Aleandro had walked into the alley alone because his uncle asked him to. He had walked out of it on his knees.

Two rounds. Chest, abdomen.

He had not seen the second shooter. He had seen his uncle’s shoes turn and walk away without stopping.

The rain had come down cold enough to sting. He had dragged himself against the wet brick, pulled his mother’s embroidered silk handkerchief from his inside pocket, and pressed it against the hole in his chest. It had gone through in under a minute. Too