Bert’s was in front of me in a flash. He laid his hand on the stranger’s shoulder; his hand no giant’s, but plenty big. He leaned in and whispered something quiet and low. The man stood there and when Bert pulled away, he was shaking, his eyes boring holes in the ground.
“Apologize.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Come on, Clark.” Bert walked out. I followed him.
We walked in silence over to our little caravan of scooters and loaded up the compartments. A cooler was already packed to the gills with ice for the frozen food we’d bought. “Thanks,” I said when we were done.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. Then he asked me a question that I didn’t expect. “Why’d you talk to that kid that way?”