Sparrow Needy

I had a brother, and that says it all.
  — From a conversation overheard on a New York City bus

When I was growing up in Harlem, there was a tough neighborhood bully, Lynwood, who had killed someone in a brutal shooting, and he was feared by all of us. Most of us knew other tough kids and many of us had heard rumors about them. Yet no one really knew if John had stabbed the fat boy, or if Frankie had smothered the pink-faced, scarecrow-looking vagabond, Raif; but Lynwood’s acts were verifiable: there were bodies.