's no big deal." He stood up again. "So how did you two get mixed up with old Vakov anyway? You have to be careful with people like him."

"Well," the boy replied, "we kinda did steal from his store, but we hafta. We don't got a nice home or nothin'. I can't walk real well, and my sister here can't talk, so mama and papa says we gotta get more money."

Dimitri was hit with a pang of empathy despite himself. Here were these two little streetrats who were in an even worse situation than he was, and who probably deseved better. For a second, just a second, his mind flashed back to his shopping trip, to the idea of maybe some cheap clothing or extra food, but he waved it away, and reached into his pocket, taking out what coins he had left. "Here. Take this." Vlad would understand. Maybe he'd even be proud.

"Wow, thanks, mister!" A huge, cheesy smile spread over the kid's face, and he and his silent sister hobbled away in excitement.

Dimitri turned to go---though where, he had no idea. Back home, most likely. He felt honest, for once, like he'd done something right. He wished he'd get that feeling more often, though it usually left him broke.

But when he spun back around to offer the kids one more bit of advice---something about not being able to trust people---he was shocked by what he saw. The two little runts were speeding down the street as fast as their perfectly fine legs would take them, laughing all the way.

"Hey!"

The kids stopped dead in their tracks, and looked slowly over their shoulders, then at each other.

And then they ran.

Forget honesty. Realizing he'd been conned---how ironic---Dimitri took off in pursuit and chased after the two of them as fast as he could go. Thankfully he was a good runner; he'd been on the other end of this too many times to count.

"Hurry!" the sister shouted.

She can talk?! Great---he can walk, she can talk; what else were they lying about, do they have a house? A car? Stables? "Stop!"

They were quick, but he was quicker, and they tired easily. He was gaining on them. Pulling a trick from the book he'd written, they made a sharp, sudden swerve into an alley. Dimitri followed them, all the way down and out the other side. "Hey! You! Stop!"

But they weren't stopping. As it turned out, neither was the baker, taking his trash out, straight across Dimitri's path. It was too late to get out of the way. The metal can flew four feet in the air, and the baker and Dimitri collided and flattened onto the ground.

It just so happened, of course, that Vlad had witnessed the wipeout, having been at the bakery himself. He came over and helped Dimitri up, holding back a laugh. "Problem, my boy?"

Still trying to catch his breath, he sputtered, "Kids...he can walk...she can read..."

That laugh wasn't so well-contained anymore. "Sure, sure, of course. That makes complete sense."

"I'm serious, Vlad! These two kids...they conned me out of that money!"

"I'm sure they did," Vlad laughed. Noticing Dimitri's sour expression toward him as he brushed debris from his sleeve, he reasoned, "I'm sorry, but you should have seen that dive! I never have a camera at the right moments."

Dimitri ignored the pain from the fall and the sting of knowing he'd stupidly just paid for two brats' snack break. "Well, I've got good news, at least."

"What's that?"

"We won't have any trouble at Vakov's for a while."

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I so loved this chapter!!! Consider this the "conning" chapter, if you will. I wanted to show him "at work," you know.... Everyone's saying he's a con artist extrordinaire, but really, have we ever seen him do anything but scam the Dowager? We have now... :D :D :D It's great to finally put a long chapter into this story; most don't breach 600 words. My intent here was to come up with some of the awesomest scams for Dodger here to pull, and I love the result. Betcha freaked out when I hit him with a car, didn't ya? He hit the car. XD (You know me: I would never hit Dimitri with a moving vehicle unless there was a significant reason, i.e. plot twist coming.) XD I'll never know what ya thought unless you tell me, though.... Long chapter = super-happy-detailed reviews, right people?? =O Plleeaase.... Thank you....

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