With nervousness and excitement, we are preparing to visit the home of one of those controversial figures: the thief you hate to love. Bob and I have completely fallen for his warmth and charm. True, he did steal Bob’s wallet about a year ago; we can’t deny his filthy profession. We’d certainly find it harder to like the man had the wallet been full of cash and credit cards. As it happened, the thief stole our prop wallet which was stuffed with cut paper.

We had observed him as he and his crew boarded the bus we were already riding. We looked away as the threesome crowded around us. We understood that they were unnecessarily close—the bus was not full.

Even with his focus solely on sensing the suspects and hypertuned to his butt pocket, Bob did not feel the steal. They were that good.

We suspected from their behavior that they got it. Bob slid his hand across his empty pocket and said to me “Yep.” I knew what he meant. We followed the trio off the bus at the next stop.

That’s when we met. It was last September, during the filming of our upcoming documentary, in that foreign city I’m asked to leave unidentified for now. (Expected broadcast: October 2011.) Something clicked right away between Bob and the pickpocket. They’ve been corresponding by email ever since.

Why have they bonded? Bob Arno is a straight-laced American Swede reluctant to jaywalk, an introvert who maintains his gray matter and circulatory system at a low temperature. The pickpocket is a charismatic scoundrel and a gregarious, hot-blooded free spirit. Both men are calculating manipulators in their different ways. The introvert’s shell is cracked by the beguiling rogue. The crook swoons at the attention of someone from the other side. It’s symbiotic, but I’m not sure how.

Google Translate is a godsend but the human translations we get are amazing. People who read for us wipe away a tear, hug their own goosefleshed arms, and exclaim about the man’s writing. He has a special way of expressing himself, they say; he turns a beautiful phrase; he is poetic.

We’ve set the pickpocket the task of writing his life story, bit by bit. He’s off to a promising start. We hope to help him publish an autobiography. Neither we nor he know where this might lead.

His grammar is far from perfect. He doesn’t use any capital letters or the return key for new paragraphs. He didn’t spend many years in school and has never before tried to express himself in writing. Not only is he good so far, but he’s loving it. He feels a hidden talent has been unlocked. For that, no matter what comes of it, he thanks Bob.

We are preparing to travel far to meet him in a few days. We have engaged an expensive translator—someone we know, and know is good. Someone who is on our side, and will not color the conversation.

A dinner is planned. It will be in the home of the pickpocket. His wife is a good cook, we’re told. It will be a party. Other thieves will attend, some of whom we already know. Who else will be there?

We’ll arrive at the thieves’ den with generous hostess gifts. Also with video and audio recording equipment, and probably a laptop. Much can go wrong.

As always, one of us is a little nervous and insists on precautions. The other is confident, relaxed, eager. I’ll report back shortly…