So, he says...

So, he says, dye nae seet thair?

And I looked and there it was, parked across the street.

Saving your eyes and my hands, I'll skip the phonetic spelling and continue this way:

We walked over to it, looking. Walked around the little thing, peering in the windows. I kept my eye on him as he muttered and nattered on about something that was clearly bothering him.

What is it? I asked. What's wrong?

At this point I'm on the street side and he's on the curbside, and we're leaning over the roof of the wee vehicle.

It's mine, god damn it! he sputters, they stole it from me!

Well, I thought just what you're thinking. But he rips open the door and jumps in. I look around for help, thinking I'd found a good time to politley part company, but he leans across and pushes open the passenger door.

Get in, he growls then (or words to that effect -- cultural differences), or I'll rip your head off and spit down your neck.