I grabbed him by his arm, freckled and soft as a baguette. I squeezed it hard.
“Take another umbrella,” I said, almost low enough that he couldn’t hear it, but loud enough that he could.
I tossed his arm back to him and he rubbed it and looked shocked, before slowly taking an umbrella. Another full-grown Park Slope kid used to time-outs and in need of a spanking.
“Beat it” I said.
He crinkled his face as if smelling the summer Gowanus Canal fumes and started walking away without looking back.
I turned back to the vendor.
“My pal was this guy. Everyone called him Kicks. You know him?”
“My friend, I don’t know...”
“I think you do, and I also think you know your friend is this guy next to him, and you know he was friends with my friend who happens to be dead, and that does not look go
