Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8 Amy Cahill had been ripped off, bugged, double- crossed, and taken advantage of one too many times. She was through with taking taxicabs. "I have a better idea," said Dan. He put his beatnik goatee and mustache on and walked right up to the hotel bank, flashing a smile along with his passport and Visa gold card. "I need a cash advance. Can you dig it?" Amy had to stifle a laugh. Did Dan actually think he was going to get real money with a line like that? "We have fee of one thousand rubles on American cards," said the teller. One thousand rubles was about thirty bucks, which sounded like a lot of money to Amy. Then again, it was NRR's money, not hers, and they'd just racked up more than $2,000 on their bill. "That'll be fine," Dan replied. "And, ah, tip

yourself another thousand while you're at it. I'll take a hundred thousand for myself if the card will hold it. Been spending like a sailor on leave. I must be getting close to the limit on that thing." Dan laughed as if he didn't really care, but Amy knew better. They'd had to count every penny back home. "Ahhh, is good for you," said the man, suddenly Dan's best friend. "In American dollars you have balance of six thousand. The card has forty-four thousand unused. But you know the limits of your own credit, of course." "FORTY-FOUR THOUSAND!" Dan choked back a cough of surprise, then asked for an additional 100,000 rubles, just in case. He leaned in close to Amy and whispered, "If rubles are anything like marbles, my backpack is going to be really heavy." The teller counted out the bills. The stack, amounting to about 7,500 American dollars, was so tall it teetered back and forth as he reached the final 1,000. Dan's eyes got huge and he tipped the teller another 1,000. "Very kind, sir, very generous. Thank you! I

wish you and your young friend a good day." Amy's jaw dropped as she realized that in disguise, Dan probably looked a lot older than she did. "He's not older than me!" she said without thinking. Dan smirked and leaned in close to the teller. "You know how sensitive little sisters can be. She's impossible." "Keep it up, buddy," Amy said under her breath, "and I'll tear that fake mustache right off your dumb face." As soon as they got out of the lobby and into the street, Amy hammered Dan with questions. "What in the world do you want with all that money?" "I got a plan," said Dan. "A plan? You're eating way too much candy and it's turning your head fizzy." Carrying around gobs of money made her nervous. "There, that looks like the perfect fit for our needs," said Dan. Dan was watching a middle-aged man get out of a car. It was the smallest car Amy had ever seen,

more like a go-cart, really. And it was blue, which made Amy nervous. Blue was Dan's favorite color. "Time to start my car collection!" said Dan. "Come on. This is going to be awesome." "You're so much dumber than I thought," Amy groaned. "And that's saying something. Do you remember that neither one of us knows how to drive?" But Dan bolted across the street and hailed the man. The guy was bald as a potato, with stains on his tie and an attitude of being late for something important. "How much for the car?" asked Dan. "I'm in a rush and I've got cash." The man glanced at Dan, saw how small he was, and let out a sharp hoot of a laugh. "Stupid Americans! Go home!" "See this backpack?" Dan said, trailing after him. "It's full of cash! I'm serious here!" The man couldn't seem to help himself and turned back. "How much in rucksack? Tiny Tim not cheap," he said. Tiny Tim?! thought Amy. "Wait a sec—" "Enough," said Dan, talking over her. "I'll give

you, um, let's see… how about twenty thousand rubles for it?" Amy coughed up a weird yelping sound, as if there were a hair ball stuck in her throat. The idea of spending twenty thousand anything was outrageous. "Thirty," said the man, fiddling with his tie and looking at Dan sideways. Dan hauled bills out of the backpack. "You know how to drive Russian car?" asked the man, beaming. "I show you!" Dan beamed right back. "You got yourself a deal." A few minutes later, the potato-headed man had taken his thirty thousand rubles, happy as a clam, and given Dan and Amy a five-minute tour of Tiny Tim. It wasn't much bigger than a refrigerator, and it only had two gears: slow and fast. "Leave stick up until Tiny is twenty-five, then slam it down, like so." The man grabbed the stick shift and yanked it back about a foot. "No… how you say… clatch?" "Clutch," corrected Amy, sounding more

interested in Tiny Tim. "Little sister is rude," said the man. "You said it," offered Dan, running his fingers through the fake goatee. Amy thought she might explode. The man pointed to the pedals on the floor in front of the driver's seat. "That is brake, that is gas. Easy!" "Seems simple enough," said Dan. Amy still couldn't believe they'd just bought a go-cart masquerading as an automobile. "I am late," said the man, patting his pocket to make sure the money was still there. "Be careful. Tiny is faster than he looks. He will make man out of you. Da svidanya!" "Dude, I'm so driving this thing," said Dan. Amy gritted her teeth. She hated it when he called her dude. It made absolutely no sense. Dan grinned. "We've got a boatload of money and our own car! This is incredible." "Yeah," said Amy. "Incredibly stupid." Dan looked wounded. "It's not stupid. Every time we use the card, NRR can track us. Now we're like outlaws— cash only and a cool ride of