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plan. I will get to the daughter through the mother. My first thought is to have her run me over, just a little, like in Being There, but that would be risky. Plan B is to save her from muggers. And that's what I do.

Hey, you, kid! Come over here a minute.
I'm no kid. You'd better watch it, or else . . .

He was a street urchin who always hung around the neighbourhood.

Take it easy, pal. I didn't mean to insult you. I just wanted to know if you'd like to make a few bucks.
You bet, but it depends how.
This is going to sound weird, but . . . and I tell him my plan.

The kid drives a hard bargain, and I end up agreeing to pay him more than I had intended, but for this it's worth it. I just worry that he might double-cross me.

You'd better not keep on running. Don't try to con me.
You don't know us, señor. We never go back on our word.

The mother goes out to a large shopping centre, wearing a fancy dress and carrying a fancy bag. She is elegant, aristocratic. She walks down the street like she owns it, oblivious to the admiring glances of everyone she passes. Then something happens: something that forces her down from Olympus. A short, dark-skinned boy brushes up against her, pushes her roughly, grabs her purse out of her hands, and runs off.

Thief! Thief! Stop him!