Page 20 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

Before I could redirect him, Mr. Alvarez came around the side of the cart and held out another bun-less hot dog in a paper tray.

“More for Max,” he said. “I burn little. This one free.”

“Oh, you absolutely don’t have to⁠—”

“Take,” he said, already pressing it into my hand.

At that exact moment, Max took one purposeful step toward the sound of the scooter and the giant rat.

“Pass auf,” I said quickly.

Mr. Alvarez froze. Very slowly, he looked up at me. I looked back at him, one hand full of surprise bonus hot dog, the other still wrapped around Max’s leash.

His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Oh no.

“No,” I said at once. “Not you.”

Unfortunately, that didn’t improve the situation.

Mr. Alvarez drew himself up, offended by what he perceived as profanity. Then he launched into a stream of rapid Spanish that even the three semesters I’d spent trying to become the kind of New Yorker who could function in multiple languages didn’t save me. I caught perro, respeto, and what I was fairly sure was a deeply moving defense of his professional character.

Elena looked from him to me to the second hot dog, then burst out laughing so hard, I briefly considered taking offense on principle.

“No,” I said again, because apparently my strategy today was to die on the hill of repetition. “I was talking to the dog.”

Mr. Alvarez stabbed a finger toward his own chest. “You tell me piss off?”

“I didn’t tell you to piss off.”

Elena doubled over in her seat, one hand flat against the side of the cart. “Oh my god.”

“It means pay attention,” I told her, as if she were now acting as interpreter in a diplomatic dispute. “In German. For him.”

I pointed to Max, who had obeyed beautifully and was once again focused on me, sitting patiently as if nothing had happened at all.

Mr. Alvarez crossed his arms. “I give free hot dog to Max. And then you say piss off.”

“Pass auf,” I said automatically.

That didn’t help. His eyes widened, nostrils flaring.

Elena made a strangled sound and covered her mouth with both hands.

“Uncle,” she said, trying and failing to compose herself. “She’s serious. It was German. It just sounds similar.”

Mr. Alvarez looked down at Max with new suspicion. “Why German?”

“That is honestly a great question,” I said. “Military training. It’s what he’s used to.”

Mr. Alvarez squinted at Max, who returned the look with composed gravity.

Then, because we had apparently all committed to the bit, Mr. Alvarez said something sternly in Spanish directly to the dog.

Max blinked slowly, which only made Elena laugh harder.

I shrugged one shoulder. “He doesn’t speak everything.”