Dabble in dribble

We left the Fazils’ apartment quickly, the “stolen” rollerblades still under my arm, young Abdul following down the road, laughing in his goofy way. Mo was pretending nothing was wrong; calm before the storm. A gangly man with worn shoes and terrible teeth stared a little too hard as we passed; glancing back I saw him give Abdul a candy and a dismissive swat. Shit, he was a cop. I kept cool for a couple dozen steps, careful not to catch Mo’s gaze, then nonchalantly tossed the skates over the side into the River Miliane. Two birds with one stone.