“Congratulations on your new friends.”
The c.o. sat back down out of earshot.
Red changed the tone. “Where’d they find Kicks?”
“Behind a dumpster in the Hook, snapped like balsa wood. They left his wallet, but took his shoes.”
He thought for a minute.
Everyone knew “Kicks” racket. In the nineties to early two thousands, he monopolized the shoe game on the streets. Whatever shoe you wanted, he’d get it, sometimes even before it even hit the shelves. He was Brooklyn’s Ebay for hood rats and sneakerheads; even had cats make pilgrimages from Japan to stock up on his wares.
“One of those derelicts by that bodega prolly snatched them joints, off his dead feet...”
“Dude run s**t up in here. If he don’t like a rule, he says it’s Anti-Semitic, and Chuck Schumer gets a call...”
“Bodega been
