A TREBLY, DEAFENING SCREECH COMES from a window above Union Street in Red Hook. “Jesus, God . . .” Thos Carmody looks directly above him at the woman with the shrieking voice that pierces the street traffic, splits his ears. “Stai attento. Ci sono uomini bianchi nascosti,” and looks down at Carmody looking up at her. “Eh? Va bene, mio amore, ok, ok,” the man named Giancarlo says, then moves off the street while others look around them, move themselves from the area as well. A trolley passes in front of Carmody’s view and he looks at his watch. Across the street, Vincent Maher stops in front of a tailor and looks at Thos, winks at him, then looks west down Union toward the Red Hook waterfront. An extremely short Italian man emerges from the shop. He is so small that when he shakes Vincent’s hand in the doorway he must extend it to its full length. In Brooklyn’s Little Italy, the tiny Italian man’s business is famous by word of mouth for his quality of fabrics and colorful silks and top-grain leather shoes.
