"Saw you and that fat guy," Krishna said. "Saw you rooting around in the
park. Saw him disappear down the fountain."
"He's my brother," Alan said.
"So what, he ain't heavy? He's fat, but I expect there's a reason for
that. I've seen your kind before, Adam. I don't like you, and I don't
owe you any favors." He turned and reached for the screen door.
"No," Alan said, taking him by the wrist, squeezing harder than was
necessary. "Not yet. You said, 'Lost another one.' What other one,
Krishna? What else did you see?"
Krishna gnawed on his neatly trimmed soul patch. "Let go of me, Andrew,"
he said, almost too softly to be heard over the rain.
"Tell me what you saw," Alan said. "Tell me, and I'll let you go." His
other hand balled into a fist. "Goddammit, *tell me*!" Alan yelled, and
twisted Krishna's arm behind his back.
"I called the cops," Krishna said. "I called them again and they're on
their way. Let me go, freak show."
"I don't like you, either, Krishna," Alan said, twisting the arm
higher. He let go suddenly, then stumbled back as Krishna scraped the
heel of his motorcycle boot down his shin and hammered it into the top
of his foot.
He dropped to one knee and grabbed his foot while Krishna slipped into
the house and shot the lock. Then he hobbled home as quickly as he
could. He tried to pace off the ache in his foot, but the throbbing got
worse, so he made himself a drippy ice pack and sat on the sofa in the
immaculate living room and rocked back and forth, holding the ice to his
bare foot.
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